[Unknown POV]
He's here.
Still clean. Untouched. Perfect.
Let's see how far he gets before he realizes the truth.
Do you think he ever will?
Not until we tell him.
"Sorry, sir… but I think there's been a mistake," Scott said.
The gateman raised a brow, his face stern and unreadable.
His presence alone was enough to make Scott's palms sweat, but he held his ground and took a deep breath.
"It seems… I was admitted into PROTOCOL by accident," Scott added, sheepishly.
The gateman scoffed.
"By accident? That's impossible."
"But sir—"
"Were you given a passkey?"
"Yes, sir," Scott replied, a bit more confidently this time.
"Then you were admitted."
"But… but…" Scott stammered, still trying to make sense of it. "I didn't apply. I didn't even write the exam. I thought—"
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a PROTOCOL passkey?" the gateman interrupted, folding his arms.
"Even monarchs and presidents of Tier Ten planets can't get one. Nobody gets in unless they're issued a key."
Scott blinked, stunned.
"It's common knowledge that average citizens can't get a PROTOCOL passkey," the gateman continued, his voice low but firm.
"But what most people don't know is how impossible it truly is. Black markets, scavenger planets, entire criminal syndicates — they've all tried to replicate or steal one. Every attempt has failed."
He paused, eyes scanning Scott's face, clearly trying to figure out what kind of enigma he was dealing with.
Then, after a beat, the gateman placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.
"You know what," he said, more curious than angry now.
"I'll take you to the check-in center. You can explain all this to the barracks chief yourself."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward a vehicle parked nearby.
It looked like something ripped straight from a museum — a smooth tired, angular machine that clashed with the polished hovercrafts buzzing in the skies above.
He opened the door, and it creaked as he slid into the driver's seat. A twist of the key. Silence.
Then —
VVVRROOOMMM!
The engine roared to life with a deep, mechanical growl. Loud. Primitive. Alive.
Scott hesitated before getting in, eyeing the buttons and outdated interface.
He slid into the passenger seat, surprised.
"This thing is ancient," he muttered.
The gateman stared straight ahead, his voice cold but proud. "i know ."
He gripped the wheel, pausing just long enough to let the silence settle.
"Not all planets have strong enough magnetic pulls to handle the hover systems we use now," he said. "But this thing? It doesn't need a hover chip, a magnetic pull, nothing.
It just needs wheels, gravity and ground. It'll ride anywhere — any planet, solar system, galaxy.
Long as there's surface beneath it."
He smirked. "Of course, this one's not military grade. I just like it. Reminds me of the good old days."
Scott glanced around the interior, still processing. "… this is a Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, right?"
The gateman raised an eyebrow.
"1980s model," Scott continued. "Body length around 185 inches, 350ci V8 engine… 4-speed manual transmission.
This car was built more than 2,100 years ago. You can't possibly be that old."
The gateman's stern expression cracked just a little. A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You're a smart one," he said sarcastically.
Then, just like that, the smile vanished. His face returned to stone.
"Hold on, kid."
He slammed his foot on the gas.
As they drove through Protocol City, Scott leaned forward, eyes wide with awe.
Towering structures stretched into the sky, smooth slabs of mirrored metal reflecting the filtered sunlight.
Suspended platforms floated between buildings, while drones zipped through the air like robotic birds.
Everything gleamed, shimmered, thrummed with quiet power.
Despite the city's severe architecture, there was something oddly beautiful about it.
Man-made lakes lined the edges of the city.
The waters were glass-still, reflecting the skyline like a perfect painting. Ducks, platypuses, and turtles wandered freely along the banks, undisturbed by the engines overhead.
It felt out of place. Too peaceful for a military-grade zone.
As they neared Protocol Base, Scott noticed the people.
Soldiers. Officers. Even civilians.
They turned as the car passed. One by one salutes, nods, quiet waves.
Scott blinked.
Were they… saluting him?
He slouched down in his seat, unsure whether to wave or hide.
"Wow," he muttered. "You're kind of a big deal around here."
The gateman didn't look at him.
"Did you read the data sent to you after your exams?" he asked flatly.
Scott hesitated.
"No, sir," he admitted. "Like I said, I never actually wrote the exam.
I figured someone would check the passkey, realize the error, and send me home."
SCREEEEEECH!
The car came to a dead stop. Tires shrieked. Heads turned.
Without a word, the gateman stepped out.
Scott followed, his heart pounding louder with every step.