I've died 30 times already. Every time, killed by a man in a black ski mask. I've struggled, ran, hid, even called the police. I've tried everything. Nothing works. I still die, right on time, at 2:40 AM. Finally, on the 31st struggle, I ripped off his mask. I never expected what stared back at me. A face that had aged a decade. My own face. 1 My name is Ethan Carter. I'm just a regular guy working the night shift at a convenience store. Couldn't find a decent job after college, so I'm stuck here on the outskirts of town, barely scraping by. No family, no friends, not even a cat. Maybe that's why nobody noticed I've died thirty times. The first time I woke up in the loop, I thought it was a nightmare. Until the searing pain of the blade dragged me back to reality. The second time, I tried to call 911. But the landline was dead, and my cell service vanished. The third time, I hid behind the shelves. The killer found me effortlessly, like he knew exactly where I'd be. The fourth time, I grabbed the biggest wine bottle I could find. He dodged it like it was nothing, and the blade still found my heart. Ten times. Twenty. Thirty. Each death was terrifyingly real. I tried everything: running out the front door (intercepted), hiding in the bathroom (dragged out), playing dead (stabbed anyway), even piling all the cash on the counter. He ignored the money and killed me. His movements were precise, professional. He knew every inch of the store like he'd rehearsed it a thousand times. This wasn't a robbery. It was an execution. Why me? Why this store? Why do I have to die, over and over, only to wake up in front of the ice cream freezer? Tonight, the 31st loop, I decided on a different strategy. I'm going to memorize every detail. Every move. Every habit. If I can't stop my death, I at least want to know why I'm dying. 2 Time ticked away, second by agonizing second. I stood by the freezer, forcing myself to breathe. The loop gave me one advantage: I knew the future. The killer would enter through the back door, take five steps to the corner aisle, eight steps to the register, then lunge straight for me. He had a slight limp in his right leg. An old injury? A habit? He always held the knife the same way: left hand in his pocket, right hand holding the blade low, edge down. A classic ambush stance. He never spoke. Never took the money. His target was always me. I pulled out the inventory log and scribbled these observations down, knowing the ink would vanish in the next loop. 2:39 AM. I shifted my position, standing to the side of the register instead of behind it. 2:40 AM. A faint click from the back door... He's here. I held my breath, pretending to organize candy bars, keeping the back door in my peripheral vision. The shadow arrived on cue. Familiar footsteps. Familiar path. But this time, I saw more. A scar on his left wrist, visible when his sleeve rode up. He was my height, my build. But faster. More decisive. When he neared the register and saw I wasn't in my usual spot, he paused for a split second. Now! I grabbed the fire extinguisher I'd prepped and blasted it in his face. He wasn't expecting that. He stumbled, but his reaction was insane. He sidestepped, dodging most of the spray. That wasn't a normal reflex. Still, the white cloud bought me a few seconds. I dropped the extinguisher and grabbed the mop, charging him. This was the first time I attacked. No more waiting to die. We grappled in the haze of chemical powder. He was stronger, more skilled than any average joe. But I had rage. I had the experience of thirty deaths. During a dodge, I saw his sleeve slip again. That scar was clearer now. It looked like a surgical scar. Right over the pulse point. Why did it look so familiar? Before I could process it, he recovered. The blade flashed. This time, dying hurt more than ever. But I was closer to the truth than I'd ever been. 3 I opened my eyes in front of the freezer. No fear this time. I had a plan. 2:37 AM. I marched straight to the security office and pulled up the feeds. I'd ignored the cameras before. There were six. Maybe they caught something I missed. The office was tiny, just an old monitor split into six grainy views. I fast-forwarded through yesterday's footage. Weird. Starting at 2:00 AM, the feed glitched. Static. Jumps. Like interference. And at 2:40 AM, the moment he entered, all cameras blacked out for a full second. Not a coincidence. I switched to the live feed. 2:39 AM. Camera 4 caught a shadow lurking by the back door. He's here. I picked up the landline in the office and dialed 911. "This is the Southside Mart. Someone's breaking in. Send help now!" Silence for a beat. Then a calm female voice: "Address, please?" I rattled it off, eyes glued to the screen. The figure had popped the lock. He was creeping in. "Officers will be there in five minutes. Stay safe." Five minutes? I didn't have five minutes. I watched him get closer on the screen. Then, an idea. The panic button. It was wired directly to the station. I slammed the red button. A piercing alarm screamed through the store. On screen, the killer flinched. But he didn't run. He moved faster. He knew he was on a clock. I grabbed the baton from under the desk and hid behind the door. When he burst into the office, I swung with everything I had. Crack! I hit his shoulder. He staggered back. First time I ever had the upper hand. While he was off balance, I swung again. A glancing blow to the head. The black mask slipped, revealing a strand of gray hair. My heart pounded. Finally. I was going to see the face of the monster who killed me thirty times. I lunged and ripped the mask off. I froze. It was a face I knew better than anyone's. But worn. Weathered. It was me. But older. Ten, maybe fifteen years older. Deep set eyes. Exhausted. A scar on the forehead. Even the mole on the chin was identical. Future Me looked at me with cold determination. "Get out of the way, Ethan!" His voice was raspy, but it was my voice. Just... broken. I stumbled back. "You... you're me? Why are you killing me?" "Our daughter has a rare blood disease. If I don't get the money, Lily... Lily dies!" Daughter? I didn't even have a girlfriend. Before I could ask, Future Me raised the knife. His eyes were dead. "I'm sorry. But it's the only way she lives." As the blade pierced my chest, my brain was still reeling. The killer was me. 4 I woke up gasping. Not from fear, but from shock. Lily. The name echoed in my head. My daughter? My future daughter? Why would Future Me kill Past Me to save her? That's a paradox. 2:20 AM. I sat at the register and booted up the computer. I needed answers. I googled "Lily" + "rare blood disease." Too many hits. I searched "extremely expensive blood disorder treatments." One stood out. Heimann-Faber Syndrome. Rare genetic disorder. Less than 500 cases worldwide. Treatment costs millions. Was this it? But why kill me? Robbing a convenience store for a few grand wouldn't make a dent in those bills. Unless... it wasn't just about money. I searched "time travel" + "ethics" + "paradox." Skimmed through sci-fi theories and physics papers. 2:39 AM. I shut down the computer and stood behind the counter. Waiting. This time, I wouldn't run. I wouldn't fight. I'd talk. When the figure entered, I spoke up. "Lily needs treatment for Heimann-Faber Syndrome, right?" He faltered. Just a step. Then kept coming. "I know who you are. I know why you're here," I said quickly. "But killing me won't help. We can figure this out together." He stopped. I could feel his gaze burning through the mask. "You know nothing. It's too late. There is no other way." "Tell me the truth!" I shouted. "Why this store? Why tonight? Why me?" He didn't answer, just kept advancing. I noticed something. He clutched his chest occasionally. It wasn't just his daughter. He was sick too. "You're dying too, aren't you?" I asked. That stopped him. He pulled off the mask. That face. My face. Etched with pain. "Listen to me. You will never understand unless you live through what I lived through." "Lily needs a bone marrow transplant. But we aren't a match anymore. Because..." He doubled over, coughing. I stepped forward to help. He waved the knife warningly. "Because what?" "Because time travel changed me. It changed everything." He gritted his teeth, pulled the mask back down, and charged. Dying this time felt different. My last thought was of a daughter I'd never met.
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