The p

My earliest memories involve me standing in front of a crowd, giving speeches at an early age. I recall the happy faces in the crowd and receiving countless medals for my inventions. My parents, brother, and sister all seemed so happy back then. I was happy too. However, as time went on, my childhood was crushed under the weight of adults. I can't remember the last time I smiled for real.

I mutter, "Time."

A small voice in my ear says, "It is January 5th, 2042, the time is 3:00 pm, Mr. Aizawa. You have two appointments—"

I sigh, "Shut up."

The voice stops talking to me. This is a common AI tool called Vice that everyone started using. I made it myself; it is in a long list of technological advancements I have personally made in my time. It does everything you need it to do for you, such as auto-translate languages, even if it's the first time it hears them. It can schedule your full day of work for you, drive your car; it is an all-in-one personal assistant.

I am only 18 years old; I should be at the end of high school enjoying my youth, but instead, I just clocked into my lunch at my full-time job. I am the project lead for a group called Ruze Corp. The name comes from my first name, Ruze. It is a nationally funded program based here in Japan. Don't be fooled though; I never made the company; I am no more than a mascot to these people. A figurehead now that heads up whatever stupid research these money-hungry fools are after. I haven't had the time to make any friends, and I haven't talked to my family in at least a year.

We used to be such a happy family, but the media took over, and I became a sensation. I couldn't go anywhere without people trying to take my picture or interview me. It was because of my inventions; it is safe to say that I alone have taken humanity forward 100 years with my creations. A fact that I would have more pride in, but I am truly alone here at the top. My family stopped being so nice to me when I got this famous. My parents were relatively normal, so were my brother and sister, but my prestige was suffocating to them. When Ruze Corp offered me a job away from home, my parents couldn't wait to send me off.

I bit into my sandwich bitterly. I never had any friends growing up either; I was just Ruze Aizawa, the genius kid. Living in Tokyo has been hard too. The moment I get out of work, I am once again bombarded by random reporters. It takes forever to get home usually. The one regret I have is not being smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I should have just hid my intelligence until I was older; maybe then I wouldn't be so miserable now. Life at work isn't any better. I am the youngest project manager ever recorded. My coworkers look at me with disdain, jealousy, and they don't take me very seriously. I fold up my lunch bag and place it back in the fridge; I get ready to clock back in.

There is one thing that has interested me lately during my experiments here at Ruze Corp: the now-famous "White Spot." The White Spot is something I created by accident. I was working in the lab late at night theory crafting and stumbled upon an equation. I used our particle compressor to turn my theory into reality, and sure enough, the White Spot was created. When the higher-ups saw the new advancement in particle research, they were very excited. They told me to head up the new "Project: White Spot" last month. I have been digging and digging to find out exactly what this White Spot is.

So far, I have several theories; one that I found to be the most likely is that this White Spot is some sort of gateway. I think it could be a very low-density crack in space. If that was the case, I couldn't help but smile, thinking that it would be a new advancement that far exceeded anything else I have made before. This type of situation is unprecedented; it could lead to a whole new world, something that far exceeds even exploring the moon. We have had many scientists come to Ruze Corp in the last month from all over the world to give their take on the White Spot. News reporters have been covering the story all over the world, but none of them know a single thing.

No, I will be the one to break the story of the White Spot, and I plan on doing it today because I just got approval for a certain experiment. I smile, heading back to my workstation. The place is all white, minus a few windows that give a serene view of the courtyard. I pass a few fellow scientists; they give me deep bows, but I know better; they are all just giving me courtesy bows. I walk into my big workstation, a room titled 2B01. As the door glided open with a soft hum, the sterile, white expanse of the room unfolded before me. The air-conditioned atmosphere carried the faint scent of metal and electronic equipment. A series of long, sleek workstations lined the walls, each hosting state-of-the-art computers and advanced technological instruments.

In the center of the room stood the focal point of Ruze Corp's most ambitious endeavor—the White Spot. The machine surrounding the White Spot resembled a colossal metallic apparatus, a marriage of cutting-edge engineering and theoretical physics. Tubes, cables, and monitors intricately connected to the central chamber, where the enigmatic White Spot shimmered with an ethereal glow.

The White Spot itself occupied a prominent position within a transparent, cylindrical containment structure. Its luminosity pulsed softly, casting a subdued radiance that contrasted starkly with the clinical whiteness of the room. The mesmerizing phenomenon seemed to defy the laws of conventional physics, an anomaly in the fabric of reality. The machine, an intricate network of advanced particle compressors, electromagnetic field generators, and hyper-conductive alloys, hummed with a low-frequency vibration as it sustained the existence of the White Spot. Monitors encircling the central chamber displayed complex equations, real-time data, and intricate schematics, illustrating the delicate dance of particles within the anomaly.

I walked up to one of my associates under me, a woman named Rin. She has bright blonde hair tied back, glasses, and was in her early 30s. She has a serious expression; she was a very smart woman even by my standards. Her glasses were thick, and she appeared like she was looking at something closely. I asked, "Rin, I am done with lunch; are the preparations ready? I want to commence test 10Q." This would be our first practical test, and I was excited. I wanted to open up the mystery of the White Spot already.

Rin turned to me, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure about this, Dr. Aizawa? The tests before are one thing, but live test subjects could have risks."

I frowned; perhaps I was being hasty, but I wanted to test as much as possible; risks are a part of science. I smiled, "Don't worry; we have done extensive testing; nothing will go wrong. Where is the animal?"

Empty words; I didn't care about the risks. I wanted results. I looked around the room for our test subject. Rin responded, "He is on the pad already, sir. Mojo is ready for the experiment."

I couldn't wait. It took a while and many meetings, but I convinced the higher-ups to let me put a chimpanzee through the White Spot. What is one animal for such a tremendous breakthrough for science? After I told them what they had to gain, the higher-ups with their greedy hands approved my suggestion. Mojo was selected as our test subject; technically, this experiment was out of public knowledge. However, when the results are out, and we've discovered humanity's next step, the whole live testing situation won't even be a factor anymore.

I smiled as I looked down at Mojo, the chimpanzee. He wore a complex suit made of my own personal device. Mojo's space suit embodied the culmination of my relentless pursuit of scientific excellence. A lightweight yet durable composite material shielded Mojo from the unknown elements that awaited him on the other side of the White Spot. The suit's joints, articulated with meticulous detail, provided the essential flexibility for Mojo's mobility, a critical factor in this groundbreaking experiment.

Temperature-regulating components embedded within the fabric promised to keep Mojo comfortable despite the extremes he might encounter. The suit's self-healing capabilities were a testament to its resilience, capable of autonomously repairing minor damages sustained during the experiment. My medical innovation, and various other fields that I am adept in, formed into one to create Mojo's beautiful suit. Mojo's visor, transparent and sleek, covered his face, offering both protection and visibility. An advanced heads-up display within the visor fed real-time data and Mojo's vital signs directly to my control station, allowing me to monitor his well-being with precision.

Emblazoned on the chest of the suit was the unmistakable emblem of Ruze Corp, proudly showcasing the company's involvement in this audacious venture. The life support system seamlessly integrated into the suit ensured Mojo's survival, recycling air and maintaining optimal oxygen levels in the challenging environment. As Mojo stood ready, clad in this technological marvel, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement and pride. The space suit was not just a garment; it was a symbol of our collective ambition to unravel the mysteries of the White Spot. It represented the fusion of cutting-edge technology and meticulous design, embodying the spirit of discovery that defined our scientific journey. Mojo's space suit wasn't merely protective gear; it was a conduit for progress, and I stood at the precipice of history.