Alarms blasted. A red light pulsed against his closed eyelids. He tasted a metallic flavour. His vision was blurry, with something covering his face just inches away.
He gasped, his lungs burning as he tried to breathe air that felt like inhaling dust.
"Vital signs stabilizing. Cryogenic reversal sequence 98% complete. Neurological activity resuming. Welcome back, Jin."
Jin's mind struggled to understand what the voice was saying. It's a female voice…but doesn't sound like a human.
Is this a dream? He thought, as he tried to lift his hand to push away the curved surface close to his nose.
His muscles barely moved.
"I-I… can't… move…" he whispered, choking on air.
"Motor functions will return momentarily. The re-animation process introduces temporary neuromuscular dampeners to prevent self-injury during your revival. The current muscular response rate is estimated at 32%. Do not be alarmed; this is within projected parameters for prolonged stasis."
The words echoed in his mind. As he focused, he felt a twitch in his right hand. Then another. He noticed a strap across his chest and legs.
"Where… where am I? Who… who are you?" As he tried to turn his head, dizziness overwhelmed him.
"Welcome to Cryo-Preservation Unit 734, nestled in Bay Alpha of Cryo-Vault Terminus. I'm Asha, the Phoenix Core AI. I'm connected to your biological systems. My role is to guide you and help achieve the goals of Project Phoenix. It's truly a pleasure to finally speak with you directly, Jin."
Jin let out a groan. He finally managed to fumble with the quick-release buckle on his chest strap.
It clicked open. "P-project Phoenix?" That name didn't ring any bells. With another effort, he freed his legs, and his body slumped forward against the now-unlatched cryo-pod door. It swung open, dropping him onto the cold metal floor.
He lay there, gasping for air as the cold seeped through his thin cryo-suit.
"G-Guide me? I… I don't get it. Are there others…?" He pushed himself up, wincing as he tried to move.
His eyes slowly adjusted to his surroundings, revealing rows upon rows of identical cryo-pods stretching into the dimly lit bay, each one still sealed. The emergency lights flickered. There was only silence in this room, broken by the distant hum of machinery.
"The other cryo-units, which hold genetic cohorts (non-prime subjects), are stable in suspended state but without active reanimation protocols—local control must bring PSU and thermal systems online before wake. Your early awakening is… an anomaly. Data indicates that a power surge to your unit might have triggered a revival sequence." Her tone shifted, hinting at something Jin couldn't grasp.
"So… it's just me?" He glanced at his hands that were shaking. "What happened? I remember… there's sunshine and my… my mom is at the park…" A fleeting image of a woman's smiling face flickered in his mind, only to vanish like smoke.
"Accessing pre-stasis memories can be fragmented at first. The Phoenix Core could restore stored logs instantly, but neural recall depends on intact hippocampal tissue—yours shows degradation, so personal memories may not fully return. The Vault's chronometer shows that 100 years, 4 months, and 12 days have passed since Project Phoenix initiated cryo-stasis protocols."
Jin swayed, gripping the edge of his open cryo-pod for support. It was hard to imagine the world he remembered now no longer existed.
"A hundred… no. That's… that can't be right. We were… there was some kind of warning… an emergency broadcast…"
"Indeed. The 'Sunflare Scorch' event, followed by the rapid global spread of Viral Neuro-Degenerative Syndrome. Humanity collapsed and… annihilated." Her voice was calm. "You, along with the other occupants of this Vault, represent genetic protection. A last resort for humanity to survive."
Jin barely processed the details. His eyes darted to the silent, frozen figures in the other pods. They looked peaceful in their sleep, unaware of the century that had passed.
All of a sudden, a new light pulsed in his vision, something he hadn't consciously registered before: transparent text overlapping his surroundings.
___
[SYSTEM OBJECTIVES – PRIORITY DIRECTIVE ISSUED]
Designation: Critical Wake Protocol – Phase 1
Assigned to: Subject: Jin [PHOENIX PRIME GENETIC MARKER – VERIFIED]
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE:
→ Evaluate Current Vault Integrity
Conduct initial environmental assessment of Vault Terminus operational sectors.
Locate critical infrastructure pathways and assess for damage, obstruction, or hostile presence.
Map power relay nodes and identify immediate threats to system stability.
→ Navigate to CRYO-BAY ALPHA: CONTROL ROOM
Establish access to Command Terminal Node (CRYO-BAY ALPHA)
Restore limited functionality to cryo-stasis management systems.
Confirm the biometric status of all Cryo-Sleep Subjects (Status: UNKNOWN)
Activate subsystem diagnostics, prioritize medical safety protocols and environmental stabilization.
[SYSTEM ALERT – VAULT CORE READINGS DETECTED]
Power Core Levels:
Current Output: 12% of nominal output (CRITICAL)
Structural Energy Grid Integrity: Fragile
Backup Generator Status: Offline / Manual Restart Required
Ambient Temperature Stability: Borderline (18.5°C - fluctuating)
Cryo-Stasis Stability: Fluctuating – Margin of Failure: 7.4% (threshold before systemic failure)
___
"What… what is that?" He blinked, thinking it was an aftereffect of the cryosleep.
"That is your primary visual interface with the Phoenix Core, Jin. It will provide you with relevant information, objectives, and analysis. I recommend you prioritize the current objective. The future of this facility, and the life of the other dormant cohort is dependent on available remaining energy fuel."
Suddenly, his survival seemed linked to those flashing words.
"Okay, Asha." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Control Room. Which way is that?" He looked down at the dark, identical corridors leading from the cryo-bay.
"You're inside Bay Alpha—head to the Bay Alpha Control Room down the third access tunnel to your left. And Jin?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to push yourself too much. Current muscle mass is not advised for sprinting. I would hate to see you trip."
Tripping was most likely the least of his concerns. He took one glance along the rows of cold sleepers and then straightened his posture even though he didn't understand the gravity of the whole situation. But he knows if he stands still, the girls die.
He took his first step into a hundred-year-old dark place.
Jin's internal HUD pulsed along the left corridor. Visible on Jin's path were glowing signs that might or might not really exist—or perhaps they were just spots in his eyes from the cryo-awakening.
There was a heavy silence in Cryo-Vault Terminus. The scuff of his own old cryo-suit boots on the metal floor was loud and made him nervous.
He found himself listening to every creak of the ancient structure.
"The corridor ahead splits. Maintain your current position. We are approximately 200 meters away from the Cryo-Bay Alpha Control Room. Immediate power fluctuations detected in that region. Caution is advised."
Jin muttered softly, "Alright.. Asha. I'll do my best.." He glanced down at the side passage, narrower and darker than the main one. His instincts kicked in, telling him not to go that way. "This place feels...sad, Asha."
"The emotional reaction you feel, Jin, is likely the result of visible decay and absence of humanity. The Vault has been in stasis for 100 years; routine maintenance stopped about thirteen years later, and the facility has been functionally neglected for roughly eighty-seven years."
Jin nodded slowly. That was an awful lot of time for a place to be lonely. He stepped past a recessed alcove within which a boxy little machine that looked almost like a toy was lying on its side in an extraordinary amount of dust. One of its optical sensors was lifeless.
Jin stopped and looked in sympathy. "Asha, what about this one? Was it... waiting for someone?" He had a hazy memory of similar machines.
"This is a 'Sanitation Custodian Unit, Mark IV.' An automatic cleaning and collecting unit. The internal chronometer of the unit indicates that the power cell got exhausted during its 20th operational year. Therefore, it was not 'waiting'; its programming simply ceased."
"Oh...." He looked at the lifeless machine. Without really thinking, he gently caressed the small drone, brushing some of the thicker dust from its chassis. "There. A bit better."
"An unnecessary expenditure of energy, Jin. The Mark IV is non-functional. Our priority remains with the Vault's critical power crisis."
"But... it looked unhappy all tipped over." He gave the drone a final pat and moved on, Asha's silent (he imagined) sigh almost noticeable in his mind.
At the end of the corridor, there's a section of wall exposing a mass of thick wires and pipes. One particular large pipe was coated in frost; beads of icy condensation dripped down onto the floor, forming a small puddle.
A faded stenciled warning read: WARNING: COOLANT LINE – EXTREME TEMPERATURE DIFFERENTIAL.
Jin walked toward it. He could feel the chill coming from the pipe between his fingertips.
He paused at the entrance. The room was vast and eerily silent, with the quiet drip-drip-drip of water somewhere in the darkness. Faint emergency lights flickered around the area.
Tables were overturned, the trays scattered, as if occupants had fled in the middle of their meal. A large, once-colorful painting depicting a vibrant outdoor scene with people laughing was now cracked and peeling, revealing bare metal beneath.
Jin whispered, "They were... Still in the middle of eating. They thought they were safe here."
"The analysis of the scene indicates a quick evacuation or at least some very disruptive event more than 87 years after stasis initiation within this sector, which tells the first reports of widespread failure in the systems. The Vault functioned autonomously for decades after stasis, but cascading failures began ~63 years ago; emergency backups kept vital systems limping along until those too exhausted themselves ~7.3 years ago. The cause of that is inextricable from this place. Jin, control room access is possibly around here."
Jin nodded. Every instinct told him this silent place was heavy with bad memories. He stepped forward, senses on high alert.
Behind the mess-hall, a solid steel door bore the letters SECTOR COMMAND - CRYO OPERATIONS.
Jin's HUD arrow pulsed toward it. The hum of machinery sounded louder, and the air here seemed much cooler than that of other areas. Through the bottoms of his boots, he sensed small vibrations.
"This is it then? The... main brain place?" He tilted his head left then right. "You sure it's really safe, Asha? It feels really... grumbly."
"Jin, this is certainly the Cryo-Bay Alpha Control Room; the term 'main brain place' is an oversimplification. My remote sensors suggest consistent with failing systems trying to maintain core activities significant power draw variations coming from within. It's not a formal diagnostic term, feedback from broken dampeners responding to power surges. Approach with caution, but we have to keep going."
He nodded. "Alright," Jin continued on to the access panel next to the blast door. It was another bio-scanner, just like the one allowing him passage to this hallway from the main cryo-bay. Jin slammed his hand upon it. Then a succession of internal door clicks, the blast door started to pull back and shake gently into the wall.
Beyond the room was pitch black, with flashing crimson emergency lights. Most of them were dead, and panels were showing fast error messages in a language Jin didn't understand but Asha probably did. Consoles lined the walls. Everything was covered with a layer of dust, and wires hung from the ceiling. A big, circular holographic display table was totally closed in the middle of the room.
Jin stared wide at the sight. "This place seems.. Like, It needs a tough...fixing."
"That is a smart observation on its present state of randomness in a system, Jin. Exceeding the limits by several orders of magnitude, primary systems have run on emergency backup energy for about 7.3 years." She stopped and added, "Locate primary command console now, it should be the biggest array, probably positioned for best oversight of the cryobay schematics."
Jin moved forward. He discovered a sizable console set in front of what seemed to be a huge black screen. Before it there were a few turned-up chairs. It had little, dark screens, buttons, and switches.
"Okay, Asha. Lots of... clicky things here. Which one is the right button?"
"Accessing the diagnostic logs and attempt to reroute auxiliary power to stabilize critical life support for the dormant cryo-units. First, I require direct system access. There should be a neural interface port or a primary data conduit."
Jin stared at the console. "Kinda hard to figure that out." His mind seemed all a mess here. His finger hovered over that little, circular hollow which appeared clean-almost-new among the dusty buttons surrounding it.
"So this shiny circle? Is it.. what were you looking for?"
"That is a diagnostic input jack, Jin. Though not a design specification, that is definitely the interface I need. My main link, though, is included in your Phoenix Core. If one is available on this console, I can assist you find in your basic cryo-kit a multi-tool that I need you to interface with the Vault's main system using a compatible physical port."
Jin blinked. "Ummm...I don't know any of that?" He glanced down at his hands, then back at the console. "I... think I just have this suit and some extremely blurry memories of toasted bread." He discovered another hand-shaped scanner. "Oh! Is this the one?"
He smacked his palm down on it.
All at once, a dark screen above the console brightly opened into life with an overwhelming rapidly scrolling text, error codes, and diagnostic readouts, all in that strange-sounding language. Alarms were now shouting from speakers around the room. Red lights strobed violently.
SYSTEM CORRUPTION DETECTED - UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT - PRIMARY CORE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED - FAILURE IMPENDING flashed in angry red letters on the main screen.
Jin winced, shielding his eyes with his hand while looking at the gap of his fingers. "Asha! I think I've made it angry!!!"
Asha's voice remained calm, but she was running a thousand calculations at once. "Jin... that was the emergency physical lockdown override. You've not only bypassed several security subroutines but also triggered a full-system alert. While it has given us unrestricted access, it also..."—she paused—"significantly brought forward the timetable for power failure and probably alerted any remaining automated defense systems to our presence."
"The emergency override bypassed leftover safety buffers; that sudden load exposed the dwindling reserves — the core will lose critical output in roughly twelve minutes."
Jin's stomach flipped. He didn't even know what they were supposed to do. He looked around the chaotic control room.
"Okay...Okay, Asha. Don't worry." He took a deep breath, trying to channel calm seriousness he knew he had somewhere inside him. "What's the first thing we need to do, really, really fast?"
"Locate the manual override for the primary power conduit. If we can divert its remaining output directly to the stasis field generators, we might extend their operational window by a small margin. I am highlighting the suspected panel on your HUD. It will require precise manipulation."
Jin looked where the glowing box on his internal vision indicated.