NICHOLAS GRANTSON LAZILY WATCHED the monitor as he recorded the same dream he’d seen a thousand times. He couldn’t fathom the extreme interest of Subject 518; her signatures where nearly identical to all the other 500s, give or take a few: abnormally high levels of creativity, an uncanny sense of intuition, and a concrete moral compass that reached her bones. Then again, he was only the Night Monitor. He had no idea what happened during the day. Maybe he should take a look into it—if they didn’t kill him for it.
Nicholas stretched out in his chair yawning noisily and obnoxiously. He dropped his feet on the edge of his desk and considered taking a short nap, when the monitor caught his eye. “Holy!” he blurted, grabbing the phone and punching buttons furiously, glancing away from the screen only for a second. Nick tapped nervously on the desk as he listened to the dial tone. “C’mon, c’mon, pick up,” he hissed through his teeth.
“What?” was all he got.
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