Timothy

Almost as soon as you fell asleep, you felt a jolt and you woke up.

The pipes in your mouth and nose inflating and deflating your lungs at a rate too slow for your sudden, chemically-induced panic. Without warning, the pod opened up like a blooming flower, the warm goo you were bathed in flooding out as you grabbed the mask on your face. You yanking it off, the tubes in your throat and nose leaving an uncomfortable sensation as you yanked it out. You breathed hard and fast, regaining control of your respiratory functions as you felt your heartrate drop back to normal.

You weren't in the pod room. You looked around and all there was was white. With the exception of yourself and the pod you were in, the world nothing but a big, white blank.

"Am I in? Is this M.O.T.H.E.R.?"

"Welcoming Timothy Joyce-Bouguereau," said a voice. It was feminine, but it had an eco and passionless tone that meant it was definitely an AI program. "You have chosen to admit yourself into the M.O.T.H.E.R. program. Here we will tend to your every need as thank you for helping mankind progress. Please wait while we find you a server in our databanks that matches your preferences and desired conditions. We hope you will enjoy your stay with us."

You reach in the back of your head. Your body is still as bald as the day you were born. You were sticky, some of the amniotic fluid you were floating in still on you, but you notice that the surgically implanted headjack was missing.

"Server found. Wait for processing."