Chapter 1: The End of the Road

The cold, artificial glow of the warehouse lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the concrete floor. The conveyor belts hummed, endlessly churning out packages, their barcodes flashing under the scanners. Ivan Pejić dragged his feet forward, his steel-toed boots scuffing against the ground as he lifted another box, scanning it with mechanical precision.

Amazon Sortation Associate – Night Shift. That was his job title, but to Ivan, it was just a fancy way of saying he was a cog in a machine. A machine that never stopped, that paid him just enough to keep drowning in debt, but never enough to breathe.

He barely felt the ache in his back anymore. The dull pain in his joints had become background noise, much like the mindless small talk of his co-workers, the repetitive beeps of the scanners, the distant sound of forklifts moving pallets. This was his life. And it had all led to this moment.

The final shift.

Ivan hadn't always been like this. Once, he had dreams. Ambitions. A vision of a future where he wouldn't be stuck in this miserable existence. But reality had other plans. His father had been a drunk, his mother absent even when she was there. They had never taught him how to succeed—only how to survive.

And even that, it seemed, he had failed at.

His wife had left him. Packed her things and walked out without a second thought. "I can't do this anymore, Ivan." That's all she had said before slamming the door behind her.

He had tried to fight for her. Begged her to stay. But deep down, he knew there was nothing left to save. He was a failure. No house. No savings. Just mountains of debt and a dead-end job that felt more like a prison sentence than employment.

He had thought about this night for a while. Planned it down to the last detail. There was no one left to stop him. No one who would even notice he was gone.

The shift ended, and Ivan stepped out into the cold German night. His breath turned to mist in the air as he walked to his car—an old, beat-up Opel Astra, one headlight cracked, the other flickering. He sat inside for a long moment, staring at the worn steering wheel, his hands trembling.

Just do it.

The bottle of vodka in the passenger seat was half-empty. Next to it, a small bag of painkillers. He had Googled the lethal dose, made sure he wouldn't wake up in a hospital.

One deep breath. Then another. He swallowed the pills dry, chasing them with the vodka. His vision blurred almost instantly, his limbs turning heavy.

As the world faded to black, the last thing he felt was a strange sense of relief.

At least this time, he wouldn't wake up.

But he did.

Ivan gasped. His lungs burned. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. Everything felt wrong—his limbs were weak, his vision was blurred. Panic surged through him.

What the hell was happening?

He heard voices. Muffled, distant. A language he recognized but couldn't quite focus on.

Then, suddenly, everything snapped into place. He wasn't in his car. He wasn't even an adult anymore.

Warmth surrounded him. The light was blinding. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Shapes moved above him—people, faces he didn't recognize. A man. A woman. Both looking down at him with tired but relieved expressions.

Ivan tried to speak, but only a weak, broken cry escaped his lips.

His heart pounded. This wasn't possible.

Then he saw it—the room, the equipment, the old-fashioned medical monitors. The people around him, dressed in uniforms that looked decades out of date.

Something was wrong.

He wasn't just reborn.

He had been sent back in time.

To 2004.