The machine made a loud gurgling noise like the sound of water draining from a bathtub. Only it wasn’t water. It was too heavy. Too thick. And it wasn’t draining from a bathtub.

At least, it was no bathtub Isaac had ever been in before.

After that came the cold. His body—already dry even though the liquid had just flowed out from around him—shivered and shook, the skin on his arms pimpling in reaction.

It continued with a humming sound. A thick, rough churning and then the sound like someone flushed a toilet. Isaac blinked a few times. A thin film rested over his pupils. He reached up and wiped it away. At the same time, the lid of the not-bathtub began to rise. Cool air flooded into the pod, causing him to shiver even more. He needed clothes.

Isaac grabbed the sides of the pod, pulling himself into a sitting position, surprised to find he felt pretty good, all things considered. His muscles were still strong, his body ready to get back in motion.

He turned his head, quickly scanning the room.

Trying to remember.

He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his face into one of his hands.

Stop.

He forced himself to shut down the nearly overwhelming guilt and sadness. It wasn’t going to help him right now.

Could anything?

He gathered himself, grabbing the side of the pod and swinging his legs out over the lip. Extending his feet until they reached the cold tiled floor, he looked up at the display next to the pod. His face was on the left—his name, rank, and status on the right. The screen had a crack down the center, the glass broken. It was covered in dust.

He stared at the image, still trying to catch up to the present moment. He barely recognized his face. How had he wound up here?

The last thing he remembered was the explosion.

And his son.

His heart began to pound. In his mind, it felt like it had happened minutes ago, as if there were no break in continuity between that moment and this one. As if the rest of the complex was still on fire. He needed to get out there. He needed to help. There were sure to be injured. There were sure to be casualties.

Stop.

He clenched his eyes shut. Someone had put him in stasis. The fire had to be out or it would have consumed him. His son…

Nothing could bring Jason back. Nothing could save him.

He looked across the row of five matching pods to the door. It was closed, and the small reinforced window at the center suggested only darkness beyond.

What the hell?

He returned his attention to the display. He reached under it, grabbing the small keyboard and pulling it forward. His eyes swept over the data on the right as he began tapping keys.

Name: Isaac Pine

Rank: Sergeant

MOS: 5815 – Special Reaction Team

Status: Reanimated

Reanimated, as if he had been raised from the dead. The scientists needed to work on the messaging. He tried to bring up the system’s menu. A login box appeared over his face, an eagle and star logo—the symbol of the United States Space Force Marines—above the account and password fields.

He typed in his credentials and hit the enter key.

ACCESS DENIED.

The message appeared beneath the input boxes, vanishing a moment later. Isaac took a few long breaths. He couldn’t figure anything out if he couldn’t calm himself. He continued to shiver, though he was becoming more accustomed to the cold and his body was beginning to regulate better.

He tried again, watching his finger tap each key to ensure he was getting it right. He was glad he could still remember.

ACCESS DENIED

“Shit!” he snapped, the word echoing in the room. He shoved the keyboard back. All he wanted was to check the damn timestamp.

How long had he been in stasis?

He didn’t remember asking to be placed in hibernation. He didn’t remember anything after the explosion. That wasn’t true. He remembered it had been his duty to prevent it. It was also his job as a father to protect his son.

And he had failed at both.

The thought nearly brought him to tears. But he couldn’t spend time on that right now. He didn’t have the luxury of self-pity. He was a Marine, damn it. His mission wasn’t finished.

Maybe it was just starting.

He crossed to the pod opposite his. Empty. He walked down the line, looking into the small glass window of each one. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.

All of them were empty. Now his was too.

What the hell was going on?

Why was he the only one who had been placed in hibernation?

He reached the door and turned around, looking down the line of pods again. The lid of his chamber was at a ninety-degree angle, having just opened.  The third pod on the right had an open top too.

Someone had used it.

He hurried back to that pod. The display was dark, a web of cracks across the glass. He pulled out the keyboard and tapped on the enter key, hoping the screen would come on. Who had been in here? When had they left?

The display remained dark. Dead. It couldn’t be reanimated.

He lowered his head. He needed to think.

And he needed some damn clothes.

His uniform should have been beside his pod. He was pretty sure he hadn’t walked from the MP Station or the barracks in his birthday suit. Then again, he wasn’t convinced he had walked at all.

He remembered the explosion and nothing after. Nothing except the loud gurgling of the stasis chamber draining of its life-preserving gel.

But SRT didn’t have clearance to use the pods. He would never have put himself in one. Someone must have brought him here while he was unconscious. Someone had taken off all his clothes, lasered off all his hair, and put him in the pod. Someone had activated it.

Who?

It didn’t matter yet. He needed to catch up to the present. If there was anyone else in the complex, he needed to find them. Maybe they could tell him what had happened and why he was in stasis.

Maybe he would get lucky, and they would tell him the alien invaders were gone, and the planet was safe again.