Adam could hardly breathe, the cockpit was shaking violently and his Starstrike's optics were only showing the blue skies of Earth. as hard as he tried, he couldn't lift his arms, couldn't budge the controls even as he was deafened by the screaming of the wind's protest as his Orbital tore through the atmosphere. He couldn't see the smoke from the Queen any more, so he must have drifted away from it. he needed to move, but his body was limp, and the heat was bleeding into the cockpit pretty badly now. His skin felt like it was on fire.

[i]-up[/i]
Pull up? he was trying to! He was- in a cryo pod. Adam gasped as his brain shook off some of the cold. that single breath pushed him farther from his dream as the frigid air in the cryo bay granted him the wonderful sensation of inhaling razor-sharp blades of ice, stinging his parched throat. he pushed himself up and out of the angled cryo pod, only for every square inch of his body to protest hard enough to make him grit his teeth. Whatever parts of him that weren't experiencing that all-too-familiar pins-and-needles sensation were achingly, painfully cold. It was all he could do to keep from shivering-

"[i]...proceed from cryostasis chambers to ready stations. Pandora will reach orbit in one hour. Follow the post-hibernation routine and proceed to your station by then. I repeat, This is your Captain speaking...[/i]"
Routine. He could do that. The gears in his head were turning again, and training was still fresh in his mind- [color=orange][i]Wait, does it count as fresh if it's been frozen for fifteen years?[/i][/color] He was already soaking in the warmth of the running water as he chuckled at his own stupid joke... The water felt good, washing away the grungy cryo film clinging to him like a soaked shirt. He couldn't just stand in the warmth forever though, and he quickly scrubbed himself down, the movement and warmth chasing away the numbness of a fifteen year freezer-nap. In moments he was clean again, though he had yet to shake the chill from his bones, he had to move on.

He trudged on through the open doorway and into the locker room. He was at the rear of the pack and a fair few lockers were left swinging open. he returned to his, nudged a locker door out of the way and opened his own. Inside there was just his flight suit. No pictures, no trinkets or memories. In the back of his mind he felt... sad? disappointed? He couldn't tell. As the flight suit went on, he shook off that indescribable feeling. He went through all the checks step by step. gloves, boots, legs, belt, sleeves. flex and look for slipping. nothing.

The thickness of the suit was already warming his body up when he entered the Mess. The faint smells of a dozen different mass-manufactured meals wafted about, and he absentmindedly pulled one out of the cardboard box nearest to him. A thought buzzed at the back of his mind, but more pressingly, there was a table with plenty of open seating still. [color=orange][i]And that one guy is even taller than I am. I won't stick out nearly as much! jackpot![/i][/color] He could pick out their voices over the low din of the rest of the mess if he tried-

[color=6ecff6][i]"Morning. Haven't missed the party, have I?"[/i][/color]
[color=orange][i]Voice-to-Text?[/i][/color]
[color=#239C89]"...Just when were you frozen, miss?"[/color]

He quietly set his tray on the table and took his seat before opening his MRE, dumping the main course in it's sleeve and activating the thermal pack to get it heating. He poured the off-tasting cheese-sludge between the two overlarge cracker-sheets for something to gnaw on while he waited. He looked down the table to the only other person in a nonstandard pilot suit, a woman with purple hair.
"[color=orange]Wait, you got the deepfreeze early? Are you part of the science crew?[/color]" asking never hurt.

A thought hovered at the back of his mind, nagging at him that something was off as he quietly munched on his substandard appetizer.
[i][color=8F8F8F]MREs...[/color][/i]