Run #150.

  What’s the point?

  The faces of everyone I had "saved" flashed through my mind.

  Did I really save them? I prevented their deaths, sure. But they looked like they preferred death instead. The boy, Screamer, Firestarter. All of them. Had I just made things worse by saving them?

  From the start, I saved them for selfish reasons—because I thought it would break the time loop.

  That was who I was. I plowed forward, disregarding their wishes for my own satisfaction, my own goals.

  I laughed bitterly. Did I really have no idea that something was wrong? No. I had an inkling. There was clearly a reason the Screamer refused to come out. Sideburns was really suspicious too. But I ignored it. Just like I ignored the boy's wishes. Just like I ignored the look in Firestarter's eyes when he looked at me.

  Now what do I do?

  ***

  I found myself on the doorsteps of house #50. I didn't know how I got there, my body on autopilot.

  It was 11:35. Just minutes until the fire.

  What am I doing here? Am I really going to do this?

  144 runs ago when I burned to death, I had identified the stove as the source of the fire. So on the next run I simply arrived before 11:39 and cut it off at the source. Indeed, the fire never spread out of control since then. I never had to burn to death again. Indeed, after 9 runs, I grew comfortable enough and started a fire instead to incite a stampede.

  I thought I was doing Firestarter a favor. I thought I was saving his life. But I wasn't. Even from the start, I knew something was wrong. But I chose to ignore it.

  I couldn’t run from it anymore. I needed to see for myself just how much I had wronged Firestarter.

  Taking a deep breath, I recalled how I stopped the fire 143 runs ago. I had to emulate it perfectly.

  I took a few steps back, then rushed up the steps and kicked the door down.

  I sighed internally. I was in the kicking-the-door-down phase back then. How embarrassing.

  Like an actor following a script, I emulated everything according to my memory.

  I rushed in, heading straight for the kitchen.

  Firestarter looked up at me in surprise.

  I smiled at him. What did I say again? "Afternoon sir. You look like you're having trouble with that. Let me help you."

  I stepped forward and took the pre-packed food on the table and ripped the packaging off. I laid it down in front of him, my hand trembling slightly.

  Ah, I'm a bastard. Seriously.

  I looked Firestarter in the eyes, then smiled brightly. "Eat up."

  Firestarter choked on his words but gave a tenuous smile in return.

  The smile was like a knife stabbed my heart.

  I turned and left, smile fading. I should've known there was something wrong. I closed my eyes briefly, then ran out of the house.

  Once outside, I quieted my footsteps and sneaked back inside. I creeped down the corridor and peeked inside the kitchen.

  Firestarter stared blankly at the opened pre-packed food on the table in front of him, still as a statue.

  He glanced behind him at the stove, then back at the food.

  I has been a while since I last ate, but even to me, the pre-packed food looked disgusting. I had noticed that before, but turned a blind eye, too lost in my own goals to care.

  Firestarter took a bite, his face contorting to a grimace. A tear rolled down from the corner of his eye.

  The knife twisted.

  I didn't know why he was all alone here, or why there was only pre-packed food, or even why he decided to cook the already cooked meal. All I knew about him was that he disliked these pre-packed meals. And even that tidbit was only gained last run. Before that, all I knew was he started the fire. It was what I called him since I didn't even know his name. Firestarter. That was all I thought I needed to know.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I might not know much about Firestarter, but I knew that I had hurt him.

  Guilt and regret washed over me as I watched Firestarter force himself to eat. I saw these people as targets and obstacles, treating them like pieces to be moved or puzzles to be solved. How could I not, when I've seen them doing the same thing repeatedly? Any changes could be traced back to my actions.

  But I was wrong. They are people too. With thoughts and feelings. I didn’t know how I could’ve forgotten.

  Even this emulation of events could be considered unnecessary torture.

  I knew my actions would hurt him, but I did it anyway. For what? Because I wanted to make sure? Just because I'm in a time loop, I can do whatever I want to people? Good. Very good. Just stay in the time loop and enjoy then.

  I ran away from the house.

  I found myself on the gravel side path headed to the river. Was I subconsciously trying to reach the Tower still? Even now?

  Unlike the previous runs, the riverbanks weren't deserted this time. A man leaned on the raft, watching the river pensively.

  This is new. Is it because the fire didn't start?

  I approached the man. I remembered everyone of consequence out of necessity. He looked familiar, but I was sure he didn't play a major role in any of the earlier runs. Maybe I've met him in passing during the earlier runs and the changes I’ve caused had moved him here? That would explain why I recognized him.

  The man looked up at my approach and the feeling of familiarity intensified. I was surer than ever I had seen his face somewhere.

  He croaked with a hoarse voice, "You look like a man looking for death. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

  On a whim, I told him everything. Even about the time loop. He was the first one who didn't laugh in my face. As I told him a condensed version of my story—I was still on a time limit, after all—I felt lighter than I had in a long while. It was liberating to unburden myself in this way.

  "What do you think?" I asked him after I finished.

  "Honestly? It would've been better if you just left them be," the man laughed.

  I bristled at his response. "They're all alive, aren't they?! What more do they want?"

  He shook his head. "You're alive, aren't you? What more do you want?"

  I choked.

  "The boy you called Jumper. He would've been happier chasing after his balloons."

  "He would've died!" I defended myself with a guilty conscience.

  He nodded, then peered into my eyes for a moment. He continued, "The one you called Typhoon, do you think he would still jump after your chat?"

  I shook my head. Why would that matter after noon? I paused at the thought. I didn’t realize…

  "Exactly," the man said. "Next. The man you called Screamer. Have you ever asked for his story? Whether he wanted to be 'saved'?"

  I shook my head mutely.

  "He was in debt you know. 15 years he worked in that sweatshop of a company, living hand to mouth. He was a master of clockwork."

  I thought back to the antique watch I've treated as a mansion entry token. "Why didn't he leave the company?"

  He smiled meaningfully. "Legal bullshit. You know how it is. That, and he was content to be a cog in the machine, doing what he loved."

  He sighed. "Until he needed money for his sick parents. Real sob story. He didn't have anyone to turn to, having spent most of his life working in that room. So when someone offered him a way out..."

  I thought back to the demolition site, things becoming clear. "Sideburns?"

  He nodded. "You could use their names, you know."

  I shook my head again, instinctively. "Wait, how do you know all this?" I asked.

  He waved my question away. "Where was I? Right, so Sideburns, as you so aptly named him, met the Screamer by chance—once in a blue moon thing—and learned of his situation. He cooked up a plan. He would get Screamer the money he needed, even promised to take care of his parents afterwards."

  I nodded. "All he had to do was die, right?"

  "Indeed. And it had to be an accident for the insurance claim to come through. And so. The demolition 'accident'."

  "What a devious little shit," I scoffed.

  The man nodded.

  I sighed, then took out the silver cigarette case. It glinted in the bright sunlight, dazzling in contrast to its noxious contents. I turned it over in my hands, tracing a thumb over the logo embossed in the center.

  It read: Stratos Inc.

  I swung the case open and took out a cigarette. It was a premium, rolled up cigarette. Top quality stuff. It was how my superiors showed favor. They call you over after work, drinking and sharing cigarettes. I could still handle the drinks, but the cigarettes...

  I wouldn't touch them. I knew what harm they could do. I've seen the data. But it wouldn't do to refuse their favor so blatantly, so I had this cigarette case made. I poured four months’ worth of salary into the luxurious case. Then whenever I got one offered, I would accept and store it inside, saying such precious things need to be savored well.

  My superiors were happy I regarded their favor so highly, I was happy I don't have to kill myself smoking the damned things, so it was a win-win, right?

  Right. But if I had bent over backwards to avoid them like the plague, why did I still knowingly work hard to spread and market it?

  I could still stifle my conscience when the target was adults. They're proper adults; they should be responsible for their own choices. But adolescents?

  I gritted my teeth as I recalled my latest assignment.

  Of course I didn't refuse. I poured 110% of my efforts, in fact. For what? The position of CMO? So I could keep doing this?

  Each project, each scheme I've done, chipped away at my conscience. I buried guilt with hard work and stress. And now here I am. Stuck in a time loop.

  I was doing the same thing. Even when given infinite chances to change, I still sacrificed others for my own ends. A leopard can't change its spots.

  I lit the cigarette and smoked it. I choked, coughing as tears gathered in my eyes.

  What a damned thing. What's so good about it?

  The man watched my antics. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

  “If only it’ll stick,” I smiled bitterly.

  I stared at the Stratos Tower across the lake. "What about Firestarter?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "You’ve talked about everyone else. What about Firestarter?"

  "You already know."

  I did know already. Out of everything, Firestarter's bitter tear this run and his contented smile as the world burned around him last run struck me the deepest. I sighed. "What do I do?"

  "That's for you to find out," the man said in a weird tone, as if he was imitating somebody.

  I studied the man. "Who are you, really?"

  He winked. And the world faded away.