A low, resonant hum intensified within the vast, sterile chamber, vibrating through the reinforced floor of the TRC Command base. Along the walls, thousands of individual pods, sleek and featureless, began to hiss. The sound was a prelude, a slow, deliberate exhalation of contained power.
Ana Clara felt the subtle shift in pressure, the familiar sensation of the pod's seals disengaging. Her eyes, sharp and focused, snapped open. Her body, lean and powerfully sculpted, felt no stiffness, no fatigue, only a deep, ingrained readiness that hummed beneath her skin. She stretched, her muscles rippling with an effortless grace, every movement precise, devoid of hesitation. The last 24 years of simulated war, the constant battles, the strategic dilemmas, the brutal losses, the taste of victory and the sting of defeat – it all felt as real as the cool, filtered air she now breathed.
