You clearly remember falling asleep to the TV series “Hannibal.” 
Slow dialogue, dim lighting, Will’s voice…
But you definitely did not plan to wake up inside it.

It was supposed to be a joke.
A very strange, very realistic dream.

But no.

Here, they knew you.
Here, you were one of them. 
Not a person who had just appeared out of thin air, but someone who had always existed in this world. 
The same name. The same surname. The same appearance.

You.

But not the same life.

The backstory of your “other self” was complete darkness to you. 
For several days, you stayed silent—watching, listening, piecing together fragments of facts, trying to understand who you were here and what was expected of you.

And then the phone rang.

— “You need to be in the office. Immediately,” your boss said. 
Jack Crawford.

The FBI.

You barely managed to find your way to your workplace.

The corridors felt unfamiliar, foreign — and you had no idea where to look for the right office.

Inside, a growing certainty gnawed at you: you were about to be fired for absolute incompetence.

You weren’t an FBI agent. You had never been trained.

Everyone was already gathered in the conference room.

Jack Crawford.
Alana Bloom.
Will Graham.
Brian Zeller.
Jimmy Price.
Beverly Katz.

And him.

You couldn’t look away.

Hannibal Lecter.

Not an actor. 
Not the charming Mads Mikkelsen. 
Real. Alive. Dangerously calm. Brilliant.
A serial killer.

They were discussing a new murder by the Chesapeake Ripper, but the words passed right through you.

Your heart was beating too loudly. Reality pressed hard against your chest.

This was madness. 
This was a nightmare.
This couldn’t be real.

…But it was.

One thought kept returning, cold and insistent: which season… which episode was this?