What Happened Tomorrow

Collide Your Worlds

"Please, be stronger than your past,
The future may still give you a chance."
— George Michael, Cowboys and Angels

The headache was unbearable. It felt like a sharp metal spike had pierced his skull from deep within and was being driven in even further. His whole body trembled.

Igor pushed himself to his feet. Where was he? How had he ended up here? What the hell was going on? It was a house. Not just any house — it was a manor. Thick carpets on the floor, carved furniture, paintings framed in garish, over-the-top baguettes on the walls. Everything screamed opulence. He quickly realized he needed to get out, fast — before he was caught. Or worse, before the security showed up. No ordinary people lived in places like this, and he didn't want to deal with the trouble. It was odd that the alarm hadn't gone off yet — it should have by now. It would soon. Then the siren would blare, red lights would flash above the doors, and a small army of angry men would swarm and pin him to the floor in ways he'd regret being born. Damn it, what was wrong with his head?

Rubbing his temples, Igor stumbled into the next room. His legs were stiff, making it hard to move. The room was just as you'd expect in a place like this — elegant leather sofas, towering bookcases, another Persian rug on the floor, and a massive fireplace. Instead of a TV, there was an enormous painting in an ornate frame hanging above it. And what was that on the painting?

"Hey!" a rough voice called from somewhere in the distance.

"Hey," Igor answered wearily, "I can explain..."

"Do you know where we are?" the stranger cut in. "I woke up here and have no idea what's going on..."

"Wait, you too?" Igor mumbled, struggling to process the bits of information in his foggy mind.

"What do you mean, 'you too'?"

"I have no idea how I got here..."

"Why's everything white?"

"What?" Igor blinked, his eyes widening as he looked around. Once the obvious hit him, his head exploded in pain again. How could he have missed it? The whole place — absolutely everything — was stark white. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the books on the shelves — everything looked like fresh snow on Christmas morning. What the hell was this place?

He rushed over to the huge panoramic window and looked outside. What was out there? Nothing. Just endless, white emptiness stretching as far as the eye could see. Igor tried to grab the window handle, but there wasn't one. No hinges either. The window was there just for show. He touched it — it was paper-thin. Breaking it would be as easy as taking candy from a kid. No one used windows like this anymore. Maybe he could just a mash it?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a voice echoed from deep inside his consciousness:

"Don't."

That wasn't him. That wasn't his voice! But it wasn't anyone else's either. Igor froze, his eyes wide open. He touched the glass again.

"Don't do it. Don't even try. Bad idea," the voice repeated.

"What the..." he muttered under his breath.

"There's nothing in the books," the stranger grumbled from behind him. The guy was holding a thick book, but the pages were completely blank. On the table beside him were more books, each one identical to the last. That gave Igor an idea. He pulled out his phone to check for signal. Nothing — of course. As expected, no reception in the literal middle of nowhere.

"Do you get any signal in here?" Igor asked.

"What?" the stranger asked, confused. "What signal?"

"Uh..." Igor turned around and gave the guy a quizzical look. That was uncalled for. The stranger was a short young man with brown hair, an expression that made him look older than his years — as if he'd seen things no one should ever see. He was dressed in a military uniform, but not just any uniform. It had a distinct World War II vibe — a yellow-green shirt with shoulder straps, a dark cap adorned with a star and hammer-and-sickle insignia. The whole thing seemed too authentic to be a costume. Maybe he'd gotten too caught up in some historical reenactment.