Site-Ω-7, Sublevel 4 – Anomalous Dimensional Research Wing
Date: [REDACTED] – 03:17 Local Site Time
Dr. Elena Voss stared at the readout panel, fingers hovering over the emergency cutoff. The Scranton Reality Anchor array—prototype model SR-9, jury-rigged with salvaged Hume stabilizers from Site-19—hummed with a low, almost organic thrum. The chamber beyond the observation window glowed faintly blue, the air inside rippling like heat haze over asphalt.
"Anchor output stable at 87.4 Hume baseline," reported Technician Reyes from the console beside her. His voice cracked slightly on the last number. "No fluctuations. We're... actually holding it."
Voss didn't smile. In her twelve years with the Foundation, she'd learned that "stable" was just another word for "waiting to betray you."
"Keep monitoring," she said quietly. "If the differential drops below 0.3, we abort. No heroics."
The goal had been modest: create a temporary pocket dimension stable enough to test containment of low-threat reality-benders without risking baseline bleed. What they got instead was something older, hungrier.
At 03:19:42, the monitors flatlined for exactly 0.7 seconds.
Then the alarms began—not the sharp klaxon of a standard breach, but a deep, warbling tone reserved for existential anomalies. Red emergency lights bathed the room in blood.
"Containment integrity failing—" Reyes started.
The rift didn't explode. It unfolded.
A vertical tear appeared in the center of the chamber, edges flickering with impossible colors—electric blue threaded with violet static. The air pressure dropped sharply; papers lifted from desks and spiraled toward the opening like leaves in a storm. Voss felt the pull in her bones, a cold certainty that something on the other side was inhaling.
From the rift stepped three figures.
First came the armored giant.
Black durasteel plates gleamed under the red lights, cape billowing despite the lack of wind. A helmet—part machine, part death mask—tilted as mechanical breathing rasped through the silence: *hiss-whirr, hiss-whirr*. In his right hand, a hilt ignited with a snap-hiss, extending a blade of contained plasma the color of fresh arterial blood.
Darth Vader did not speak at first. He simply surveyed the room—the consoles, the trembling technicians, the armed security already rushing in from the corridors—as though cataloging threats.
Behind him, smaller shapes followed.
A green, wrinkled being no taller than a child hopped lightly to the grated floor, ears twitching. He carried no weapon visible, but his presence pressed against the mind like calm water over jagged rock.
The third was a young woman in tan robes, montrals and lekku marking her as Togruta. She held a lightsaber hilt in a defensive grip, eyes wide but steady.
Security breached the observation doors at that moment—MTF Epsilon-6 "Village Idiots," geared for Euclid humanoid containment. Tasers, tranq rifles, and one experimental thaumic suppressor hummed to life.
"Halt! Identify yourselves and stand down!" shouted the team leader through his visor.
Vader turned slowly. The red blade rose in a lazy arc.
"I am Darth Vader," the mechanical voice intoned, calm and final. "Lord of the Sith. You will not impede me."
The first security officer fired. A tranq dart struck the black armor and bounced harmlessly away.
Vader raised his left hand.
The officer lifted from the floor, hands clawing at an invisible grip around his throat. His feet kicked once, twice—then went still.
The green being—Yoda—spoke softly, almost sorrowfully.
"Violence this is not the way. Talk, we can."
But the corridor behind them was already filling with more troopers—Foundation ones this time—shouting containment protocols over comms.
Voss hit the intercom.
"O5 Command, this is Site-Ω-7. We have an active dimensional incursion. Three humanoid entities, high-threat anomalous capabilities confirmed. Requesting immediate lockdown and MTF reinforcement. Code Black—repeat, Code Black."
Somewhere deeper in the facility, klaxons wailed louder.
And through the still-open rift, distant sounds echoed: the whine of starship engines, the crack of blaster fire, the unmistakable hum of lightsabers igniting by the dozen.
The universes had touched.
Neither would ever be the same.
End of Chapter 1