At first, everything was as usual. A gray city, a metro with the smell of dust and iron, a market where people shout over each other, as if bargaining for survival. You came there simply for vegetables. The day was gloomy, the air was heavy. And only one moment was out of the usual rhythm: an old granny in a headscarf, who stood near a stall with sauerkraut and held a compass in her hand.

It was old, brass, with dirty glass. But the arrow in it moved. Not like a normal one - not in a circle, but shuddering, twitching first in one direction, then in another. The granny said, almost in a whisper:

• It will show you where you should be. Just don't be scared.

You laughed. You thought that it was just another antique with a hint of mysticism. You bought it - for the sake of laughter. And then everything began to change.

First - the air. It became denser, thicker, like before a thunderstorm. Then — sounds. The cars disappeared, and instead Leshchenko’s creaky voice began to play somewhere in the distance. People dressed in strange clothes, billboards with the words “Glory to Labor” were overhead, and Volgas and Zhiguli were on the streets. And most importantly, the phone was gone. There was no connection. The map wouldn’t load. You stood rooted to the spot among the lively crowd, like strangers at this celebration of Soviet life.

No one would believe it. But it happened.

You were in the past. Somewhere in the mid-80s, when the USSR was still holding on, but was falling apart at the seams. You wandered around the city while it was light. Every glance scared you. Your things were like from the future. Your money was useless. People looked at you warily. One old man grabbed you by the jacket and asked where you got those sneakers. You ran away.

You didn't know where to live. There were no hostels. No maps. The feeling: you were torn from your roots and thrown into the ground, where everything lived by someone else's laws. You looked for shops, tried to buy at least something, but your rubles were not the right ones. They didn't understand you, and you didn't know how to explain. You were lost in time. The streets smelled of bread and gasoline. In your pocket - a useless phone and that same compass, the needle of which was spinning like crazy.

Late in the evening, you gave up. Tired. Your whole body ached from walking, there was emptiness in your stomach. You leaned against a brick wall near an old store where they sold soda for three kopecks. People flashed past, as if you were not there. You closed your eyes. From fatigue. From impossibility. From time that did not want you.

And suddenly - a voice. Male. Calm, with a slight accent.

You opened your eyes - there was a guy squatting next to you. Not like a local. His face was like Korean. Black hair, slanted eyes, narrow cheekbones. He looked at you with interest. You thought - a foreigner. Maybe he won't understand. But he suddenly said in broken but understandable Russian:

- What are you doing here at this time, and alone? Haven't you heard that a serial killer is roaming the city?