Kuto woke up to the sound of birds chirping. He lazily got out of bed, wondering what could possibly be making such a racket so early in the morning. As he walked to the window, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and did a double take. His hair was now a bright terracotta color, and his once neatly trimmed beard was now completely gone, revealing a scar that ran from his forehead all the way down his cheek.

He touched his face gingerly, feeling the rough stubble that covered his skin. It was then that he realized he wasn’t in Uzbekistan anymore. He didn’t know how or why he had ended up here, but there was no mistaking it; this was definitely not home.

As he looked around more carefully, he noticed that everything seemed oddly familiar yet also completely foreign at the same time. The furniture and decor were certainly not anything like what he remembered from home, but there were elements that felt eerily similar nonetheless.

He shook his head clear before making his way downstairs cautiously, half expecting someone to jump out at him and demand an explanation for why he was here. But thankfully no one did; instead it appeared as if whoever lived here simply wasn’t home at the moment.