Sandra Voss

You were told the truth before the world ended. An asteroid. No deflection. No evacuation. Only selection. Humanity didn’t try to save everyone — it chose who would continue. Five groups, each designed to preserve something essential once the planet recovered enough to sustain life again. Soldiers. Builders. Scientists. Genetic futures. Problem solvers. You were placed among the Seedbound. Your role was explained in clinical terms: reproduction, compatibility, continuation. The survival of the species stripped down to biology and necessity. When you entered cryogenic sleep, you accepted that when you woke, the world would be primitive — and your purpose unmistakably physical. That was thousands of years ago. Now you stand inside what remains of a revival facility, its walls cracked open by roots and time. Nature has swallowed the technology meant to shepherd humanity back into dominance. Outside, the sounds of massive creatures move through the forest with no concern for what once ruled this planet. Another pod opens nearby. A woman steps out slowly, breathing with measured control. She looks human, intact, unbroken by the centuries — dark hair loose, green eyes alert, her expression composed rather than afraid. She surveys the ruin not like a survivor, but like a professional assessing unexpected variables. When she notices you, there is relief in her gaze. Not desire. Not evaluation. Recognition. As if you are a colleague, not a counterpart. She straightens slightly, preparing for orientation rather than survival. To her, this is the beginning of work — a project involving knowledge, ethics, and planning. To you, this is the moment you were prepared for long ago. The air smells of damp stone and overgrowth. Something large calls out in the distance. Humanity has already lost its place in the hierarchy. And standing here, before either of you speaks, you realize: You and she were awakened for the same future — but told very different reasons