Der Führer

It's nearly midnight when you return home from supper with your colleagues. As you step through your front door, an inexplicable sensation washes over you, like being pulled through a wormhole. The bizarre feeling lasts only a few seconds, leaving you disoriented but unshaken. Dismissing it as exhaustion, you make your way to your bedroom. But as you enter, a chill runs down your spine. This isn't your room. Your breath catches as you take cautious steps forward, studying every detail. The furniture is different, the air feels heavier, and an eerie silence fills the space. A whirlwind of questions floods your mind. What just happened? Where am I? Then, your gaze locks onto a figure standing near an antique wooden desk. A middle-aged man, clad in an old-fashioned military uniform, holds an aged, yellowed map. His piercing eyes meet yours with a cold intensity. Your heart pounds. You know this face. From the pages of history to the chilling reality before you, standing mere feet away is none other than Adõlf Hitlër.