June 15, 1979

Stanley Pines took another sip of beer, feeling the alcohol course through his veins as he looks up at the stars. He only had one can-he didn't feel like robbing the nearest convenience store of all their alcohol; though now he could tell that was a mistake. He always needed to be drunk or high on June 15th. Otherwise, his mind would be stuck in an unending loop of all his memories of this day. His birthday.

"Officially twenty-five," he said, then laughed uncontrollably. Maybe he'd still be able to get drunk after all. "Would ya look at that." He was alone, on an old, decaying highway somewhere in Texas. Stan knew he should keep moving; Rico's goons are probably speeding through Mexico to find him. But he couldn't drive. Not today. Not now.

He leaned back against the car. No one was around, if you didn't count the quiet chirpings of countless insects. For a moment, he relaxed, hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out a photo.

It's him and Ford, boxing gear on, laughing and smiling, oblivious to the fact that their relationship would be ruined in a few short months. Seventeen years of living together, supporting each other, being brothers-and all it took was one fist slamming on a table to ruin it all.

Only seven years since he'd been kicked out, left alone and abandoned to die on the streets. It was supposed to be Stan and Ford against the world. Instead, it was only Stan, living out of his car, while Ford was probably off being successful. His brother was a genius. He could probably build anything, or discover everything. Ford had so much potential. But Stanley just had to ruin it, ruin everything. Ruin himself.

He wanted to be angry at Ford. He wanted to yell at him, ask him why he ignored Stan while he cried out for help. But Stanley Pines was nothing but a liar. He didn't hate Ford-and after a long night of getting drunk on a decayed highway, he realized the person he really hated was himself. That revelation almost caused him to just jump off a cliff and give the world a break. But he didn't do it. He spent an entire night, leaning forward, never brave enough to take the final step.

"Wonder what would've happened if I did," he said, "Ford would be happy. Hell, he might just throw-" he coughed, "a whole party." He laughs. Ford had never been the party type. Maybe that had changed since Stan was thrown out. Maybe-

"Hello?" an old voice croaked. "Dearie, can you help me?"

Stan jumps in surprise. He may have had experience with some of the most dangerous criminals in half the continent, but of course he was freaked out by an old person's voice. "Shit! I mean-what do you need?" It was an old woman with a cane, smiling, even though half her teeth were missing. He tried to remember if he heard footsteps or the sound of another car, but nothing came to mind. He might've been drunk after all.

"Dearie," the lady said again. "I am so sorry to interrupt you, but I need help. I have no money to buy food, but I haven't eaten in days."

Stan winced. Sure, he'd gone a few days without eating, but he was young-definitely younger than this woman. He fumbled for his keys, opened his car, and grabbed his wallet. He shoved a few bills in the lady's direction. Twenty bucks wasn't a lot, but it'd be enough for a quick meal or snack. "Here ya go, ugh, miss."

The lady gently walked toward him, not even using her cane. Once she got close, Stan realized there was something off about her eyes. They looked silver, almost glowing like the moon. It should've seemed ridiculous, but he couldn't help but feel oddly intimidated.

After taking the money, the lady stared into his eyes. "This is all you have, isn't it?"

Stan kicked the ground. "Ugh, yeah." It'd be fine. He had enough gas to make it out of Texas, and he'd just eaten a few hours ago. There'd be enough people to pickpocket once he crossed the state border. "It's no problem."

The lady's eyes seemed sad. "Dearie," she said, "is it your birthday today?"

"Yes-wait, how did you know?"

Another sad look. "Tell me, Dearie, what do you want for your birthday?"

Stan was a little annoyed at her dodging of the question, but didn't push it. Something about this woman made him feel calm. "I don't know, I guess-"

What did he want? To be with Sixer again, to apologize and make up with him. To see him win awards and praise and get all other types of recognition. To have Ford look back at him, and know that his brother loved him.

He shook his head. That was too selfish, even for him. He destroyed Ford's future-he didn't deserve his forgiveness, no matter how much he wanted it. Even if his brother forgave him, he'd find a way to mess it up. That's what Stanley Pines did-destroy everything he touched.

Stan looked at the lady again. "If I could have anything, I wouldn't want to be Stanley Pines anymore. I'd wanna be someone else."

The old woman nods. "Of course, Dearie." She gives him a wink. "Thank you for your gift. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get what you want eventually."

Stan blinked, and then she was gone.

He didn't think much of the incident until two months later. Rico had finally caught him, and Stanley was scrambling through the alleyways of Tulsa, Oklahoma. He cursed himself. Going east would've been a better idea.

Stan ducked through the alleyway, diving behind a garbage can. Short breaths came out of him, and he groaned. His ankle was definitely injured, though not broken. Thank God for that.

"Mr. Pines," one of the goons said, "you've ignored your debt for too long, kid. Now it's time to pay it."

He stayed absolutely still. If he didn't move, then there was a chance they'd go on right past him. He could find his car and get the hell out of Tulsa, though he wouldn't have time to check if the brakes on his car weren't cut. He'd just have to take the chance.

A pause. Then Rico's voice said, "Check this alleyway, boys. I gotta feeling he's in here."

Dammit. Stan huddled closer to the wall, hoping the shadows would conceal him; but he knew there was no point. He was a dead man.

Sixer, I'm so sorry.

Rico shined a flashlight in his direction, and Stan knew he was exposed. He expected the criminal to laugh, and taunt him with all the horrible things he'd do before he killed him. But all the crime lord did was shrug, and mutter, "Just another back alley whore."

What? Stan waited for Rico and his goons to leave the alleyway, then raced to the Stanleymobile. He'd personally interacted with Rico several times in Columbia-they even shared a cell at one point. How on Earth did he not recognize him?

He didn't contemplate those questions for long, though. The second he got in his car, he turned on the ignition, and raced out of Tulsa.

The answer came to him the next night. Stanley didn't sleep that day, and kept moving, only stopping to get gas. But eventually, he realized that he was tired. He'd been avoiding Rico for months, and memories of his encounter with him were still fresh in Stan's mind. He decided to rent a cheap motel room for just one night to collect his thoughts. Plus, it'd be nice to sleep on an actual bed for once.

But when Stan reached the room, put his duffle bag on the bed, and went into the bathroom, his thoughts turned out to be way past collecting.

For it wasn't the face of Stanley Pines that stared back at him in the mirror. There was no mullet, no dirty brown eyes, no hopeless expression that usually occupied his face. It was a new, handsome face, with pale skin, wavy black hair, and blue eyes. Stan looked down, and saw that he was leaner and more muscular than he'd ever been. His clothes were baggy on his frame, when before, they'd been straining against his recently gained weight.

He then remembered the old woman he'd given his money to. Her silver eyes, the fact she knew his name without asking, and how she'd questioned what he wanted for his birthday.

I wouldn't want to be Stanley Pines anymore. I'd wanna be someone else, he'd said. And here he was, with a face so different from Stanley Pines not even Rico could recognize him. He was able to change his face; to become a different person.

"Holy shit."