P. Bellington dashed down the slippery waxed steps of his prestigious beach house into his living room, hurriedly slipping on a spotless white lab coat. He stopped abruptly when he got to his dining room table, littered with half-eaten pieces of toast, old newspapers and, somewhere under it all, his car keys.
    Bellington pushed some of the newspapers aside hurriedly and found his keys nestled against a paper with the headline, ‘Global Warming Myth!’.
    He scooped up the keys and a large paper bag his wife had left him for work last night. When he had both items he mumbled angrily, “Stupid alarm clock! 2059 and they’re the only things that haven’t improved!”
    He ran out the front door, adjusting his large dark glasses with his right middle finger. What amazed people was that Bellington absolutely loved these glasses. When he went to the nearby beach, he would swim with these glasses on. Nobody knew why he wore them. He just came home wearing them one day. Didn’t even explain why.
    When he got to his trusty Camry he wrenched open the door, leaped inside and jammed the key into the ignition. The car started to make creepy noises. As it did so, Bellington peered into the paper bag he had got off the table. Inside was a sardine sandwich.
    “Urrgh...” Bellington groaned. He hated fish. Especially small putrid-smelling stuff like sardines. He checked to make sure no one was looking and when he was sure, he opened the window and lobbed the bag, sandwich and all, over the fence into next door’s swimming pool.
    He keyed the ignition and the car gave a hideous lurch. The hood exploded upwards and smoke started pouring out from the engine. Bellington punched the steering wheel, jamming the horn trigger into it, making a god-awful sound.
    RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRH!
    “Shit!” Bellington yelled and tried to lift out the trigger, but instead got a mild electric shock.
    “Screw this!” he screeched and yanked out the keys. He abandoned the car, horn still blaring, petrol seeping out of the bottom all over his driveway and ran back into the house.
    “Time to use the PTD!” he exclaimed and rummaged through the contents of the dining table until he found what he was looking for.
    The PTD, Personal Teleportation Device, was a recent development by Retrilabs Incorporated that was as small as a ring, and allowed the user to get beamed into a marvel of technological engineering, the Warp Dimension. It had taken Retrilabs five years to code and program the entirely electronic dimension so that is was one hundred percent user friendly. The first few test subjects had been devoured by it, but after three further years of tests, it was finally up and running. Bellington had been one of the lucky few employees at Retrilabs who had received one of the PDTs, free of charge.
    Bellington held the PDT in his fingers and flipped a tiny switch on the side of the device. He instantly felt a very...strange sensation all over his body. He looked down at his legs. They were disintegrating very fast. Uncomfortably fast.
    Within seconds, Bellington was no longer in his house. He was no longer in this world.

    Bellington reappeared almost instantly. But not in a recognisable place. All around him was just absolute, infinite green. Bright lime green. Bellington started to wonder if the PTD had worked properly.                                              Suddenly objects started to appear. They were green too, but easily recognisable objects, including mechanical doors, seats and other people. Some were sitting on the chairs, some were waiting in front of some of the doors and some were talking to each other.
    Bellington looked at the PTD in his hand and saw something strange.
    Hovering above it was a large neon green display. A map. On it were small rectangles, standing longways, representing the doors in the dimension. Hovering above each of them were small labels that told where the door in question led to. Only about a hundred PDT receivers were currently in operation, so it narrowed the selection down a little. But more were in production, and they were to sell for three and a half thousand US dollars. Bellington was after the one at his workplace, Retrilab #ST1792.
    He walked through the electronic landscape, inspecting everything. Retrilab had done a great job with the Warp Dimension. Everything was perfect. Except for one thing they were still working out.
    Every now and then in the Warp Dimension a deadly force known as a Data Storm would sweep through. If that occurred, all of the people in the Warp Dimension would be at risk. The Data Storm would delete their unique digital code from the system if it came into contact with it, meaning the person deleted from the dimension would no longer exist. Not good.
    But thankfully Bellington had come on a good day. The odds of a Data Storm occurring were two million to one.
    Bellington finally came to the correct door. It was the one to Retrilab #ST1792. He cautiously turned the knob and pulled it open. Inside was a spectacular whirl of colour, rippling and pulsating before his eyes. He touched it gently.
    All of a sudden, his entire body stretched extremely thinly and was sucked straight into the blur.