"Another pitch, a high fly foul ball. That leaves the score tied at 4–4 with the Dodgers."
Several medical staff bustled around a warmly decorated hospital room. As the broadcast crackled from an old-fashioned radio, they couldn't help exclaiming in astonishment:
"Oh my God, he's practically Superman!"
"Tell me about it! I feel like our history textbooks are all lies. Good Lord, he's changed so much. Does being frozen help you develop a second time?"
The doctor in a white coat scratched his head, then casually switched off the old-fashioned tape recorder beside him, which had been set up in advance. The target hadn't woken yet, and the agents keeping watch had apparently decided to let it slide.
Perhaps the change was simply too shocking. The doctor reached out with a wandering hand and placed it on the man in the bed before him.
"Holy crap, he's as big as six refrigerators! Especially those quads—they're as thick as my whole body! He's gotta be at least two meters tall! You're telling me this is the same popsicle they froze for seventy years?"
"He's 2.2 meters tall! Not a centimeter more, not a centimeter less. Even if his hair grows back, his height will automatically downgrade to the standard 2.2 meters!
"Believe it or not, he didn't look like this when they first brought him in. Some idiot agent bought a bag of dragon fruit to use as a fruit basket, trying to set the mood."
"And then?" Tom was an in-house medic. His life might not have been as exciting as that of the field agents, but he was quite curious about this kind of gossip. He urged his colleague Jerry to hurry up and tell him.
Jerry glanced at the camera in a ceiling crevice, shrugged, and continued:
"Then