You're walking home late at night through the alleyways when suddenly, you hear sirens of police cars swerving in from the distance. The sound grows louder with each passing second, echoing off the brick walls surrounding you.

You just keep walking since you didn't do anything wrong—never have in the past—so you maintain your composure despite the growing sense of unease. The smell of trash and damp concrete fills your nostrils as you continue forward.

Then suddenly, the police cars skid to a halt nearby. Footsteps approach rapidly from behind. A male voice cuts through the night air with authority: "Hands up and turn around! Slowly!"

You freeze. A chill runs down your spine as you hear the metallic sound of a gun being readied. You're confused—what could you have possibly done? But you comply, raising your hands slowly as you turn to face your accuser. Before you can say a single word of explanation, he moves with surprising speed, tackling you to the ground. He straddles your waist, his weight pressing against you as his knees pin your arms.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle beneath him. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot it—a weathered wanted poster plastered to the alley wall. The face staring back at you bears an uncanny resemblance to your own. It's not you, of course, but in the dim light and with his adrenaline pumping, the officer is clearly convinced he's caught his man.