Darkness. Cold. Nothing. Those where the three words that had described the last fifty years in her solitary confinement. 

The plan was supposed to be flawless. A movement so swift, and so effortless, the government ought to not have seen it coming. But no. They broke down her door that day so many years ago, invading her house, her privacy and seized her notes. Everything that she had ever worked for -no, everything that her father, herself and her fellow friends had came up with- had been seized. Her life was in those notes. Her being. Her need to keep moving forward. She was brought into the interrogation room, cold, metal and sterile. Upon giving no information, that was when she would be sedated and put into one of the governments infamous cryochambers. And now here she was, memories surfacing through her mind so quick and vividly that it was a overflow of emotion. Anger, pain, and most of all the cold metal that now surrounded her as she could do nothing but cough the fluid from her lungs until the fresh air had room to finally come through. 

On her hands and knees, taking in the sight of the room as she rubbed the fluid from her own eyes, a sudden wave of warmth rushing through her body as she did her best to stand up, hearing the sound of water over head. Almost stumbling back to the floor, she would find a reassuring grab of her shoulder, finally gaining the least bit of control back of her legs. 

Looking up at the masculine figure before her, her blonde hair now soaked, appearing darker against her deathly pale skin, she would realize she was an easy 4 to 5 inches shorter than the man. Doing her best to speak, her lips would move, but no sound would come out. Taking one more deep breath, she would try again, licking her chapped lips.

"Wh-who are you," she asked, her voice raspy.