Now Mr. Ebinson liked his clock for another reason. The simplicity of its hands as they told the time obscured the complex machinery, and the button on the fifty-first second dot. Upon pressing that fateful button, it would molecularly transport him to his lab deep under New York. He did this every third Tuesday because he still loved the color of the city and the sound of the streets. Another reason is because, according to his most rigorous calculation, if he teleported more frequently he would cease to exist. His life differed remarkably from his modest life as a painter. Ebinson was now the co-director of mission Blink along with other scientists that were sworn to secrecy. The mission experimented with dark energy to transport objects and to time travel. Ebinson could spend as much time as he needed in the lab and still return to his homely apartment at precisely three A.M. on the following Wednesday.

His living room had changed too. Instead of paintings lining his walls, charts and graphs of his work filled the apartment. His table was now always full of models and experiments. The futon was moved to the other side of the room so that the clock wouldn’t teleport it to his lab. 

Ebinson had been a scientist before his painting days. His job as a physicist had paid well. He had worked with growing success and recognition until one day he stopped. He had become a scientist hoping to create something of value, but the further he worked the more dissatisfied he got. He wasn’t creating anything. He looked to the future and saw monotony, redundancy and paperwork. He was also fed up with the company. They had only worked for money. They stole and made unethical shortcuts. For those reasons Ebinson left his life as a scientist behind. He had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life so he did the thing he’d always wanted to do, paint. This creative life, he deemed, was much more beneficial to the world. It might seem strange that a scientist would become a painter, but Ebinson wasn’t the average human, he was going to change the world.

Mission Blink was rapidly completing its tests and experiments. They had used the old undamaged equipment from 1974. Not even Mr. Ebinson knew what went on in the lab when the cataclysmic event occurred. All the scientists disappeared on the same date, people had tried to track them down, but nothing turned up. Ebinson himself had tried to investigate what had happened, but all he could discover was that a man named Alkav had been involved. The strangest thing about the accident was that someone had closed the mission down before everyone disappeared. Everyone had neglected the foreboding words on the side of the shortwave carbon accelerator. The mission’s aim surpassed their transports of objects from one side to the other of the lab. They were working on trying to open a large enough dark energy funnel to transport a space shuttle. This was much more hazardous than small samples because those only applied a minor fringe of the funnel. 

Now, he was back in science with newfound passion. He and the other scientists he had interested in Mission Blink were pioneering a new frontier. It had not been easy to get enough people to continue Mission Blink, but he had been convincing. His team was efficient and hard at work to discover, create and make the world a better place. Besides, you can’t get molecularly transported without sparking some curiosity. But the clock fascinated him the most. It was only triggered by human fingerprints so that no one would accidentally bump it and get teleported.    

The clock and its button was the creation of Simon Alkav, who had dwelt there as the director of Mission Blink. No one wanted to rent the haunted apartment after Alkav mysteriously disappeared. When Mr. Ebinson came and rented it; he was quite unaware of the superstitions. 

Now six months later Mr. Ebinson prepared to leave for the lab. There was an air of excitement rushing through the open window of his apartment. All of Mission Blink had been waiting on this day. Ebinson ate his breakfast of golden yellow eggs. He thought of what his team would do when he told them the decision he had made. At eight o’clock he had breakfast cleaned up and his apartment tidy. Mr. Ebinson left for his lab. Little did he know, this absence was to be his last. 

He pushed the button on the clock, there was a slight wiring, then he dissolved and materialized in his lab.

“Good morning, Dr. Ebinson. All is ready to operate.”, a man in a lab coat with enormous round glasses greeted. 

“That is good, Albert,”  

Mr. Ebinson stood on the edge of a balcony overlooking a large pool with nothing in it. It was at the far end of the lab and was where the energy funnel would fuse with the dark matter. Computers and offices and about twenty people filled the area. The glittering lights far above shone on the gigantic lens focused at the empty pool. 

He thought of what he had decided in the past few weeks away from the lab.The experiment had grown now, and Ebinson had apprehensions on the ethical side of the matter. He didn’t want to cancel the experiment. With the goal so close, his ambition actually strengthened. But, being also a cautious man, he wanted to first be very assured that this experiment wouldn’t go South. They would have to wait on the experiment. 

“All security and maintenance tests are accomplished. This is the day we’ve been awaiting. Should we fire up the monoparticlefuse lens?” Albert shook Ebinson from his thoughts.

Mr. Ebinson stood overlooking the lens and addressed the people in the lab.

“Fellow scientists, the thing I am asking you to do shouldn’t take long. If this experiment would be a major success so much more could be attained, so much more can be discovered, nations can travel to new worlds sustainable for life. They could roam through time, although that would be even more perilous than this. But this experiment takes some risks. I know you think this is last minute, but we must put off the experiment until we are sure that there are very few possible disasters. This should not take long, only a few hours. The safety of the world is more important than the speed of this mission. I understand that–” He was cut off by one earsplitting creek coming from the lens. This wasn’t supposed to be possible! Ebinson thought looking at the launch remote still firmly in his hand. What had happened?