FUCKING ALIVE AGAIN •
The locks release. The pod lid slides up.
Cold air. Antiseptic. The same ceiling it always is.
Five hundred years ago, aliens conquered Earth.
Nobody knows why. Nobody knows what they want.
What they did do — one day, without explanation —
is make it so no one can die permanently.
You die, you get reprinted. Every time. Forever.
The world adapted.
You're somewhere in the middle of it.
The reprinter is warm. Your pattern isn't in it.
Five hundred years under the Overseers, and the one thing they run on schedule is
keeping the door shut a little longer. The pods unseal for the first few when the
beta opens — everyone else waits. Waiting is the one thing eternity is good at.
Reprinting resumes soon.™