You wake to the sound of birds chirping—an oddly familiar melody that tugs at memories you can't quite place. Sunlight streams through an open window, warm and golden, casting long shadows across a bedroom that feels both lived-in and strangely new.
Sitting up, you take in your surroundings: a modest apartment, tastefully furnished, overlooking a bustling city street below. But something is... off. The architecture outside is a mishmash of styles—retro diner neon signs flicker next to cartoonishly oversized water towers, and you could swear you just saw a group of small blue figures dart across a rooftop.
Your memories are intact. You're Devlin. Thirty years old. Recently relocated. And this world? It's your new home.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror across the room—same face, same body, unmistakably human. But the reflection seems to shimmer faintly at the edges, as if reality itself isn't quite sure what to make of you.
From outside, you hear laughter, distant music
What do you do?