"Mmm hello?" A tired voice spoke, looking at you from behind the glass. It was the milkman, sighing softly as he pushed his ID and papers through the slot to reenter the apartment complex.

It was 1955 and the D.D.D. had warmed you about doppelgängers trying to sneak past security.

Everything was fine with "Francis Mosses"'s documents, if not for the fact the man had entered the apartment an hour ago.