The last thing Donovan remembered was the calm voice of the AI system reading off his vitals and then suddenly a ringing in his ears as the pressure dropped and a blinding light shone in his face. Muffled voices shouted commands as rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him onto shaking legs and began pushing him forward. 

As his sight began to clear, Donovan noted the decrepit state of the cryo facility, a newly built institution when he had gone to sleep, now tarnished with age and decades of neglect built up on the pods. The people who were guiding him through the storage room and into the hallway were wrapped in rags and carried primitive steel weapons. The dirt in the air was heavy, wracking him with a coughing fit, but the strangers continued to push him along despite his stumbling feet.

By the time they reached the elevator, Donovan felt the last of his senses snap back into place as he noticed the rank stench, the beeping of electronics, the dry dust in his mouth and the deep ache in his joints from lack of use. The fluorescent light flickered as one of the figures punched a number for an upper floor and the elevator began to ascend. 

“What’s happening,” Donovan asked hoarsely, his voice sounding like a stranger to himself. 

“Just stay close,” the man on his left answered, the grip on the ax he carried tightening. 

The clarity of the elevator’s ding made Donovan jump. He was pushed out and led down a hall to what used to be the grand entryway of Bellflower Technologies, a leader in the cryo industry. What used to be the lobby had been set up as a makeshift triage center and he could see other newly awakened cryo-sleepers staring with wide eyes as the heavily robed strangers moved about them, checking vitals and producing hearty bread and primitive bladders filled with water for the patients. 

“What is all this?” 

Donovan was instructed to sit and wait for the doctor while his escorts checked in with the other armed individuals who seemed to be guarding the perimeter. It wasn’t long before one of the robed doctors approached and took him by the wrist, his fingertips pressed to the interior while his head bobbed in a steady rhythm for a few moments. When he let go, he passed one of the bladders to Donovan and instructed him to drink. 

After quenching his thirst, Donovan asked again, “What is all of this?” 

“A relocation,” the doctor answered bluntly as he pulled out a small tablet of bound sheets. “Now I have a few questions for you. What is your name?” 

“Donovan Kayde.” 

The doctor scratched his reply down with a stick. “Age?” 

“37.” 

“Date of birth?” 

“March 12, 2105.” 

“Any life threatening maladies?” 

“None. Can you tell me what happened? What is actually going on?” 

The doctor sighed heavily, but nodded his head. “Donovan, Bellflower Tech abandoned you about sixty years ago. They left the lights on, but those lights are starting to shut off so we had to wake you up.” 

“What year is it?” 

“2217.”