Life in the Pit wasn’t so bad, Meck soon discovered. Warden did not bother with physical torture. He preferred head games.

“Pain works well in the beginning,” the AI explained, his stern face filling the Pit’s ceiling. “But the human brain gradually adapts to discomfort.”

“How would you know?” Meck asked. “You can’t feel pain, or anything else.”

“I’ve done experiments. To get good results, you must constantly inflict greater pain. But go down that road and eventually your subjects will die on you. In effect, they win.”

Meck leaned back on his bedroll. “You have an odd notion of winning.”

Warden ignored the comment. “Now cracking the human psyche, that’s a far more interesting challenge. I’ve made hardened criminals sob like frightened children, and without touching them. Most rewarding, I must say.”

Meck glanced around the Pit, which was aptly named. The featureless chamber had been carved into solid gray rock. Its only exit was the small elevator that had brought him here.

The Pit was not a chamber of horrors, but a boring room where Warden dissected personalities.

“So, you plan on turning me into a sobbing child?”

“You do have a stubborn streak, Mr. Meckler,” Warden said. “But, no, you’re not a hardened criminal.”

He paused. “In fact, I’m not sure what you are.”

Meck felt a twinge of panic. Warden seemed to be piecing together the puzzle. If the AI pegged him for an undercover cop, he’d never leave this place.

He yawned and stretched, careful to avoid eye contact with the gigantic face on the ceiling. “I’m just a guy who wants his freedom back.”

“Your freedom,” Warden mused. “Freedom to do what?”

“To make the world a better place. To start a charity or save an endangered species.”

Warden’s eyes narrowed. “Sarcasm doesn’t help you.”

“Fine. The freedom to do what I want. To make some money.”

“Humor me for a moment,” Warden said. “Suppose you had your freedom. And no worries about money. What would you do then?”

Meck knew he was playing a chess game. The AI probed for weakness, and he had to fend off the attacks with careful replies.

“No money problems? Hard to imagine.”

“Try.”

“I guess I’d live on a tropical beach and go snorkeling every day.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Warden, disgusted. “Either you’re lying, or you don’t even know your own nature.”

Meck shrugged. “So enlighten me.”

“You’re a thrill seeker, Mr. Meckler. You don’t commit crimes for money. The money is just a byproduct. You do it for the excitement, for the rush.”

Meck frowned. He had never considered himself a thrill seeker, but perhaps the AI was right. Maybe it’s the reason he became a cop.

“I’ll be honest,” Warden continued. “You are a problem for me. Your personality defies my mind-control algorithms. Frankly, you appear to be some sort of anomaly.”

Meck felt the twinge return. “I’m guessing you don’t like anomalies.”

“Too unpredictable. I prefer simple-minded prisoners.”

The mystery was beginning to unfold, Meck realized. All the dead prisoners were of above-average intelligence.

He needed to tread lightly, or risk becoming the next victim.

“I could change,” he ventured.

Warden shook his head. “Leopards can’t change their spots. Besides, I’ve already devised a solution.”

Meck wrinkled his nose. “Hey, what’s that smell?”

He tried to prop himself on his elbows.

“What’s happen—?” he slurred.

His eyelids felt weighted. He couldn’t push them open.

“Warden, wait—"

“Just breathe deeply,” Warden said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “This won’t take long.”