Necropolis 2 Read Free

recognized.
    “ You can call me Thomas. I want to help you, Greg,” the voice replied. It buzzed with the soft mechanic filter of a radio.
    “ Why should I trust you?” he asked.
    “ Why shouldn't you? What could you possibly lose? You're going to die here if you don't find a way to escape.”
    Greg considered this. It was a reasonable assessment. He was still considering his response when there was an almost inaudible click.
    “Hello?”
    Nothing. He tried twice more to elicit a response, but he remained alone in a sea of silence. Considering the development, Greg continued working out.
     
    * * * * *
     
    After four more cycles of sleeping and going for testing, the voice came back to him. Greg was in the middle of a shower.
    “I'm sorry about earlier. I had to cut the conversation short.” The voice spoke as though very little time had passed.
    “ Is that so?” Greg replied.
    They'd supplied him with soap, shampoo, a razor. He stared at the razor, thinking he could use it as a weapon against them, or maybe himself. Were they worried he'd kill himself? Chances were there was someone constantly on standby. It wasn't like it used to be, where slitting your wrist vertically was practically as effective as a bullet to the brain. From what Greg had been able to gather, they could bring a man back from the brink without too much trouble, and well, if he was being honest with himself, he knew wasn't going to kill himself.
    “ Yes. I was nearly detected, but it should be safer to talk this time. I want to help you escape, Greg, and I'm your only option. These tests will not go on forever. I can offer you the best shot you've got to live...and the odds aren't even that abysmal.”
    “ Are my friends alive?”
    “ Would you believe me if I told you?”
    “ Maybe.”
    “ Then I'll tell you the truth. I don't know. My knowledge is compartmentalized. It's very difficult for me to gain knowledge outside of what I'm allowed to know without attracting considerable attention. This conversation alone is quite difficult.”
    Greg was silent, letting the quiet play out. He took the razor, adjusted the blade and buzzed his head and face. He preferred a stubble length, so that his black hair and facial fuzz were akin to sandpaper. Vanity was a thing he felt was far beyond him, but Greg had the notion that tolerating the person who stared back at him grimly from the mirror would go a long way towards cooling the fires in his brain.
    “What would it entail?”
    “ Vents, mostly. Good timing. Some luck,” the voice admitted.
    There was a soft sound behind him. Greg glanced in the small mirror they provided, built into the wall of the shower stall at head-height, and spied a small slot opening at the base of the door. A tray of food slid in and the slot snapped closed.
    Greg finished shaving.
    “So what's the plan?” he asked.
    The voice was gone. Sighing, Greg turned off the shower and toweled off. He climbed into his uniform, gathered up the food, and sat on his bunk. Contemplating, he ate the meal, sipping water from a pouch.
    Escape.
    It sounded good.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Greg woke with a start.
    He was lying on the floor of his cell in an uncomfortable position. Memories jostled uncomfortably in his head as he shifted and managed to sit up, propping himself on the heels of his hands.
    Graves sat on his bunk, the door open.
    “What's going on?” He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. He scooted back until he sat against the nearest wall.
    Graves stared at him, tracking his slow progress with his digitized, crimson-lensed eyes. A curious frown perched on Graves' lips and his scar seemed to shine beneath the lights of the cell. He shifted slightly.
    For a long moment, Graves didn't speak. He just sat there and stared. Greg began to feel that this wasn't an official visit. That Graves was here on his own time, for his own reasons. He tried to remember what had happened, and realized he'd been dropped off some time