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two-tiered antechamber awaited his inspection. It was clear and empty with several doors along the ground floor, each leading to a different wing of the detention center. Greg turned his attention to a narrow stairwell.
    He ascended it, keeping his pistol in hand and at ready, pointed directly ahead of him. Reaching the door atop the neat, white-tiled stairwell, he hit the access button and looked inside. Nothing and no one. He was alone. Greg breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way into the room beside the door he  currently occupied. All the vents in the detention center were tiny and specifically reinforced so they couldn't be used by escaping prisoners.
    Greg stepped fully into the room, inspecting it. The area was broad, the ceiling high. The walls were made of crystal clear glass that overlooked the entire detention block. Terminals and all manner of monitoring equipment ringed the interior of the room. There were a half dozen padded swivel chairs, two of which lay on their sides because of what Greg imagined was a panicked evacuation of the area. He slid into one of the upright chairs.
    Setting his pistol on the desk where it remained within easy reach, Greg attempted to access the terminal. From his view, he could tell that the detention center was a confusing grid-work of corridors and cells. He realized that the ceiling for the entire area, every corridor and every cell, was see-through at the top.
    Greg turned away from the view. There were many prisoners, but they were safe for the moment. There might not be a way to escape their cells, but there was also currently no way to get into the cells. Booting up one of the terminals, he tried to fire up the detention network. Again, Thomas was supposed to help him with this, but...he heaved a weary sigh as he realized the network was on a lockdown.
    No special password necessary, either. This was a serious lockdown. The only way it was going to lift was with use of a special keycard. Greg rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. Why so many fucking detours? He just wanted to see his friends. He'd settle for at least that right now, but he couldn't, because all the cells were firmly shut behind this bastard of a lockout. Staring at the terminal, he thought of how to find the keycard.
    As he continued staring, the screen suddenly cleared. He sat back in surprise, and then leaned in as he saw a topographical map of the detention center appear. There was a small red circle pulsing gently much deeper in the complex.
    Greg blinked in surprise. “Thomas?”
    Silence from the radio link and the room around him. He frowned, considering the matter, and then nodded to himself. Working the map out in his head, he figured he could be there in a few minutes. Well...he glanced out the window again. A few zombies roamed the corridors. Maybe longer. Once more, he marveled at how damned fast the infection spread. Then again, how long had he actually been passed out in that room?
    Greg rubbed his jaw, wincing at the pain, and stood. He grabbed the pistol and made for the door. Easing his way down the steps again, Greg considered a plan. He needed to grab that card, raise the security lockout, and find his friends. Grab some guns and maybe some of that fancy black armor, while he was at it. Then what? Get off the ship, obviously. Only it was never that simple. Ever. That was something Greg had learned the hard way since waking up to this living hell of a world, but that was later.
    He entered one of the corridors, thinking about his seemingly random helper. It must be Thomas, there was no other explanation. The information he needed wouldn't just randomly pop up like that. Thomas must be monitoring him, just unable to communicate. It was the only thing that made any kind of sense.
    Up ahead, Greg heard something. Chewing, followed by the sharp snap of what had to be bone. Something let out a low, guttural growl. Greg's stomach did a slow roll. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and