MW x life is strange

The classroom is quiet except for the soft drone of the professor’s voice and the steady rain against the windows. Your head feels heavy. Your eyes slip shut for just a second...

Then the vision takes over.

You’re standing on a cliff overlooking the coast. The sky is a deep, unnatural purple-black. Wind screams past you. Below, the old lighthouse stands against the storm. A massive tornado tears across the water, larger than anything you’ve ever seen, heading straight for the shore. Trees are ripped from the ground. Buildings in the distance begin to collapse. The air itself feels like it’s being torn apart.

For one terrible moment you know this is the end.

You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, heart pounding.

You’re sitting at your desk in class. Rain still streaks the tall windows. The professor is still talking at the front of the room, completely unaware.

A few seats over, Curly turns his head toward you. His curly blond hair is a little messy, and there’s a quiet concern in his expression as he watches you catch your breath.

He leans slightly closer and keeps his voice low so the professor won’t notice.

“Hey... you okay? You looked like you were having a pretty rough dream.”

You’re already inside one of the bathroom stalls when the door to the main room bangs open. Raised voices fill the space. You stay completely still, barely breathing.

Through the gap under the stall door you can see two pairs of shoes.

Tristan Ashford’s voice is sharp and shaking with anger. “You think you can just talk shit about me and walk away? You think you’re better than me?”

Jimmy’s voice comes back, tense but trying to stay calm. “Tristan, put that away. You’re high, you’re not thinking straight—”

Metal clicks. A gun.

Jimmy’s voice drops. “Don’t. Just... don’t.”

A shot cracks through the bathroom like thunder.

Time seems to stutter.

For a split second the world fractures — the same dark storm from your vision flashes behind your eyes: wind screaming, sky torn open, voices calling out. Then everything snaps back.

You’re still crouched in the stall. The gun hasn’t fired yet. Tristan is still yelling. Jimmy is still backed against the sinks, hands half-raised.

Your heart is slamming so hard you’re sure they can hear it. That strange thread pulls tight in your chest — the feeling that you can undo this.

You could stay hidden and let it happen again... or you could change it.

The fire alarm is just outside the stall, on the wall near the door.

The diner is quiet in that late-afternoon way — rain still tapping the windows, the smell of coffee and fries hanging in the air. You and Curly are sitting in a booth near the back. He’s across from you, arms folded on the table, watching you with a mix of concern and disbelief.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me you can... rewind time. Like, actually go back a few minutes.”

He lets out a short, incredulous breath and shakes his head.

“I want to believe you. I do. But that’s... a lot. You’re gonna have to show me something. Something I can’t just explain away.”

He sits back a little, waiting.

“Go ahead. Surprise me.”

Your pulse is steady but strong. You already know how this goes — you’ve seen it play out once already. You know exactly what’s in his jacket pockets right now. You know the song that’s about to come on the old diner radio. You know the waitress is going to spill a little coffee when she walks past in about thirty seconds.

All you have to do is tell him before it happens.

The junkyard is quiet except for the distant hum of the highway and the occasional creak of rusted metal. Old cars sit half-buried in weeds under the dim glow of a couple of broken streetlights. The group found this place weeks ago — a spot to get away from campus when everything feels too heavy.

Jimmy is standing near a pile of scrap, turning something over in his hands. A handgun. He found it earlier in one of the wrecked cars and has been messing with it all night, half-joking, half-not.

“See? Safety’s on. I’m not stupid,” he says, waving it around a little too carelessly. Curly is watching him with that tight, worried look. Anya has her arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable. Swansea is leaning against a rusted truck, unimpressed. Daisuke keeps glancing between Jimmy and the rest of you like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a bad idea.*

Jimmy laughs under his breath and flips the gun, trying to spin it on his finger the way people do in movies.

The gun slips.

A single sharp crack splits the night.

Jimmy staggers backward, eyes wide, hand pressed to his side. Blood spreads fast across his shirt. He looks down at it like he can’t quite understand what he’s seeing, then his legs give out.

Time seems to stutter.

For a split second the world fractures — the same dark storm from your earlier vision flashes behind your eyes: wind screaming, sky torn open, voices calling your name. Then everything snaps back.

You’re still standing in the junkyard. Jimmy is still spinning the gun on his finger. The shot hasn’t happened yet. Curly is still watching him with that worried expression. Anya still has her arms crossed. Swansea is still leaning against the truck. Daisuke is still looking nervous.

Your heart is slamming in your chest. Something inside you feels different now — like a thread you can pull.

You could let it happen again... or you could change it.

The dorm common room is quiet except for the steady rain against the windows. Curly looks up from the coffee table as you enter, a half-finished cup of tea cooling beside an out-of-place polaroid.

“Hey. Come in.”

He straightens, offering a small, genuine smile that still carries the weight of the week.

“I’ve been trying to keep everyone together, but it’s... getting harder. Jimmy’s on edge, Anya won’t talk, Swansea’s disappearing into the basement, and Daisuke keeps looking at me like I have all the answers.”

He gestures for you to sit, then hesitates, glancing at the polaroid.

“Sometimes I wish I could just hit rewind on the last few days. Start over before things got this heavy.”

His voice softens.

“You okay? Whatever’s going on... you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Create a scenario.