THE TUNNEL WAS AN ENDLESS monochromatic world that was both artificial and natural. Here, there was a neatly squared-off mosaic of ceramic tile; over there, on a little hillock of earth, squatted a colony of fat mushrooms. In one place, he had to skirt a pool of water; in another, climb over a heap of rust and debris that had once been a subway car.
One man, alone, walking through the dark towards a superhuman monster that had terrorized Earth for a decade.
A drug that would knock out the Nipe would have been useful, but that would have required a greater knowledge of the Nipe’s biochemistry than anyone had. The same applied to anesthetic gases, or electric shock, or supersonics.
The only answer was a man called Stanton.
And the voice near his ear said: “A hundred yards to go, Barbell.
