The Time from Before

Not Alone

The capsule's lid popped open with a loud hiss, releasing a blast of cold air. A man emerged from the metal cocoon, blinking in the dim light. He stood a few inches taller than six feet and was broad-shouldered, his face showing a grim, determined expression. He wore a standard uniform that had no markings or symbols.

He lay motionless for a few seconds, his eyes closed, as if he was still lost in a deep sleep. But then, slowly, he started to stir, his muscles twitching and his heart beating faster. He felt a surge of pain in his head as if someone had hit him with a hammer. He groaned and opened his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness.

He looked around the chamber, feeling a wave of nausea. He took a moment to scan his surroundings. The room was dark and dirty, the air heavy with the smell of rot. He felt confused, still trying to shake off the effects of the long sleep.

But then, with a sudden surge of energy, he jumped to his feet, his instincts taking over. He looked around the room, searching for threats, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that was no longer there.

His breathing was fast and irregular. But as he came to his senses, a wave of relief swept over him. But dread quickly followed.

He looked around the room again, this time looking for clues of how long he had been asleep. How much time had passed?

He stumbled over to the console, his legs weak and shaky. He squinted at the screens, trying to make sense of the data that flashed across them. He couldn't understand most of it, but one thing was clear: he had been in stasis for much longer than anyone had intended. If he had stayed in that capsule for even one more day, he might have been dead.

He looked down at his uniform, inspecting the torn edges and the faded colors. It was obvious that he had been in stasis for much longer than anyone had planned. Fear gripped him as he realized how much he had missed while he was asleep. What kind of world awaited him outside these walls?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He was a soldier, trained to deal with any situation. He had survived worse than this.

He headed down a hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The walls around him were made of concrete, and they had stood the test of time. But everywhere he looked, he saw signs of decay: rusted pipes, flickering lights, burn marks on walls, and cracks running through concrete.

As he walked, he tried to remember what happened before he was put into stasis. From what he could recall, the faction that this bunker belonged to went silent. But the strangest thing wasn't the lack of communication.

It was the enemy.

The soldier's mind raced as he thought about what could have happened to the ones he once fought. He knew that they were a formidable force, but they wouldn't have just disappeared without a trace.

As he was lost in thought, he barely noticed a door to his left. He glanced at it, stopped, and took another look. The door read, "CONTROL ROOM". It's about where he remembered it being.

He pushed on the door, but it didn't budge. He pushed harder, feeling it start to give way.

With a loud bang, the door flew open and the soldier caught himself on the doorframe. With a sigh, he stepped into the control room, hoping to find some answers.

The room was dimly lit by a few emergency lights. The air was stale and musty, smelling of old metal and dust. There were several screens on the walls, but most of them were cracked, shut off, or blinking rapidly.

But one screen caught his eye. It showed recent logs of the autonomous systems that had been running in the bunker. It is a mystery how they were still functioning, but maybe he didn't put enough faith in the IT guys.