RYAN STRAPPED INTO his complete white skin-tight garment made of elastomeric fabric for temperature stability and neutral buoyancy from the interior and Kevlar fiber for low thermal conductivity, abrasion, and ultra-violet resistance, suspension to the paramagnetic salt enclosure, and enhanced body protection on the exterior. The basic idea: soft, warm, comfortable on the inside and hard, resistant, everlasting on the outside.

The dress room's hooks had his regular suit hanging like livestock in a slaughterhouse. His personal items, including his smartphone, fossil watch, and wallet were taken earlier by high-security PFPA officers with red-patched holographic access cards. However, taking advantage of the situation, Ryan turned off blocked contacts from a girl he used to date that obsessively kept calling him every hour of the day, even after they broke up. She'll be their problem, now. The former agent had to smirk at that, imagining the girl he forgot constantly being a nuisance to the PFPA officers.

Teach you to be careless idlers on the job, Ryan thought both bitterly and smugly.

Once he dressed in his garment, finishing with the white armor on his chest and shoulders, and then the visor helmet, sitting on the metallic folding chair without use. He didn't want to put it on now, whether the suit's phone-sized carbon recycling filter was ready to use or not. Ryan only held the helmet under his arm, holding it like a brand-new inflated basketball in front of an NBL audience.

Walking down the narrow corridors in a skin-tight garment brought back painful memories of his most strenuously training those few months ago. Waiting in a room underground, having his name called when ready to commence training, and working hard without a show of impenetrable breakthroughs. He'd only show unyielding success and flexibility in crucial episodes without assistance. The first half of training was a mere breeze for the former agent, knowing how to conquer fear and follow sense; but mid-training became much more difficult than he had ever anticipated, and finals were indescribably, much to say, beyond human physical and mental expertise even for veterans.

However—turn the tables—and that'll become your breakthrough, he finally learned after months of brutal preparations in front of the most eminent and prestigious political, scientific, and martial officials. In desperate situations, when you're faced with difficult and disadvantaged scenarios...think conscientiously; be vital; have faith; do what's right.

Think conscientiously; be vital; have faith; do what's right. Because without these—humanity has no reason to exist. Without legacy in humanity—then our remains on Earth were merely nothing but our atavistic undoing and endures.

****************************************

Ryan was escorted through the test facility, the former agent in-between two PFPA officers. One was old and the other seemed to have recently turned thirty. He hardly glanced at the officers, finding his position slightly creepy for his comfort. But as soon as they approached a rising platform, inside a metallic two and a half story facility radiated by heavy-duty fluorescent lights on the ceiling, walls, and LED floor lights gleaming on the edge of walls and everything else. He saw, before led onto a platform, Control Station on the opposite side, rising to the ceiling. He knew his sister, Doctor Helienson, and Chief of Staff was in there with technicians, operators, engineers, and scientists of various fields. They could see him. He just couldn't see them.

Hurrying to the bay, but not in a rush, after the officers finally left him alone, returning to the entrance/exit door of the ground floor facility, Ryan climbed aboard an RPV (Reconnaissance and Protection Vehicle) pod. They were old yet beauteous in their own way: shaped like the old Gemini modules, except with a little more room in the cockpit, and alternating the ion-propelled engine to a smaller size with equal amounts of potential energy before launch and kinetic energy after launch as a standard EVA scout. This beast had non-corrosive carbon-titanium (mined, refined, and produced on Mars' colonies) fuselage, lined with heavy protective shielding, life support for up to twenty-four hours, and state-of-the-art navigation, communication and quantum-computed system.

Ryan switched the hands-free headset to low frequency, specifically twenty Hertz.

"Testing, testing. Can I get any feedback? Over."

"Roger, R-P," It was Doctor Helienson over the headset, "we have confirmed a fracture in space-time and are commencing vortex opening. You may initiate pre-launch sequence. Over."

Ryan closed and sealed the hatch, using magnets for an air-tight sealant. He strapped in hurriedly, before watching a circular mechanic in front, the Terminus, while its hollow hole began appearing as a cloud-like blue of swirls around the center of the Terminus. An electric-blue with numerous cyclone-like vortexes, seemed attached to the rims of Terminus' inner structure. Quickly, he punched pre-launch sequence systems. Fuel cells and auxiliary power online. Life support and emergency systems backup at one hundred percent and running without complication. Green for all systems.

The cockpit, still a little cramped like the Gemini modules had a touch-screen console and holographic displays of multiple instruments, digital data, and feeds, illuminate by blue and white LED glowing rims around components of the console. Control sticks on the edges of the pilot's armrests. Blinking lights, white, red, and green, for the sub-systems indicated successful startups and overrides.

Before he would launch, the Electromagnetic Aircraft Launch System (EMALS) catapult system, connected to the RPV's landing gear—

"Don't forget," Helienson interrupted without advanced notice, "Pandora can be synced to the RPV's quantum-computed system. She is programmed for pre-launch sequence and V/STOL systems, unless repealed by manual override protocol, a.k.a 'you.' But before I go, beware; because once you enter that wormhole, communications will be very static due to electromagnetic interference, until you make through and into the other world. Also, you're equipped with emergency gear and other things you need to survive until you establish domain and dominance in a possible hostile world."

"I give a fifty-fifty chance whether this world will even be hostile." He looks from the back of his seat, finding the emergency gear and kits at the back, strapped and properly secured. Hung from on a metallic wall, a semi-automatic rifle with a red dot sight, and infrared laser sight combo. "Why do I need a semi-auto rifle, anyway?"

"Because when we sent the probe to the other world, we discovered healthy stimulus organisms, which could likely be terrestrial animals or anything really. And if so, they don't fear humans like our terrestrial animals do, since these exotic organisms never went through millions of years of evolution with the fear and idea that humans are apex predators akin to ours. Like I said earlier, 'establish domain and dominance' once you arrive."

Ryan licked his lips and nodded slowly without an audience.

"Gotcha." He leveled his Cicret Bracelet close to the console, saying, "Pandora, sync, and command pre-launch sequence and V/STOL systems."

"Yes, Ryan. Right away!"

When the console and LED lights turned blue and white, the former agent knew Pandora had synced herself into the quantum-computed system. As Helienson said, they did make tweaks to Pandora's speech and sentiment program. Now she spoke more normally and used error-free word choice and pronunciation. Now, he liked the human AI a lot better than before. Just imagining being alone with a human AI didn't seem all that weird then before. But Pandora's primary role on this mission was to keep Ryan safe at all times and obey all his commands, even with a human sentimental program with the ability to comprehend rights and morals. Of course, not every human feeling was programmed into the human AI, in case of hesitation and minor disobedience which could lead to Ryan's downfall. Keeping the former CIA agent safe and following commands is her primary objective. Asking questions and sentimental opinions are merely sub-systems.

"Pre-launch systems are green, Ryan! EMALS catapult system is green and ready to launch! Final preparations are at your command, Ryan! Ready or not?" Pandora's tone was casual, but the former agent could imagine the human AI sounding more firm and enthusiastic like she tried to be, he guessed.

"Ryan," it was his sister over the frequency now, "before you go, I want to say that I'm so, so proud to be your little sister and that I love you no matter what. I hope you come back safely."

"I love you, too, sis. But don't worry..." He cleared his throat and held the wire-type microphone close to his mouth. "...I'll be back." He mimicked his best Arnold Schwarzenegger and his acting role in the Terminator franchise impression. Next thing he knew, he heard the soft, static chuckles of his sister over the headset, making him smile with warmth before putting his helmet on and locking the latches tightly in place.

He thought to myself, All right...here goes nothing. What's that slang people said back in the day about living one life? Oh, yes, Yolo!

He took another deep breath.

"Pandora, ready for launch," he said. And with that, the ion boosters fired, expelling a tell of electric-blue and white plasma, accelerating the RPV's speed to beyond records of EVA aircraft. However, the EMALS's linear motor kept the RPV in place, like waiting jets on aircraft carriers with pilots just waiting to catapult their aircraft. The plotted trajectory in the guidance system, data previously gathered from the probe, calculated the pods' path through the wormhole and to the exact coordinates of this new world beyond the Terminus.

Ryan little voice in his head, with many reasons, tried persuading him to reconsider with adrenaline rushing and his heart pounding. He knew this could go both ways: successfully journeying into an electromagnetic vortex and make it to the other world unharmed, or flying directly on a suicide mission, as his name would only be forgotten to those with no deep, personal connections with Ryan...not to mention ten million dollars down the drain for a lost pod with an idiotic pilot inside. But, of course, nobody close to him would miss the former agent any. And he knew as well that high-ranking officials could give less for one lost--any human can replace another human--Ryan heard them say many times whenever he eavesdropped on the other side of locked doors.

While firmly gripping the control sticks on the armrest, he found his heart beating quicker and harder the more he realized that this moment he'd trained for is finally coming to life. Nervousness seemed to grasp himself more than vehement enthusiasm.

"Ryan, your bracelet's heartbeat sensor detects an increased heartbeat of one hundred and twelve pulses per minute. Are you feeling satisfacory?" Pandora asked.

"It's something called nervousness, Pandora. Nothin' to worry about." He took a deep breath after his reply, grasping the controls on the armrest, knowing now he couldn't turn back. Here goes nothing... "Control Station, request access."

"Access granted, R-P. You are clear for take off. Godspeed."

With that cue, Ryan thruster the controls, shouting, "Now, Pandora!" Soon, with a booming electrical bolt, reaching fierce speeds and amounting kinetic energy, the pod shot from the EMALS and into the Terminus. The pod shot so fast a person hardly had time to blink before the aircraft disappeared into the electromagnetic vortex. The pod the left earth without a trace, except for the used EMALS.

****************************************

Julian rose from her rolling chair as soon as the pod disappeared into the gigantic Terminus. She felt her own heart stop a beat when the booming sound of the pod's high-velocity jet noise shook the facility with light rumbles, almost the feeling onboard a moving maglev. Doctor Helienson, previously making a quick converse with a chief operator, gazed at the young, tensed female. The old doctor offered her a reassuring smile across her tad wrinkled face. She looked at the Chief of Staff, who held nothing less than an astonished expression. Shortly, a smile of satisfaction grew, and kept growing wider. Julian perceived this as less than compassionate. She could see through the eyes of politicians without sincere regard to public sentiment and opinion.

She frowned. Douches like this man, a member of the politically reformed Democratic Party, who espoused a tougher outlook on the public and other rivalry parties, and never fully comprehending the sentimentiality people felt when loved ones disappeared—whether alive or dead. However, her professional demeanor constrained Julian from expressing any looks of incense. God, she hated establishment politicians!

"This is a huge success, people!" the Chief of Staff shouted. He threw his arms in the air in triumph. "We're changing the course of humanity forever."

"Well, sir, if I may intrude, until we have confirmation our pilot has safely arrived in the new world, we cannot affirm any success for humanity's future," Helienson said. That statement gave Julian chills along her arms, still stewing for her brother's safety.

"Well, then...go ahead and talk to him if you're so worried about that pilot. Don't stop me from raining on your parade." He checks his digital, platinum watch. "Besides, I have other manners to attend to. Speak with me when he arrives in Wonderland."

Julian hid the urge to clench a fist and throw a perfect blow into the man's cheek. Now he was just being disrespectful. Watching the most glorious moment in human history since the first moon and Mars landing, and now he seems to spit on the very man risking his life for mankind. Of course, I didn't surprise her. Again, an establishment politician never fully comprehend the feelings people expressed when loved ones disappear.

Worthless piece of shit! she thought.

But as soon as the Chief of Staff grasped the vertical door handle, twisting horizontally, and opening it, he was met with an instant surging pain through his forehead before he fell to the ground, dazed. Clamping manifold footsteps and the shouting from a firm, raspy, ear-piercing men.

"Don't move! Get down to the ground, now!"

Julian and Helienson were met with soldiers in full uniform and heavy gear, leveling laser-sighted assault rifles at everyone in the room. The staff, except Julian and Helienson, complied with the soldiers, gradually kneeling on the floor until they lay completely prone on their stomachs. One soldier, most likely a warrant officer in command, gestured his hands at the Chief of Staff and the others, making twists, swirls, extending and bending his fingers covered by his tactical carbon fiber glove. His men nodded, complying with gestural orders and lowering their weapons.

It didn't take a genius to finger out who they were. Universal Camouflage Pattern uniforms, Ultra-enhanced Combat Helmets, Advanced Tactical Vests, tactical forward grip M7A2 assault rifles with certain design to the laser sights, and they spoke perfectly good English. They never fired on sight, she noted. Of course—they wouldn't kill their own fellow patriots. Yes, she thought, they are Americans.

"W-what's the meaning of this?" the Chief of Staff shouted with acid in his tone, pressing, but not efficiently, on the bruised point of his forehead. "Answer me, soldier, or so help you'll be facing court-mart—!"

"I don't think so, Mr. Chief of Staff." The voice muffled from the edge of the corridor, inching closer and closer, until a man of Indian origin, perhaps in his mid-thirties, appears from the hollow door. His expression held no emotion, but the look of disgust and pitiless gazes directly at the Chief of Staff, lying against a wall stunned and enraged. "You have no authority over these men and women."

"You! You worthless, cow-loving son of a—!"

One of the soldiers kicked the Chief of Staff in his abdomen. The Indian in an immaculate satin suit merely grinned at the old man's pain, before directing his full attention at Julian and Helienson, the only ones still standing in the Control Station. He prevented himself from grinning once again, but the temptation was too great for him to let go, as he had the upper hand, of course. Two women, young and old, one presumably smart and the other an Einstein of brilliance; one beautiful and the other cranky; both of them fearless, confused and tensed. He loved that kind of sight. Two daring, brave women in a room full of submissive cowards.

"I'm sorry to startle you," he said, walking closer. "I really am. It's just that the element of surprise is always the most...efficient method of cornering your enemy, even with half the government behind your back."

"What do you want?" Helienson asked bitterly. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to say this, too, but you're under arrest for illegal space-time experimentation, under the Scientific War Assistance Prohibition Act of 2089, not to mention the oldest administrative charges of all: treason and fraud."

"Illegal? We were given government permission and financial funding for this project. And how are treason and fraud connected to all this?" Julian turned to Helienson, who was just as baffled and blank as she was.

"Well, unless the House Committee on Financial Services made some gross calculation errors on budgets, because from what I know the government never funded this project."

What? How? If the government wasn't funding us this whole time, then who—? Julian snapped herself from her thoughts, before looking directly at the Chief of Staff—the only one personally running and overseeing the project.

The Indian continued, "And to answer your previous question, the NSA intercepted an old Secure Terminal Equipment phone call to the People's Pan-Asian Alliance concerning an exchange and co-venturing the Terminus project over to Beijing. And that specific secured line came directly from the Pentagon a few times. If you cannot comprehend all that, let me put it simply. Giving away classified government projects, which this wasn't a project at all, for possible weaponry design, that's treason. Carrying it for personal financial gain, that's fraud. See the connection?"

"What're going to do, then?" she asks.

"Because this facility is now evidence for an FBI and Congressional investigation, we're temporarily shutting down this project until the investigation is finished." He turns and nods at the officer, nodding back.

"Wait! You can't do that! My—" she quickly stopped herself from saying 'my brother,' fearing, not for her life, but her remaining family. "The subject is still in the course of traveling through