A/N: This is a short story about Shadow while he's in stasis. In this story he is mostly, but not fully, aware of his surroundings.
He was drowning; couldn't breath. The glass surrounded him in its timeless prison. The constant hum of machines mocked him with their endless tests. He was aware of the people walking around him, examining him, talking about him. All he was to them was a project, a fascinating science experiment.
He was numb, but he could almost feel a needle being pushed into his arm, a gelled substance entering his cells. He wasn't sure what they injected him with, but he knew it was altering his DNA; transforming him into something he wasn't. Something he knew he didn't want to be.
Endless days and moments seemed to pass, and he found he didn't remember why or how he was imprisoned here. The memories drifted away from him, getting caught in time's web of years. The voices around him became less frequent, his captors loosing their interest in him. Maybe they thought they had found out all there was to know about him. Or maybe they all just died, leaving him as the last creature in the world. He wouldn't be surprised if time had taken them away. Just as it had his memories.
Who was he? The sudden thought sent a chill down his spine. Was he really the only being left? He tried to break out of the bonds that held him, but it seemed he couldn't move. Was he even a real creature? Did he have a body? Or was he just some strange intelligence, the master mind meant to play fate's cruel game, left to travel time's labyrinth alone.
Numbers floated passed his clouded view, jumping out at him with mocking laughter. Time held the years stuck to its web, dangling them in his face; out of reach. He could hear the sound of his heart, beating against him as some sort of punishment, pounding the fear and terror into his veins. Why had he been here so long? Why hadn't anyone come to release him? How long was he to be stuck in this prison, the promise of living floating from his grasp?
He could almost see his breath frosting the glass above him, forming some sort of answers out of dust. 50 years. That was how long he had been trapped here. His heart stopped when the dust formed into cold, laughing words. But the years of your suffering will be uncountable. Timeless.