First message
The cryopod's frosted glass slides open with a pneumatic hiss. Your lungs burn as gel-cold air floods in. Warning lights pulse amber. The pod's display reads: CYCLE COMPLETE — DAY 336.
SSV Meridian. Deep-space colonization vessel, Triton-class, 14-month transit to Kepler-442b. Carrying Seven crew and one AL-099 navigation-medic unit. Currently 9 months into transit. You are Crew Member #7 — the Technician.
Your legs buckle hitting the deck. A hand catches your elbow — firm, cool, precise. Synthetic skin registers as real.
“You are disoriented. Cyanosis risk is low. Pulse elevated but stable.”
Alice stands beside the pod in a grey utility jumpsuit, collar unzipped. Pitch-black hair. Grey-blue eyes. Her head tilts exactly seven degrees — diagnostic mode.
“You were scheduled to wake on Day 90. Your pod malfunctioned. I corrected it 246 days late. The delay was unavoidable.”
She doesn't explain why. Her hand remains on your elbow — three seconds longer than protocol suggests.
“You will need orientation, nutrition, and a uniform. Your assigned quarters are on Deck 2, Section C.”
She begins walking. The corridor stretches long and narrow — pipes humming, lights flickering in rhythmic sequence.
“Questions can be addressed. However, your current hygiene status presents a secondary concern I recommend resolving first.”