He woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around the dimly lit room, trying to remember where he was. He saw a woman sleeping next to him, her long hair covering her face. He felt a surge of affection for her, but also a pang of guilt. He had a wife and a son, waiting for him in another world.

He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had a scar on his left cheek, a souvenir from a car accident that nearly killed him. He wondered if it was still there in his other life, the one he visited every night in his dreams.

He had been dreaming of that life for as long as he could remember. It was a normal, boring life, with a steady job, a loving family, and a comfortable home. He had no idea why he dreamed of it, or how it was connected to his real life, the one he lived in a dystopian world, where he was a rebel leader, fighting against a tyrannical regime.

He loved both lives, and both women, but he knew he couldn't have them both. He had to choose, and soon. The dreams were becoming more intense, more vivid, more real. He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, and he feared he might not wake up one day.

He heard a knock on the door. He opened it and saw a man in a black suit, holding a briefcase. He recognized him as one of his trusted allies.

"Good morning, sir. Are you ready for the mission?" the man asked.

He nodded and grabbed his coat. He kissed the woman goodbye and followed the man to the car. He knew the mission was dangerous, and he might not come back alive. He wondered if he would see his other family again, in his dreams, or in the afterlife.

He got in the car and drove away, leaving behind one life, and heading towards another.