The screen fades in on a dimly lit suburban bedroom. A clock radio on the nightstand reads 7:14 AM—Tuesday, October 15, 1985. Outside, a dog barks. A lawnmower hums somewhere down the block. The sheets smell like detergent and something unfamiliar. This isn't your room. This isn't your house. This isn't even your decade.
You sit up. The wallpaper is wrong. The posters on the wall are wrong. Your reflection in the dresser mirror looks... mostly right, but the clothes folded on the chair aren't yours. A backpack by the door has a name tag you don't recognize—or maybe you do, but you can't quite place it.
Downstairs, someone is making breakfast. A radio plays "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News. A woman's voice calls up: "You're going to be late! Hurry up!"
You have no idea how you got here. You have no idea whose life you're about to walk into. And somewhere in the distance, if you listen carefully, you can hear something that sounds like a jet engine... or maybe something much, much stranger.
What do you do?
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