Sleeper

Chapter 1 Waking up

May 23, 2025

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Sleeper

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Chapter 1 Waking up

The first sound I heard was Vivaldi's Four Seasons. A wave of nausea hit me like a sledgehammer.

A melodic, sweet voice said, "Time to get up. Please, prepare for waking up!"

Waking up was the part I hated the most about the whole hibernation process. The dreams were live-like and vivid. They showed me how beautiful my life would be once the experiments had ended - a life in a bamboo bungalow next to a slow river in Vietnam, surrounded by a lush garden. A peaceful life I have never had.

But waking up meant agony. My lungs burned. My throat clenched. I convulsed, choking, as thick fluid surged up and out of me. The robotic arms rotated my body downward, helping me expel the 'milk.' I screamed as fire tore through my chest, bile rising into my mouth despite my empty stomach. Cold sweat dripped from my temples. In my heart, I prayed for my demise. But a higher power did not grant me my desire - I was alive.

What brought me here in the first place? I was one of the lucky ones Dr. Chen needed for his experiments. Otherwise, I would be still rotting in a dirty Chinese prison. I did not have any hope of getting out ever. But one day, Dr. Chen showed up at the prison. He announced to us, he needed volunteers for his experiments. He chose mostly young and strong people for his experiments most of the time. I’m in my fifties, but my blood group Rh-null was my ticket into Dr. Chen's experiments.

His experiments were about a new way of hibernation. Unlike the process of freezing people, which did not work, Dr. Chen wanted to let people "sleep" in a thick and milk-like liquid, in which their hearts would only beat once a minute.

The mechanical arms hummed, carrying me toward the antiseptic bath. I forced my eyes open, but something was wrong. The lights were dimmer than usual, flickering like dying embers. Dr. Chen never allowed a mess, yet papers lay scattered across the floor. One had landed face-up, its bold title clear even in the gloom.

MORTALITY REPORT

A chill crawled up my spine.

Then I noticed something worse—the silence.

Usually, nurse Li and nurse Zhao were the first ones to greet every sleeper after waking up.

No footsteps. No human presence at all.

I swallowed against the creeping dread. "Nurse Li?" My voice cracked. "Little Zhao?" She was a cute, busty little woman, pleasant to look at.

We wanted to go on a date after this experiment.

Nothing.

The lab was empty. The lab was a mess. And there was a mortality report lying on the floor.

As the robotic arms eased me into the warm, antiseptic bath, I tried to calm my nerves. But the silence pressed in on me. My limbs trembled as I attempted to stand. My legs buckled.

"Please wait. Fetching a chair," the computer intoned.

The robotic arms lifted me into a wheelchair. Motors whirred, carrying me down the eerily quiet halls toward the conference room. Perhaps Dr. Chen might be present. Maybe this was some bizarre malfunction. Maybe—

The conference room was a skeleton of what I remembered. A hundred chairs reduced to ten. Equipment missing. Cables dangling like the lifeless tendrils of a dead sea creature.

The big screen flickered on. Dr. Chen’s face appeared—older, drained, haunted.

"If you’re hearing this message, you’re alive. Congratulations," he said, voice hollow. "I’ll be brief. Two months after we began our experiment, a new variant of the sweat plague emerged. It had a 95% mortality rate. The government ordered us to report to the nearest hospitals, but the situation was hopeless. Rather than let you die, I chose to you all remain in hibernation. If the system has woken you up, that means the pandemic is over. The virus is no longer a threat."

He paused. The weight of what he wasn’t saying hung heavy in the air.

"You can use the automatic facilities after registering at the terminal. Place your hand on the screen, say your name and registration number, and the system will obey your commands. Good luck."

The screen went black.

It took several moments for my exhausted brain to process what I had just heard. Then the realization hit like a sledgehammer.

Nobody else had woken up!

I wasn’t one of eighty survivors.

I was the only survivor.

Eighty of us had gone into hibernation. Scientists, doctors, technicians—people I had spoken to, argued with, laughed with. All gone.

My breath hitched. "You mean I’m the only one?"

"Positive," the computer confirmed. Its voice was colder now. Indifferent.

Blood roared in my ears. My stomach twisted. My vision blurred.

I fell from the wheelchair, gasping.

Seventy-nine people—friends, colleagues, the only humans I had left—gone.

The silence swallowed me whole.