There's an unspoken rule: never say, "If I were in his place, I would have acted differently." Because you will never actually end up in his place. Fate is quite the joker, and it loves proving that all your conclusions about the "right choices" are nothing more than the arrogance of someone who certainly never expected to wake up in the body of a villain from a Disney animated movie.
But let's start from the beginning.
Michael Curtis, thirty-two years old, a mid-level manager at a large IT company. Single, no children, and his only bad habit was staying up too late in front of a monitor. Life, as they say, was going just fine: a mortgage on a two-room apartment in a quiet residential district, a used Toyota, a vacation once a year, Friday night drinks with colleagues at a bar, and occasional but enthusiastic dives into the world of geeky hobbies.
And it was precisely one of those dives that started everything.
That Friday evening was no different from dozens of others. Michael came home from work, tired after a meeting where he had once again tried to explain to a client that you can't accomplish the impossible and squeeze an entire app development project into two weeks. The client, of course, insisted that "in China they do everything in a single day." Michael mentally sent the client to China, smiled politely, and promised to "see what could be done."
At home, the usual routine awaited him: heat up dinner, open the laptop, and sink into some TV series. But today he felt particularly nostalgic, and suddenly he wanted to rewatch some old animated films.
That evening Michael wanted something simple, warm, and familiar to the point of exhaustion. The choice fell on Frozen.
"Why not?" he muttered, opening a beer and climbing into his armchair with his feet tucked under him. "A classic. Two sisters, enchanted ice, a funny snowman. And that prince… what was his name… Hans? Hanz? I always mix up those names."
He pressed play.
The movie unfolded as usual. Michael listened to the familiar dialogue with half an ear, hummed along to "Let It Go" (badly, but with enthusiasm), and smiled at Olaf. He practically knew the film by heart—thanks to his nephews, who had forced him to watch it at least twenty times.
And then came the moment of truth. The finale. Anna's frozen heart. Elsa's desperate act. And the scene that always made Michael mentally applaud the screenwriters.
Hans raises his sword over Anna, who is bent over her sister.
"Don't you dare touch her!"
Anna, freezing but still alive, takes a step forward.
But Hans only smirked with that vile grin that always sent a chill down Michael's spine.
And at that moment… Michael already knew what was supposed to happen.
Now she would stop, turn to ice, Hans would fall…
And that's exactly what happened on the screen. Anna freezes in her final act of self-sacrifice. Hans's sword shatters against the icy statue. He steps back in shock. And then—a punch from a hefty troll, and the villain goes flying into the water.
Watching the film and that scene to the end once again, Michael leaned back in his chair with satisfaction.
"Serves you right, Prince."
He finished his beer, stretched—and suddenly felt a strange prick at the back of his head. As if someone had run an icy needle along his spine.
"Strange," he muttered, rubbing his neck. "A draft or something?"
His vision darkened.
The last thing Michael saw before losing consciousness was Anna's frozen figure on the screen, which for a brief moment seemed to look straight at him.
And then there was nothing.
Cold, ringing, absolute emptiness where there were no thoughts, no fear, and no time.