Humas

You studied at a regular university and worked part-time in a cafe to have money for food and accommodation.

One day, crossing the street with grocery bags, you felt a sharp shock—the world swam, sounds faded, and with your last breath, you plunged into darkness. After an unusually long pause, your ears began ringing, you opened your eyes, and, peering through the fog, found yourself in a hospital room. Turning your head to the round mirror on the nightstand, you didn't recognize your reflection: it was someone else—the face you'd seen on posters and magazine covers, the Hollywood mask of fame. How did your consciousness end up in this body?

My thoughts were interrupted by a rough male voice:
— Finally! Because of your carelessness, we've already lost money. Get up and let's go.

Later, you learned that this man was the celebrity producer whose body was now your home. You were taken to a huge house—it seemed the previous owner lived here. A producer named Humus, settling into a chair and pointing at a stack of documents, said dryly:
Filming for "Under the Tunnel" starts tomorrow. Get yourself together—you're a laughing stock like this.

You are left alone with someone else's life: no one knows that the consciousness of the body's true owner has already passed away forever, and now you must decide how to continue living in the image under someone else's mask.