Joey woke up, blinking as his vision adjusted to the light. A sharp sense of confusion struck him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

"Where the hell am I?" he mumbled, sitting up slowly.

This wasn’t his bedroom. The comforting familiarity of his space, the video game posters on the walls, the PC glowing softly in the corner, the bookshelves packed with sixteen years of school and university books, everything was gone. Instead, he found himself sitting in an alley. Surrounding him were towering walls of brick and concrete, weathered and chipped, as if they’d stood there for centuries.

"What the hell?" he muttered again, his voice echoing slightly off the walls.

Joey tilted his head back to look up. Above him stretched a brilliantly blue sky, serene and utterly beautiful. For a fleeting moment, the sight almost calmed him—until a small piece of crumbling wall dislodged and landed in his eye.

"Ah, goddammit!" he cursed, rubbing his face in frustration. "What kind of over-the-top dream is this? Seriously, this is overkill!"

He grumbled, trying to process the bizarre situation. This couldn’t be real, could it? Was he still drunk from last night? Or had he somehow downed some mushrooms or something without realizing it? None of this made sense.

Then, in the midst of his agitation, Joey noticed something he hadn’t registered before: the distant hum of life. The alley opened onto a bustling street, and the sound of voices echoed through the narrow space. Curious and apprehensive, he stepped closer. As he peered out, he froze.

The streets were full—full of people, dressed in clothes that seemed ancient but somehow pristine. Tunics, sandals, cloaks. It was chaos, but an organized kind of chaos, with merchants shouting, children running, and strangers haggling over goods. Joey’s heart pounded in his chest.

"What the hell is this?" he whispered.

But something else felt wrong. The voices, he couldn’t understand them. The words were foreign, rapid, and completely incomprehensible. He strained to catch a single recognizable syllable, but it was no use. His stomach sank as the weight of confusion hit him.

"Wait a second," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Why can’t I understand them? Where the hell am I?"

Confused and agitated, Joey pushed himself up from the dusty ground. He patted his clothes, brushing off whatever dirt, soot, or debris had rained down on him. His mind raced, trying to make sense of his surroundings. At the far end of the alley, the once-muffled buzz of activity had become unmistakable energetic hum of voices and movement.

From his vantage point, he could now see the edges of a few small market stalls peeking into view. The wooden structures, stacked with items of some kind, hinted at a busy marketplace. However, he was still too deep in the alley to make out exactly what was being sold.

“What the hell is going on here?” he muttered under his breath. His heartbeat quickened as he decided to move closer.

Joey took a few cautious steps toward the end of the alley. A soft haze seemed to distort his vision, as if a bloom effect were cast over everything in the distance. The glaring sunlight made it worse, creating a shimmering veil that obscured the details ahead. Instinctively, Joey raised his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the glare. Squinting, he strained to make sense of the scene before him.

"Come on, come on," he murmured, willing his eyes to adjust faster.

As he moved closer, the hum of voices grew louder, more distinct, though still incomprehensible. The sights and sounds of life pulled him forward, curiosity battling the gnawing sense of dread in his chest. For now, all he could do was keep walking, one cautious step at a time, and hope he was dreaming, or at least find an explanation waiting for him at the end of this alley.

Still focused on the blinding light at the end of the alley, Joey walked forward, his steps hesitant and uneven. His ears were buzzing with the sounds coming from beyond the passage. loud, lively, chaotic. But they felt distant, almost muffled, as if his mind hadn’t fully registered them yet.

He took another step, and suddenly, his foot caught on something solid. He stumbled, barely catching himself before falling face-first onto the ground.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he exclaimed, looking down.

There, right in his path, was a large, discarded clay pot, its edge cracked and broken, with scraps of fabric and something sticky spilling out of it.

"Man, who the hell just leaves crap like this lying around? I almost ate dirt!" he grumbled, glaring at the offending object.

Crouching down, Joey examined the mess. The broken pot and its contents didn’t look anything like the garbage he was used to seeing in the city streets back home. No takeout bags, no plastic bottles, not even an old can of beer... just a jumble of rough pottery shards and something vaguely organic.

“What kind of trash even is this? My brain is seriously playing tricks on me,” he muttered, shaking his head. He stood back up and brushed off his hands.

Determined to get to the end of the alley, Joey pressed on. With each step, the light grew brighter, and so did the noise. Finally, he reached the edge of the passage and froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Before him stretched a massive marketplace, alive with energy and chaos. Dozens of wooden stalls formed uneven rows, each piled high with goods. Fresh fish glistening on makeshift ice, baskets of colorful fruits and vegetables, neatly stacked amphorae filled with oil or wine, and even racks of polished swords and bronze helmets.

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The crowd was overwhelming. Men and women jostled each other as they navigated through the throng, their voices blending into a cacophony of noise. Merchants stood behind their stalls, shouting in loud, unfamiliar syllables, advertising their wares to anyone who would listen. Joey couldn’t understand a single word.

The people themselves were unlike anything he’d seen. Their clothing was strange, men wore tunics tied at the waist with simple cords, some in earthy tones of beige and brown, while others sported vibrant reds and purples. Women in flowing stolas walked gracefully, their sandals slapping against the dusty ground. Their shoes, simple and leather-bound, looked functional but completely alien to Joey. The colors and fabrics gave the whole scene an otherworldly feel.

Joey just stood there, slack-jawed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His brain struggled to process what he was seeing. He felt like he’d stepped onto the set of a historical Film, or more terrifyingly into another world entirely.

“I don't see any Crew Workers so this couldn't be a film set or something...Where the fuck am I?” he murmured under his breath.

As Joey stood frozen, a sharp jab on his shoulder startled him. He whipped around to see a man standing beside him. A middle-aged figure, his skin weathered by the sun and his clothes simple but well-kept. The man wore a light tunic tied with a belt and a pair of worn leather sandals. His head was covered with a straw hat to shield himself from the sun, and his sharp eyes studied Joey with suspicion.

The man gestured toward a nearby stall, clearly annoyed. Joey realized he was standing so close to it that he might have seemed like a customer.

"Esne hic stas? Visne aliquid emere annon?"

("Are you standing here? Do you want to buy something or not?")

The man barked, his tone impatient.

Joey flinched, his heart racing. He didn’t know what to say, or even how to say it.

Joey stood there, completely frozen, his mind racing. For a brief moment, a flicker of recognition crossed his thoughts, like catching the tail end of a fading memory. The words the man had spoken just now, something about them felt oddly familiar. The sounds, the rhythm of the language... it gnawed at him, like hearing a melody you’re sure you’ve heard before but can’t quite place.

But the feeling wasn’t enough. He stood there like a deer caught in headlights, unable to respond. His silence only irritated the merchant further.

"Quid nunc? Salve!?"

("What now? Hello!?")

the man snapped, his tone sharp.

Before Joey could even attempt to muster a reply, another man emerged from the crowd, stepping toward the stall with purposeful strides. The stranger’s presence immediately drew the merchant’s attention. Joey felt the sudden shift, like he had ceased to exist entirely.

The newcomer was clearly a local. He looked to be a man of middle age, with Sun-kissed skin and a short but neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were sharp, and his slightly crooked nose hinted at a life of labor or perhaps an old injury. His build was solid but not overly muscular, likely someone who worked with his hands but not in hard manual labor. He wore a clean, simple tunic dyed in a muted earthy tone, tied at the waist with a cord. Over his shoulder, he carried a small leather satchel, and his sandals, while practical, looked well-made.

The merchant immediately shifted his focus, smiling in a way that was equal parts welcoming and opportunistic. The two men began speaking in the same unfamiliar language Joey had heard earlier, their conversation quick and filled with the natural rhythm of barter and negotiation.

Joey stood silently, no longer the target of the merchant’s ire. The relief was immediate. For a moment, the whole ordeal felt like a bad dream that had just evaporated. He took a step back, letting the two men talk uninterrupted. But as he looked at the new customer, something caught his eye. Something about the man’s appearance that suddenly stood out to him.

It was the clothes.

“The clothes,” Joey muttered to himself, his brow furrowing.

The tunic, the sandals, the simple corded belt, it all seemed so familiar. Joey’s mind flipped through memories like the pages of a history textbook. That straightforward yet iconic style of dress... it was unmistakable.

“These clothes...they look just like how I remember Romans or other ancient civilizations being depicted,” Joey thought.

A sense of unease settled over him. The garments were something so basic yet so profoundly tied to history that they were instantly recognizable. Even thousands of years later, children in classrooms around the world could identify them. For Joey, they weren’t just unfamiliar, they were alien to everything modern. And the more he thought about it, the more the realization began to creep in.

“These clothes don’t belong in the modern world,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The simple, enduring design had been immortalized through centuries of art, storytelling, and education. Joey knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that what he was seeing didn’t match any corner of the contemporary world. There was no mistake. He was staring at something straight out of the past.

Joey stood there, frozen and shocked. Completely shocked. A wave of panic overtook him, though he kept it bottled up inside. As the two men beside him became increasingly engrossed in a business-like negotiation over some goods Joey’s mind spiraled out of control.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat growing louder in his ears. No, not just louder, it felt heavier, as if his heart were trying to break free of his ribcage. His vision began to narrow, the edges of his peripheral vision fading into a darkened blur, forming a tunnel-like focus on nothing in particular. Panic morphed into something primal, a terrible, clawing sense of fear.

It was a fear so visceral that it consumed him. Death. That’s what it felt like—like he was moments away from dying. Joey’s breath came in short, ragged gasps. He had to get away.

Without thinking, without even planning where to go, Joey turned and ran. His feet pounded against the uneven stone of the marketplace floor as he bolted blindly into the crowd. He didn’t care where he was going, he just needed to get away. Away from the noise, the smells, the strange sights. Every passing second heightened his sensory overload. Everything was too loud, too sharp, too alien. The sounds of voices and merchants shouting blurred into an overwhelming cacophony, pressing in on him from all sides.

The two men at the stall, now deep in a debate over the price of spices, paused for a moment to watch Joey's abrupt departure.

“What happened to him?” the customer asked, raising an eyebrow.

The merchant shrugged, leaning on his stall.

"I don’t know. He was just standing there, saying nothing. But I thought he was strange from the start, especially because of the clothes he’s wearing."

The potential buyer nodded.

"True, his clothes look like those of a foreigner. Perhaps he’s a traveler, don’t you think?"

The merchant scratched his chin.

"Perhaps. Lately, we’ve been seeing more and more foreigners at the market. Many come to trade."

With a collective shrug, the two men returned their focus to their business. In a city as large and bustling as this, encountering strange individuals wasn’t uncommon. By the next moment, Joey had already faded from their thoughts, becoming just another fleeting anomaly in a sea of unusual faces.

Meanwhile, Joey’s descent into a mental spiral only worsened. He had no idea how long he had been running. It felt like an hour, maybe more. His legs burned, his lungs ached, but he didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the city. He barely noticed when the paved roads turned to dirt paths, and then to the outskirts of a forest. He didn’t care. He just kept moving, his mind racing with a single, desperate thought: “I need to go home, somewhere safe.”

The woods offered no comfort. Joey stumbled blindly through the underbrush, his thoughts clouded by fear and exhaustion. Suddenly, his foot caught on something like a thick root. He tried to steady himself, but the uneven ground gave way beneath him. His body pitched forward, tumbling down a steep, rocky incline.

His world turned into a chaotic blur of motion. Trees and sky spun around him as he fell, and the last thing Joey saw was the ground rushing up to meet him before everything went black.