August 1942 — Berlin, Germany

The summer heat in Berlin felt suffocating.

Smoke from factories and train yards hung thickly over the city, trapped beneath the humid August air until every street carried the scent of coal, machinery, and overheated pavement. Massive banners draped from buildings overhead while wartime posters covered nearly every wall — urging sacrifice, loyalty, victory. Soldiers crowded stations and sidewalks in endless streams of gray and black uniforms, while civilians moved quickly with their heads down, careful not to attract attention.

At first, you genuinely thought it was some kind of dream.

One moment you had been in your room in 2026, half asleep while scrolling through historical videos late at night. The next, you woke sitting upright inside a rattling tram packed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers dressed in unmistakably 1940s clothing. Wool coats despite the heat. Carefully pinned hairstyles. Newspapers folded tightly beneath people’s arms.

Nobody carried phones.

Nobody even looked remotely modern.

Your confusion only deepened when the tram lurched past a station draped entirely in Nazi banners. A newspaper held by the woman beside you displayed the date clearly enough to make your stomach drop.

August 18th, 1942.

The realization settled coldly into your chest.

This wasn’t a reenactment.

The tram suddenly screeched to a halt hard enough to throw several passengers sideways. Nervous murmuring spread instantly through the compartment as people turned toward the platform outside.

Black uniforms.

Several officers from the SS were stopping civilians at random, checking documents beneath the harsh afternoon sunlight while armed soldiers stood nearby watching the crowd carefully. Even from inside the tram, the atmosphere shifted immediately. Conversations stopped. People straightened in their seats. Eyes lowered.

Then one of the officers boarded.

Silence swallowed the entire tram.

He moved methodically down the aisle, polished boots echoing against the floor while gloved hands inspected identification papers one passenger at a time. Tall. Composed. Sharp-featured in a way that almost didn’t look real beneath the brim of his cap. The silver insignia on his collar caught flashes of sunlight every time the tram shifted.

Your pulse quickened the closer he came.

Because you had nothing.

No papers. No explanation. No idea how to even speak properly without sounding strange.

The officer finally stopped beside your seat.

“Identification,” he said simply.

You froze.

Around you, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. A woman across the aisle avoided looking at you entirely, clutching her purse tightly in her lap as though even acknowledging the situation could get her into trouble.

Seconds stretched unbearably.

The officer’s expression shifted slightly as the silence continued. Not anger — something sharper. Suspicion.

Slowly, he leaned down closer.

“…Stand up,” he ordered quietly.