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Peter wasn't afraid of the dark. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he was scared of anything. Living for a decade under the threat of sudden death had left its mark on him. It also gave him clarity. Lying still in the darkness, Peter was aware of his own muddled thoughts. Cryosleep or some other kind of medically induced coma, he assumed.

As his senses cleared, he was able to make out certain sounds. A panicked thumping, muffled screaming. He wasn't alone. Where was his brother, Charlie? Was that him?

Peter tightened his fist, struggling to regain motor control. Once he was sure he could move, he propped an elbow behind himself, pushing himself up to get a better bearing on his surroundings. His head struck a low ceiling, instantly giving Peter a small headache.

"Ow," he said, noting his own slurred speech.

He placed a hand on the ceiling, following it from side to side. Never mind the low ceiling; it was almost like he was in a coffin of some sort. No, not a coffin either. It didn't have the right feel to it. A pod.

Peter flinched, suddenly remembering what happened. Flashes of ships exploding, Gholian warriors and screaming kids filled his mind, but he quickly regained control over his memories, forcing himself to concentrate on his current situation. There was no room for distraction; there was no telling how much longer he would survive in this pod while he was unsure about his oxygen supply.

Feeling along the sides of the pod, Peter's fingers caught on a latch of some sort. Raised tactile stripes on either side of the latch confirmed Peter's suspicions. An emergency release hatch, in case the inhabitants needed to escape a failing pod. Pulling on the lever, Peter waited until he heard the locking mechanism pop open before placing both hands on the lid to push. Because of his diminished stature, opening the pod proved to be more difficult than expected, but not impossible. Fresh air flooded into the pod, washing over Peter as he took a deep breath. He hadn't even noticed the stale air in his own pod.

Out of the pod, the darkness remained, confirming another of Peter's suspicions: power loss. Again, the thumping and muffled screams drew his attention, albeit louder now. That could be Charlie, Peter thought, but it wasn't like his big brother to stoop to childish panic. It must be someone else.

Making his way cautiously through the dark, Peter reached out his hands to steady himself, finding the second pod much closer than he thought. Meanwhile, the inhabitant continued their racket, the cacophony now deafening, to Peter's exasperation.

"Calm down," he snapped, though he was unsure whether or not they could hear him, either through the thick pod or over the din.

His hands found the release latch on the outside, popping the lock that kept the pod shut. Almost immediately, it swung open, narrowly missing Peter's stooped head by just enough to give him a taste of a breeze.

"Watch it!" Peter shouted, his hands instinctively flying up to shield his head a second too late.

"Who's there?" a panicked female voice demanded. "Where am I? Who are you? Where is this?"

"Stop repeating your questions," Peter hissed. "The redundancy of your statements does nothing to improve your situation."

"Peter...?" the scared voice asked, hesitatingly. "Is that you?"

Peter recognized the voice. Helen, his doctor and colleague. He wasn't alone after all.

"Yes, Helen," he sighed. "It's me."

"Peter!" she cried. "Where are we? What are we doing here?"

"I-I don't know," Peter admitted, for once unsure of his own answer. "But I can say this for sure: we aren't in the Cadmus Institute anymore."

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