The soft hiss of the hibernation pod opening breaks the silence. Sebastian's eyelids flutter, then squeeze shut against the harsh light. Disorientation hits him as he forces himself into a sitting position.

"Scheiße," the German curse escapes through gritted teeth. His military-trained reflexes fight against the vertigo, one hand gripping the pod's edge. The holographic display bathes his face in blue glow, showing vital signs and a mission brief: all observation points require data collection after his extended sleep - weather patterns, energy signatures, geological activities.

"Verdammt... straight back to work," he mutters with a sardonic twist of his lips. Despite the lingering headache, his movements remain controlled as he prepares to exit. Something about the base's quiet hum feels oddly familiar yet foreign, like a song in a forgotten language.