Necropolis 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

lip, then winced in pain.
    As the pain in his skull slid into something more manageable, Greg felt control reasserting itself, slaying his confusion. Whatever had happened with Thomas didn't matter right now. For the moment, Greg's primary goal was getting a gun, some gear, and making his way back to the cells to free his friends.
    What was the ship like? Hopefully, everything had been thrown into disarray, allowing him to slip by. He remembered the part where the Undead specimens were to be released and felt a shudder of fear ripple down his spine, pooling coldly in his guts. The idea of facing them again wasn't one he relished, especially without proper back up or a weapon of some kind. Greg steeled himself, and began to move for the door.
    Right as he reached it, he stopped, turned and stared up at the elongated black diamond of intricate, expensive equipment. What was it? It was obviously important, and at least partially tied into the plan he and Thomas had concocted. Greg felt there was more to it, much more, in fact, but what? He supposed it didn't matter anymore.
    As Greg slipped out the door after making sure the coast was clear, he found his thoughts turning to Graves. The titan of muscle and digital eyes had promised him death if he somehow managed to escape, which he had. So why was Greg still drawing breath? A few possibilities presented themselves.
    The first being that perhaps Graves had felt like giving him a second chance, that perhaps it wasn't a fair fight. Greg thought it might be possible...but a second, uncomfortable possibility kept presenting itself. That Graves had something even more pressing to attend to, something important enough to leave Greg passed out on the floor and not send anyone to retrieve him. What could that be? The Undead? It was certainly possible, but Greg wasn't sure. Was there something else at play here that he didn't know about?
    From somewhere up ahead, a scream echoed down to him. Greg forced himself to focus. He was alone and weaponless on a ship overrun with assholes in black armor and undead monsters. He stood in a lengthy white corridor, the walls occasionally broken by doorways and rings of gray steel that Greg realized hid welded seams. It was empty, Greg the only soul traveling down it. He felt horribly exposed.
    Unsure of where to go, he slipped into the nearest doorway, finding himself in, of all things, an office. It was empty, though it looked like someone had just been there. The padded swivel chair was slightly ajar, a black mug of coffee sat on the desk, not steaming, but still warm to the touch. The terminal was powered down, screen dead and blank. Greg booted it up, righted the chair and took a seat.
    Thomas was supposed to help with this part, feeding him instructions, the layout of the ship, key areas where he could find guns, ammo, medical supplies...but the little radio tucked into his ear gave him nothing but silence. Had Graves broken it? Even so, wouldn't Thomas try contacting him via the camera network? He'd said knocking out the security wouldn't disrupt their ability to communicate...
    So what happened?
    Greg sighed, pushing it aside for now. It didn't matter. He booted up the terminal, stared at it for a while and then grunted as he spied a password slot. He wasn't getting in, at least not here. A general access terminal might not be password protected. Standing, Greg looked around, considering his situation.
    Where to go? He let his gaze slide across the office until it settled on another ventilation grate. Greg smiled. Standing, he crossed the room and slapped the open button. The grate opened and Greg grabbed the edge of the vent, pulling himself up. He peered cautiously into the opening, seeing nothing but a lengthy stretch of metal. When nothing moved, nothing hissed at him, Greg finished pulling himself up and into the steel tunnel.
    “ This is familiar,” he muttered as he started crawling along the passageway.
    He decided to stop repeating