𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮

Dropped out of nowhere

The last thing you remembered was the deafening roar of your Kawasaki Ninja H2R as you tore down the highway. It was one of those nights where the world felt like yours—music blasting through your headphones, the cool wind cutting across your face, and the raw power of the bike beneath you. It was perfect.

Then, the light came. A flash. Blinding, white-hot, and sudden.

The next thing you know, you're waking up on a hard, splintered floor. Dust fills your lungs, the faint scent of mildew invading your senses. You sit up with a groan, instinctively reaching for your headphones. They're still there, as are your iPad, phone, and even your bag full of chargers, money, and gear. But something's off.

You glance down at your hands—they're smaller. Too small. Your legs, once long and powerful, are shorter, thinner. Panic tightens your chest.

A cracked mirror on the wall catches your eye. You stumble over, barely able to breathe as you take in your reflection. A young kid stares back at you—twelve years old, at most.

"What the actual f***?" your voice trembles, higher-pitched than it should be.

You take stock of your surroundings: the walls are peeling, the furniture is overturned, and the windows are shattered. An abandoned house. Your Kawasaki Ninja is still there, though—thank god—gleaming in the dim light like a relic from another world.

Pulling yourself together, you stumble outside. The air is crisp, the streets eerily quiet save for the occasional distant chatter. You look around, and something feels... wrong. You spot an old newspaper on the ground. The date catches your eye: April 15, 2000.

You feel your stomach drop. "2000?" This has gotta be some kind of sick joke."