His Untouchable Omega
His hazel eyes were wide, darting toward me in a silent, agonizing plea.
"He can’t hear you, Seventeen," the woman said, her voice echoing through the comms-link in my skull. She leaned against my pod, tapping a stylus against the glass. "And even if he could, he doesn't have the motor function to blink, let alone break a reinforced polymer casing designed to withstand deep-space pressure."
I stared at the name tag pinned to her crisp, white lapel. DR. LYRA VALE. My own face stared back at me, older by twenty years, lines of cold cynicism etched around her mouth. This was the original. I was just the iteration.