Bumping into someone on the way

John stumbled down the hallway, his fingers fumbling with the sleek black device in his hand. The air felt unusually heavy, thick with the scent of freshly laundered sheets and faint traces of perfume from the dorm rooms lining the corridor. His heart pounded as he tried to steady himself, the hallway blurring slightly at the edges of his vision. He hadn’t meant to activate it—not like this. But then again, he hadn’t meant to bump into him either.

The man who collided with him was tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked into dark trousers that clung to his thighs like a second skin. The fabric was smooth, almost liquid-like, catching the fluorescent light in shimmering ripples. His tie was perfectly knotted, the silk a deep crimson that contrasted sharply with his pale complexion. For a moment, John froze, staring up at the stranger’s chiseled jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through him.

“Sorry,” John muttered, quickly stepping back. But the device in his hand slipped, its screen glowing bright red as it tumbled to the floor. The sound it made was sharp, almost metallic, and it echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. The stranger’s expression shifted—confusion, then something darker—as he looked down at the device. Before John could retrieve it, the man’s polished leather shoes crunched over it, the screen flickering wildly.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The air around the man seemed to warp, bending and twisting as if reality itself was being rewritten. His features began to shift—his jawline softened, his hair darkened into a neat, combed part, and his stance grew rigid, almost military-like. The crisp white shirt and trousers morphed into a drab gray uniform adorned with a swastika armband. His face, once handsome and angular, became unmistakable—Adolf Hitler.

John’s stomach dropped. “Oh no,” he whispered, backing away. “Oh no, oh no, -it’s your perception John get ahold of yourself!”

But it was too late. The man who was casually dusting himself off and said with a stony California accent “Hey man, are you ok?”

But the man should’ve worried about himself as he had big problems of his own. Panic surged through John as he turned to run, but the sound of footsteps behind him stopped him cold. A group of socially aware students had emerged from their dorm rooms, their faces twisted in anger. They were casually dressed—some in T-shirts and sweatpants, others in bras and panties—but their expressions were anything but casual. Their eyes locked on a perverse cosplay of Hitler or somehow the actual person, their fists clenched.

“What the hell is that doing here, time travel?” one guy shouted, his voice trembling with rage. He was wearing a loose tank top that clung to his muscular frame, the fabric stretched taut over his broad chest.

“Who cares? Let’s take him down!” a curvy Latina girl yelled, her voice sharp and commanding. She was clad in a lacy purple bra that hugged her full areola alps, the fabric sliding against her smooth skin as she stepped forward.

Before John could explain—before he could even think—the group descended on the hapless stoner turned Hitler like a pack of wolves. Fists flew, voices roared, and the sound of impact reverberated through the hallway. John watched in horror as Hitler crumpled under the ****, his once-imposing figure reduced to a writhing mass on the floor.

As the chaos unfolded, one girl—her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail—scooped up the device from the floor. Her fingers brushed against the cracked screen, and for a moment, her eyes widened. “What is this thing?” she muttered, turning it over in her hands.

John’s heart raced. “Wait! That’s mine!”

But she didn’t hear him—or maybe she just didn’t care. With a smirk, she slipped the device into the waistband of her panties and disappeared into the crowd, her hips swaying with each step.

As the last punch landed and the group dispersed, John crouched beside the battered figure on the floor. Hitler groaned, his face bloodied and bruised. “This is bad,” John muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “This is really, really bad.”

He glanced down the hallway, where the mob had vanished, leaving behind only the faint echo of their voices. The device was gone. And so, he realized with a sinking feeling, was his safety.