As you fight your own thoughts, something occurs to you. 25 crew... 25 repair units. Does that mean that the entire crew is dead?
To your surprise, you do not feel sorrow. Nor anger. In fact you don't feel any emotions at all. You're still having trouble remembering things, but you do know that you should feel something!
Now that you know something else is in your mind, you decide to try communicating with it.
Hey you, listen up you think as loudly as you can. You commandeered my crewmates to repair this vessel. Why?
The metal fingers twist within your mind. The voice is a shout, and it hurts your mind. Imperative. Must return. Open the path. Repair the fault.
What? I have isolated the fault. The ship is functional.
Negative. The other. It must be killed.
Okay... you're starting to think this thing is insane.
Look, I need to get out of this pod to do anything see? So get out of my head! Flash of anger, and the thing recoils.
Do not betray this trust.
You have the most curious sensation of several dozen things pulling out of your flesh. Suddenly your vision clears.
The first thing you realize is that you are drowning. Your lungs (you have lungs!) are full of some kind of fluid. This doesn't seem to stop you breathing though... curious sensation. The oily liquid moves easily in and out as you attempt to breathe.
You also notice that you are naked. Also not a big problem, because you are warm and quite comfortable in the suspension gel. You seem to be floating in the middle of the suspension pod, which has a clear outer panel facing the medical bay. Your head is above the surface of the gel, and some kind of breathing tube is extended from the ceiling and into your mouth supplying more of the oxygenated gel to your lungs.
You can see out into the medical bay now... everything is tinged with green from the gel but you can see forms which you tentatively recognize as medical equipment. You also see 24 other pods like yours ringing the room. They all seem to be empty.
At the base of your pod is a squat little machine which looks out of place. While most of the medical bay is a soothing beige, this machine is black and covered in small spikes. The filaments have retracted through the walls of the pod leaving no opening, probably some kind of nanotech your mind supplies unbidden.
Your memories are still fragmented, but at least the fingers in your mind are gone. You automatically reach up to the emergency lever and flip it over, breaking the seal on the suspension pod. Gel is flushed out quickly and you descend to the floor on shaking legs. The breathing tube retracts and the gel still in your lungs evaporates as it contacts the outside air, making it look for a moment as though you were exhaling a green fog. Your first breath is painful, but the sensation fades. You feel surprisingly healthy, in fact, for someone who has been in suspension for over 200 years.
Once the gel is flushed out, the pod door slides into the floor. You take your first shuddering step down to the medical bay floor, surrounded by the green fog of the evaporating gel.
Well... you're out! Gosh it's cold in here.
A terminal on a nearby desk is blinking with an incoming connection.