"What do you mean?" Jett struggled again against his bonds. "What are you doing to me?"
"Saving your life, my new friend. I have a feeling about you. I think you're… special. Time is short, I'm afraid. See you on the other side."
Slots opened in the capsule, expelling thick liquid. It gurgled as it quickly filled up the entire chamber. Jett held his breath for as long as he could; until black specks danced across his vision. The air finally expelled in a blast of viscous bubbles. His scream was choked by the gelatinous liquid pouring down his throat. Fire erupted in his chest as his lungs filled, drowning him.
A sudden rush of freezing air turned everything into frigid ice. The last thing he saw was the sky tearing open and a fiery eye staring down at him, into him, burning him alive.
Approximately 300 years later
Chapter 2
Good evening. You're with Cam Danvers on another NYN news Fast Break. The weather might have cooled off some of the gang war altercations, but it hasn't stopped the murder rate from rising to alarming rates once again. Just this evening three passersby were taken to the hospital with critical injuries after being caught in the middle of an all-out brawl in Joe's Tavern. Eyewitnesses say rival gangs Crimson Kings and Krazy Eights were responsible for the injuries and property damage totaling in the thousands. This makes six violent altercations in the last three days, with RCE officials offering little explanation for why they're unable to—
"You're one of those Defrosts, aren't you?"
Jett looked up from his shot of whiskey. The man at the bar next to him was short, disheveled, and unremarkable in appearance. Sandy hair pulled back into a wispy ponytail, buckshot stubble across his cheeks, and large front teeth that made Jett immediately think of a rodent when the man gave him a friendly grin.
"Tim LeBlanc's my name. The Tim ain't important. I go by LeBlanc professionally." He offered a hand, which Jett reluctantly shook.
"Didn't mean to disturb you. Just noticed the holoband. Brand new issue. Which means either you just got outta the funhouse or you just got thawed out."
"The funhouse?"
"Yeah, you know — jail. The 'fun' label is witticism."
"Yeah, I get it. Didn't know people still got locked up. Thought they just shoot you dead in the streets when you break the law."
"That's just the street sweepers. Haven-approved robotic assassins. They don't get activated as much as people think. But plenty of other offenses can get you cooling your heels in a box. That's what the RCE uniforms are for. Keeping the so-called peace. Street sweepers usually step in when things get seriously outta hand."
"Well, I'm not an ex-con." Jett glanced at the holoband on his wrist. It functioned as a communicator, computer, and personal assistant; able to project an interactive holographic display in visually stunning clarity. It possessed all of his records, his identification, his entire new life biologically bonded to his unique DNA through a chip embedded in his wrist. If removed, the holoband would cease to function, and an alert would go directly to the nearest RCE station.
LeBlanc let out a loud guffaw. "I knew it. You're a Defrost. So, you were there at the end. At the Cataclysm. Then you went under and woke up three hundred something years later. Man, what was that like? When you first came out of stasis?"
Millions of icy pinpricks like tiny stabs across his entire body. Muscles limp, he slumped to the floor, vomiting oxygenated liquid until his lungs burned. Quivering uncontrollably, barely aware of lab-coated personnel trying to ease him upright. Black-armored security guards were present as well, regarding him with a coldness he couldn't decipher. He didn't care. The world was a photo flash of brilliant light and blaring noise, disorienting and overwhelming. It was too sudden, too much to process. He curled into the fetal position and wailed like a newborn.
Jett shook his head, dispelling the memory. It had been six months, and he still couldn't shake the experience. At times he felt he was still asleep, trapped in the hibernation chamber, frozen in time. The dreams he experienced while within were almost indistinguishable from his current reality. Close enough to give him nagging doubts that kept him awake at night, afraid that if he fell asleep, he would never wake again. When he did sleep, nightmares of being trapped in the pod tormented him. He would awaken in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, unaware of where he was, what year it was.
"It was… difficult." Jett motioned to Kermit the bartender for another shot, turning slightly away from LeBlanc. He hoped the man would get the message, but LeBlanc kept right on without notice.
"Wow. That's gotta be one helluva mind job. Go into stasis in the twenty-first century, and wake up to this." He gestured to the dimly lit, dilapidated bar. Sectioned in the Warrens, it reflected the area's reputation for being the worst district in Neo York. The walls were cracked and pockmarked with holes, the tables mismatched and greasy, the floor lined with a mixed layer of spilled drinks, muck, and old vomit. Kermit hosed the place down once every three days, but it did little to make the place more palatable. Not that it mattered to the regulars. Customers like Jett were there for only one reason.
The drinks were cheap.
"Yeah. It's a mind job, all right." Jett downed a shot. The burn of the cheap liquor was a welcome sensation. It was something he could feel. Something beyond the numbness.
There was no one in any of the other stasis chambers when he was resuscitated. William Golding had set his pod to open earlier and had left Jett alone, locked in stasis with no release date. He was only discovered because scavengers had found a way inside, where they alerted the authorities after looting the place for whatever wasn't bolted down.
There was no welcome, no familiar or friendly faces. Just indifferent aides who processed him like an unwanted breed of animal. He was given a holoband, a tiny living space in the Warrens, and a job in the sewage department, wading through piss and shit every day. His sole companion for twelve hours was a hovering, all-purpose robotic tool. He made just enough to purchase meal rations, utilities, and second-hand clothes. He spent the little he had on drinks in Kermit's Pub.
"I didn't think it was gonna be like… this." Jett grimaced. "When they finished building the Havens, there was this glorious feeling. The promise of a new future. Something better. We all felt it. Hope, you know? Even when you didn't get selected, you still felt good knowing a better world was secured. Things were as bad as they could get. There was no way the future would be anything like that. Just no way."
LeBlanc took a swallow of beer. "Yeah, fate has a wicked sense of humor."
Kermit glanced their direction. "Shut up a minute. The lottery numbers are on."
The bar quieted when the flickering picjector in the corner projected a holographic display. The numbers rattled off while everyone held a collective breath. Everyone but Jett. He knew his chances of hitting were as likely as waking up back in 2046 from a bad dream.
The announcement ended, and everyone went back to their drinks and inebriated conversations. Someone in Neo York had scored a fortuitous new life in Haven Core, but it wasn't any of them.
LeBlanc turned back to his beer with a wry grin. "Well, hell. Another chance for life in paradise down the drain. Just like the last forty years and change."
"Maybe tomorrow," Jett said.
LeBlanc laughed. "Yeah, maybe tomorrow. Listen, I'd love to pick your brain about the old days. Been seeing you in here most nights. Maybe we can chat again sometime."