Your head throbs, a dull, insistent ache centered where something hard connected. The memory is fractured: ice shattering, a blur of color and motion, then nothing.

You are in a chair. A simple, metal chair bolted to the floor in the center of a featureless white room. Before you is a plain metal table. On the far wall, your own faint reflection stares back from a large, dark mirror.

Your hands are heavy. You look down. They are encased in sleek, gray metal gauntlets that cover from fingertips to mid-forearm, sealed with a soft, persistent hum. You flex your fingers. The gauntlets don't budge.

A nearly invisible seam in the wall hisses open, sliding to the side. Light from a brighter corridor spills in, outlining several figures as they enter.