End of Today, Start of Tomorrow

Authors Note: I wrote this a few years ago as an experiment to see whether I can write a literary piece in addition to my usual boring science reports. Not sure how great it is but, here it goes. Didn't bother to do much editing and since I wrote most of it ( approx 10,000 words in about 2 days) it most likely will appear more as a report then anything else. My then girlfriend added the twist you will see in chapter 2. I am currently breaking the humongous text document in individual chapters. Might take a week or two for it.

It was supposed to be just another boring day in Uncle Sam's latest covert anti-biological warfare lab. Just going through the lab reports and proposals submitted by recent graduates who think they are cream-of-crop. (baboons with overinflated ego)

Anyway, before jumping in, I am a 39 year old former CIA operative turned scientist. Why scientist ? It is because of some screwed up op that destroyed most of peripheral nervous system. My team was supposed to observe an extremist cell operating within London. Who knew they were attempting to cook some crazy chemical/biological warfare agent ? Almost like splinter cell. Except extract came too late for my neurons and now, I can't even wipe my own ass.

But, fortunately for me I got an IQ greater then 120 and the farm doesn't like wasting resource. So, a few years in Cal Tech followed by time in a huge basement which doesn't exist, I am running my own lab for beloved uncle Sam. Honestly speaking, I don't have too many regrets - expect that I can't wipe my own ass. My current cover is that of a former marine that got wounded in Iraq. It is an excellent chick magnet. My wheel chair is one of a kind, the big ass German Shepard that functions as my helper and if need be, protector is great. Of course, there is this beautiful agent who is my secretary/handler/protector/watchdog and if need be, the one to put me out of my misery. Not sure how I feel about the last part but I suppose the company can't afford me getting captured. All in all, for a cripple, I can't really complain.

I still retain my battle sharpened training and wits – that is why I am in this situation (likely).

Back to the story. One of the new graduates decided to experiment with one of the more volatile viral agent on his own. Result ? We are in a Resident Evil scenario. However, CIA doesn't have a wicked hot Mali Jovanovich to take care of zombies (read insane peoples hell-bent on killing everyone). Neither do we have a nuke armed to clean a military base. That happens only in movies.

So, as I was being chopped to tiny-mini-itty-bitty pieces by former colleagues, I suddenly appear to regain my former 20 year old body. Full mobility. Complete dexterity. Conclusion ? Adrenalin and all other hormones must have numbed me so much that I am in twilight zone just before death.

Then it happens. A booming voice. "James McGraw !". "Agent McGraw". "Operative 6512 !". "You are not in the twilight zone - just another stage of existence, a different dimension if will". Ah shit – now I am seeing a fucking talking tree. Wait it is more of a man that resembles a tree.

Fuck me !. This is weird. I jerk my head around. Rub my eyes and ears. No. No. No. No. Nein Nein. Always loved that one moment when the racist basterd goes nuts. (Inglorious Basterds for the un-enlightened). The tree-man appears in front of me and says, "James, this is not a dream, this is not a delusion. This is happening right now. Get used to it. Use that training you value so much and ground yourself".

"All right. How do I know I am not going mad ?".

"How about we work on all those math problem you have yet to solve ? That you threw off as impossible ?" - The tree-man offers.

"All right. If this is not in my head, I am going to provide you with a file that we failed to decrypt. The password was never recovered. If you are some super-powerful extra dimensional shit, then you must be able to do it right ?"

"OK - give it to me" - says the being that I am now thinking might be the real deal. Hesitantly I provide him a piece of paper that contains nothing but gibberish. A look at it and he gives me another piece of paper with the solution along with the password. My brain is fast enough to use that password and the provided solution to verify it is correct. (for some reason my brain appears to run impossibly fast) Shit. This is real. This is happening.

I have no choice but to accept the situation. Then, improvise, adapt and overcome. Marine core. Eastwood. Take your pick.

"Now that you seem to have accepted your situation, we need to talk about your future" says the asshole who most likely has my (immediate) future in hand.

"What do I call ? Can't go on referring you as asshole now can I ?" - still have to pretend I am brave. This is what I am trained for.

"We don't have any real names - but some humans refer to us as the old gods ?"

"What like Game of Thrones ?"

"Exactly - George Martin made a deal with those blasted seven and now, all you earthling think of us as fictional beings" - says the asshole.

I then start with "I think I will simply refer to you as gamma the tree-hole..", before being interrupted with a dismissive hand wave, "does not matter what you call us, just focus on the deal". What a magnanimous tree-hole.

We start negotiating. Took some time but to summarize, what happens in the TV series was closer to reality then the books. Something about number of earth humans influencing the GOT reality. Don't really care. Always thought GMMR was a bit demented. Anyway, it seems gamma was a bit peeved at how North - their homeland would get screwed over in the end. The seven, fire god and every other deity was lording over the tree basterds about it. So, gamma decided to insert an agent to switch the scales. Me.

Given that I was a cripple currently sliced 'n diced by insane colleagues, it seemed like I had nothing to loose. But, I am a CIA agent. One thing we are taught is to always question and if possible, squeeze as much juice as you can. Hence, negotiate.

First thing I wrangled was that the lab incident would come of as a freak accident and I would be blame free. Then, I wanted a whole lot of other, lets call it "help" for the mission.

Number 1 - I would retain my skill-set in this new world. Lot of violence and subterfuge to go around.

Number 2 - It is a shitty, primitive place. Barely in middle to late iron age. I wanted to have knowledge and means to introduce late 1900s level of industrial society.

Number 3 - since I was going to a world as zero support, I needed to have a support base. People who would follow me. So, I could influence a maximum of 2 people as my unconditional follower.

Number 4 - This was the best I think. Live to a ripe old age of at least 100 without any natural calamities killing/hurting me.

Number 5 - no other "agents" were to be inserted in this world. Don't want to get screwed up by other players.

But, unfortunately for me, gamma added a clause. I couldn't control who I would enter the world as or for that matter when. Apparently, the other gods wanted to have a bit of laugh. Bah - with all the advantage I got off, I knew I could get things done whether as a noble or a commoner. Should have known when they said "a bit of laugh", they actually meant it.

Finally we shook hands and then I woke up to a whole new world and to my utter dismay, a very different body. It was nothing like I was expecting. The gods and gamma did have a bit of laugh in the end.