Cryo Freezing was the least enjoyable part of being in the Marines. Getting shot at, getting yelled at, and getting shot at while getting yelled at were all very doable parts of the profession, but if there was one thing Arca hated above all else, it was cold. She hated<em>being</em>cold, she hated<em>looking</em>cold, she hated<em>walking through</em>cold, and she loathed ice, as it was simply water, that was cold. If they would let her wear a damn parka into the cryo tube, the whole 'freeze you for three months' thing would be so much more bearable, but no, every time she sees a damn cryo tube, she's gotta listen to Mengsk's usual order to 'strip to the skivvies.'<br/><br/>Arca was one of only two women in Third Platoon, and she always felt as though everyone else had thought lower of her. Maybe it was because she chose her computers over living people for conversations, or maybe it was because she actively<em>spoke</em>to her computers. She slowly awoke from the Cyro Sleep, for the first time being the first up. Grappling a shaking hand on the side of the pod, she pulled herself up with a slight amount of difficulty, sitting slightly in the pod, rubbing her face to get the sleep out.<br/><br/>She shivered, in a mixed of cold and lack of clothing, and looked around. She had given up her modesty when she joined, so sitting in her underwear didn't bother her much. "Good morning... or... afternoon... or... something..." She muttered, not knowing who would hear.