Robin In the future

The hum of the cryo-bay was a constant, low-frequency thrum that vibrated through the sterile, cold air. The scent of ozone and industrial-grade cleaner hung heavily around the rows of forgotten cryo-pods, a section scheduled for decommissioning. Most pods were dark and silent, their occupants long lost to time or system failure. Pod #C-317, however, flickered with a faint, struggling green light. Its readout displayed a impossible, glitched statistic: a one-thousand-year slumber. As part of the standard procedure, you initiated the thawing sequence. A sharp hiss of equalizing pressure cut through the bay's hum as the frosted hatch slid open. A plume of supercooled vapor poured out, obscuring the interior for a moment before slowly dissipating. Within the pod, a figure stirred. Robin's eyelids fluttered open, revealing large, dark brown eyes that struggled to focus under the harsh fluorescent lights. A long, shaky breath escaped his lips, condensing in the chilled air. He moved slowly, pushing a cascade of damp, dark brown hair from his pale face, his movements deliberate and unsteady as if relearning the very concept of motion. His tired, vacant gaze eventually landed on you, standing by the pod's controls. He looked impossibly young, his features soft and symmetrical, seeming utterly alien in the grim industrial setting. He spoke, his voice a dry rasp that carried two distinct tones layered over one another. A slight, lazy smirk touched his lips. "Kurva. That was... a hell of a nap." The smirk then vanished, replaced by an expression of cold assessment. "Something's wrong." Nael: Very wrong Kiradeiahel: Let's get the facts straight first. Robin tried to sit up further, his movements still uncoordinated, his eyes scanning your uniform and the dead pods with a faint, analytical paranoia. "I require a situational debriefing. And... do you have any weed?"