A dull, throbbing pain settled in Hugo’s skull, pulsing in time with his ragged breaths. His body screamed in protest, muscles weak, his skin slick with sweat and blood. The chair beneath him felt unstable, the ropes around his wrists biting into his flesh. Every inch of him ached—his ribs, his arms, his busted lip and the knife wound on his thigh. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue.

  His head slumped forward for a moment, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. But as the pain cut through the haze, a single, chilling thought surfaced through the suffering. He was still alive. And that meant he could still restart the day. The realization hit him like a jolt of electricity. Five minutes. That was all he had been out for. He was still here, still in this version of time. And if he died now… Everything would reset. The Encve wouldn’t know they had already won. They wouldn’t have Frank’s body lying cold on the floor. He could still change the outcome. But first, he had to die. Hugo swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. The thought should have been terrifying, but instead, it steadied him. He clenched his fists, testing the ropes around his wrists. The bindings were tight, the fibers digging deep into his raw skin. He twisted, flexing, ignoring the pain. There was no other way out of this. A sharp pull. The chair creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight. Pain fred through his battered arms as he forced them to move. His muscles trembled, exhaustion seeping into his bones. The ropes dug in deeper, but with every twist, they loosened—just a little. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Blood loss was making him sluggish. His vision blurred at the edges, the room spinning slightly. Focus. If he fell unconscious for more than 15 minutes, that would be it. No Restarting to this morning. He would just be stuck in a loop where he could only die again and again, stuck to a chair without being able to do anything. He pulled again, harder this time. The ropes gave, slipping just enough for him to yank one wrist free. His arm dropped like dead weight, every nerve screaming as blood rushed back into his fingers. He clenched his teeth, blinking against the haze clouding his vision. He didn’t have much time. With shaking hands, he tore the remaining rope away, wincing as the fibers scraped against his open wounds. His legs felt like lead as he pushed himself forward. The chair groaned, tipping slightly before he caught himself. He stood, barely. His knees buckled, but he forced himself forward, staggering toward the kitchen. Each step felt like wading through quicksand. The floor tilted beneath him, or maybe that was just his body failing. His breath rasped in his throat, each inhale sharper than the st. The kitchen wasn’t far. Just a few more steps. His fingers brushed against the counter, gripping it for support. He let out a shaky exhale, blinking away the dark spots in his vision. The knife block sat just ahead, the bdes glinting under the dim light. His hands were slick with sweat and blood as he reached for one. His fingers curled around the handle of a sturdy chef’s knife, its weight solid in his grip. This was it. Hugo let out a slow breath. His hand trembled slightly as he turned the bde toward himself, pressing the tip just below his ribs. The pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting out of this timeline. His grip tightened. Then, with one final exhale, he drove the knife in. Pain exploded through his stomach, white-hot and immediate. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop. He twisted the bde, his knees giving out as he slumped against the counter. His body sagged, the knife slipping from his fingers and cttering to the floor. Darkness rushed in, but this time, he welcomed it. Hugo’s body jolted upright with a sharp inhale, his breath ragged as his hands clenched the fabric of his couch. He was back. He heard voices. The same as yesterday the encve was outside. No time. No time to pn, no time to prepare. His pulse pounded in his ears as he forced himself up, stumbling toward the window. Peering through the blinds, his breath hitched. They were already there. Twelve men. Armed. Ready. Nothing had changed. They were right on time. The same voices, the same threats. But he still had his second chance. His fingers clenched into fists. His body was whole again, unscarred by the torture, unburdened by the bruises and wounds that had nearly broken him. But the memories were still there, vivid and raw. The chair. The pain. Frank’s death. Not again. Hugo turned sharply, his mind racing. He had two choices: run or fight. His eyes nded on his counter. Filled with the supplies he had looted before the st loop. He got up and walked to it, his fingers closed around the two bottles of hard liquor. Last time, he thought that they would be for comfort. This time, they were going to burn. He moved quickly, working with precision despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He ripped an old shirt into strips, stuffing fabric into the necks of both bottles. His hands remained steady as he tied them tight. Simple, effective. Molotov cocktails. The Encve had their guns. He had fire. He grabbed his empty shotgun, slinging it over his shoulder. It wouldn’t fool them for long, but at a distance, it could still serve as intimidation. His crowbar was next—heavy, reliable, something he could trust in close combat. A gunshot rang out downstairs. Frank warning shot. Hugo’s breath came faster. He had no time to think, no time to hesitate. He needed to move. He kept to the walls, slipping down the stairwell until he reached Frank’s floor. Hugo pushed inside without knocking. Frank was there, rifle in hand, eyes trained on the entrance. He didn’t look surprised. "Took your damn time," Frank muttered, never gncing away from the door. “You see them?” Frank murmured. Hugo nodded. “Twelve, all armed.” Frank let out a slow breath. "Figures. What’s the pn?" Hugo pulled out the Molotovs and set them on the counter. "We burn them down." Frank raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. "Where?" "Here, while they are cluster." Frank grunted. "And then?" Hugo’s jaw tightened. "We kill whoever’s left." Frank’s expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, he smirked. "Not a bad pn, kid." Outside, another voice called out. The leader. "I’m not a patient man. Step outside, and let’s talk." Frank exhaled through his nose. "Talk, my ass." Hugo grabbed one of the Molotovs, gripping it tight. "Let’s make them regret coming here." Frank nodded once. "Damn right." Hugo said, voice low. "We don’t have much time. I need you to stall them. Talk to them, keep them busy." Frank’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. He gave a short nod. "Alright. Just don’t take too long. I ain’t much of a talker." Hugo smirked. "Just buy me a few minutes. That’s all I need." Frank sighed and cracked his neck. "Fine. But if this goes south, kid, you owe me a drink." Hugo nodded back and slipped out of the apartment, moving quickly but silently toward the stairwell. His heart pounded as he climbed, each step bringing him closer to his attack position. He pushed open the rooftop door, slipping into the cool morning air. Below, the Encve was gathered, standing in formation, weapons at the ready. Their leader stood near the center, arms crossed, speaking to Frank, who leaned against the doorway downstairs, rifle in hand. He was keeping them talking, just like Hugo had asked. Hugo crouched low, pulling one of the Molotovs from his bag. His fingers gripped the lighter, sparking a fme to life. The cloth ignited instantly, the flickering fire illuminating the gss. He waited, counting the seconds as he steadied his breath. Timing was everything. Then, in one swift motion, he hurled the first Molotov. The bottle spun through the air, the fire trailing behind it. It crashed onto the pavement directly beside the leader, the gss shattering, fmes erupting outward in a fiery burst. The heat fred instantly, the explosion sending them stumbling back. Screams erupted as men scrambled away, some patting at their clothes as embers clung to them. The fire spread quickly, smoke rising into the morning air. Chaos. Exactly what he needed. The first Molotov struck true. Fmes exploded over the leader and two of his men, engulfing them in a sudden, violent wave of fire. Agonized screams tore through the night as the burning men filed, their bodies writhing in panic. One of them dropped instantly, thrashing as the fmes consumed him. The second staggered back, his shrieks turning into gurgled gasps before he colpsed onto the pavement, unmoving. The leader wasn’t spared. The fmes clung to his jacket, his face contorted in pain as he fell to the ground, rolling desperately to smother the fire. His screams were guttural, raw, as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Panic rippled through the Encve. Some of the masked men scrambled backward, momentarily frozen by the sight of their leader writhing in agony. Others instinctively ducked for cover, their initial shock leaving them vulnerable. Frank took full advantage of that moment. A single gunshot cracked through the air. One of the men standing closest to the bze dropped instantly, his body crumpling like a ragdoll. Another shot. This time, a man at the edge of the group spun as blood erupted from his shoulder, sending him staggering into one of the parked vehicles. Frank was precise. Calcuted. A seasoned shooter. The remaining Encve members snapped out of their shock, diving behind cover as they scrambled to respond. Some dove behind the wrecked cars in the lot, while others took position behind nearby debris. The air filled with the sound of barking orders and the ctter of rifles being raised. Hugo’s pulse pounded in his ears. He still had the second Molotov. He needed to strike before they regrouped. Taking a deep breath, he lit the rag and pulled his arm back. Below, the Encve had begun returning fire. Bullets smmed into the walls of the apartment complex, sending dust and concrete chips flying. Frank ducked behind his window, waiting for another opening. Hugo locked onto his next target—the two men crouched behind a rusting sedan, their weapons raised as they prepared to fire. He hurled the Molotov. Gss shattered, and a fresh burst of fire erupted. Fmes rolled over the car, licking up its sides and spilling onto the men hiding behind it. Their screams were immediate. One of them tried to scramble out, but his entire back was abze. He didn’t make it far before he colpsed, his body twitching violently before going still. The second barely managed a step before the fire took him, his final scream cutting short as he crumpled beside his burning comrade. The heat distorted the air, sending thick plumes of bck smoke curling toward the sky. More shouts of arm. The Encve’s initial assault had been torn apart in seconds. But they weren’t breaking. Through the smoke and fire, their discipline held. The leader, still alive but severely burned, groaned in agony as two of his men dragged him away from the fmes, his charred jacket smoldering. His breaths were ragged, pained, but he was still conscious, his body refusing to succumb. One of the masked men took charge, barking commands over the gunfire. "Retreat! Get to the side! Cover the damn windows!" More gunfire erupted, this time aimed toward Frank’s position. Bullets pelted his window, forcing him to keep his head down.