Milton Yeager hadn’t planned for his day to end on the subway platform.

He was just another face in the crowd—briefcase in one hand, a coffee cup in the other, balancing the delicate act of commuter survival. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead barely masked the distant rumble of an approaching train.

For Milton, it had been a long day, and his mind wandered to the little slice of peace waiting for him at home. Dinner, maybe something frozen he could nuke in the microwave, and then the hardest decision of the evening: a rerun of Star Wars or Star Trek. Both were favorites of his, though they scratched different itches.

Milton allowed himself a small smile. “What’ll it be tonight, Yeager?” he muttered under his breath. Star Wars offered the thrill of lightsaber duels, epic space battles, and the allure of choosing between Jedi wisdom and Sith power. He often wondered which path he’d take if he lived in that galaxy far, far away. Could he be a stoic Jedi, devoted to balance, or would he find himself drawn to the darker, more passionate path of the Sith?

On the other hand, there was Star Trek, with its hopeful vision of humanity’s future, boldly going where no one had gone before. Milton imagined himself as a starship captain, navigating the challenges of deep space, forging alliances with alien species, and standing on the bridge, his orders determining the fate of entire worlds.

He sipped his coffee, picturing himself in the captain’s chair of the Enterprise, or perhaps the Defiant, issuing commands with the practiced confidence of someone who had watched every series more times than he cared to admit.

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“Maybe both tonight,” he thought with a chuckle.

The thief came out of nowhere.

Milton had a split second to register the blur of a hooded figure barreling through the crowd, clutching a woman’s purse. Instinct flared, a primal urge to help, but before he could act, the chaos reached him.

A hard shove to his back. The world lurched.

Time slowed.

The platform tilted impossibly, and gravity claimed him. Milton's coffee flew from his grasp, scattering its steaming contents into the air. He hit the tracks with a bone-jarring thud, the cold metal rails biting into his shoulder. Distantly, he heard gasps, screams, the panicked voice of someone shouting to stop the train.

But the rumble grew louder.

Milton turned his head, the blinding light of the train's headlamp swallowing his vision. In that moment, as adrenaline surged and his heart raced, a peculiar clarity settled over him. Not fear, not regret—just an overwhelming sense of disbelief.

This is it? This is how it ends?

The sound was deafening. The train bore down, and then—

Darkness.

But the darkness didn’t last.

Milton became aware of something. A presence, a warmth that surrounded him, though his body—his human body—was gone. Memories of his life flickered like fading embers: childhood summers, awkward teenage years, the dull grind of adulthood. And then, nothing.

No, not nothing.

A strange awareness crept in, alien and invasive. It felt as though his mind was being stretched, reshaped. Echoes of thoughts that weren’t his own rippled through his consciousness, fragmented whispers in a language he didn’t understand.

He was alive.

And yet, not.

Floating in the void, Milton sensed a pressure building around him, a sensation like being cradled in something soft yet unyielding. He could hear—no, feel—a rhythmic pulse, steady and insistent, like a heartbeat.

Confusion gave way to panic as realization struck. He wasn’t just reborn. He was trapped—small, confined, and… growing?

Then, a single thought pierced through the haze, not his own but instinctual, primal:

Survive.