-In the Base of a Volcano in the Mid-Atlantic, late 1914, in the early morning-
Battle ensued between two teams, as a hot-air balloon floated up in the midst of fired shots from various machines of both teams, then a tall, slender pale-skinned woman was thrown off the balloon, screaming as her voice pierced the air, falling toward the ground floor. This woman is known as Lieutenant Helga Sinclair, a German American, of great skills. Flawless with only a beauty spot beneath her left eye, she prefers her silky blonde hair braided into a low ponytail, her piercing blue eyes, full red lips, able to either flatter or intimidate anyone. She wears a white tank top, muted green pants, black gloves, and brown boots.
A thud of weight hit the ground, never heard by either battling team, as Helga groaned harshly, noting her injuries. Her ankle broken, her ribs either broken or bruised, one of her wrists bruised, unbelieving that she was still alive. She looked up, huffed as she struggled to grab her flare gun out of the holster, and aimed it at the rising air balloon, and said, "Nothing personal.". She shot out, as she grimaced in pain with a slight grunt. Her arms gave out, and lying upon the ground.
She saw the balloon completely in flames from the flare, and sighed heavily as she knew she was dying from internal bleeding and broken bones. She muttered in German as she saw the balloon fall towards her, immediately knowing her death will be finalized by the fire and lava if there was any of it, "At least he's gone. Christopher, I miss you so much. I will see you soon. Mother, Father, do not fall in depression over my death. The boys still needs you both. Goodbye, world.".
Then her eyes widened as she saw something under the upcoming balloon, a glowing crystal blue opening almost like a door. If she would have words to describe it, she'd say that it looks like a oval which is glowing and that is not natural. The glowing door approached her, and almost immediately, Helga soundlessly shrieked as the door took her away, disappearing within a second as the balloon crashed to the ground completely, leaving the volcano to wake.
-A century later in another world, late 2014, in the west side of North America, in the middle of the night-
In a very small town called Kirkwood, in the state of California, rests a contemporary Californian Style Ranch House. A dark-skinned Polynesian-American man of 32 years, straight black hair, with almond-shaped chestnut brown eyes, wearing a light tan tank top with shorts. He's sleeping in his bed with his only companion, his own cat at the foot of the bed. His name is Pita Crestwood, and his cat is called Tod, because he nearly looks like his namesake, Tod the fox from one of Pita's favorite movies, as Tod the cat doesn't have the white tip on his tail.
A thunderous crash sounded through the night, piercing Pita's ears. He groaned lightly, awake and alert, thanks to his skills as the Deputy Sheriff he currently is. He muttered, "Raccoons in trashcans again.". He pulled back his covers, turned on his lamp, as he got his feet into his slippers, briefly waking Tod who meowed in annoyance. Pita smiled, "Go back to sleep, buddy. You don't want to mess with any raccoon, trust me.". Tod sniffed, then went back to sleep again. Pita sighed lightly as he headed out, heading to the kitchen where the back doors is. Turning on the lights for inside, and outside, he saw the trashcans standing still, and his brow furrowed in confusion, and he opened the door, walking out, as he grew more confused as he couldn't see any raccoons, or smell any trace of skunks as he knew skunks were attracted to garbage as well.
He saw a pale arm, and his eyes widened in surprise, and ran back inside to grab a flashlight, and went back outside, turning on the light, and as he got closer, he was able to see more and more beyond the pale arm. He was looking upon a 3-D live, yet unconscious Helga Sinclair, clothes intact. Pita exhaled, "Shit.". He leaned down, checked her for vitals, all the careful to not disturb her as he knew he would get either punched or something by a pissed off ex-mercenary, and Lieutenant.
Pita saw her shiver unconsciously from the cool air, and sighed softly, knowing that he have to get her in before the weather gets colder or worse, as he knew there's bound to be a storm in the new day. He slowly and carefully picked her up bride style, and walked back inside, with flicking the outside light off, and turning another light in the living room, he gently laid her on the couch with a pillow beneath her head.
Pita knew he couldn't go back to sleep, especially with the fact that Helga Sinclair is obviously very real, and lying on his couch. He only hoped that she will not freak out, yet he knew she will keep a leveled head when it comes to situations, but this is a big as hell situation, a 20th century woman in the 21st century. He sighed heavily, heading to the kitchen to stir up some hot chocolate, and maybe some coffee as well, hoping to make the situation better with some beverages once Helga wakes up.