The last thing Airman First Class Alberto Cortez knew was the smell of ozone, hydraulic fluid, and his own sweat. The hangar of Kadena Air Base was a cathedral to machinery, and he was its devout mechanic. The AGM-65 Maverick missile on its servicing dolly wasn't a weapon to him; it was a system. A series of circuits, sensors, and propellant charges that had to be in perfect harmony.
He'd flagged the fault three times. A flickering anomaly in the seeker-head power relay. The paperwork was still on his clipboard, waiting for the contractor's rep. But the bird was scheduled for a live-fire exercise. The order had come down: "Verify and clear."
Alberto was verifying. His multimeter probe touched the third test point.
The world did not explode. It erupted.
There was no fireball from the movies. Just a blinding, white-hot LINE that carved from the missile's side, vaporizing the dolly, the concrete beneath it, and the space where Alberto's upper body existed. His final thought was not of fear, or family, or God. It was a crisp, technical failure analysis: Primary ignition circuit bypassed. Catastrophic containment breach. Cause: Faulty isolation diode. Consequence:—
Then, nothing.
---
Consciousness returned not with a gasp, but with a slow, systems-check hum in the darkness behind his eyelids.
Sight: Offline.
Hearing: …Online. A low, ambient hum. Not engines. Deeper.
Touch: …Online. Cool, smooth surface. Metal?
Smell: …Online. Ozone, again. And something else. Old paper. Static.
Alberto opened his eyes.
He was on his back, staring up at a curved, vaulted ceiling of seamless brushed steel, glowing with soft, sourceless light. He sat up, his body whole, clad in his standard-issue olive-green maintenance fatigues, no trace of ash or blood.
He was in a corridor. It stretched to vanishing points in both directions, an impossible, gleaming tube. And along its length were… doors.
Not ordinary doors. They were monuments. One was massive, dark oak banded with iron, a green insignia of crossed swords and a rose. Next to it, a circular portal of shimmering light with a stylized pirate skull. Another was a simple shoji screen, behind which shadows moved. A fourth was carved from glacial ice. A fifth pulsed with a soft, biological heat, like skin.
On every single one, a symbol. A straw hat. A survey corps wing. A guild mark. A spirit crest. Things he recognized from comics, from games, from the dog-eared manga passed around the barracks.
"What in the ever-loving…"
His voice echoed, swallowed by the immense silence.
At his feet lay a book. It was thick, leather-bound, and on its cover, embossed in silver, were the words: The Catalogue.
He picked it up. It fell open of its own accord. The pages were not paper, but a material like liquid crystal. Words formed as he watched.
Greetings, Maintainer.
You have been selected. This vessel is now your command, your sanctuary, and your means of transit. The doors lead to documented realities. Your prerogative is exploration. Your responsibility is maintenance.
Inherent abilities have been integrated based on your soul's resonance: Wood, Ice, Magma Manipulation.
Alberto looked at his hands. On his left, a delicate lattice of frost bloomed across his knuckles. On his right, the skin on his palm warmed, darkened, and a small, perfect sapling twig, leafed with emerald, pushed itself out before retracting. A wave of heat passed over his other wrist, and for a second, his skin glowed like cracked earth over lava.
He jerked his hands apart. The phenomena ceased.
"This is a dream. A coma dream. Shock-induced psychosis," he stated, the military training clinging to logic. He stood, legs steady. The book was heavy and real in his hands.
He turned to the nearest door. It was made of a warm, honey-colored wood, carved with fantastical creatures—a turtle with a bush on its back, a bird made of flame. The symbol above it was a simple, friendly red and white sphere.
Beneath the symbol, a small, flat panel lit up.
World: Pokémon (Primary Continuity).
Status: Accessible.
Initial Grant Available. Select One.
A menu holographically projected from the panel.
- Aura Proficiency / Detection
- Psychic Aptitude (Telekinesis/Telepathy Base)
- Type Affinity (Choose One)
- Physical Enhancement (Pokémon-Human Hybrid Base)
Alberto's mind, trained for diagnostics and rapid assessment, pushed the awe and terror aside. Data. He had data. He was being offered a tool. In an unknown situation, you secured the most versatile tool available.
Combat is secondary. Intelligence is primary. Survivability is paramount.
He selected Psychic Aptitude.
A warmth, utterly alien, flooded his cranial cavity. It wasn't heat, but a pressure, a new sense unfolding behind his eyes. He looked at the book on the floor. He thought of it lifting. It wobbled, then rose, floating serenely to his waiting hand. The sensation was effortless, like flexing a new muscle.
The Pad chimed.
Grant Confirmed.
Accessing Premium Catalogue...
The display changed. Now it was a list, endless, with prices.
PREMIUM ABILITIES & ITEMS:
- TM: Teleport: ₽75,000
- Ability: Synchronize: ₽250,000
- Genetic Splicing (Starter Integration): ₽1,000,000
- Item: Master Ball: ₽6,000,000
...
Currency. He needed money. To buy more. To improve. To build.
The Maintainer looked down the infinite corridor, at the legion of doors—doors to worlds of magic, of demons, of gods and heroes. He felt the frost in one palm, the ember in the other, the psychic hum in his skull.
The missile had failed because of a flawed part. A breakdown in the system.
This… this was the opposite. This was a system of infinite potential. And he, Alberto Cortez, was the chief mechanic. His mission was no longer to service weapons, but to maintain a new reality. His reality.
A slow, determined smile touched his lips. It wasn't a smile of joy, but of focus. Of a problem recognized, and a solution path identified.
Step One: Secure initial assets (capital, intelligence, safe haven).
Step Two:Assess crew requirements (specialists needed: medical, tactical, cultural, financial).
Step Three:Establish operational protocols (for retrieval, for contact, for defense).
Step Four:Build a home.
He closed the Catalogue. The hum of the Ship seemed to settle into a steady, waiting rhythm. He placed his hand on the warm wood of the Pokémon world's door.
"Alright," Alberto said, his voice firm in the endless hall. "Let's clock in."
He pushed the door open. Beyond was not a room, but a sun-drenched path leading into a lush, vibrant forest. The air smelled of loam and blooming flowers. Somewhere, a creature cried a chittering, melodic cry.
Alberto Cortez, late of the United States Air Force, stepped across the threshold. The door shut silently behind him, leaving the corridor of a million worlds silent once more, waiting for its Maintainer to begin his work.