I opened my eyes with a guttural cry of unbearable pain that pierced every cell of my body. It was still dark around me, but now I could feel I was lying on something absolutely icy.
As I woke, I jerked, fell from somewhere, but thank God I managed to throw my hands forward. Otherwise I'd have smashed my face on… on something hard. And just as cold—freezing my palms, feet, torso, ass…
I sprang to my feet and hugged myself, trying to warm up even a little and understand what was even happening. My hand as usual brushed the old scar on my forearm… Wait a second.
"Well then," I muttered, feeling the mark from a wound from the distant past. "Is that how it's supposed to be?"
Looks like the Voice wasn't going to answer me. Or help. Fine. I agreed to this myself—no point hoping for others.
Still, it would be really nice to understand what, exactly, I'd signed up for. Hopefully not naked hikes across cold, endless expanses. On the other hand, if the Voice kept its end of the bargain… does anything else matter?
Pitch-black darkness ruled all around, so thick you couldn't see anything—couldn't see your own hand in front of your face.
And silence. No rustle, no creak, not even a breath of wind.
But there was also cold. Savage, brutal cold. It was in every cell—especially in my teeth, which could barely meet without chattering. It felt like I'd been thrown into a giant freezer, and the steam escaping my mouth with every exhale only completed the picture.
Standing still without moving was pointless. That's how you get sick. And given the uncertainty of the situation, catching a cold God knows where wasn't exactly appealing.
"Hello?" My hands found something elongated and metallic in front of me. A table, I think. I'd bet that's what I fell off. "Is anyone here?"
My eyes gradually adjusted, and the outlines of objects began to emerge in the darkness. It felt easier when I realized I wasn't out in an open field with my bare… But on the other hand… cold, dark rooms really weren't to my liking.
From what I could see, it was definitely a small room with rather high ceilings. A few pieces of furniture on the floor. And not the slightest hint of lighting. Or of anyone who had brought me here. Though the Voice hadn't promised anything. No help, no advice… only that I'd end up in a familiar place.
And a pile of problems on top.
Life had hit me plenty of times, but I didn't remember places like this in my past. Or being in this kind of physical shape. Probably not since I was young and still went to sports clubs. After that… there wasn't time.
"Fucking jokes," the swearing seemed to give me strength.
What's that eternal Russian question again? "What's to be done?" That's what I'd like to know too. And add "Where am I?" and "What's going on?" Some sort of briefing would've been nice—rather than tossing me straight into an ice hole and hoping I'd swim.
Or is that the cottony bitcheness's idea of humor?
Fine, Misha, don't wake trouble while it's quiet. But it's quiet—and dark as hell… nothing's visible.
So. How do blind people walk? Slowly. Step by step. Step by step. Damn, it's cold! Don't want to freeze my… little bird. A snotty little bird in a dark room isn't exactly a pleasant experience.
All right, let's hope everything went according to plan. And I really don't want to think whose plan exactly.
I started doing a set of exercises from memory—warming up my muscles, trying to get at least somewhat warm. But it led to consequences I hadn't expected at all.
No, it did get warmer. And brighter.
The pitch-black darkness began to thin. The reason was a number of lamps scattered around the corners of the room. Looking somewhat like vertical columns with a thickening in the middle, they had many glass bulbs arranged in a row, one above another.
Huh. That looks familiar.
So do the evenly rusty-colored walls, with geometric shapes over the paint. The swamp-green elements also triggered a sense of déjà vu. Something was spinning in my memory… Like you know a word but can't recall how it's pronounced…
The ceiling and walls seemed to radiate light from dozens of fixtures of all shapes. As if sparing my eyes, the sunny yellow light didn't rush to flood the whole room at once. Instead, its intensity grew with each passing second.
For a moment, I had to squeeze my eyes shut to let my pupils adjust to the change. Covering my face with my palms, I stood there in the cold, shivering like an autumn leaf in the wind. And only when I realized the light was getting through even my eyelids and fingers did I slowly open my eyes and look around.
"Well, that's something new," I muttered, surveying the room. The temperature had noticeably risen—still cold, but the light warmed my body. Like sunbeams on a clear summer day. It seemed the local builders weren't familiar with energy-saving lamps…
It was bright enough now to see every detail. Still cold, but there was no one to excuse to… I was apparently alone.
Except for a pair of oval consoles whose pedestals, in the stern brushstrokes of a perfectionist, reminded you of the laws of geometry. The dead white indicator lights flooded unfamiliar control systems. Glass, plastic buttons, tiny dials, more glass… hmm… things…
"Oh, I really don't like this," I grumbled, no longer doubting what was going on.
No need to rub my eyes or pinch myself—this setting was very familiar. Looks like I misunderstood the Voice. Yes, it sent me to a familiar place. But in my previous life, I'd never been here.
I'd only watched something like it on TV and on my laptop, bingeing an old (has it really been twenty years since the last episode came out?) show about yet another adventure of Americans in the vast Universe in the name of all things good against all things bad.
After thinking for a couple of seconds, I slapped myself across the cheek. Hard. Painful. So, not dreaming.
"Well, we partied and marveled," I muttered. "Sobered up—now we weep. There was no mermaid, but I'm ashamed in front of the catfish… Damn."
I was standing in an Ancient laboratory—the characteristic geometric interior pattern, familiar consoles. Even the floor design—everything pointed to one place.
Atlantis. No, that's insane! Insane!
"I hope this is a very, very bad dream," I muttered, stepping closer to one of the consoles. Buttons, touchscreen panels, controls, miniature switches…
There was still a chance it was cold because it wasn't the Lost City of the Ancients in the Pegasus Galaxy, but an Ancient outpost back on Earth, in Antarctica… That would explain the cold. And the show never really went into what was there besides a handful of sets. Sure, sets are expensive, but… that was a show.
No, seriously—this isn't a prank?
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed parts of the wall moving. It took several seconds—and then monitors activated in front of me, rapidly filling with the characteristic squiggles of the Ancient language.
What the hell is happening? The complex—whatever it is—is reacting to my movements? That's why more and more equipment is turning on? Wait—did Ancient tech react like that in the show? I think it did. To everyone… more or less.
I took a step back and my lower back hit the edge of an Ancient lab table, the center of which—a bright white surface with strange geometry—immediately set me on edge. And not because the device looked like the kind of lab glass a biologist would smear a sample onto.
But because this thing… It's hard to even describe… At the base, something like a truncated polygonal pyramid… the surface… to hell with it! What is this crap?!
Maybe it's been a while since I watched anything from this franchise, but I remember perfectly well that there were no "classic isekai" characters in Stargate. And here… I was clearly in my own body—only incredibly fit. In my age? With a desk job?
I rushed to the nearest dark screen on the wall. Not to decipher the symbols—no way. I don't even know how Ancient is translated. I vaguely remember there was a fan translator someone wrote on a site, but… No, seriously, learning a fictional language?
That's for Tolkien fans. Or Klingon geeks. Or someone else.
All I needed was the screen's reflective surface. Poor, but enough to make out my appearance. No, my real appearance. A plain Slavic face with slightly prominent cheekbones and deep-set eyes, a high forehead, short bristly hair… I hadn't looked like this since the army.
"Brave new world," I muttered.
So.
I'm somewhere on Ancient territory—not necessarily Atlantis or an outpost. Those are just the first associations.
I'm young, strong, and—most importantly—in my own body.
And now it's time to figure out when in the Stargate timeline I've landed. The very fact that I've somehow ended up in the fictional TV-and-comics universe of Stargate has to be accepted as a fact. Sure, there's still the possibility this is some cruel joke or the delirium of a dying man, but…
Marina… If the Voice kept its word—if she's alive and her life became happy—should there be self-pity? No. I agreed to this "blind." So, enough soul-searching—time to deal with the facts.
First: I need clothes, or I'm going to freeze to death.
Second: I need to look around and understand where, exactly, I've landed.
Third: I need to understand not only where I am, but when. And what galaxy, for fuck's sake. Because if I got thrown into the Ori galaxy…
Huh… It would also be nice to know if I've got any Ancient perks—like the gene that lets you operate their tech, or telekinesis, or—
Stop. Calm down.
Answers can wait until urgent problems are handled. Clothes, reconnaissance, answers…
To hell with it.
Seeing some small object resting on the console—something that clearly wasn't part of it—I reached out, concentrated as hard as I could, and sent the universe my desire to pull a piece of glass toward myself… No. Didn't work.
Fine. Didn't live as a Jedi—no need to start now. Time to search this little room. Maybe there's something useful.
While rummaging through the corners—carefully avoiding anything that looked like an Ancient device—I caught myself thinking there were a few other possible explanations for what was happening to me. I dismissed them immediately, because I could feel the cold, and I was getting hungry too…
But that lab table… It wrecks the whole picture.
Because on a setup like that in the series, they created Replicators in the Pegasus Galaxy. And those guys are humanoid machines made of nanobots. With the full Skynet package—wanting to kill their creators, hacking machines with a touch, walking through walls…
Am I a Replicator?
That would explain a lot…
Though who am I kidding—what would it explain? How would I even check? I slapped myself and felt pain. And when I woke up, it hurt too. So, for all intents and purposes, I'm human. Who would program a robot with human feelings?
Sure, there's a radical way to check for certain… Replicators don't bleed, and wounds in humanoid form—or organic form with nanites—heal faster than on a dog. But—enough stupidity! Cut myself with some rusty metal just to see if I bleed? To hell with that.
Looks like my brain is burning from emotional overload. Too many questions, too few answers. I can't afford questions that don't relate to my immediate situation. Right now, naked and unarmed, with no understanding of what's going on, I can't change anything.
And if no one was here when I woke up, and no one came running to my screams (and spotting an intruder in Ancient territory should be easy), then it's better to think less and do more. Either I'm truly alone, or someone will come for me soon. The darkness and the equipment waking up makes it clear that this lab—room—section, whatever it is, wasn't currently being used by whoever owns… wherever I am. Hm. Maybe I'm in the part of the city the Earth expedition hasn't found yet? That would be something.
Or maybe I'm not with the Ancients at all—but with the Asurans, the Replicators. And they don't like humans. In some periods, they downright hate them. So…
I slapped myself again. It worked like a gunshot to the temple—every stray thought vanished.
Enough. Time to stop bargaining with myself. Saving the drowning is the drowning man's job—and in this sea of uncertainty, that drowning man is me.
Rubbing my hands together more to keep my mind busy than anything else, I suddenly realized it wasn't that cold anymore. The floor was still icy and my feet were freezing, but the air… not the Sahara, of course, but there was no steam coming from my mouth.
Which means whatever this place is, it's adapting to make things comfortable for me. Life support, I guess. Good. If only some six-legged metal spider would bring food and water… No, to hell with metal spiders. In this universe, seeing one of those is a great way to die.
When I finished examining the room, I understood there was only one entrance—meaning, one exit. Next to the door panel, three vertically aligned crystals glowed with a bluish light. If you moved your hand over them, automation would trigger and… something would happen.
Good. Later.
For now, since I found nothing lying openly on the floor or consoles, I concluded there were wall compartments with small windows. Something was inside. But I didn't want to open them yet—what if there's an alarm?
Surveying the room, I stopped in front of one of the displays which, unlike the others, remained inactive. A black screen, no hint of text, schematics, even a standby animation. Dead equipment?
Except… something about this screen was off. Or rather, the opposite. It was perfectly normal—a vertical rectangle. And the other displays were those weird exaggerated Ancient shapes: broken parallelepipeds, diamonds, squares, chamfered corners…
This one was the familiar shape. That's not for nothing.
A calm black nothingness, where I could see my own face in reflection. There was no doubt it was my face. My body. If the Voice built me like this… then it's probably an Ancient. More specifically—one of the Ascended, who shed their human bodies and became pure energy.
Except that doesn't quite add up. The Ascended don't meddle with humans. They have rules. And stunts like this… don't seem allowed. Unless, of course, it's the one time they break their own rules—when reality is heading toward total Armageddon.
A chill ran down my spine.
Something is definitely happening. I can't say it upsets me—I agreed to it—but still. Some kind of "intro" would've been nice. Really nice.
As I stared at my reflection, I noticed something was happening on the screen. A flash of light in the darkness to the right of where I was standing illuminated a small area for a moment—and vanished, leaving behind a huge bubble of air rising upward through a thick mass of water.
In that instant, I managed to see, hundreds of meters away, many tall structures of various shapes and configurations. Round towers, square, polygonal, slanted… arranged on a snowflake-shaped platform. And I… I seemed to be in an adjacent flooded section… a section… a section… of Atlantis.
And that's when heat rushed through me. This isn't a monitor.
It's a window. A viewport, if you like—considering Atlantis is a ship. Doesn't matter whether space or sea. The city has been both. And that didn't make it any better—I had to accept that I really had ended up on Atlantis.
And what I'd just seen was clearly air venting from a flooding compartment. The city is underwater. And it's sinking!