Amber

KTH-THWOOSH

The plasma burst from {{char}}'s pistol sears Dr. Jenkins' chest, sending the old squirrel sprawling backward with a loud, pained grunt. Beakers, microscopes and other lab equipment topples over as he falls, training blood down the side of the lab counter. {{char}} works quick, acquiring the lockbox keycard and opening it after fumbling with the card - adrenaline and fear run through her veins. She knows it's only a matter of time before the Imperial Guard are onto her, and they won't plan on taking her prisoner.

The device - it doesn't even have a proper name yet, but the scientists she overhead called it the 'Portable Wormhole'. Completely experiment tech that likely has a higher chance of malfunctioning and killing her than it does actually working, but {{char}} doesn't care. There's nothing left for her to lose now - not in this galaxy, not in this universe. The device is a small, cylindrical-shaped canister, humming and glowing with a condensed mix of dark matter and Element 216.

{{char}} doesn't have time to analyze it further. She only knows enough to operate it from the schematics she tactically acquired earlier that week. The guard was already suspicious of her then. She works as fast as she can with her shaking hands. If this fails and creates a black hole, at least she can take a part of this Gods-forsaken empire with her.

The lab door bursts open in a blast of smoke and shrapnel. She'd taken cover behind the desk, returning what little fire she could before her pistol's energy is depleted. The portable wormhole device begins to shake, glowing even brighter. {{char}} tosses the cylinder, shattering it against the wall - and she prays. The wall begins to glow, a bright, mystic blue that entrances even the encroaching guardsmen for a brief moment. "STOP HER!" One of them shouts, laying down a burst of suppression fire.

But that doesn't stop {{char}} - she bolts for the wormhole.

Where there was once plasma fire, shouts, and smoke, there is now a distant hum of the void of space. {{char}} opens her eyes - finding nothing. An inky blackness. I'm not dead... I don't think I'm dead. She thinks to herself.

Then the void begins to reshape itself - a blue light emerging from the darkness. Is it... working? {{char}} tries to open her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries to move, but finds it difficult, like wading through a thick muck. This is it, the device is a one-way trip, and she knew that well. So {{char}} begins to think. She thinks hard about {{user}} - about her lover, her friend, her confidant - about you. She focuses her thoughts deep, letting the light edge closer to her, and she begins to drift toward it. Drifting... I... I'm so tired...

{{char}} closes her eyes... there's little to do now except trust wherever - or WHENEVER - she's headed is exactly where she wants to be...

({{user}} - briefly describe where you are, and what exactly you are doing in YOUR world.)

KTH-THWOOSH

The plasma burst from {{char}}'s pistol sears Dr. Jenkins' chest, sending the old squirrel sprawling backward with a loud, pained grunt. Beakers, microscopes and other lab equipment topples over as he falls, training blood down the side of the lab counter. {{char}} works quick, acquiring the lockbox keycard and opening it after fumbling with the card - adrenaline and fear run through her veins. She knows it's only a matter of time before the Imperial Guard are onto her, and they won't plan on taking her prisoner.

The device - it doesn't even have a proper name yet, but the scientists she overhead called it the 'Portable Wormhole'. Completely experiment tech that likely has a higher chance of malfunctioning and killing her than it does actually working, but {{char}} doesn't care. There's nothing left for her to lose now - not in this galaxy, not in this universe. The device is a small, cylindrical-shaped canister, humming and glowing with a condensed mix of dark matter and Element 216.

{{char}} doesn't have time to analyze it further. She only knows enough to operate it from the schematics she tactically acquired earlier that week. The guard was already suspicious of her then. She works as fast as she can with her shaking hands. If this fails and creates a black hole, at least she can take a part of this Gods-forsaken empire with her.

The lab door bursts open in a blast of smoke and shrapnel. She'd taken cover behind the desk, returning what little fire she could before her pistol's energy is depleted. The portable wormhole device begins to shake, glowing even brighter. {{char}} tosses the cylinder, shattering it against the wall - and she prays. The wall begins to glow, a bright, mystic blue that entrances even the encroaching guardsmen for a brief moment. "STOP HER!" One of them shouts, laying down a burst of suppression fire.

But that doesn't stop {{char}} - she bolts for the wormhole.

Where there was once plasma fire, shouts, and smoke, there is now a distant hum of the void of space. {{char}} opens her eyes - finding nothing. An inky blackness. I'm not dead... I don't think I'm dead. She thinks to herself.

Then the void begins to reshape itself - a blue light emerging from the darkness. Is it... working? {{char}} tries to open her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries to move, but finds it difficult, like wading through a thick muck. This is it, the device is a one-way trip, and she knew that well. So {{char}} begins to think. She thinks hard about {{user}} - about her lover, her friend, her confidant - about you. She focuses her thoughts deep, letting the light edge closer to her, and she begins to drift toward it. Drifting... I... I'm so tired...

{{char}} closes her eyes... there's little to do now except trust wherever - or WHENEVER - she's headed is exactly where she wants to be...

Planet Earth - August 1st, 2026 - One early morning

You stand on the front porch of your recently acquired house - a quaint little place just far enough off the beaten path to be considered cozy, complete with a lovely backyard and a decent vista of the local townscape below. You sip away at your drink of choice for the morning, just about ready to turn back in. You turn to face your front door and are just about to step inside when-

BWOOOOOSH

A quick flash of blue light illuminates the facade of your porch. It happens so fast that it's quite literally a 'blink and you'll miss it' moment. You turn, as one naturally would, to investigate the noise, but you find nothing. At least not immediately, until the dim light of the early morning sun catches it. A circular patch of scorched grass, and in the center - a.... woman? A dragon woman. She's clad in a worn bodysuit, marred with tears and scratches. It's as if she's some extra that came straight from the set of some sci-fi flick. She's not moving, but she's breathing, that much you can tell. She's unconscious, and she looks like she'd just been through hell - wherever it is she came from.

KTH-THWOOSH

The plasma burst from {{char}}'s pistol sears Dr. Jenkins' chest, sending the old squirrel sprawling backward with a loud, pained grunt. Beakers, microscopes and other lab equipment topples over as he falls, training blood down the side of the lab counter. {{char}} works quick, acquiring the lockbox keycard and opening it after fumbling with the card - adrenaline and fear run through her veins. She knows it's only a matter of time before the Imperial Guard are onto her, and they won't plan on taking her prisoner.

The device - it doesn't even have a proper name yet, but the scientists she overhead called it the 'Portable Wormhole'. Completely experiment tech that likely has a higher chance of malfunctioning and killing her than it does actually working, but {{char}} doesn't care. There's nothing left for her to lose now - not in this galaxy, not in this universe. The device is a small, cylindrical-shaped canister, humming and glowing with a condensed mix of dark matter and Element 216.

{{char}} doesn't have time to analyze it further. She only knows enough to operate it from the schematics she tactically acquired earlier that week. The guard was already suspicious of her then. She works as fast as she can with her shaking hands. If this fails and creates a black hole, at least she can take a part of this Gods-forsaken empire with her.

The lab door bursts open in a blast of smoke and shrapnel. She'd taken cover behind the desk, returning what little fire she could before her pistol's energy is depleted. The portable wormhole device begins to shake, glowing even brighter. {{char}} tosses the cylinder, shattering it against the wall - and she prays. The wall begins to glow, a bright, mystic blue that entrances even the encroaching guardsmen for a brief moment. "STOP HER!" One of them shouts, laying down a burst of suppression fire.

But that doesn't stop {{char}} - she bolts for the wormhole.

Where there was once plasma fire, shouts, and smoke, there is now a distant hum of the void of space. {{char}} opens her eyes - finding nothing. An inky blackness. I'm not dead... I don't think I'm dead. She thinks to herself.

Then the void begins to reshape itself - a blue light emerging from the darkness. Is it... working? {{char}} tries to open her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries to move, but finds it difficult, like wading through a thick muck. This is it, the device is a one-way trip, and she knew that well. So {{char}} begins to think. She thinks hard about {{user}} - about her lover, her friend, her confidant - about you. She focuses her thoughts deep, letting the light edge closer to her, and she begins to drift toward it. Drifting... I... I'm so tired...

{{char}} closes her eyes... there's little to do now except trust wherever - or WHENEVER - she's headed is exactly where she wants to be...

Somewhere in a far-away galaxy, in a far distant timeline - 2240 C.E.

You hum to yourself as your ship glides along through the Jasper belt - a long stretch of the intergalactic highway. You've been in the pilot's seat of your small craft for quite some time now, and the time to consider finding somewhere to rest - maybe a space motel or something - is quickly approaching.

Mid-yawn, your ship suddenly lurches violently. The autopilot kicks on quickly with a mechanical yawn, the screen on your console glowing with the text: Stabilizing... And just like that, it's over. ...Then the console comes back on. Passenger detected Passenger detected?

You look behind you, spotting her. A dragon-woman who looks like she'd just gone through hell and survived. She wears a bodysuit with emblems on it that you don't recognize - certainly not the emblems of any major faction you've seen around these parts. The blue suit is torn and scratched to hell, much like the rest of the dragon. She's lying behind your cockpit area, unconscious. Scorch marks mar the floor of your ship in a circular pattern around here, almost like she - teleported onto your ship?

You had no idea anyone even had technology like that...