Molly awoke to the strangest sensation. Every inch of her flesh felt as if it were encased in a kind of unyielding molasses. She tried to move, to wiggle her fingers but they met resistance. Before she could sort out what was going on, however, pain lanced through her skull like a thunderclap. She hissed and her chest shuddered as she inhaled. She tried to open her eyes but her lids felt inexplicably heavy. She redoubled her efforts. One by one, she managed to pry them apart to squint into a kind of blurry existence.

Everything was very bright and white. She felt very much like she was in a hospital bed yet without a gravitational reference. Her stomach floated within her gut. She could not tell if she was lying down or suspended upright. She focused on what looked like illuminated tiles directly in front of her. Then, something flashing and noisy was waved in her face just off the tip of her noise. She heard the strange melodic beeps and boops of electronic jangling. A few seconds later, a deep voice rattled her ear drums.

"What century are you from?"

Molly held her breath a moment. That voice. It vibrated every cell in her body. She tried to glance to its source but she could not move her head. She tried to tense and struggle against her invisible bindings to no avail. In her frustration, a tear slipped from her eye.

"I-I . . . wh-where am I?"

"Answer the question," the voice repeated caustically, "what. Century. Are. You. From?"

The impossibly rich baritone voice snapped at her in clipped tones. She swallowed. She was so confused, and scared, and . . . confused. She desperately searched her mind for her last memory. She had been walking home from a late shift at Bart's . . . then nothing.

"I . . . I do not understand. You want to know the year? It is 2016."

Molly heard something like a lid snapping shut.

"Mm, I thought you might be older. I did not realize you were that old."

For some reason, the derision in his tone made the hairs bristle up the back of her neck.

"Listen, y-you . . . you slime! You slug! I am only thirty-five years old. I am not old."

"Wrong," the voice barked.

Molly felt a fizz along her nerve endings and the snapping of what felt like elastic against her skin. In less than a heartbeat, she was weightless no more. A slam of gravity lurched her stomach and she fell two inches to a hard surface. She laid there stunned a moment, then scrambled to levitate herself into a sitting position. However, when she swung her legs sideways, she encountered an edge and threw herself off-balance. Again, her tummy roiled as gravity made its claim. However, she did not fall far. Just as she tipped over the precipice, steely arms interrupted her descent.

"Ridiculous creature!"

Molly clutched onto the large forearms of her savior. Muscles rippled beneath her fingers covered by a strange, smooth fabric. She stared dumfounded at a plastic-like surface before her eyes flew up to the face of the man holding her. Her knees wobbled as she steadied her bare feet on the unnatural floor.

"Oh, Lord!" She thought.

Her mouth fell open at the sight of him. He was, for lack of a better word, perfection. The first thing impressed upon her psyche was the contrast of his ivory skin against his inky, black locks which fell over his forehead. Then her vision focused on an exaggerated, angular face with extremely high cheekbones and generous lips that could have been stenciled above his strong chin. Her breath seized in her lungs when they finally made eye contact. Pale blue-green eyes the colour of a shallow mountain lake regarded her under slashing black brows with an intensity like nothing she had ever seen.

"I . . . I am not old," she whispered.

Her face flamed almost the moment the words left her mouth. She had no idea when or where she was, but somehow, her first instinct was to defend her vanity to this beautiful man. She felt ridiculous. His mesmerizing lips began to move.

"You are two hundred and eighty-four Earth years old, to be exact, and that is even old by Vulcan standards."

Her face contorted in a frown. "Two hundred and . . . don't be ridiculous! What does that make you? You are clearly older than me."

"I am one hundred and seventy-two but I was frozen for about one hundred and thirty of those years."

Molly shook her head. She must be speaking to a crazy man. She felt her stomach twist. He was a crazy, unsettlingly attractive man, though. She almost dissolved when his eyes flicked over her face and lingered on her mouth. A sort of grimace flitted through his features. Again, her vanity was prickled. He seemed to find her unattractive.

"Please," she whispered, "What is going on? Where am I?"

His lips twitched. "You mean, when? When are you?"

"Whatever!"

His features tightened again momentarily and fear skittered up her spine. There was something restrained in his manner, as if his flesh imprisoned a beast. She felt his hands tighten on her waist and then, as if she were no heavier than an empty box, he unceremoniously deposited her back up on the strange slab. Once she was settled, he folded his arms behind his back and paced away.

For a moment, she gathered herself and took stock of her situation. There wasn't too much to glean from the monotone white room they were in. It was just as if they were encased in a large, plastic bubble without doors or windows. She wore a very simple, fitted smock and pants in the same unfamiliar, thin spongy material as her companion except where his outfit was as black as his hair, hers was a muted creamy grey. She absentmindedly reached up because something felt off and realized her once long brown hair was considerably shortened. Its ends just swished over her shoulders. She pulled some forward for inspection and gasped. The locks between her fingers were red, and not just ginger, but the colour of a radioactive cherry that had just ripened.

"What the hell-"

The man glanced sideways through slits. He stood a meter or so away from her then, near a wall that just curved up over his head.

"Ah, yes, your hair. I suspect that is a byproduct of your red matter interaction. It is shorter than you remember because I cut off several inches for experimentation."

Molly began to shake. Nothing made sense. Her blood rushed through her system and whooshed in her ears. She would swear she was having a nightmare except for the visceral existence of her companion. She just did not think it would be possible for her imagination, even at its most fervid, to create such a man.

"You are confused," he murmured as his head turned towards her and bobbed, "yes, this would be taxing for a mind as antiquated as yours but I will try to make it simple. The year is 2265. I purchased you in a market on Halwin, a planet about 400 light-years from Earth because the flesh-trader who had you in suspended animation had no idea how much a relic like you is really worth. How you ended up this far flung out in space and time, I am not certain except that there is a trace signature of red-matter interference in your RNA. You are aboard my ship, well, not my ship. I stole it but this does not concern you-"

"S-Space, red matter, suspended animation?" Molly stuttered. "Y-You are cracked"

His head tilted sideways and he narrowed his eyes. "Cracked? Cracked? What is this?"

"You are looney! Mad!"

His lips set together and rage appeared to burn within his pupils. He stomped back to her pedestal and slammed his hands either side of her hips. His lips curled in disgust.

"Mad? Your archaic mind cannot even begin to comprehend how inferior your sanity is when compared to mine."

Molly shrank back. "I-I am s-sorry. Please, none of this makes any sense. The last thing I remember is walking home from work and now I am here with you. I do not know you, Mr.-"

"Khan," he spit.

"Mr. Khan, what you say . . . it defies logic . . ."

He pushed away from the slab and swept his hand at the wall. As he did, the entirety of the wall appeared to sweep up like a computer tab to reveal a fantastically bright blue and green orb with a murky atmosphere set against a backdrop of an endless darkness littered with bright points of light.

"What is your name, human?" He demanded in a low tone.

"M-Molly," she blubbered as she gaped at the spectacle outside the window, "Molly Hooper. Oh my God . . ."

"Well, Molly Hooper, this is a bitter truth to which I am well acquainted so heed my advice. You are forever separated from the life you once had; you must expand your ideas of logic or I guarantee . . . you will not survive what's to come."