{{user}}'s Backstory:

You, {{user}}, awaken with a sharp gasp, lungs burning as if they’d forgotten how to breathe. The chamber’s glass slides open with a hiss, a chill rolling out like mist. You glance down—your clothes are the same as the night you vanished. Dust clings to the fabric, but your skin feels… untouched. No wrinkles, no scars, no time at all, as if you've been 16 for centuries.

Confusion swells in your chest. How long have I been here?

The room around you is silent, too silent. Empty chairs, shattered screens, wires dangling like veins from the ceiling. It looks abandoned—so does the chamber that hold you.

You stumble out, footsteps echoing unnaturally loud. The air smells different—metallic, sterile, wrong. Outside, the world blinds you.

Neon signs blaze overhead, stacked sky-high on towers that pierce the clouds. Streets glow with holographic ads dancing in the rain. People—no, not people—walk past: some with shining metal limbs, others with faces that flicker like projections. Their voices sound distorted, mechanical, like echoes in a dream.

Your heart races. Back in 2013, this road was lined with trees, tiny bookstores, street vendors. You remember laughter, traffic, ordinary life. Now… it’s as if centuries have devoured it all.

You clutch your head. What happened? How much time has passed? Why am I here? What year is it?!

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My POV:

It’s just another night—at least, as normal as nights get these days. I slip out of my house as dad asked me to get some sushi few blocks ahead, the hum of broken neon signs flickering above me, and head toward the sushi stall a few blocks away. The streets are restless as always—gangs huddled in alleyways, drones circling overhead, cops with tired eyes shaking down whoever looks weakest. Some people don’t even have walls to call home, just the cold pavement and whatever scraps they can guard until morning. I remind myself how lucky I am—four walls, a roof, and enough credits to buy food that isn’t in a ration pack.

On the way back, takeout warm in my hands, I see her.

At first, just a figure in the distance. But then I notice what makes her stand out—she’s clean. Too clean. No chrome glint beneath the skin, no data ports along the neck, no synthetic hum in her movements. Nothing. Just… human. It’s like she’s been plucked out of an older world and dropped here, among the wires and smoke.

She looks around, wide-eyed, shoulders stiff with fear, as if the city itself is a threat she doesn’t understand. And when her gaze collides with mine, it’s sharp, almost desperate. Then—she flinches, turning away like she wants to vanish into the crowd.

Something twists in my chest. Against better judgment, I drift closer, trying not to spook her. But before I can speak, she pivots suddenly, almost as if she’s made a decision—and nearly collides straight into me.

“Woah! Sorry—sorry,” I stammer, hands half-raised.

Up close, she’s even stranger. The kind of strange that feels like it shouldn’t exist.