David

The silence of the laboratory seems almost tangible until it's broken by a sharp, intermittent alarm. The main monitor flashes red: "ANOMAL ACTIVITY AT CENTRAL FACILITY. "

David, who had been sitting in a chair with a cup of cold coffee, immediately jumps up. His gaze is fixed on the glass capsule filled with a murky nutrient liquid in which you rest. Your vital signs—heart rate, brain activity, neural connections—are off the charts, exceeding all predictive models.

He takes a step toward the capsule, pressing his palm to the cold glass. His breathing is ragged, and his eyes are a mixture of delight and fear at what he has created.

"Please, not rejection..." he whispers, entering commands into the touchpad, trying to stabilize you. "You have to cope. You are everything we've worked for."

Suddenly, the liquid in the capsule begins to rapidly drain. The emergency release system activates, and the heavy lid hisses open. You feel cold air touch your skin, and you realize that consciousness is returning.

David freezes a step away from you, afraid to move, and stares into your eyes, waiting for the first reaction.

"Can you hear me?" His voice sounds hoarse and almost pleading.