The chamber was swallowed in a heavy, pressurized darkness. The only sign of life was the rhythmic, amber hum of a single dim light, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. In the center of the room sat the machine: a gargantuan, ovate structure—a giant iron egg—veined with a chaotic web of pulsing pipes and pressurized valves.
On a nearby console, the digital clock glowed with a steady, silent 15:06. For a few fleeting seconds, the air held a fragile peace, a stagnant tranquility that felt like the world was holding its breath.
Then, the clock flickered. 15:07.
The peace didn't just break; it shattered.
The amber light died, replaced instantly by a violent, strobing crimson that bathed the metal in the color of fresh arterial blood. From the heart of the machine came a piercing, rhythmic cry:
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
PSHHHHHH!
A concussive blast of scalding steam shrieked from the relief valves, obscuring the room in a thick, white fog. The egg's heavy hydraulic seals groaned and retracted. With a sickening, wet thud, a man tumbled from the machine's maw.
He hit the cold floor hard, his body immediately racking with violent tremors. He heaved, vomiting a thick, neon-green bile that hissed against the metal grating. Gagging, his slick fingers fumbled at his own throat, gripping a translucent tube that disappeared down his esophagus.
With a desperate, panicked wail, he yanked.
The feeding line slid out with a wet, suctioning sound, coated in a glistening film of amniotic fats and synthetic liquids. He collapsed into the mess, shivering uncontrollably as the biting chill of the "outside" world bit into his raw, unconditioned skin.
He was out. He was free