The Eden Sky - Part 1 - A Less Than Graceful Wakening

A shrill hiss of air woke Mila from her dreamless slumber as the cryo-pod she was encased in rose from its bay and greeted her with the bright, sterile light of the med-bay. The series of dull jabs along her right arm and a gentle tug on her spine that were necessary hormones and the various monitoring systems disengaging. Off in the distance, through a misted haze of flashing lights and decade-long sensory atrophy, a voice called her name.

"... Doctor Mila... -n you hea-... we're going to... drain..." the voice carried off through an echoing chamber of slowly sharpening edges and shapes, reverberating off of slick metals walls, plastic fixtures and glossy, clinical surfaces.

Standard procedure. The Tub drains, passenger flops out, doctor checks various life-signs. Either alive or dead. Good so far, but now for the -

The floor rushed towards her face. Arms too weak to stop the motion and legs still bound to The Tub, she collapsed to her knees as a familar arm caught her mid-drop. She looked up, eyes of frosted glass straining to make out vague rounded features as her body tried to remember how to blink correctly. First one lid, then the other. Now both together. That's all, all muscle memory now.

A friendly smile appeared first, then deep hazel eyes, some subtle freckles and lastly a slight giggle as she was lifted to a nearby bed. Alexa... the name rang through Mila. The gentle touch, a brief squeeze of the hand, soft breath across her forehead. I'm still too hazy, maybe I'm a little worse for wear. She noticed a low beeping now eminating from her Tub. Something did go wrong then.

"Waahh... d'go... roonn?" her tongue and lips flailed wildly as she tried desperately to form shapes and sounds. Like being too drunk and struggling to hold onto anything as the world sways around you. Damn it, sedatives still haven't completely left my system yet. Let's try again, slowly Mila, slowly.

"Waahh. Hahhpend? Sum-fin, go ron?" Better.

"... Yes... Ca-... hear better.. ow?"

"Almos! Thtill, foggy..." This is taking longer than usual. Oh god I hope I'm not going to be half-deaf forever!

"Hold on... -onna grab somethi-..."

As her eyes adjusted to the harsh med-bay lights, Mila could at last make out Dr. Alistair Peter. His carefully tousled golden hair and mysteriously always stubbled jaw coming into focus as he leant in close, pressed her arm and administered epinephrine. A few seconds passed before a slow wave of clarity began to build.

"...so... how do you feel now?" Alistair was clear as day.

I've always felt the urge to punch his face. The same way a vase perched upon a pedestal is begging to be tipped. If only he weren't so damned nice all the time!