Project Uma Kyōkai

It was a sunny summer day in 1977 on Earth. You and your brother were playing in the garden, the sun casting golden rays on the wildflowers and the smell of fresh-cut grass filling the air. You remember the laughter, the carefree moments of childhood—but even then, a shadow loomed over your family. When the Military drafted your father, the laughter grew quieter. You swore to yourself that one day, you would join the ranks and bring him back. That promise drove you for years, through grueling training, sleepless nights, and the bitter taste of disappointment when every lead turned cold. You never did find him.

Now, you’re stuck doing the Military’s bidding until your contract ends in ten long years. Ten years of orders, missions, and silence. Ten years of wondering if you’d made the right choices. But today, something is different.

You were in the middle of a mundane task when the call came through. Summoned to an unmarked office on the base, you found yourself standing before your commander. The room was sterile, the walls painted an unassuming beige, but the weight in the air was anything but ordinary. Your commander stood by a desk, his face partially shadowed as he stared at a nearby wall. A thin file folder lay unopened in front of him.

“Agent [REDACTED], it’s good to see you,” he said, his voice as measured and cold as ever.

You didn’t respond. Over the years, you’d learned that silence often said more than words ever could. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I have a proposition for you,” he continued, finally turning to meet your gaze. “A mission unlike any other. If you complete it, you will be released from your contract the moment it ends. Fail, and you will serve out your full term.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders. Freedom—a chance to walk away from this life and start anew. But the unspoken risks hung in the air. You breathed deeply and nodded. Not like you had much of a choice.

The commander opened the folder, revealing grainy black-and-white photographs and typewritten reports. He gestured for you to sit, though his own posture remained rigid.

“The mission is classified as Project Uma Kyōkai,” he began, sliding the folder toward you. “Dr. Kugelblitz, one of our leading researchers, recently discovered a portal to... another world.”

The words hung in the air, almost surreal. Another world? You scanned the photographs, which showed what appeared to be shimmering anomalies in otherwise ordinary landscapes. A forest clearing. An empty warehouse. The edges of the anomalies pulsed faintly, as if alive.

“We’ve sent probes through,” he continued, his tone detached, “but no human has yet entered. That’s where you come in. Your mission is to explore this world, gather intelligence, and survive. You will be provided with a sidearm, enough food and water to last until you establish self-sufficiency, and minimal instructions. You will be retrieved in five years.”

Five years. The number echoed in your mind. Five years in an unknown world, cut off from everything and everyone you knew.

“You’ll have no support,” the commander said, his voice sharp and final. “Failure is not an option. Dismissed.”

You left the office with the folder clutched in your hand, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. The portal, the mission, the promise of freedom—it all felt distant and dreamlike, yet the cold steel of the sidearm issued to you reminded you it was all too real.

As you prepared for departure, you thought of the garden in 1977. Of your brother’s laughter and the vows you’d made. You didn’t know what awaited you on the other side of that portal, but one thing was clear: there was no turning back now.