# Chapter 1: Cold Awakening

The cold hit him first.

His eyes opened to darkness, and he gasped as if breaking the surface after being underwater too long. Rolling onto his side, he coughed, his cheek pressing against something hard and freezing. Metal. He was lying on metal.

He pushed himself up, his palms sliding slightly on the smooth surface. His head pounded with each movement. Where was he? The question repeated itself as his vision adjusted to the dim lighting.

Emergency lights glowed red along the edges of what appeared to be a corridor, casting just enough illumination for him to make out his immediate surroundings. The ceiling loomed high above, industrial pipes running across it like veins. The walls appeared to be metal panels, some dented, others sporting warning signs he couldn't quite read in the poor light.

He touched his forehead, trying to remember... anything. His name. How he got here. Where "here" even was.

Nothing came.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing down the corridor. No response followed except the soft hum of what might be ventilation systems. His own voice sounded strange to him, as if he hadn't heard it in a long time.

He stood up shakily, his legs almost buckling beneath him. How long had he been lying there? His muscles ached as if he hadn't used them in weeks. He patted himself down, trying to find anything that might tell him who he was.

His clothes were simple and utilitarian – gray pants that felt like some kind of scrub material, a matching short-sleeved shirt, and slip-on shoes with no laces. The outfit reminded him of hospital attire, except there were no markings or logos.

As he checked his pockets, his fingers brushed against something plastic. He pulled it out – a keycard. In the red emergency lighting, he could just make out the words "Subject 37" printed on it, along with a date. He squinted to read it better.

Six months ago. The date was from six months ago.

His heart rate quickened. Subject? What did that mean? Was he some kind of test subject? And more importantly, what had happened in those six months?

He slid the keycard back into his pocket and took a few tentative steps forward, placing his hand against the wall to steady himself. The corridor extended in both directions, identical emergency lights marking the way. With no reason to choose one direction over the other, he turned right.

As he walked, his strength gradually returned. The corridor seemed endless, with several closed doors along the way. He tried the handle of the first door he reached. Locked. He tried another. Also locked.

He pulled out the keycard again. Maybe it would grant him access. He looked for a card reader next to the door but found none. Either these doors used a different security system, or his keycard wasn't meant for them.

The corridor eventually opened into a wider area that looked like a reception or security checkpoint. Desks sat abandoned, papers scattered across the floor as if someone had left in a hurry. Computer monitors glowed with screensavers, casting an eerie blue light that contrasted with the red emergency lighting.

He approached one of the desks, hoping to find something useful. The surface was cluttered with coffee mugs, some kind of plastic badges, and paperwork with headers he couldn't quite make out in the dim light. He picked up one of the badges, turning it over in his hands. The photo and name were too faded or damaged to read.

He set the badge down and moved to one of the computer terminals. The screen displayed a login prompt, requiring a username and password he didn't have. He pressed a few keys experimentally, but nothing happened except the cursor blinking back at him expectantly.

Moving to another terminal, he found it already logged in. The screen displayed what appeared to be a security interface, with sections labeled "Surveillance," "Access Control," and "Alerts." The Alerts section flashed red, and he clicked on it.

His eyes widened as he read the message displayed in bold letters across the screen:

"FACILITY-WIDE EVACUATION ORDERED. PROTOCOL OMEGA INITIATED. ALL PERSONNEL PROCEED TO EMERGENCY EXITS IMMEDIATELY."

Below the message was a timestamp. Three days ago.

He scrolled down, looking for more information. Additional alerts followed, each more urgent than the last:

"CONTAINMENT BREACH IN SECTOR 7. SECURITY TEAMS RESPOND."

"MULTIPLE CONTAINMENT FAILURES REPORTED. ALL RESEARCH STAFF EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

"EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN INITIATED IN SECTORS 2 THROUGH 9."

The alerts continued, becoming increasingly chaotic until they suddenly stopped. The final message simply read:

"COMMUNICATIONS OFFLINE. FACILITY OPERATING ON EMERGENCY POWER."

He stepped back from the terminal, trying to process what he'd read. Some kind of research facility, then. A containment breach. An evacuation. But what had they been containing? And why was he still here?

He moved to the Access Control section of the interface and clicked on it. A schematic of the facility appeared, showing multiple levels and sectors. Most areas were highlighted in red, indicating lockdown status. He could see he was currently in what was labeled as "Security Hub Alpha" on Level 2.

Scanning the map further, he located areas labeled "Residential," "Research Labs," "Medical," and "Storage." If he could reach the medical area, perhaps he could find information about himself. Or if he could get to residential, maybe he'd find his own quarters with personal belongings.

He noticed an area labeled "Central Database" on Level 3. That seemed promising too – if he could access it, he might learn not only about himself but about what this place was and what had happened.

As he studied the map, considering his options, the terminal suddenly beeped and the screen changed. A camera feed appeared, showing a corridor similar to the one he had walked through. The timestamp on the feed was current.

Movement caught his eye. Someone – or something – was moving through the corridor, approaching the security hub he was in. The figure was dressed in what looked like a hazmat suit, the kind used for protection against biological or chemical hazards. They carried something in their hand, but the camera angle made it hard to see what it was.

He quickly looked around the room, searching for a place to hide. The figure was getting closer, and he had no idea if they were friend or foe. Given the evacuation notices and containment breaches, caution seemed prudent.

To the left of the security terminals was a door labeled "Equipment Storage." He tried the handle – unlocked. Thanking whatever luck he had left, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack so he could see into the main area.

The storage room contained shelves stacked with various pieces of electronic equipment, toolboxes, and what looked like spare parts for the security systems. He positioned himself behind a tall shelf near the door, where he could peer through the gap while remaining hidden.

Minutes passed, each one stretching his nerves tighter. Then he heard it – the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps entering the security hub. Through the crack in the door, he watched as the hazmat-suited figure approached the terminals.

The person seemed to be methodically checking each computer, typing something into each before moving on to the next. Their movements were purposeful, suggesting they knew exactly what they were looking for.

His heart pounded so loudly he worried the figure might hear it. He tried to control his breathing, taking shallow breaths to remain quiet. As the figure turned toward the terminal he had just been using, he saw what they were carrying – some kind of tablet or data pad, which they used to interface with the computers.

The figure paused at his terminal, seeming to notice something. Had he left evidence of his presence? The figure tapped at the keyboard, then at their tablet. They stood motionless for a long moment, as if considering something, then turned and looked directly at the equipment room door.

He held his breath, pressing himself back against the shelf. Had they seen the door was slightly ajar? Were they coming to investigate?

After what felt like an eternity, the figure turned away from the door and continued their work at the terminals. He released his breath slowly, careful not to make any sound. The relief was short-lived as he realized he was now effectively trapped in the storage room until the person left.

From his hiding spot, he could see the figure now downloading something from the terminal to their tablet. Whatever information was stored in these computers, someone wanted it. Was this person part of the evacuation, returned to retrieve important data? Or someone else entirely?

As he watched, something on one of the shelves caught his eye. A small metal box with a label reading "Emergency Protocols." He carefully reached for it, trying not to disturb anything else on the shelf. The box was locked, requiring a key he didn't have, but he noticed a small card reader on its side.

Remembering the keycard in his pocket, he carefully pulled it out. Would a subject's keycard work on an emergency protocol box? Only one way to find out. He hesitated, glancing toward the door to make sure the figure was still occupied with the terminals.

He slid the keycard through the reader, holding his breath. A small light on the box flashed green, and he heard a soft click as the lock disengaged. His heart leaped – it worked.

Opening the box as quietly as possible, he found several items inside: another keycard labeled "Emergency Access," a small flashlight, and a folded paper titled "Evacuation Route B." He pocketed all three items, figuring they might prove useful regardless of what he decided to do next.

As he closed the box and replaced it on the shelf, he heard the figure moving again. Peering through the crack in the door, he saw them heading toward another part of the security hub, away from his hiding place. This might be his chance to slip out unnoticed.

He waited until the figure's back was turned before easing the door open slightly wider. The hinges made a faint squeak, and he froze. The figure paused momentarily but didn't turn around, continuing instead toward what looked like a communications console.

Taking advantage of the noise the figure made while typing, he slipped out of the storage room and carefully made his way along the wall, staying in the shadows cast by the emergency lighting. His goal was to reach the corridor he'd seen on the security feed, the one the figure had used to enter.

He'd almost reached the exit when his foot struck something on the floor – a fallen coffee mug that rolled noisily across the floor before coming to rest against a desk leg.

The figure spun around, their facemask reflecting the red emergency lights in a way that made them look almost demonic.

He didn't wait to see what would happen next. Abandoning stealth, he bolted for the exit, pushing through the door and into the corridor beyond. Behind him, he heard the figure call out something, but the words were muffled by their mask and the sound of his own footsteps pounding on the metal floor.

The corridor branched off in multiple directions, and he chose one at random, running as fast as his still-weak legs would carry him. After several turns, he no longer heard pursuit behind him, but he kept moving, unwilling to risk being caught.

Eventually, he came to a junction where the corridor split in three directions. A sign on the wall indicated that the left path led to "Research Labs," the right to "Residential Quarters," and straight ahead to "Central Elevator Hub." He hesitated, unsure which way to go.

The sound of distant footsteps made the decision for him. They were coming from the direction of the Research Labs, and they were getting closer. Quickly, he ducked behind a large piece of equipment – possibly a power generator or air handling unit – that stood against the wall near the junction.

Crouching low, he watched as a figure in a hazmat suit – the same one from before or a different one, he couldn't tell – walked past his hiding place. This one carried what looked like a weapon – some kind of rifle or perhaps a specialized tool. They moved with purpose, heading in the direction of the security hub he'd fled from.

As the footsteps faded, he remained hidden, processing what he'd learned and considering his next move. He had a keycard identifying him as "Subject 37," emergency access credentials, and an evacuation route. The facility had suffered some kind of catastrophic containment breach days ago, triggering an evacuation.

And now hazmat-suited figures were methodically working through the facility, retrieving data and possibly hunting for survivors – or escaped subjects.

One thing was becoming increasingly clear: whatever this place was, whatever had happened here, it wasn't safe for him to remain. He needed to find out who he was and what had been done to him, but first, he needed to survive.

As he waited in his hiding spot for any sign that it was safe to emerge, he couldn't shake the feeling that his awakening in this abandoned facility was just the beginning of something much larger – and potentially much more dangerous – than he could currently comprehend.