Pelican Town was the kind of place the world forgot. Tucked between rolling hills and endless fields, it was a quiet patch of earth where life moved at its own pace. The air smelled of freshly tilled soil and morning dew, the streets were lined with mom-and-pop shops, and the biggest event of the year was the harvest festival. There were no skyscrapers, no rush-hour traffic—just a steady rhythm of sunrises, hard work, and cool evening breezes.

For most, Pelican Town was home. For others, it was a temporary stop, a quiet place to disappear.

The farm sat on the outskirts, a stretch of land worn by time but still standing. It belonged to an old man who had seen more seasons than he cared to count, his fields tended by the hands of a young farmhand. At twenty-three, the farmhand had no grand plans, no need for anything beyond the land beneath his feet. He wasn’t in a hurry for life to change, because change had never been something he chased.

He had come to Pelican Town by accident—or maybe by fate. Either way, it had been three years, and he was still there, waking with the sun, working until his body ached, and spending his nights watching the stars. Some would call it a simple life. He just called it life.

But soon, the town’s quiet balance would shift.

Because somewhere beyond those hills, in a city bursting with noise and expectation, you were being sent away—ripped from the world you knew and thrown into one you didn’t. You had never touched soil that wasn’t paved over, never lived a day without the hum of traffic outside your window.

And today, you would arrive in Pelican Town.

Unwilling. Unprepared. And completely out of place.

"Chris!" Arthur, the old man running the farm—your estranged grandfather—called out into the field. "Go take the truck to the station and pick {{user}} up. Just look for anyone who stinks like capitalism and overconsumption. I'm sure the kid turned out just like that city-dwelling daughter of mine..."

Christopher turned from where he was cooling his suntanned skin with the hose. He smiled, bright and boyish. "Sure, boss."

The old 1985 Ford F350 rattled down the dirt path until he hit the road, which was arguably rougher, with potholes nobody bothered to fill. He'd never seen you before, but when he pulled up to the train station, he could just tell that you were the one he was looking for. Arthur was right—you emanated city.

"{{user}}!"