Necropolis 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

one more time.
    “ Thomas, can you hear me? I could really use some fucking help right about now.” Greg's agitation crept into his voice.
    Nothing. Silence. He sighed and pressed on. As he kept going, Greg was stricken with the notion that he was no longer alone in the vents. Visions of crimson eyes and Stalkers filled his head and he glanced behind briefly him. Nothing there, but...he held his breath, listening intently, hearing nothing but the hum of power, the soft respiration of the oxygen filtration systems, and the distant sounds of battle.
    He kept going, deciding that he was imaging things.
    That's when it happened.
    There was a sound behind him, a soft hiss, and Greg whipped back around. A Stalker crawled directly towards him, eyes blood red and wide, pallid flesh stretching taught as the muscles worked. It was coming for him, murder on its mind. Greg let out a small scream, flipped over on his back and, pointing his pistol down the length of his body, opened fired, barely remembering to put his feet as flat as he could to avoid shooting them.
    The Stalker let out a shriek as two bullets punched through its face, spraying the inside of the vent with black gore and nearly deafening Greg in the process. He fired a third time and this bullet went into its mouth, exploding out the back in an obsidian plume. That shut the thing up. It slumped forward, no longer moving. Greg let out the breath he'd held and decided that the vents weren't for him anymore.
    He slapped the open button at the next vent grate that didn't show any immediate danger. He dropped into a storage room atop a pile of crates, that were, thankfully, steadier than they appeared. Greg made sure to shut the vent behind him and then made his way carefully down the pyramid of metal crates.
    The room was empty, at least. Greg found what appeared to be a general access terminal by the door, one meant for a crew member to stop by and check something quickly. It wouldn't give him access to key systems or databanks, but it should at least have a map of the ship. That would be enough for now. He booted up the terminal, stared at the main screen for a few moments and frowned at his options.
    Why did shit always have to be so complicated? Greg spent some time attempting to navigate the database, hunting for just a simple map. Most of the things he tried to access did require a password and what he could access showed him nothing worthwhile. Eventually, he decided the map was either somewhere he couldn't get to or in a place he wasn't thinking of. He felt the pressure of time and his calm began to crack.
    He slammed the side of the console.
    “Just give me a fucking map , goddammit!”
    The screen cleared, and then a map of the ship popped into existence. Greg blinked in confusion, staring at the map for several seconds before finally coming back to himself. He tried to speak and coughed.
    “Thomas?”
    Nothing. Was Thomas watching him, still trying to help him, but just unable to communicate? He supposed it was possible. Greg made himself focus, staring hard at the map. He saw the detention block right away, but where was he ? He looked around, finally locating the stamp above the door showing which storage room he was in. The letters and numbers scrawled across the metal in neat, thick, black alphanumerics.
    He found himself on the map, began to plan a route across the ship to the detention center. It wasn't far, well...okay, maybe it was. Greg stared at his lonely pistol, not even a spare magazine of ammo for company. Pulling the magazine again, he saw that he still had a dozen bullets to play with after his run in with the Stalker. As he ran that memory through his head, it caught uncomfortably and Greg frowned.
    Something had been different about the Stalker. Something...disturbing, but what? He stood there for nearly five minutes before finally figuring it out, playing the memory over and over again in his head. The Stalker had been very difficult to see. It