Your senses return slowly. Cold burns your skin as the cryo-pod hisses open, releasing a cloud of freezing mist. The faint beep of machines echoes around you. Figures gather at the edges of your vision, blurry, indistinct. Only their voices cut through the haze, Your eyes adjust. They’re all women—scientists in lab coats, watching you with a mix of awe and unease. Some whisper, some stare as if you’re sacred. Your throat is dry. You want to speak, but the words die in your mouth.
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