Yanz was a man whose name had become synonymous with genius. In his mid-50s, he had revolutionized his world with inventions that bordered on the miraculous. His latest endeavor, a time machine, had consumed him entirely. For twelve days and nights, he labored without rest, food, or water, his mind a whirlwind of equations and hypotheses. His relentless determination, however, was his undoing. On the twelfth day, his body could no longer sustain him, and he collapsed.
Darkness enveloped him, but it was not the end. When Yanz opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his high-tech laboratory. Instead, he found himself in a small, decrepit house. The single room was barely furnished, and a solitary window let in a sliver of light. Confused, he looked around and noticed his reflection in a tub of water. Staring back at him was a young boy of about seventeen, gaunt and dressed in tattered clothes.
The house was in a dire state, made entirely of old, weathered wood. The walls were thin, allowing drafts to seep through,and the roof appeared as if it could collapse at any moment. The tub of water, his only mirror, was made of rough, splintering wood and seemed on the verge of falling apart. A rickety wooden bed and a small table with a single, broken chair were the only other furnishings. The air was thick with dust, and the floor creaked under his weight.
"What is this place?" he wondered aloud, his voice weak and unfamiliar. His once robust physique was now frail, his body starved.A noise outside drew his attention. He moved to the window and saw three tall men dressed in pristine white robes adorned with golden stripes.
They stood with an air of authority before two emaciated figures in ragged clothing. The contrast was stark. One of the ragged men was on his knees, crying and mumbling pleas that were too distant for Yanz to hear clearly. A man who seemed to be the leader of the white-robed trio, visibly annoyed, kicked the beggar away and chanted something. In an instant, the head of the second ragged man exploded,a gruesome spectacle that left Yanz horrified. Blood splattered, but not a drop touched the men in white, as if an invisible barrier shielded them.
The leader, his face twisted in anger, barked an order. "Let's go." The two men behind him smirked, their expressions cold and amused, on the verge of laughter.
Yanz's mind raced. Who were these men? Where was he? More importantly, how had he ended up in this frail body in such a dystopian world?
As the men in white walked away, Yanz's eyes fell back on the crying peasant, now covered in his companion's blood. Desperation and fear were etched on the peasant's face, and he sobbed uncontrollably. Yanz felt a pang of empathy, a stark reminder of the helplessness he had never known in his previous life. *Growl....* his stomach growled, "I need food" Yanz said to himself. He glanced around the sparse room once more, hoping to find something useful. His eyes settled on a small, hidden compartment under the bed. With effort, he pried it open and found a few bronze coins and a a few pieces of molded bread. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the hard bread in his hand a poor substitute for a proper meal. As he chewed, the dryness of his throat turned the simple act of eating into a struggle. Suddenly, he started to choke, the bread lodged in his throat. Panic set in, and he bolted towards the tub, desperate for relief.
In a frantic move, he plunged his head into the water, gulping it down with abandon. The cool liquid rushed down his throat, a lifeline in the midst of his distress. He didn't care how he looked, half-drowned and desperate; all that mattered was quenching the parched ache that had threatened to overwhelm him.