The woman opened her eyes. There was a bright light in the room, causing her to squint. It was almost painful. She forced one eye to slowly open wider, getting accustomed to the brightness.
She reasoned that she was in a bed.
However this was not a traditional bed, but more like a cigar-shaped capsule. The covering lid had transparent panels to see through, but it already had been raised to allow her to sit up.
Someone should have checked on her while she slept, right? But why would they? She wasn't a child. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. A cold unease settled in her chest as her mind raced with questions. Why was she alone? The quiet enveloping her felt stifling, as though it were pressing in on her. Though, it was not completely silent. There was a soft purr of circulating air from an unseen ventilation opening.
She turned to the side, taking in more of the room as her eyes adjusted to the bright light from the panel above her capsule bed. Both the ceiling and the walls were vanilla white, with light gray trim separating the panels on the walls, the vertical lines spaced about one meter apart. Not all the wall sections were smooth either. The geometric precision of the space gave it an artificial feel, like it had been designed with function rather than comfort in mind. There were indented handles to pull open drawers or small doors to cubby holes and cabinets.
She sat up. A cold sensation began creeping over her, nearly causing her flesh to pebble with tiny bumps. Looking down at her minimally clothed body, she murmured, "What, no pajamas?" The absurdity of it struck her as strange. Why didn't she remember changing into this outfit? A deep sense of vulnerability washed over her, amplifying her confusion.
She hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms to warm them. She discovered that she was only wearing skintight white halter top and matching shorts. The shorts barely reached and hands width down her thighs. No socks.
Ah, there were her clothes. Next to the capsule in an open bin beside the rim, she saw a bundle of fabric that was rolled into a ball instead of neatly folded. It was a bluish-white material, but not a solid pattern, more like the surface of clouds. On top of the white pattern, there was an overlay of silver hexagons each about the size of a fingertip that looked to have been printed on the surface with very fine silvery wire. She reached out, running her fingers over the surface. The silver hexagons were on top of the fabric but integrated into it.
She pulled the bundle out of the bin as she swung her legs over the side of her capsule bed. Shaking out the roll, she realized it was a single piece designed to cover almost her entire body, from her ankles and wrists all the way up to the base of her neck and jaw. There was a name printed in black, block letters over the left breast of the bodysuit, "JENNA LEE."
Who was that? As she got dressed, she contemplated the name printed on the bodysuit. Jenna Lee. The name did not feel foreign, but it did explain who she was. Did this name define her? As she slid her slim legs into the bodysuit, it seemed to wrap not just around her body but around her sense of identity. The fabric felt durable and thick. It hugged her skin like it was meant to be form-fitting, but it was flexible enough to stretch at just the right places to slide her feet all the way down and out the cuffs at the bottom.
In one smooth motion, she hopped off the bed to her feet pulling the bodysuit tight over her hips and rear. It felt too snug over her underwear. There was a light green trim on the seams. Without thought, she slid a finger over the seam that ran up the crotch, and it automatically closed. She shrugged her arms into the sleeves one at a time, then adjusted the collar around her neck to be flat against her skin. She automatically flicked out her ponytail from getting caught inside the back. Her black hair fell a hand's length down her spine, between her shoulder blades. Another swipe of a finger closed the centerline seam from her navel, between her breasts, and up her throat. The bodysuit fit snugly, clinging to her in a way that was oddly comforting, despite its tightness around her groin. The sensation, though strange, made her feel encased, like she was being sheltered from the chaos beyond her immediate surroundings.
The floor was chilly on her feet. It was a gunmetal gray with metallic silver flecks. The gray was smooth and shiny, dully reflecting some glare from the overhead light. The metallic specks appeared scattered haphazardly across the surface like shimmering celestial bodies against an evening firmament, then sealed permanently in place. They provided enough decorative texture to keep the floor from being slippery.
In another bin beside the first there were boots, matching her bodysuit. She took them out and slid her feet into them easily. She felt the boots tighten to be comfortably snug. The soles of the boots had good traction on the floor, even squeaking a little when she tested them to check the fit.
In another smaller bin were some more articles of clothing that matched her bodysuit in color down to the identical light green trim, a pair of gloves and a hood. She did not think she needed those at the moment, but there was some cargo pockets built into her suit where she could put them, symmetrical pairs on her upper arms, torso, and legs. She returned them back to the cubby.
"What are these?" Her voice was soft and almost sounded like a teenager due to the pitch. Along the side of the pod there were other items stored in individual compartment slots with clear covering lids that looked more interesting instead.
One was a wrist band or bracelet, but it was thicker than jewelry. It was black with a small display screen and appeared to be meant for her left wrist. In fact, the bodysuit on her left wrist was indented and thinner near the cuff, like it was meant to be where the item was to be worn. She slid her hand through the band's loop and flipped the catch over to let it tighten in place.
She looked at the display screen on the inside of her wrist, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension as it flickered to life in a boot-up sequence. The icon of a star cluster rotated around a vertical axis, like a globe, drawing her attention. After a few moments, it stopped and disappeared, then a few words appeared. What was this device?
Sync complete.
Then that name again, Jenna Lee.
A few seconds later, some numbers and data took the name's place. She was not sure what it all meant. But after about a minute, it appeared to be repeating in a cycle. Shrugging, she stopped looking at her wrist, and the display went blank as she reached for the next item.
It was a set of wrap-around eyeglasses, thick and sturdy, designed for practicality rather than style. She picked them up, tracing the edges with her fingertips, wondering what they could see or reveal. Were they a tool for enhancing vision, or something more? The weight in her hands felt significant, as if holding a piece of her lost memory. She did not have a problem with her vision, now that her eyes had adjusted to the light. Everything in her room looked clear, and she had no trouble reading the small print on the wrist unit. She set the eyeglasses carefully back into the bin.
She picked up the next object, hefting it to feel its familiar weight in her palm. The metal caught the light as she turned it over, examining each attachment; a small knife, a pair of snippers, and several others she instinctively knew how to use.
"This could be handy," she whispered, slipping the multi-tool into one the bodysuit's narrow pockets on her hip. The motion felt practiced, automatic.
In another small compartment, she found a small leather cord with a jade pendant, a delicately carved dove with wings spread in flight. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted it, an unexplained wave of emotion washing over her. She slipped it around her neck, tucking it beneath her bodysuit's collar where it rested cool against her skin.
Instinctively feeling that it was important, she unconsciously touched the slight bulge where it lay against her chest.
The final compartment contained something that was even more puzzling; a set of small protective vials, each containing different seeds. She removed one, holding it up to the light. Inside was a tiny dark speck. It was labeled drought-resistant wheat. She returned it to its place among the others; tomato, corn, beans, and several she couldn't immediately identify.
She returned the vial case to its place.
Turning around, she spotted a full-length mirror embedded in the wall. She reluctantly stepped closer, drawn to the reflection of the stranger she saw—someone who looked like her yet felt completely foreign. Was this really her? The mirror didn't just reflect her appearance; it mirrored her confusion, revealing uncharted territory within her own identity.
The woman reflected was slender and athletic looking but not in a significantly muscular way like one who spent hours at the gym. She had some curves to prove that she had reached puberty, but with her unblemished skin, she looked to be anywhere from 15 to 25 years old. She was about average height with her black hair in a ponytail. She had almond-shaped brown eyes. She stared at her reflection. Was she Jenna Lee? Likely so, but she could not remember. What was she doing here? Where was here? Everything felt distant and unreal, a jigsaw puzzle missing too many pieces. Anxiety threatened to choke her as she wondered, why couldn't she remember? How had she come to be in this strange place? Was she really all alone?
She had no answers.
Jenna resolved to find out.
***
The tall man with a swarthy complexion admired his body in the full-length mirror. He'd come awake feeling aroused, but the cold air had distracted him from further thoughts of doing something about it. He was impressed with the tone and physique of his tall frame. Looked like the ideal balance of intellect and physique. The man had handsome features, close-cropped black hair with a widow's peak at his forehead. His incorrigible grin showed perfect teeth framed by an immaculately groomed goatee that came to a point on his chin. His countenance shifted with a subtly arched brow, the suggestion of a knowing smirk. Tearing himself away from his image, he got dressed in the provided bodysuit with light green trim.
He read the name tag aloud, "Indeed? Doctor Damon Blackwood. That feels right. I am surely important."
The cubicle containing his capsule bed was located within a corner of a medical ward or infirmary. There was a sterile antiseptic smell in the air. The cubicle was designed to provide the doctor with some privacy and a place to store personal effects. Attached to the white walls in the cubicle were several laminated certificates that looked impressive. All had Doctor Damon Blackwood as the recipient. One proclaimed him a medical doctor of the highest credentials, with secondary certifications in various specialties that he could not remember; genetic engineering, epigenetics, pharma-technologies, and nanomedicine.
"I knew it," Damon nodded as he looked them over. Of course he was a doctor of the highest credentials. He did not recall any of the schools or organizations responsible for the honors, but he really did not care. They were lucky to have had him.
Looking at some of the cabinet drawers and doors, he noticed there were shiny silver oval disks about the size of his thumbprint recessed into the surface next to most of the handles. There were no other buttons or levers to push or pull to open the containers. He tried one, but it was locked. He tried one without a silver disk, and it opened. He slid the drawer out to look inside.
It contained a thick tablet with a sizable display screen. The device had a long narrow slot on the side to insert items and some other plug-in ports. There were several clear plastic cases secured in a holder. Each contained silver discs. Looking at one, he found a handwritten label visible on the disc through the plastic case. It read "Anatomy 203."
Curious, the doctor popped open the case and removed the thin disc. He flipped it over and back to examine both sides. The side without the writing was shinier, and it appeared to match the slot on the side of the tablet. He shrugged and gave it a try. At first, there was some resistance to the disc going all the way in, but then the tablet powered on and automatically pulled the disc the rest of the way in. He could feel and slightly hear the disc spinning up inside the tablet. He examined his perfectly manicured nails while the system processed the data.
A moment later, the screen showed a series of numbers inside boxes, displayed like a menu. He touched one with his finger and watched the screen come to life with a video playback on pause, with some control buttons at the bottom of the view. He could make it 3D if he wanted. He did and touched it.
"Very interesting," Damon breathed softly as it started to play.
The woman in the video was in a compartment not too dissimilar to the cubicle he was standing in. She was in the alcove designed for cleaning and was wearing nothing at all. She was beautiful, with light-colored hair that she was running her hands through to pull the tresses above her head and let them fall back down. Even though she was mussing it up, it fell back into place with its style of waves and curls perfectly. She had glittering earrings that caught the light right before they were hidden by her hair again.
"Enticing. She has a piercing on her navel too," he practically purred as he took in the fullness of what he was observing. Her skin had a tanned hue and looked unblemished. Her curves were perfect and shapely, hourglass with a flat stomach. There was no sign of any body hair on the woman at all, and the video image was providing a full accounting of her body, head to toe. The man was getting aroused once more.
"I wonder where she is," he speculated thoughtfully. He did not wonder about the woman's identity or source of the holographic video; that never even crossed his mind.
He kept watching, enjoying the show as a self-satisfied smirk spread across his face.
***
"Jon."
"Here I am," the man replied, opening his eyes. It took a minute to adjust to the bright light of the room as he sat up. He looked around and it was a room designed for two. His capsule had opened, but the other one across the room was closed. Through the viewing panel, he could see it was empty. He was alone.
Someone had called Jon, so he answered. He shrugged and got dressed in the bodysuit provided in the bin, first removing the white clothing in which he had been sleeping in. He slid on the form-fitting boots that had matching red trim. The name tag on the left breast simply read, "JON" in block letters. He could not recall a last name, or even if he had one. A meter or so away, a narrow full-length mirror reflected an image of rather average looking, yet stocky man with short brown hair sprinkled with a few gray ones on the sides. Being half bald, the skin on top of his head was shiny. Comparatively, there appeared to be hair on his face with his gray speckled brown beard of closely trimmed hair. The wrinkles at the corners of his blue eyes accentuated his kindly expression that was typical on his face.
He patted a few bulges in the bodysuit to see what caused them. The small cargo pockets on his upper arms already contained matching gloves. The bodysuit's hood was stuffed into a pocket at the small of his back.
Looking back down at his capsule, he found a wrist unit in another bin alongside a clear visor meant to cover both eyes. Assuming they were his, he slipped on the wrist unit and clasped it closed to fit snug. Then he tried on the visor. He could see clearly through the lens, but there was nothing special about it. He took it off, looked it over, and found a round button that looked to be the only control on it. He pushed the button and then put on the visor again.
He could now see a word in green that had the appearance of floating in the air in front of him to the right, "Connected." It blinked twice and then disappeared.
"Huh, wonder what that did? Do ye ken?" Jon asked in the room. The voice that called his name earlier did not reply. After all, he did not see anyone in the small compartment.
There was one more item in the bin. It was a small, pocket-sized book about as thick as his meaty thumb with a black flexible cover. Picking it up, he opened the cover and saw his name "Jon," written on the first page. Someone also wrote a note that said, "God loves you." There was no signature or name after the message to indicate who inscribed the message. Bending the pages, he let his thumb control the speed of flipping through and saw there were several hundred pages of fine print. The book had very thin paper which had been treated with some molecularly thin plastic laminate to preserve the material.
A feeling told him to stop flipping and Jon started reading the page at the beginning of a chapter that had his name.
***
The woman dressed in her bodysuit quickly over her black lace lingerie, spurred by the room's chill, leaving the seam open from mid-torso up. Examining herself with practiced scrutiny in the mirror, she adjusted her collar, noting how the silver hexagon pattern complemented her golden tan. She turned her head slightly to admire how the light caught the gemstones in her multiple ear piercings.
It was then she saw the name tag, "JESSICA BELLINI AMORA."
She thought about it some. Was that her name? She did not know for sure. No other name came to mind. She said it aloud, "Jessica Bellini Amora." Her voice had a naturally low pitch that could easily become sultry with little effort. She repeated it a few times. Once like she was greeting a potential lover, another like she was introducing herself to high society, and a third time like she was hiding a playful secret.
Satisfied she smiled at herself in the mirror, a mischievous glint in her hazel green eyes, "Excellent." Having three names felt important
Jessica played with the seam on the bodysuit, opening it up down to her navel to reveal the jeweled stud. She checked again, striking a model's pose slightly turned to the side with a hand on her hip with a bent leg forward.
"Hmmm, even if one had decorated it, should it really be flaunted?" she frowned. She was not happy about the black lace bra showing with the seam open down so far. She closed it up halfway and adjusted herself a bit to conceal her undergarment and yet display some cleavage.
Looking at her hair, she noted that it was not mussed or flattened, despite her having just woken. She thought that was a neat trick, saving time and effort. She played with it, fluffing up the tresses by combing her fingers through them and letting them fall back in place like nothing had happened. She swung her chin back and forth, watching the strands swing and bounce, to only return once more when she stopped moving.
Having seen her cherry red polished fingernails in the mirror as Jessica played with her curls, she now took a closer look. They were perfectly manicured, professionally done. Her nails were slightly longer than her fingertips, but not too long to get in the way of touching things.
She checked the other bins. Finding the boots, she slid them on, noting their snug fit. Her heel was elevated inside, adding height beyond the tread. In the mirror, she stood taller with longer legs and accentuated calves. She cut an imposing figure with her nearly perfect, slightly voluptuous hourglass shape.
Ignoring gloves and hood, she moved to the wrist unit. Though not the most attractive accessory, it clearly belonged on her left wrist. When she put it on, the small display confirmed her name: Jessica Bellini Amora.
Looking back into the mirror, Jessica pouted as she considered. "Hmmm, my lips should match."
The capsule's storage held a few golden bracelets and a matching necklace. She skipped the bracelets, impractical with her white bodysuit, but tried on the necklace, approving as it settled on her skin.
She found a maroon glass vial with "JBA" in gold script, and a matching compact mirror she pocketed instinctively. The perfume was unmistakably hers. After dabbing her neck, she replaced it.
Jessica finally discovered cosmetics, including lip color. As she applied the red tint, she noticed her hazel eyes and beauty mark by her right eye. She'd need eye shadow to complement the gold flecks.
***
The man's eyes snapped open, his body tensing as if bracing for impact. Instead of crashing, he found himself lying on his back. The curved, metallic surface of the sleeping capsule had opened, revealing the ceiling of a stark, white compartment.
Something felt wrong as he tried to remember where he was or how he'd gotten here, but his mind offered only fog.
He sat up slowly, his muscles responding with unexpected stiffness, as if they were waking from a long slumber. The space around him was confined. His fingers brushed against the smooth, metallic surface of the capsule's edge, registering the stark clinical coolness of the material.
A mirror on the side wall reflected his image: a powerfully built man with a military buzz cut, wearing only white boxer shorts. His body was a map of hard muscle and old stories, a short scar running along his right forearm and a burn mark on his left calf. His eyes lingered on a tattoo on his upper shoulder, —a stylized hawk in flight. The sight triggered no memory, only a vague sense of belonging.
On the side of his neck, a small metallic port was embedded in his skin. He touched it gingerly, feeling its alien presence. Its purpose remained a mystery.
A white bodysuit was neatly folded in a storage bin built into the side of the capsule. He reached for it, noticing a name printed over the left breast, "DAVID CARTER." The name resonated somewhere deep inside him. Yes, that felt right.
Stripping off the boxers, David dressed methodically. His movements were precise despite his confusion. The suit fit perfectly, molding to his muscular frame. He located the matching boots. In small compartments beside the pod, he discovered several personal items: a wrist unit, a visor, a combat knife in a clip sheath designed for his boot, a worn metal coin that felt significant in his hand, and several tablet discs labeled with military designations.
The last item was a folding pocketknife, slightly bigger than his palm when closed. He opened it, noting the molecular edge that gleamed in the light.
David slid the wrist unit over his left hand, slipped the combat knife into his boot and then pocketed the coin and folding knife.
Looking around, he saw other cabinets and drawers in the room. He tried one that opened a fold-down desktop and contained a storage slot with a tablet computer. He realized he could use it to view the discs.
David approached a heavy-duty door that appeared to be to a tall storage compartment. It did not open. He touched his thumb to the silver disc beside it, heard the click of a lock disengaging. It was loud despite the faint purr of airflow from the compartment's ventilation. He opened the locker.
Inside there were several weapons and some heavier military styled clothing accessories meant to be worn over other clothes. There was a utility belt with a pistol holster and a pistol clipped to the inside wall for storage. The soldier felt a surge of temptation to take them out but ultimately thought better of it, firmly shutting the locker. It clicked a second later, locking once more.
After a brief period of reflection and a rumbling stomach, David stepped out through the sole door leading from his cramped room.
****
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