“Daddy, Please No!”
The words tear out of my throat, my own voice echoing, raw and desperate, into the icy silence. My eyes snap open, and I gasp, choking on the thick, metallic air as it forces its way into my lungs. Every breath feels jagged, like sharp edges scraping inside me. My limbs are pinned down, bound, thick straps cutting into my wrists and ankles. Panic swells in my chest, and I thrash, yanking against the restraints with all the strength I can muster.
“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, tearing at the restraints until, one by one, they release with a loud series of clicks. I rip them away, clawing the thin IV lines from my arms. Pain flares as they pull free, and I glimpse thin streaks of blood trailing down my forearms. But the pain is distant, hazy, as my mind claws its way out of the fog. I push the pod lid open, the hinges creaking, and I stumble out, collapsing onto the freezing metal floor, every inch of me raw and disoriented.
The cold stabs through my thin hospital gown, biting into my skin. I push myself to my knees, trying to catch my breath, but my mind feels like it’s swimming through quicksand. The lab, my father’s face, the searing pain of the needle—images flash through my head, one after another, each one tinged with the surreal, heavy sense of something gone horribly wrong.
I glance down at my hands, expecting to see blood from the spots where the IVs had pierced my veins. But there’s barely a trace—the holes are gone, the skin smooth and unbroken. Blood still streaks down my forearms, faint red trails marking where the tubes had been. I bring my fingers to my face, brushing a lock of hair from my eyes. White. My hair is white—bright, unnatural, as if it’s been drained of all color. I pull more of it forward, my heart pounding as I stare. My hair was black. But now…
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the cold metal panel beside me and freeze. One eye is still the familiar blue I’ve always known, but the other… it’s a deep crimson, unnatural, like a flicker of fire trapped in my gaze. I reach up, fingers brushing the skin beneath it, smooth and flawless, no longer marked by the small scars and imperfections I remember. My face is almost doll-like, pale and eerily perfect, with not a single blemish or line.
The hiss of a door sliding open snaps me back, and footsteps echo through the room—a rhythmic, indifferent beat that sends a chill down my spine. I turn slowly, and a tall man steps into view, his expression more irritated than concerned, his uniform pristine and spotless.
“Sol Voss?” His voice is cold, detached, as if he’s reading my name off a checklist. He stands a few steps away, studying me with narrowed eyes, his gaze lingering over my blood-streaked hands, my too-pale, almost translucent skin, the mess of ghostly white hair hanging around my face. “I’m Dr. Garin,” he adds, his tone as sharp and clinical as his expression. For a moment, his lips press into a thin line of… impatience, like I’m a problem, an inconvenience, something to be handled and moved along.
“Welcome back,” he continues, but his tone holds none of the warmth those words imply. His eyes flick back to my arms, to the thin trails of blood trickling from where the IVs had been torn out. He doesn’t reach forward, doesn’t offer to help. Instead, he stands there, as if appraising something faintly disappointing, his head tilting as he scans me from head to toe.
“Med bay is expecting you,” he says curtly, glancing at a device on his wrist. “I’ll escort you there for initial diagnostics and to check on… any irregularities.” His words are measured, flat, as though he’s speaking about equipment rather than a person.
“Where’s my dad?” The question falls from my lips before I can stop it, the changes forgotten in that instant. My voice is barely more than a whisper, hoarse and broken. “Dr. Julian Voss—where is he?”
The man’s eyes flicker with a glimmer of impatience. “Dr. Voss didn’t survive the cryo process,” he states flatly, like he’s delivering a memo. “His pod malfunctioned shortly after launch, July 12, 2468. You’ve been in stasis for fifty years. Today’s date is May 18, 2518.”
Fifty years? The date slams into me with a cold, relentless force. Fifty years since I was twenty, since that day… I remember the desperate fight, my father’s hands on my arms, pushing me into the pod. But… that would make me… seventy?
A surge of panic crashes over me, clawing at my chest, and I try to push myself to my feet. Get up. Just get out. Go anywhere but here, my mind screams. But my legs buckle, trembling under my weight, and I collapse forward, hitting the cold metal floor face first. Pain bursts in my mouth, and I feel something crack. I reach up to my lips, expecting to feel a broken tooth. Instead, there’s only the warm slickness of blood—but no injury, nothing out of place. What the hell is wrong with me?
The man just stands there, arms folded, observing with detached amusement, as though I’m a bothersome detail in his day. “Yes,” he says clinically, as if explaining a simple fact. “Chronologically, you’re seventy. But biologically, you’re still twenty.”
I force myself up to my hands and knees, though my legs and arms tremble beneath me, as frustration and confusion churn within. “What the hell happened to me?” I demand, my voice cracking. “Why do I look like this? My skin, my hair… everything. What did you people do to me?”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, folding his arms as he looks me over with thinly veiled disdain. “Cryo has effects,” he says mockingly. “We’re still learning what long-term stasis does to the body. Sometimes there are side effects… mutations, cancer.” He shrugs, mouth twisting into a sneer. “Consider yourself lucky, princess. The only thing you lost was your precious melanin.” His gaze flickers over my ghostly appearance. “You’re on a ship with no sunlight, and yet your name is ‘Sol’? Ironic, don’t you think?” He chuckles bitterly, his amusement laced with scorn.
I feel a flash of anger at his words, and my hands clench involuntarily. His eyes narrow as he leans forward, his tone turning even colder. “Frankly, you’re a waste of resources,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “That pod could’ve saved someone worthwhile. Someone who earned their spot here, not someone handed it through nepotism.” He pauses, letting his words sink in, his expression hard. “If I’d been able to pull strings like your father, maybe my daughter would still be here too. But the great Dr. Voss pulled every favor to get you aboard.”
The bitterness in his voice is palpable, his eyes flashing with resentment. “Now that your father’s gone, I’m the lead scientist on the Jericho. And let me tell you, we’re not going to coddle you here. You’re going to pull your weight or you go back into that pod... permanently.”
The sharpness in his tone only fuels my anger, and I can’t hold back. “Eat shit,” I snap, the words slipping out with all the venom I can muster. I try to push myself to my feet, but my legs tremble, barely holding me up before I stumble forward. I catch myself on my hands this time, my palms pressing hard against the cold, unforgiving floor.
The man smirks, his contemptuous gaze lingering on me, his mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile. “Careful there,” he sneers, his tone dripping with scorn. “Wouldn’t want you slipping and ruining that flawless face of yours. It’s about the only thing you’ve got going for you, isn’t it? That eerie, porcelain perfection.” His eyes narrow as they sweep over me, his disdain sharpening. “No scars, no lines—nothing human left in it.”
He nudges a wheelchair toward me with his foot, his expression twisted with dark amusement. “You’ve been quite the exhibit for the crew, our very own Princess ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ Almost like a doll behind glass. Too fragile to be real.”
His voice takes on a biting edge as he gestures sharply toward the chair. “Come on, princess. Med bay’s waiting. If you’re too weak to stand, I’ll wheel you around like the royalty you clearly think you are.”
Before I can grab hold, he yanks the wheelchair back with a sharp pull, and I stumble forward, my knees hitting the hard metal floor. Pain flares through my legs, but I force myself to swallow the sound building in my throat. Garin stands over me, his smirk sharp and unrelenting, like he’s daring me to say something.
“Oops,” he sneers, voice dripping with mockery. “Guess I thought you were ready for it. My mistake.”
Heat rushes to my face, but I push myself up, refusing to let him see how much it stings. Without a word, I crawl into the wheelchair, gripping the armrests tightly to steady myself. Garin leans over slightly, his smirk twisting darker. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Once I’m in, he shoves the chair forward, the motion jarring and rough. The wheels screech slightly against the floor as he pushes me through doors and into the hallway beyond. The sharp fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows, making the space feel cold and lifeless.
The halls are silent, save for the sound of the chair’s wheels and Garin’s heavy steps. As we move deeper into the ship, my gaze catches glimpses of the cryo chambers through the small windows in the bulkheads. Rows of pods stretch into the distance, each one filled with a figure suspended in frozen stillness. Their faces are blurred by the frost coating the glass, their forms locked in an eerie limbo.
The emptiness of the ship hits me like a weight. It feels abandoned, save for the two of us. I know how this works—shifts of a skeleton crew rotating every few months, while the rest stay in cryo. But seeing it like this, so silent, so still, makes my chest tighten. How many people are awake right now? Ten? Less? I have no idea.
Garin doesn’t speak as he wheels me through the long corridors, but his hands are rough on the chair, each turn sharp and unforgiving. The cold air bites at my exposed skin, and the metallic tang of the recycled atmosphere fills my lungs. The isolation of it all presses down on me—the sterile halls, the empty ship, and the rows of frozen faces I can’t stop imagining.
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” I finally snap, unable to hold back after another rough turn. My voice is raw, trembling with both anger and exhaustion.
He chuckles coldly, his tone dripping with mockery. “What’s wrong, princess? You gonna cry to Daddy?” He pauses, letting the words cut deep before adding with a sneer, “Oh, wait. That’s right—Daddy’s gone. Guess you’ll have to handle this one all by yourself.”
I bite down the fury rising in my chest, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words sting. But he doesn’t stop, his voice sharp and relentless. Each word dripping with venom as he leans close.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Little Miss Voss, humanity’s golden child, right?” he scoffs, his tone as cold and sterile as the walls around us. “It’s sad, really. Your father’s genius—his advancements in nearly every field—all the great things he did. And the last thing he left us is… you.” He spits the word with a sneer, his gaze flicking over me like I’m something broken.
My hands clench tightly around the armrests, nails digging into the synthetic material. “Burn in hell, Garin,” I mutter, the fury trembling in my voice barely restrained.
But his smirk only sharpens, his words landing like blows. “If things were fair, if talent and skill actually mattered on this ship, someone useful would’ve been in that pod instead of you. But no, we’re stuck with Daddy’s little ‘princess of humanity,’ wasting space like a spoiled legacy project.”
His words linger, heavy and cruel, but I grit my teeth, gripping the chair until my knuckles ache, determined not to let him see me break.
Princess of humanity. The title echoed through my life even back on Earth, though it held a sinister undertone here. Back then, my father was one of Earth’s last leaders, a man in control of a crumbling world. And me, his daughter? I was something of a myth, barely seen beyond the sterile walls of his lab. Rumors. That I’d been experimented on, twisted by my father’s ambition. People whispered I wasn’t fully human anymore, that he had pushed me beyond natural limits, all to save humanity. How much of it was true?
Fragments are all I have—the genetic conditioning, the endless surgeries, his talk of “the next leap,” like it was both a promise and a threat. I was his tool, crafted for a purpose I barely understand.
Garin’s words only deepen the bitter irony. Here I am, supposedly humanity’s legacy, its last hope—and yet, even I don’t fully know what he made me. All I have are traces of his work—the conditioning, the FTL advancements, the biological enhancements—all pointing toward a future only he could see. My skin, my hair, my blood… I’m a puzzle he built without ever giving me the pieces.
As we near the med bay, Garin sneers down at me, muttering, “Little Princess… a waste of potential and resources. Your father’s actual work, his legacy—that’s all that matters. And now I’m the one who has to finish it.” His bitterness slices into me, but I shove down the urge to respond. What could I possibly say? I barely understand his legacy myself, only that I was at the center of it, remade and repurposed for something far beyond my comprehension.
By the time we arrive at the med bay, my mind is a storm of questions I’ll never get to ask, secrets I’m left to carry alone. Garin leans down, his sneer hardening as he looks at me with disdain. “Useless lab rat—that’s all you’ll ever be. You know nothing of sacrifice. Your father’s legacy died with him, and it’s up to us—those of us who actually care about humanity’s future—to pick up the pieces he left behind.”
My stomach twists. The truth is, even I don’t fully know the legacy my father left behind. Dr. Julian Voss is everywhere on Jericho—it feels like his mind built this ship. The latest fusion core powering Jericho, the one destined for Haven, the cybernetic and robotic systems—all his. Every system hums with his handiwork. And me? I was part of that vision, too.
I can almost feel the quiet hum of implants he added to my body over the years, the subtle enhancements woven into my flesh without a word of explanation. Whatever he injected into me that last day—his twisted, final experiment—had been the ultimate catalyst, sparking changes I can feel but don’t fully understand. My skin, my blood, even my bones feel different now, charged with something not quite natural.
The weight of it all presses down, suffocating. I grip the armrests harder than before, my nails digging into the synthetic material as frustration heats in my chest, tightening my throat with rage and helplessness. My vision blurs, and before I can stop them, tears prick at the corners of my eyes. It’s everything—the searing anger, the wrenching sadness, the helplessness of being a pawn in my father’s game, a game I barely even understand.
“Go fuck yourself, Garin,” I snap, my voice low but breaking, fierce despite the tears slipping down my cheeks. I can’t keep the tremble out of my words. “You have no idea what I’ve been through for humanity.”
Garin’s sneer falters for a fraction of a second, as if my response catches him off guard. But he quickly recovers, his disdain settling into a look of cold satisfaction, as though my pain is exactly what he expected—what he wanted. I turn my face away, swallowing back the grief and the simmering rage, the hollow ache that reminds me of everything I’ve lost, including the one person who could answer any of this.
I hate you Dad… But, God, I miss you. Even knowing you made me your experiment, knowing you were never the father I needed, I still feel this emptiness gnawing at me, like something’s been ripped away and left raw. Why did you do this to me? Why did you have to leave me with this… whatever this is?
Garin''s smirk sharpens into something darker, his eyes glinting with cruel pleasure as he takes in the tear stains on my cheeks. He leans in close, his breath cold and taunting. “Oh, look at this. The ‘princess of humanity’ reduced to tears,” he sneers. “Pathetic. I knew you were nothing but a parasite, clinging to the coattails of a man whose work you couldn’t even understand.”
He lets the words linger, savoring the impact. “Do you even realize how much of a burden you are? How much precious space you waste?” His voice drops, low and cold. “If it were up to me, your pod would’ve been jettisoned to make room for someone worth the air they breathe. But instead, we’re all stuck coddling Daddy’s little failed experiment.”
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He stands back, looking down at me with icy disdain. “So, princess, enjoy the pity while you can. We all know you’ll crack the second things get tough.”
With a mocking flourish, he steps aside as the door to the med bay opens, raising his voice. “Doctor Yates—your highness is here. Patch her up… or don’t. Personally, I’d rather save the supplies for the livestock in cryo. At least they’ll be of some use down the line.”
Dr. Yates is already standing in the doorway, arms folded, her expression unyielding. “That’s enough, Garin,” she snaps, her voice cutting through the corridor. “If I hear one more word of that nonsense, I’ll make sure Captain Warren knows exactly what kind of attitude you bring to the crew.” Her words are clipped, her gaze fierce, and for a moment, Garin’s smirk falters. He mutters something under his breath and strides away, casting one last venomous look in my direction.
As soon as he’s out of sight, Dr. Yates’s expression softens, and she gives me a small, reassuring nod. “Don’t mind him, Sol,” she says gently, her tone warm in contrast to Garin’s icy bitterness. “He’s been bitter for a long time. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but… just know you’re not the first he’s treated like this.”
She places a comforting hand on my shoulder, helping me out of the wheelchair and guiding me to the exam bed with a steady kindness. There’s no judgment in her gaze, just quiet empathy, as though she can see the pain and confusion beneath my anger. I manage a small, grateful smile, the warmth of her presence a welcome relief after Garin’s harshness.
“Thank you,” I murmur, barely holding myself together, and she offers me a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before she begins her work, her every movement filled with care and understanding.
I manage a faint smile, grateful for her calm, steady presence. But then her eyes fall on my arms and lip, noticing the faint traces of blood still smeared across my skin.
“Is that… from you?” she asks, concern flashing across her face.
I hesitate, glancing at the streaks of blood on my skin, tracing where the IVs should have left marks. But there’s nothing—no pain, no wounds. It doesn’t make sense. For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. Then, his voice cuts through the haze in my mind, sharp and commanding, as if he’s still standing over me. Some things are better left unsaid, Sol. They wouldn’t understand. My stomach knots as I think of the bruises I should have, the cracked tooth that should be throbbing—but there’s nothing. No sign of injury, just more questions I shove down deep, like everything else he left behind.
“I… think I coughed it up,” I manage, hoping the vague answer will satisfy her and that she won’t push any further.
A flicker of worry crosses Dr. Yates’s face, her gaze dropping to my chest as though something might be lurking inside. “Alright,” she says gently. “I’ll run a few tests, just to be cautious. It could be something with your lungs.” She readies her equipment, her movements calm and precise, but I can sense the quiet concern underlying her actions.
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As Dr. Yates begins with her tests and full-body scans, I sit motionless, watching the flickering lights of the machine as it hums around me. I’m certain nothing will appear—my father would have made sure of that. He always covered his tracks. Whatever he’d done to me, whatever enhancements or alterations lurked beneath my skin, they wouldn’t show up on routine scans. He’d been meticulous, obsessive. And I was certain he’d buried his work deep, hidden from anyone who might try to look too closely.
Dr. Yates glances at her monitor, her brow creasing with faint confusion as she scrolls through the results. “Everything seems normal, Sol,” she says after a moment, her tone laced with relief. “Your vitals are stable, and I’m not seeing any abnormalities in your scans.” She pauses, her gaze lingering on me with a touch of curiosity. “Though… it is unusual, isn’t it? The change in your hair, your skin, even your eye color.” Her voice is soft, more thoughtful than concerned. “Sometimes cryo can have strange effects on the body. But this…” She trails off, an almost knowing look flickering in her eyes, as if she’s heard whispers of something more, something darker.
I catch the shift in her expression—a flash of curiosity, maybe even suspicion—but it’s softened by the warmth in her voice and movements. She’s kind, not invasive, but the quiet interest in her gaze lingers. A part of me wants to explain, to give her something—anything—but I know better. Some things are better left hidden. My father’s voice echoes in my mind, heavy and unyielding.
I feel the words I can’t say building up inside me, a storm I want to release. The temptation to spill what little I know, to piece together the fragments of his work with someone who might actually understand, burns at the edges of my resolve. But I can’t. I won’t. Even with all my resentment, all the anger boiling inside me at what he turned me into, I can’t betray his work. It’s the only thing tethering me to him—and to whatever I’ve become.
“It must be the cryo,” I murmur finally, my voice barely steady as I watch her carefully for a reaction. Her curiosity dims, replaced by a gentle nod, though something thoughtful lingers behind her eyes.
Dr. Yates’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Alright, we’re all done here. Nothing unusual, but if you feel anything out of the ordinary, let us know right away,” she says, her tone calm but firm. Her soft smile feels genuine, like she wants to reassure me, though it barely scratches the surface of the unease crawling under my skin.
“Thank you,” I say softly, gripping the edges of the exam table as I slide off. My legs tremble beneath me, and I can tell she notices, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she lingers a moment, watching me with concern.
“I’ll grab you something to eat,” she offers. “You’ve been out of stasis for a while, and I’m sure your body needs the energy.”
As she steps out, the room falls into silence, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The weight of it all presses down—my father’s legacy, the secrets he buried, and the twisted gift he left me. The pieces don’t fit. They never have. And the harder I try to make sense of it, the worse it gets. What the fuck did you do to me, Dad?
I try to push the thoughts away, but they swirl in my head like smoke, choking me with their weight. My fists clench, and before I can stop it, the tears spill over. My breath hitches, and I bury my face in my hands, the ache of everything I’ve lost—my father, my old self, even the simple act of being ordinary—crashing over me.
The door opens quietly, and I quickly wipe my face as Dr. Yates returns. Her gaze softens when she sees me, but she doesn’t comment on my tears. Instead, she steps closer, a small package in her hands. “Here,” she says gently, holding out a pre-packaged meal. “You need to eat something after all this time.”
The scent reaches me immediately—warm, savory, and rich—and my stomach clenches with hunger I didn’t realize I had. My hands tremble as I take it from her, and I murmur, “Thank you.”
Dr. Yates watches me as I tear into the package, her quiet presence grounding me. Each bite is a small comfort, a reminder that, even in this sterile and unfamiliar place, there are still traces of humanity. For a moment, the world feels a little less cold.
“Once you’re done,” she says softly, her tone as kind as ever, “I’ll bring you some clothes and show you where you can shower. You don’t have to stay in that hospital gown any longer than you need to.”
The thought of a hot shower, real clothes—anything to reclaim some semblance of normalcy—eases the tight knot in my chest. “Thank you, again... really,” I repeat, this time more earnestly.
As I eat, I cling to that flicker of hope. It’s small, almost fragile, but it’s there, steadying me in this unfamiliar world. For now, it’s enough to hold onto the promise of warmth, of humanity, and of taking one step forward, no matter how uncertain the path ahead might be.