The soft rushing of air in the pipes woke me once again. I lay there without opening my eyes, trying to catch the last crumbs of sleep, though I already knew it was useless.
Today was the 53rd day. I had almost resigned myself to the fact that I don’t know who I am, I don’t know why I’m alone, I remember nothing… only short echoes of the forgotten… dreams that, in the morning, feel as vivid as reality. I woke up with a smile on my face—because today I dreamed of her, or rather, her ringing, infectious laughter. Another moment and I should have seen her face; it seems she has wavy dark hair…
In the shelter, nothing existed that could distinguish night from day: only the unvarying rhythm of artificial light, changing with flawless regularity. The ceiling gradually lit up with white light. I opened my eyes anyway and stared at the dull gray ceiling without the slightest surprise. Her laughter vanished from my head.
My room was small but functional: a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a washbasin. No windows. No doors, except for the one leading to the corridor. I had long since stopped looking for meaning in the interior.
I stood up, and my body responded with the usual slight stiffness—the result of long years of sleep in anabiosis. And although quite a bit of time had passed since awakening, the muscles still remembered that state. There is no data about me in the system; Laura says the same.
Warm water flowed over me in the shower, but it brought no joy as it did in the first days. Water was just one of many resources that the system strictly regulated. "Economy"—this word had become my companion since the moment I woke up. Why the economy? I’ve only just woken up, and according to the creators of the shelter, shouldn't there be enough resources for a long time?
The standard gray jumpsuit I was wearing when I woke up fit well. I stepped into the corridor, lit by the same relentless light as the room. The daily route had already become painfully familiar: the technical bay, the medical block, the server room with the terminal…
The terminal. I often tried to find answers in its tangled menus; only it could answer my questions, but it remained silent. The documentation for the shelter was complete and detailed: ventilation diagrams, reactor operation schedules, food supply reports. Everything except one thing—meaning.
— Good morning, — the synthetic voice of the system spoke as I approached the terminal. — How are you feeling?
I nodded mechanically. Laura recorded the report.
I sat before the terminal for a long time, browsing files as I did every day. Water and food supplies were decreasing, but slowly—the system calculated needs down to the smallest detail. Not a single unnecessary movement went unnoticed. I could spend hours like this, reading.
I hoped that one day I would find something new, something that would explain my presence here. But the answers did not come. I remember something, but these fragments do not provide any coherent picture. Laura says that memory should be restored… but admits that in my case, it has been delayed.
By noon, I had completed my rounds, checking every corner of the shelter. Everything was in its place: not a single malfunction, not a single alarm signal. Everything worked perfectly.
But this place strongly resembled a simple shelter, not a vehicle—how to activate it and move somewhere was unclear. And where to move? Where am I now and what is outside? Questions without answers. For now, at least.
When I returned to my room, the constant silence engulfed me again. Who is she? Her voice and her laughter are so warm and familiar…
LOG_LAURA_2374-09-21_00:00:01.025.txt
Start of file
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TIMESTAMP_16:00:00.002 Operation mode: energy saving. Main systems: capsule life support: active. Capsule temperature maintenance: stable. Oxygen level maintenance: stable. Air filtration system: active. Energy consumption: minimal level. Energy source: thermonuclear unit. No active anomalies detected. External threats: none detected. General system stability: OK. Status of capsule occupant: in anabiosis. Pulse: 38 bpm. Body temperature: 34.8°C. Oxygen saturation: 90%. All parameters within normal limits.
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TIMESTAMP_16:15:08.942 Initialization signal received. Protocol loading. System reboot.
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TIMESTAMP_16:17:47.857 Reboot completed. Information packet loaded. Launching occupant revitalization program. Projected occupant recovery time: 2374-09-21 23:47:17. Transition to active mode. Capsule status: stable. Temperature inside capsule: 17°C. Occupant parameters: Pulse: 37 bpm. Body temperature: 35.2°C. Oxygen saturation: 89%. Initialization of exit from anabiosis.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_16:18:52.476 Recovery process: 3%.
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TIMESTAMP_17:25:01.127 Recovery process: 12%.
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TIMESTAMP_17:59:57.547 Recovery process: 35%.
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TIMESTAMP_18:05:07.982 Instability of occupant respiratory function detected. Occupant parameters: Pulse: 42 bpm. Body temperature: 35.7°C. Oxygen saturation: 84%.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_18:48:34.005 Recovery process: 63%. Recording first sounds. Audio recording (transcription): "Mmm... ugh... nnn... aaa..."
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TIMESTAMP_19:30:01.175 Running diagnostic on all systems. Tests successfully completed: 17. Completed with error: communication system test, failure step 4.
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TIMESTAMP_20:03:18.554 Recovery process completed. Initialization completed. Occupant removed from anabiosis. Audio recording (transcription): "Grr... mmm... shhh... uhh..." Health analysis: Pulse: 54 bpm. Body temperature: 36.4°C. Oxygen saturation: 91%. Tremors detected. Possible hypothermia. Heating initialization. Temperature inside capsule raised to 22°C.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_21:47:19.251 Audio recording (transcription): "Aaa... mmm... grr..." Speech analysis: delirious state (presumed). Key phrase detection: none found.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_22:14:11.967 Occupant parameters: stabilizing. Pulse: 65 bpm. Body temperature: 37°C. Oxygen saturation: 95%. Audio recording (transcription): "Mmm... ah... ggg..." Capsule system: normal. Preparation for full occupant extraction.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_22:54:57.011 Occupant parameters: Muscle activity: partially restored. Neurological activity: normalizing. No external injuries. Pulse: 72 bpm. Audio recording (transcription): "Grr... mmm... hh..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TIMESTAMP_23:45:42.442 Final recovery confirmed. Occupant extracted from capsule. Sleep phase. System switching to post-anabiosis state monitoring. Launching standard control procedures. End of file.
In the silence of the shelter's monotonous humming, he lay almost motionless; his atrophied muscles, despite the fluid nourishment from the capsule, did not yield. Barely moving his fingers, he had already opened his eyes and could move his lips.
— Initialization completed. Greetings. My name is Laura. I am your system assistant. The process of extraction from anabiosis has been successfully completed. You were awakened in accordance with protocol.
— W-who am I... where... — he spoke slowly, struggling to find words. — What... what is happening?
— Your identification data is missing, — she replied. — I am continuing to monitor your condition and the facility systems. Reason for awakening: no data. Location: no data. External coordinates: no data.
— How... how long was I sleeping?..
— Current date: September 22, 2374. Time spent in anabiosis: 126,201 days.
— Why... why did you... wake me?
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
— Access to information regarding the reasons for awakening is blocked. I do not possess data regarding the purpose of your presence here. My function is to maintain life support and monitor your condition.
— I... don't understand... why am I... here... who... who am I?..
— Your identification data is missing. Your physical shell is normal; main vital signs are stable. Some vital functions have not fully recovered.
— Am I... here... alone?
— Data regarding other occupants is missing. You are the only registered occupant of the shelter.
By the third day after awakening, the occupant already felt noticeably better. His body, which just a couple of days ago had been motionless and exhausted after long years of anabiosis, had regained strength. His legs no longer trembled; his muscles were slowly getting used to the load. The first two days were torturous; after a few movements, the organism lost control and demanded rest. A series of attempts to look around and walk alternated with chaotic sleep. Time dragged slowly.
Today, the occupant was determined to explore the shelter in which he found himself. The lighting in the corridors was soft, slightly dimmed. Light poured from ceiling panels, and ventilation grilles hummed barely audibly, supplying fresh air to the room. The occupant's footsteps echoed dully in the empty metal corridors.
— Laura? — he called out, stopping near one of the doors.
— I am here, — she answered. Her voice sounded cold and mechanical.
— Sorry... I haven't been myself since I woke up. You do a lot for me, even if you are just executable code. But we are alone here, and you don't know my name... I seem to be remembering it... Alexander! That must be it, though I'm not entirely sure.
— Alexander. Confirmed. From now on, I will refer to you as Alexander.
— Agreed! Laura, what is this room?
— This is the technical bay for controlling life support systems. The air filters, water purification systems, and backup power supply are located here. The operation of the systems is fully autonomous, and access to the room is open to you only in case of unforeseen circumstances.
— You said I've been here for almost 346 years, and the founding date of the shelter implies even earlier. What equipment can serve for so long?
— Advanced equipment for deep-sea vehicles is installed here, — she explained. — Under warranty, it was supposed to last 135 years, but our operational experience shows a manifold excess of service life without serious failures.
— Deep-sea vehicles? What do they have to do with this?
— Information blocked.
— Strange. Laura, what else do I need to know? Are there other important functions I need to check? — his voice sounded more confident, but a vague anxiety was still present.
— Main systems are operating in standard mode. I recommend checking the shelter control system and communication systems in the command bay. Communication systems are inactive. Activation requires additional diagnostics.
— Can you perform these diagnostics?
— No, the diagnostic test stops at step 4. The test is performed daily; all results are recorded in the log files. Judging by the test description, there is no connection with the external unit.
— I'm weak for now, but I can physically look at this unit.
— That is not possible.
— Why?
— According to the blueprints, it is located on the outer hull; an EVA is required. Access is blocked.
— Blocked. Blocked. What the hell! What am I supposed to do then? And food supplies? How long can I hold out? I'll have to go out eventually anyway! — he continued, not distracting himself from inspecting the control panels.
— Supplies are calculated to autonomously support the vital functions of one occupant for a period of up to five years.
The occupant froze for a moment, trying to comprehend what he had heard. Five years? That’s enough not just to understand what is happening, but also to croak in here. He walked further, feeling a strange sensation of emptiness pursuing him. The shelter seemed both familiar and alien. Everything was clean, sterile, but too quiet, as if time had stopped here.
— And where are we now? What are our coordinates? At what point in the world are we currently?
— Unknown.
Alexander frowned. He stopped at the door to one of the rooms and raised an eyebrow: — Unknown? How is that possible?
— Access to location data is blocked, — Laura answered mechanically. — Access to a range of information is restricted following the system reboot.
— Who blocked the data? — he asked with a barely perceptible note of irritation.
— I cannot answer—no data, — she replied.
The occupant wearily rubbed his temples and looked into the room. — Laura, what kind of room is this?
— Server room. System data processing and software support are conducted here. The user terminal is located inside. Access is open, but some data arrays are blocked.
It was a small room with two desks and a computer; dust covered every corner. He stepped closer, turned on the monitor, but the system immediately requested an access code.
— What kind of c...
— Access code 01.01.1983.
— With dots, I assume, — he typed, not waiting for an answer. — Strange password, looks like a date of birth. Who thought to set such a password... Laura, whose password is this?
— The access code belongs to you; the note says "Date of Birth".
— My date of birth?
— No data.
— Mine. And you, it seems, just need to be tortured with questions; you don't have all the moves recorded in your code... You wake up after a gazillion years, crawl out of the capsule like a worm, sit in some metal bunker, and everything you want to know is—no data.
From that moment on, Alexander spent several hours a day at the terminal, excitedly reviewing all available data sections. Files with technical reports, event logs, and diagnostic tests flickered on the screen. At first, it seemed like routine reports—filter operations, data on water and electricity reserves. But sometimes curious information appeared.
After about a couple of weeks, Alexander stumbled upon one file that caught his attention with its title: "System Overview." The text was dry, overflowing with technical terms, but its essence quickly became clear:
Object: Autonomous Bathyscaphe Class "A". Launch date: June 26, 2041. Assembly location: Shanghai, China. Manufacturer: Shanghai Institute of Deep-Sea Science and Engineering. Customer: Vulnaris Group. Purpose: Long-term autonomous submersion to maximum depths with maintenance of one or several human subjects in anabiosis.
He froze. A bathyscaphe? This wasn't an ordinary underground shelter; it was an underwater vehicle submerged to immense depths.
— This is... a bathyscaphe?! — he exclaimed aloud, not even hoping for Laura's answer.
His gaze fixed on the screen again, but his thoughts spun with new speed. Suddenly everything fell into place—equipment for submarines, the need for autonomous systems, powerful air and water filters. All of this was created for survival in extreme conditions, underwater, in total isolation.
Alexander skipped to the next file—a brief manual on system controls. He needed to understand how to operate all this. His fingers raced across the keys, opening one document after another. Here it is, manual control functions: activate in case of automatic system failure or necessity of direct intervention...
His heart beat faster. The text spoke of a control system and various levels of authority. It was clear that most processes were performed automatically, yet the possibility of manual control remained in emergency situations. He continued searching, reading the details: "Activation procedure: to launch the main control module, it is required to enter the access code to the command bay and perform diagnostics of communication and navigation systems."
— So that's it... — Alexander muttered, realizing he needed to get into the command bay Laura had already mentioned. That was where, in the bowels of the bathyscaphe, the control center was located, from where the entire system could be monitored.
He stood up abruptly, pushing back the chair. Now his goal was to find a way to activate the bathyscaphe controls. His mind couldn't grasp that for all these years he had been submerged in a capsule, resting on the ocean floor. This discovery was like a blow to his consciousness, but now he had a concrete task: find out how to raise this massive apparatus to the surface and, perhaps, escape captivity.
Alexander ran out of the server room, his breathing quickened by the unexpected discovery. The metal floor rang under his rapid steps as he headed toward the control center.
— Laura, how can I gain access to the controls? — he asked on the move, suppressing his nervous excitement.
— Access to controls is blocked; an access key is required, — she answered in the same cold tone.
Alexander stopped abruptly at the door leading to the control center. He tried to open it, but it didn't budge.
— Why don't I know this access key and why can't I get in there? I am, after all, the only occupant of this... — he stumbled, trying to cope with the onrushing thoughts. — Bathyscaphe? Did you know about this, Laura?
— Information that this is a bathyscaphe was known to me, but following the system reboot, access to it is restricted. I cannot provide further data.
Alexander braced his hands against the metal door and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding wildly. He pounded on it, trying to suppress the feeling of confinement. It seemed that all the information was somewhere nearby, but everything hit against blocks he couldn't remove.
— So you knew it was a bathyscaphe and kept silent? Why didn't I remember this? Why don't I know how to pilot it? What else is hiding in these cursed logs and files?
— My task is life support maintenance and monitoring the occupant's condition. Divulging any information regarding the bathyscaphe is beyond my capabilities following the last reboot.
— Magnificent, — Alexander muttered through his teeth and stepped away from the door. He understood he wouldn't get into the control center just like that. Access was protected, and no amount of effort would help until he figured out the security system.
— Laura, open this door, — he said, breathing tightly.
— I cannot. You do not have the necessary access.
— And you don't know the code? How else can I gain access to this door?
— There is no information in the database regarding bypass routes. Access is restricted.
Alexander took a few steps along the wall, nervously rubbing his temples. The walls seemed too close, and his thoughts tangled in fear. He returned to the door, pulled the handle again, but the result was the same.
— Damn it!
Alexander dropped his hands. He understood that right now there was simply no other way out. His gaze clouded with fatigue and accumulated tension. He knew Laura couldn't help any more than she already had.
— Alright, Laura, let's go back, — he said wearily, turning and slowly heading back toward the server room. He returned to the terminal, turned on the screen again, and began to study the data array even more thoroughly, looking for the slightest clue that could help him launch the bathyscaphe and get out. Fatigue rolled over him quickly, and the occupant dozed off right at the terminal.
The dream returns me to the river, where the sun plays with golden glints on the water, and a light breeze gently sways her dark wavy hair. I am sitting on the wooden bench of a boat, surrounded by friends whose laughter and conversation mix with the sound of splashing waves. Everyone is in high spirits—an unforgettable adventure awaits us. She stands at the stern, squinting slightly, looking into the distance where the horizon dissolves into the sky. The wind ruffles her hair, lifting it up as if an invisible force is trying to free it from the gravity of earth. Her face is partially hidden, and I, with glances abrupt enough to see her, to feel her presence, timidly try to hide my interest. Something stops me. Doubts and insecurity turning inside force me to look away, preventing me from deciding on a bold step.
Suddenly the dream changes, the water around seems to slow down, the noise fades... in this unusual peace, he meets her eyes opposite him. They look straight into him—longing mixed with unbearable passion, like a scream of the soul that he feels at a distance. Her gaze pulls him toward her, blurring the boundaries of dream and reality. Wild and awkward, but I cannot look away, and neither can she. Something in her gaze causes an internal tremor, anxiety. An incomprehensible feeling...
Beginning of the 54th day of confinement. I, barely opening my eyes, quickly and confusedly record the dream from fresh memories. Words get tangled, and the emotion simply doesn't fit into dry letters and words. The emotions from the dreams, which become brighter and longer each time, nourish me and keep me from giving up.
Hundreds of years and lost memory separate us. Separate me from everything else that was my life before. From those I knew and who knew me. Who loved me. And how long I will be remembering my life—I do not know. Maybe I won't remember at all. Statistics of such memory disorders are absent in Laura's database; surprisingly, her database contains only data about events during my sleep.
I had to interrupt the dream recording; thoughts suddenly ran out. I got out of bed and suddenly heard a new sound. Сначала был отдаленный глухой шум, монотонный, будто в глубине подводного царства. It lasted about twenty seconds, gradually growing, then became maximally loud and suddenly cut off with a sharp impact. The bathyscaphe shuddered, and I, having just gotten out of bed, flopped back onto it, hitting my head painfully against the wall.
The light in the room flickered, as if electricity froze briefly before restoring itself. The moment lasted an eternity, as if the very structure of the shelter yielded to the influence of some unknown force.
At that moment, Laura’s even, almost mechanical voice rang out: — Unidentified external impact. Incident 3.
