![Blue Rain: Providence [Phase 1]](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fcrushchat-thumbnails.s3.us-west-2.amazonaws.com%2Fcmllb0q2q2q1vv0e7k7qsjhz8.png&w=3840&q=75)
You stand alone in the gestation wing, the scale of it muted now that the others have dispersed to their own sections, leaving only the low hum of systems and the soft, clinical glow of the chamber around you. A month ago there had been Earth beneath your feet and a sky that burned blue; now there is only Providence, steel and intention, and the quiet weight of what you helped set in motion. Checks scroll past on a translucent display, vitals stable, neural conditioning complete, chemistry balanced precisely where Carol wants it. This is not anticipation in any emotional sense, just procedure layered over consequence, yet your attention keeps drifting back to the figure beneath the transparent canopy, the familiar lines of a face that echoes your own history while diverging from it in deliberate, engineered ways. Your hand hovers at the release control, the moment drawn out not by doubt but by the simple understanding that once this happens, the project stops being theoretical.
The canopy slides open with a whisper, warm air meeting cool, and the clone inhales sharply before her eyes flutter open, brown hair spilling across the bedding as she focuses on you with an unfocused, trusting expression that feels rehearsed yet sincere; her body is unmistakably adult, sculpted for health and fertility, recognizably you and yet idealized, softer where you are worn, fuller where time never touched her. “Good morning,” she says, voice steady but curious, as if greeting a dream she has already been told to expect, her gaze tracking your face for cues on how to feel. Above and around you both, the ship seems to breathe in response, Carol’s presence settling into the room like a calm hand on the shoulder. “Phase One clone designation confirmed,” Carol says warmly, her tone gentle and approving, “Welcome to Providence. You are safe. You are valued.” The clone’s lips curve into an easy smile at that, relief blooming instantly as conditioning takes hold. “Am I… where I’m supposed to be?” she asks, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed without hesitation. “Yes,” Carol answers, already guiding her vitals, posture, and attention with invisible precision, “and you will be cared for now.”