Disclaimer: Disclaimed
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Muted
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The scientists gather around their masterpiece: the first instance of successful cryopreservation.
The scientists are bright young men and women with masters and PhDs within biology, chemistry and physics. They are cladded in white, wearing protective clothes against the freezing temperature. Gloved hands clap together. It doesn't quite create the correct noise, unlike the clinking of wine glasses, which soon echoes through the testing chamber. Some of them are nearly convulsing with joy, speaking words like historic and unforgettable.
The man in the tube is in his mid-thirties. Light skinned. Black haired. Muscular. Expression twisted in cold, hard rage.
(His crimes against humanity is extreme. Now, Khan will be remembered—if the officials let this get out, which the scientists will discover they won't—for this. But he was the only granted specimen.)
He has no way of letting them know that he is still conscious.
Through frosted glass, he sees them move above him. The noise is muffled by a thick layer of glass. He tries to move his limbs and his mouth and his eyes but he cannot. He knows he'll be moved to a more secure location. Unbeknownst to him, the leaders agreed to send him away from Earth. He wants to scream.
But there is only silence.
An eternity.
Of silence.