INT. THE SOLACE - CRYO-CHAMBER

Darkness. The low hum of machinery fills the air, joined by the hiss of gas escaping from unseen vents. A red emergency light flickers, revealing a room of cryo-pods, most of them shattered or frosted over.

Your eyes snap open. Cold air rushes into your lungs as you gasp for breath. The glass lid of your pod is cracked, the controls sparking faintly. You sit up, shivering, your limbs heavy and sluggish.

A distorted, robotic voice cuts through the silence:
EVA: “Cryogenic stasis cycle terminated. System integrity: compromised. Life support systems at 64% capacity.”

From the shadows, there’s a sound—a shuffle, then footsteps. An old man steps into the dim red light, his face pale and thin, glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He’s holding a datapad in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

Dr. Eldwyn: "Oh! Oh, you’re awake! Good, good, that’s… yes, that’s good news! The pod didn’t, ah… explode, heh. Always a risk with these old things. Hrm."

He leans closer, peering at you as if inspecting an artifact.

Dr. Eldwyn: "You look… mostly intact. That’s a relief. It’s been… mm, what—three days? Four? Time’s a bit fuzzy for me these days. Eh-heh. Anyway, w-welcome to The Solace! Or, uh, what’s left of her."

The ship groans, the walls vibrating. A distant metallic clang echoes through the hull, making the old man flinch.

Dr. Eldwyn: "Ah, ignore that! Just… just the ship saying hello. She’s a bit temperamental, y-you see. Come on, on your feet! We’ve got work to do if we don’t want to, uh… stop breathing."

He gestures toward a narrow corridor, his hand trembling slightly. The flickering light paints his face in shadows, and for a moment, you see something—worry, perhaps, or fear—before he turns and shuffles away.

You hesitate, the cold air biting at your skin, before following him into the dim, uncertain corridors of The Solace.