Chapter 1 – Awakening in a Different Life
Jason had always gone to the movies alone. It wasn't because he disliked company, he just liked the quiet before and after a film. The dim lights, the soft hum of the speakers, the way the room swallowed every problem outside, it all felt comforting. Tonight was no different. A late showing, barely eight other people scattered across the seats, and a movie he didn't care that much about. It was simply something to do after work.
He settled into the soft seat, stretching his legs. He had been tired all week, and the moment the trailers ended, his body sank deeper. He blinked slowly. The screen blurred. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, heavier than usual, like something was pulling him down by the shoulders.
Just a short nap… I'll wake up before it matters.
His eyes closed, just for a moment.
Somewhere far away, he vaguely heard someone whisper, "Is he okay?"
Then a sharper voice, "Sir? Hey, sir?"
A faint ruckus stirred near him, but his mind drifted too deep to respond.
And then, nothing.
Jason woke with a sharp gasp, like breaking through cold water.
The smell hit him first. Damp concrete. Trash. Something metallic. His eyes adjusted to the dim light leaking between two tall walls. He was lying on the rough ground of an alley, his back slightly sore and his legs stiff from having been in a strange position.
For a long second, he didn't move. He simply stared, dumbfounded.
Where…?
His memories scrambled to assemble themselves, but the last thing he clearly remembered was the cinema. The soft seat. The warm air. The movie screen. The heaviness in his eyes.
Jason sat up abruptly, heart thudding.
"What the hell—"
His hands immediately went to his shirt, patting himself down in panic. It was stupid, but instinctive. He checked his chest, waist, pockets, everywhere someone could've touched or taken advantage of him while unconscious.
Nothing hurt. Nothing seemed wrong.
But the clothes were wrong.
He was wearing a dark hoodie he didn't own, jeans that weren't his size, and shoes that were too clean. His original clothes were nowhere.
"What is going on…?"
He took a shaky breath and forced himself upright, leaning against the cold brick wall. The alley was empty. Quiet. The city beyond hummed with distant traffic, but this narrow passage felt like it belonged to a different world entirely.
His fingers brushed something in his pocket.
A wallet.
He pulled it out, half fearful, half hoping for answers. Inside was a small amount of cash, a few miscellaneous membership cards, some receipts, and an ID.
Jason Mercer.
He blinked.
His first name was right. The last name… wasn't.
He stared at the picture on the ID. The face resembled his in shape, but it wasn't him. Different jawline. Softer cheekbones. Younger eyes. Healthier skin.
"This isn't me," he whispered.
The handwriting, the address, the birthday, none of it belonged to his life. Yet he held it. And the face on the card stared back like it expected him to accept it.
Jason swallowed hard and stepped out of the alley.
The moment he emerged, the world exploded into brightness and noise. Cars honked. People crossed the streets. Towering buildings reflected the afternoon sun. Billboards, street vendors, tourists, everything was too real, too grounded to feel like a dream.
He walked slowly, dazed, weaving between pedestrians.
"Los Angeles…?" he murmured, recognizing certain famous streets and building shapes. He had never been to LA in his real life, but he had seen enough movies to piece things together.
A glass-covered building stood to his right. He caught a glimpse of movement, his movement. He stopped and stepped closer to the reflective surface.
The face staring back wasn't his.
It was younger. Fresher. Not the worn mid-twenties look he knew. A stranger, yet familiar from the ID card. Same clothes. Same hair. Same expression of shock.
"Oh, come on," he whispered, touching his jaw. "No way."
His otaku brain immediately jumped to the most cliché explanation.
Did I just get isekai'd?
A beat later, he sighed and shook his head.
"No. No magic swords. No floating castles. This is… still the real world."
He looked at his reflection again. "So did I reincarnate…? In this guy's body?"
The moment that thought formed, pain stabbed his skull.
Jason staggered, gripping the side of the building as a flood of images, sensations, and memories crashed into him.
A small apartment.
A boy laughing with his parents.
News of an accident.
Loneliness.
Financial strain.
Struggling to graduate high school.
Working odd jobs.
Searching for better ones and failing.
An empty apartment.
A small room with peeling paint.
A simple life.
Jason Mercer's life.
The memories didn't feel like watching a movie, they felt like they were his. Too vivid. Too raw.
His nose suddenly dripped warm liquid. He wiped it and saw blood staining his fingers.
Someone nearby gasped. "Hey, man, you good?"
A middle-aged guy approached, genuine concern on his face.
Jason forced a weak smile and waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just… hit my nose earlier."
"You sure? You're bleeding a lot."
"I'm fine, really. It happens sometimes."
The man hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Take care of yourself."
When he left, Jason exhaled shakily and pressed his sleeve to his nose until the bleeding slowed.
The pain lingered, but the memories settled enough for him to think clearly.
He knew where "his"or rather, Jason Mercer's, apartment was. He could picture the route. The entryway, the hallway, the stairs. His head throbbed every time he focused on the details, but the information stuck.
"Alright… let's see where I live now," he muttered.
The walk was strangely natural. His feet moved on autopilot, guided by Mercer's memories. He passed shops and restaurants that triggered faint recognition. Everything around him felt familiar in a way that shouldn't have been possible.
After several blocks, he reached a modest apartment building, old but maintained, its beige paint fading under the LA sun. He stared at it for a moment, feeling a strange mix of dread and déjà vu.
He climbed the stairs slowly, his breathing uneven. At the door of a small unit on the second floor, he stopped.
The key in his pocket matched the one from his memories.
His hand trembled as he unlocked the door.
Inside, the apartment was exactly as he saw it in Mercer's life: small bed to the right, small kitchen space to the left, a desk with a half-working laptop, and a narrow bathroom. Simple. Lonely.
He stepped inside cautiously.
It smelled like the memories said it should, faint detergent and old carpet.
He closed the door behind him.
Every part of him felt exhausted. Not physically, mentally. Emotionally. It was like holding two lives in his head at once, both demanding space.
Jason sat on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked under him.
His vision blurred.
His head pounded again, softer this time.
He lay down slowly, feeling the dizziness wash over him.
"So… I'm Jason Mercer now," he whispered into the quiet room.
There was no one to answer.
No explanation waiting.
Just this new life, and whatever came next.
His eyes closed, and for the second time that day, Jason drifted into sleep, this time as someone else entirely.