You start to wake - perhaps you stretch and yawn, before opening your eyes. But you aren't in your own room. This is not your own bed.
Panic hits you like a slap to the face. Perhaps you rush to the window: if you do look out, you will see an unfamiliar scene. Perhaps you wonder if you are dreaming, but pinching yourself will only leave a bruise. Perhaps you rush to the mirror: if you do this, you will see nothing but your own familiar face, in an unfamiliar room.
You have woken up in Morana Hill. It is a pleasant place to live. You appear to own the house you live in - it's your name on those telephone bills, and look, there's a letter addressed to you from... your new employer, welcoming you to your job.
Morana Hill is your typical, all-American small town. With one exception: it is divided into two separate yet distinct groups: those like you, the 'newcomers' and the 'citizens' - those who have always been there. The citizens mill about, living their very ordinary lives - they can leave and return, and if you mention what has happened to you they will respond with incredulous surprise, before changing the subject apbruptly. Those like you, will understand, perhaps commisserate. But they cannot help you.
For in Morana Hill, just like the Hotel California, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. Morana Hill Taken/Held | Rules | Application