[hr][center][color=f49ac2][h1]Owen Childs[/h1][/color][/center][hr]

The whoosh of the cryo-tank’s door and the sudden freezing chill cutting through Owen’s body forced his eyes open like the snapping of fingers to a hypnotized subject. A yawn involuntarily escaped from Owen’s mouth, and he could hear several pops and cracks as he shifted his weight around. Unsteadily, his shaking hands grabbed at the edge of the cylinder and peeled his body away from the tank. He haphazardly took a step forward and, not noticing the warning sign, felt his stomach drop as his foot plummeted beyond where the floor was supposed to be. Owen managed to catch his balance just in time, and his first step into the brave new world was therefore, while poorly executed and embarrassingly awkward, a technical success. 

Owen rubbed his smooth head, still quite uncertain of what was going on or where he was. He felt like he had been dreaming; as he looked around and found himself surrounded by four others while wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs he decided that perhaps he was, in fact, still dreaming. Only in this dream he wasn’t late for an exam and the rest of the people in it weren’t the faceless horde of student but a few equally bewildered individuals dressed in nothing more than their skivvies. Three of the others in the room were young, attractive, and somewhat familiar women; the fourth was an older man with pruned skin and a gnarly beard. 

[i]Yeah. You’re wide awake, buddy.[/i]

Memories of taking the pill, the tests, Project Renascence, Cryonautics, the call from his buddy, and hundreds of other little details flooded into his mind. Relieved that he hadn’t learned something horrifying about his own desires, Owen looked back around the room. First, the women: Echo, Yaz, Ms. Sourpuss. He knew them, and they all seemed fine except for Yaz who was missing her arm. Or rather, she had always been missing her arm for as long as Owen had known her (which wasn’t very long, to be fair); now she was just missing her bionic arm as well. Owen glared at the other man, studying his face. It was recognizable but, much like hearing the melody to a song in his head without the actual lyrics, he couldn’t put a name to it. There was the absurd possibility that the old man was Andrew or Benji and that something had gone wrong with their pod and they had been let out years, decades earlier. Owen quickly threw that idea out; he had seen the man emerge from one of the tanks. Perhaps he had been frozen later, except that also made no sense considering the entire nature of the project.

All of this was thrusted to the side when Owen caught the gaze of one of the others and, as if he had just snacked from the tree of knowledge, realized he had been glaring at a bunch of half-naked people like some kind of peeping tom. Suddenly uncomfortable and only partially because he was freezing, he shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself. He could muse all day about cryo-tanks, old men, and finding out what the heck ever happened to the other two males let alone the rest of humanity once he had some clothes on. Basic needs once again trumped everything else; Maslow would be proud. 

[color=f49ac2]“You’d think they would’ve setup curtains. Bit of a design oversight,”[/color] he said with a faint smile as he rubbed his chin, mindful of where he rested his eyes. Six cryo-tanks, five people, nothing much else. Finally, they settled on a doorway. He nodded towards it. [color=f49ac2]“I’m gonna see if I can find some clothes.”[/color]

The walk down the short, metallic corridor was more of a task than Owen had imagined it to be. Each step arduous, shuffling, and painful like walking barefoot through foot-deep snow. There were a few doors lining the bright, sterile hallway, but only one was open. Through the doorway Owen could make out a table with what looked like a birthday cake on it, with a sink and countertops hugging the wall beyond it—the kitchen, he guessed. He took a step into the room and—

[color=#4dff4d]"Surprise! It’s me, B-Benji!"[/color]

[color=f49ac2]“Criminy, Doc. Don’t do that!”[/color] shouted Owen with surprise. 

He lowered his raised hands, glad for once that his reflexes were never the quickest. He could feel a few of the others walk into the room after him. Owen shifted uncomfortable as Benji wrapped a blanket around him, although he was admittedly grateful for the added warmth. While he was relieved to see Benji was okay, a wave of unease set upon him: [i]What happened to Andrew?[/i] It wouldn’t be much longer before Owen pieced at least part of it together, but for now he was still focused on what was directly before him. And as he watched the Doc flitter about while chatting rapidly about God knows what his earlier prognosis of the man being “okay” began to shift. Yet, clothes were the priority; he followed Benji.

It was getting easier to walk by this point and it wasn’t before long that they were in dormitory with six rooms. Owen’s room was the middle one on the right. It was tiny with little more than a bed, a desk, a nightstand, and a closet; it reminded him a lot of a college dorm room. A suit, black and crisp, was hanging in the tiny closet, with a pair of argyle socks and his leather shoes sitting next to the bed. He wasted no time getting dressed before hurrying back to the kitchen. He was certain the others would convene once they got themselves together, judging by his own grumbling stomach. He looked at the cake and frowned. Hopefully Benji knew how to get them real food. When Benji and some of the others made their way back, Owen stepped to one end of the table and leaned against it. Adjusting his glasses, he settled his gaze on Benji. Something that man said had been bothering him. 

[color=f49ac2]“Doc, you said you turned off the tanks? Does that mean somebody let you out, or…”[/color] Owen trailed off, folded his arms, and decided to change his question. [color=f49ac2]“More importantly, have you seen Andrew?”[/color]