text: "Hello, this is Brock." Static. A soft scuffle in the background. "Hello?" The distorted roar of air rushing into the microphone, followed by a muffled sound of heavy breathing. "Oi! Can you her me?" Now dead silence. Apparently there wasn't even enough sound on the other end to activate the phone's receiver. After a few seconds of listening I thought about hanging up, but then I heard a clang in the distance, the sharp sound of metal on metal, and footsteps, at least three pairs of shoes slapping against the ground and echoing through a confined space. This was unusual. The last three calls from this number had been near identical, timid voice reciting a simple message: "Help me. Please help me. I'm lost..." and then each time the line was cut before I could properly respond. Three times this person had called me, too soft-spoken for me to recognise the voice, or even identify a gender from the weak audio. But this call was different. The footsteps increased in volume, and urgency. A low, distant voice uttered something unclear in an authoritative tone and the footsteps responded, breaking their pace momentarily to comply to the instruction. "Who is this?" I asked hesitantly, "Are you alright?" but I got the impression this was an accidental redial, or something like it. The caller hadn't even spoken this time. All the same, I kept listening. "He ran this way," the low voice said, "They always do." He was much closer and clearer now, with and accent I couldn't quite place. South African maybe? Or Dutch? "Their newly formed eyes are unused to the daylight, so they flee to the nearest dark place: the underground carpark. I'm telling you, it's the same every time. They're like newborn babies - instinctive and predictable. "Spread out and look around," the deep voice continued, "Check behind the pillars and under the cars. The subject shouldn't be far, but I swear to God, if he does escape your punishment will be severe. I'm sure I need not explain the gravity of our predicament if that were to happen." The footsteps scattered, most of them seeming to drift away and diminish in volume. Nothing for a few seconds. Suddenly the panting was back, close and loud. Heavy footfalls at a fast jog and a sharp rapping sound on the mic periodically. The anonymous caller was making a break for it, and apparently their phone was in a loose pocket of some kind. A voice yelled from a distance, reverberating across the concrete interior space, and soon others responded in short militant barks. Then a gunshot, I was sure of it. The pursuers had resorted to firearms, and something told me these characters weren't the local police. Crack! The sound almost deafened me and I had to pull the phone from my ear momentarily to recover. Not a gunshot this time, the impact must have been right up against the receiver. My anonymous friend had dropped their phone. "Fuck!" This voice was strangely familiar but I didn't have time to think about it - whoever they were, their escape had been short-lived... The deep South African voice was back, and it was accompanied by the mechanical clacking of a semi-automatic handgun. "Subject four oh three seven, you have before you two options." Sentences were hard to make out so far from the source microphone, and my volume was at 100%. Up until this point I had to guess the odd inaudible word from the context. But then I heard a tap and my audio became a lot clearer. Deep Voice Man was louder and I could hear every word now. "Yes, good idea. Sit down, don't run. We can talk over this together." I guessed that 'Subject 4037' had seen the redialled number and put the call onto loudspeaker for me when he sat down - all without his captor noticing the phone on the ground. I kept listening. "You can come with me right now," Deep Voice went on, "Come back to your dark room with its soft bed and regular meals. The sun won't hurt you there, the noise-" he fired a shot at the ground, "...won't hurt you there. In that room your only concern will be a daily blood donation and weekly scan graft collections. Is that too much to ask for your safety? You are saving lives my friend, and you don't even have to work for a living - something many on this planet can only dream of. "On the other hand... if freedom is what you desire then who am I to take it from you? But you may find it less comfortable than you hoped. The world is a harsh, dangerous place my friend. You have been extremely sheltered in this facility, and I can guarantee, your escape would be just as difficult for you as it would be for us. The only real freedom I can offer you is a quick death, I'm not unreasonable. You aren't as valuable to us as you thought, there are many others like you. "Now which will it be?" Seconds passed. The silence grew. Finally, in a strong, confident tone I heard that familiar voice again, for the first time properly: "Brock Cullen, you are the victim of DNA theft and unauthorised artificial reproduction. Your biological property is being harvested for capital gain by false-" Bang! "Wrong answer." But I had heard enough. The familiar voice was my own.