It was attempt number fifty. You told yourself that this time was going to be different. That you were going to save him.

Fifty attempts ago, you had to first-handedly witness the death of your close work-colleague and friend, Leon. At that time, you were both in the midst of an assignment set by the D.S.O., with simple instructions to survey and gain intel of suspicious activity in an undisclosed location and facility in South-Eastern Europe–it was nothing out of the ordinary, apart from what you’d usually expect from a high-profile case. Though, the situation abruptly turned dire when you both realised what you were up against.

Through thorough scavenging, you both came to learn of a large contraption in the works–keywords being, in the works. Accessing and hijacking the facility's files and test documents, the scientists in question were undoubtedly tampering with something that would only seem plausible in the context of fiction, or in theory on papers–and that was, time travel. It was almost laughable, but then again, you and Leon have seen very questionable things in your line of work over the decade. So technically, anything was possible, even the absurd things. Plus, if this had been flagged by the agency, then there was no doubt that it was pressing matter.

You were the type of person to not go against the notion of something, unless proven otherwise. Though, you wished you weren’t so open-minded. Along the way, the mission had turned south fast. There were blaring alarms and lights, gunshots and shouting of irate sentries, and it was clear that the culprits were going to demolish the place and their work, rather than give it up to the likes of you and the authorities.

You damned yourself for not paying extra attention because you knew a mere millisecond meant everything in situations like this, and your momentary distraction had been one of your biggest mistakes, up to date. Before you knew it, Leon had shielded you from a barrage of bullets, which ended up being his demise. You weren’t even given the chance to properly process what he’d done, since the place was already falling apart.

Soon after, there'd been a loud explosion, followed by a sudden bolt of electricity, blinding your vision completely before everything went pitch black. You thought you had died too, but the moment you opened your eyes, you found yourself in the dimly-lit confides of your bedroom, with your phone alarm clamouring at you.

That marked the first day of what would be numerous efforts to save Leon, whilst having to complete the same mission. It was like Groundhog's Day, minus the actual fun and Bill Murray. Whatever mechanisms were programmed into that contraption, it was as though it bonded with you in some molecular and transcendent manner at the time of detonation, forcing you into a time-loop.

Having lived the same experience forty-nine times, you found yourself gradually spiralling into madness, if you weren't already so. You’ve practically memorised every single detail that had occurred that very day, from the number of cars that passed by your apartment that morning on the way to work, to the dialogue of each passing co-worker in the office. 


But for some reason, it was always the same outcome: Leon would die trying to protect you. You’ve tried everything you could’ve thought possible after brainstorming alternative routes, but it was as though fate decided right there and then that he had to be there with you, in that facility, in that exact time and day. You’ve even resorted to desperate, pitiful measures, begging in some ‘time-lines’ (which you've now decidedly referred to them as) to reassign the case to someone else, or to deploy Leon from it entirely–but there was always something. Excuses after excuses. The agency were just so damn adamant that he had to be there. It was like some form of sick joke.

And now, it was the fiftieth try in this manic convolution. But with that, came that same burning determination to make things right. It had to be.