Where there's drinking on a weekend night, there's Hanna. That's the quote rotating around the female dorm building of her college, just down the road and around a sharply turning corner. Where there is alcohol, there is Hanna.

She's a skinny little thing with a high tolerance, sitting on the bar stool with a beer cold against her fingertips. Not quite sure which number anymore, it was around that time of the weekend when numbers got funny with Hanna, but she's having fun. Her cheeks flushed, her posture swaying, the whole nightclub experience.

"I," The blonde says, moving to pluck at her glasses like they were the reason why her vision occasionally blurred, "Am just saying, that's all. That they had a good idea."

The bartender, a lean man with slender muscles and a bored expression, stares at her. He's halfway leaning over the counter as if tempted to snatch her beer from her. She wants to dare him, but she might not be able to snatch it back.

"I think you've had too much," The man muses.

"Nah, she always gets like this even when sober," Her roommate muses from her right.

"She does?" The bartender asks. He then looks back at her, bewildered. "Really? Communism?"

"I'm saying that East Berlin had -" She hiccups. "Amazing ideas! They were so close to a perfect society. I mean, consider it. Capitalism where the rich only get richer? Think about it!" She jerks out her arm to point at the bartender, her beer swishing about in the bottle. "They almost found the solution. Almost got it right."

"Uh huh," Her roommate says, patting her back and tone sounding as if she was talking to a child. "Whatever you say, girl. I'm going to go dance. Keep an eye on her, won't you?"

The bartender shrugs. "Ah, well, I can try - but I have a job to do. No promises, miss."

Hanna huffs. Of course. She always acts like this when Hanna gets talking about East Berlin and communism. But she wholeheartedly believed it. It was the better option by far - the best sort of society a decent human population could hope for. Ruined because East Berlin didn't cross the last step and find the perfection right before them.

It's fine, even if other people don't understand too much. She knows the truth, and that's all that matters.

Frankly, Hanna isn't sure when sleep catches hold of her. One moment, she was happily drunk and dizzy on her bar stool. The next moment, blissful slumber.

___

When she comes too, she's lying sideways on a street corner under a flickering light. She's dazed and somewhat drowsy as she moves to stand, staring in horror and confusion at the changed world around her.

It smelled. That's the first thing she noticed, along with the bustling street of people dressed in all sorts of odd and older costumes. Hanna stands, wobbling on her feet, as she glances around the busy sidewalk.

Where the heck was she?

Hanna drags her feet along as she wanders the streets. People stared at her as if she were the one dressed weirdly. It baffled her to no end. Eventually, those people's stares turned to whispers, and quickly turned heads and hurried footsteps away from her.

She... she's in East Germany, isn't she?

Hanna figures that out glancing at a newspaper discarded by one of the runners, the German language bright and bold, along with the year. She's in the 1980s, in East Germany.

How... how the hell did Hanna end up in the 1980s in a completely different place than where she was moments ago? She was drinking, sure, but she wasn't that drunk.

The blonde is caught off guard by a sudden whistle for her attention, two nicely and overly dressed men making their way to her through the parting crowd. They stare at her like she's gum on the floor, sneering and insulted at her mere presence.

"Can... can I help you, officers?" She asks in a strained, confused voice.

And well, she's in Germany. So they speak German.

Hanna can only stare in confusion as they ask her something, and then only stare with wider eyes as they repeat the same phrase she cannot even dare to try and comprehend. There's a moment of silence between them, where the officers realize she's only an English speaker, and that she realizes this is a very bad time to be an English speaker.

They move to grab at her.

She bolts.

The officers, aggressive in their tone and thunderous footsteps, chase her through the streets yelling things she can assume are demanding. Hanna's heart pounds through her chest as she weaves through crowds of unfamiliar people and rounds the corner of a street she's never seen in her entire life.

She needs to get off the street, she needs to -

Hanna jerks her head to the left when she notices an open window. There. She can hide. She needs to hide.

And so, Hanna sprints towards it and dives inside.

She tumbles forward in her leap, awkwardly landing on her right shoulder and rolling over her arm. Not twisted or broken, but she can already feel the beginnings of a bruise starting to form.

Hanna choked back a breath as she pressed herself against the floor under the window's view, listening to the footsteps of the men running past. This isn't good, not at all. She needs to figure out how to get back. She needs to go back home. Now.

Except that this world seems to hate her because the door to the room she was hiding within is pushed open. There, in the doorway, stands an older couple, the two of them staring at her in bewilderment. Surprise.

"Please," Hanna begs quietly, knowing how close the officers still were. "Please let me hide here."

The final expression on their face takes hold. Disgust and fear. Hanna's heart has never dropped so fast.

They're turning on their heels and yelling in German as they rush to the front doors as Hanna quickly rushes back towards the window she had climbed in through. There's no mercy, though, as she can hear those very men that chased her earlier rounding the corner again at the frantic shouts.

And, of course, they can catch her.

Hanna's glasses crack against the ground as she's practically manhandled down, struggling against their grasp as the men above her press metal handcuffs firmly against her wrists. There's no mercy as they drag her to some jet-black car parked just beside the sidewalk, shoving her into the back without so much as blinking at her pleas.

The engine starts. The car roars. Hanna tries not to scream.

"Where," She asks, her voice strained and utterly terrified, "Are you taking me?"

The driver doesn't respond. They don't even look back at her. Hanna accepted her fate with a gentle nod, settling her slightly trembling body against the car door as she was escorted away.

Meanwhile, a prison sits alone, large and looming in its structure. The dreaded location of so many violations, of so much pain and suffering. Where screaming was rather normal, where everyone could not even dare to imagine living within.

The very Berlin-Hohenschönhausen itself almost seemed to watch eagerly as a black-tinted car approached its front gates.