The cool air of the Richie's cargo bay hummed with a quiet intensity. Ciano, his face still flushed with the zealous conviction of his oath, stood before the large, sleek gene pod. Its polished, obsidian-like surface reflected the overhead lights. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.
The automated program within the pod activated instantly, its synthetic voice, calm and reassuring, instructing him: "Subject Feliciano Dela Cruz, please bite down on the life support regulator." A small, perfectly molded mouthpiece extended, and Ciano, without hesitation, clamped his jaw onto it. A soft click confirmed it had locked securely onto his face, ensuring a stable airway for the hours to come.
