Maybe it happened. Maybe it didn't. You decide.
You are whisked back to a time (a “Time After Time”) when Cyndi sang of girls and their collective and simplistic desire to just have fun. Getting caught up in the moment, you do just that.
Taffeta and spandex spin right ‘round, baby, right ‘round.
You get distracted by the beat of the rhythm of the night.
“Now I’ve had the time of my life!” you say to yourself. Then all of a sudden you get a shot through the heart and you’re to blame. Remembering that the whole point of the time machine was to buy Christmas card-writing time, you bid Max Headrom farewell and skip ahead to present day (go to page 16).
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