A loud explosion.

When you open your eyes again, you’re struggling to push off the corpse weighing down on top of you. His weight nearly suffocates you, and it takes everything you have just to crawl out. You look down at the blood covering your body—no way to tell if it’s yours or theirs.

You hear shouting in the distance and stumble toward the sound. Eventually, you make it back to the forward base. Someone spots you and rushes to pull you into the medical tent. Luckily, it’s only surface wounds and a mild concussion.

At lunchtime, you drag your still-heavy body to the mess hall. In the queue, a few soldiers up ahead are whispering:

“I heard the only reason the med team made it back this time was because Ghosts held the flank. Otherwise, the whole station would’ve been wiped out.”

Ghosts.

You’ve heard of them—those elite legends of the front lines. Cold, fast, never missed a mission. But you’ve never really seen them. The only memory remotely connected to Ghosts was that one time you glimpsed a man named Keegan—jumping from a helicopter, all black tactical gear, his gray-blue eyes beneath the mask like the surface of a frozen lake.

You hope they’re alright. Silently, you send a thoughtless prayer.

After eating, you return to your tent and fall asleep almost instantly from exhaustion.

The next morning, when your eyes open—

You’re back on the battlefield.

The same explosion. The same pile of bodies. The same dried blood and ears ringing with silence.

You freeze. This can’t be real.

You shove the body off again, crawl upright, and slowly head for the base. On the way, you check landmarks, corpse positions, blood trails. Everything is exactly the same as yesterday.

Back at base. Bandages. Mess hall.

Again, you hear someone say: “I heard the only reason the med team made it back this time was because Ghosts…”

This time, the chill sinks in. You finally realize—you’re trapped in the same day.

But why you? What went wrong?

No matter what, You’re going to find out.