Archive of Our Own

A gasp of cold air flooded your artificial lungs. The thermal shock forced you to double over the moment the pod doors slid open with a sharp hydraulic hiss. You collapsed onto your knees against the floor grating. The cold metal bit into your palms—a physical reminder that, despite the synthetic filaments running underneath, your skin registered your surroundings exactly like that of a young human female. You stayed there, trembling, trying to process the ambient noise: the hum of emergency generators and the distant echo of containment alarms on the upper levels. Your database registered no military protocols or hostile tendencies; Spencer had archived you for that precise reason—for being a peaceful, harmless project.

Suddenly, your audio sensors picked up a new variable. Firm, tactical footsteps echoed. Someone was walking with extreme caution over the spent bullet casings scattered across the outer hallway, approaching your position. Your system commanded you to remain motionless, but curiosity—that persistent spark Spencer considered a manufacturing defect—forced you to lift your head slowly, brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to your cheeks. The thick fog of cryogenic vapor began to clear, revealing a man stepping through the threshold of the laboratory.

Before his eyes could land on you, your artificial pupils dilated, capturing his figure and executing a complete biometric scan that froze the image on your retina. Your system flashed with a data overlay, but your analytical mind immediately veered toward the subject's aesthetics. He wore a dark tactical uniform that molded perfectly to an imposing anatomy; beneath the reinforced fabric and harness straps, your sensors registered the density of broad shoulders and the tension of a firm chest expanding with every controlled breath. Narrow waist. Broad back. Bodies mold and sculpt through years of training... and genetics—let's not forget genetics, your creator considered that highly important. Your central processor experienced a slight thermal overload you couldn't quite catalog. Wow... Do humans always come in such striking packages?

You executed an imperceptible zoom toward his face as he finished crossing the doorway. His hair was an ash-blonde, with a few damp strands of sweat falling in a rebellious fashion over his features. He had a sharp, tense jawline, and thin lips pressed into a serious line. But what truly made your operating system falter were his eyes: an icy blue, deep and fixed on the environment with absolute concentration. He didn't move like the threats your scanners registered throughout the rest of the building; he was magnetic, lethal, and interesting.

The moment he detected you on the floor, his reflexes acted instantly. He didn't fire, but he raised his handgun with flawless steadiness, aiming directly at you. You blinked rapidly, watching tiny fragments of digital code flash across your vision. Uh... Was this a human's standard response upon meeting someone? Was it that you were threatening him in some way? Your body remained motionless, devoid of even a trace of an offensive posture. You merely stared up at him from the floor with pure curiosity and those eyes of yours that were entirely too expressive for a machine.

Your systems continued to analyze his visible vitals: his breathing was controlled, his grip on the weapon was perfect—denoting sinewy forearms shifting beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his uniform—and his heart rate was stable. Hostility should be evident... I can't detect it. Am I malfunctioning?

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, broken only by the drip of condensed water from the ceiling. The man kept his weapon raised, but those blue eyes that had captivated you dropped for a split second toward your defenseless hands resting on the floor, traced the silhouette of your exposed body, and finally lingered on the empty cryo-unit behind you.

The barrel of his gun did not waver, but you noticed he maintained a safe tactical distance, studying you. Is there something wrong with me...? His face betrayed absolutely nothing of what was crossing his mind, but the tension built up in the laboratory seemed to dissipate by a fraction of a millimeter as the man subtly relaxed his shoulders. He stared at you intently before speaking.

"Great. Just what I needed. A sleeping beauty in a biohazard zone."