Detective Wise Guy

I don't know how familiar you are with time-skips, but I'll try my hardest to get through one with us without making it awkward.

I died forty-six times since the last time we spoke.

Forty-six of the same day, gone like they never happened. Day forty-seven, I finally made it to the bedroom door without the feeling of someone in my mind and my soul again.

Somewhat similar to when you're about to throw up.

Pure, unregulated nausea.

Something about that girl on the bench had put me in a really nauseous mood, so I spent almost fifty days in bed, experiencing death over and over again in very popular fashion.

Can't they think of any other way to do it?

Oh wait, they do.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm obviously not a very brave or optimistic man.

How could I be?

It's been roughly about five-hundred-and-eighty-five days now, in a hell-hole of a time loop, eternally until the day I -

I put on my clothes, a different set from what I wore when I last left the house, all in less than two pages.

Even though I live the same day over and over again, you've gotta change your clothes one day, right?

"I like that jacket you've got on. The same one I got you last Christmas, correct?"

Mum was home, cooking the same food I've been eating for nearly six centuries. It doesn't matter if you're hungry or not, she's already cooked it. Nine times out of ten, she's woken you up to it. If you tell her you're not hungry, she'll tie you to the chair with a belt and feed it to you like you're a toddler.

God, I love this woman.

God, are you listening?

"I always liked this jacket, so I thought I'd break it in one more time."

"Well make sure to finish everything so you have the strength to tackle the day. Anything special going on today?"

So perceptive.

"I'm actually meeting a good friend of mine." Or a new friend.

"I see. Make sure you don't get pressured into anything you're not comfortable with. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

That's a good point, actually. Mum was always sensible. Never late to anything, usually gets the bill, groceries on time. Who was she, God?

"Don't worry, I've done this a hundred times before."

The easiest way to avoid the same thing happening over and over again is usually to avoid doing the same thing over and over again, so I do my best. The best is all I can do, however, as I still bump into the flyer lady who hates talking about aliens.

About 11am, I left the house and headed over to the park where I walked a couple laps around to get some well-needed air.

The same air I've breathed for nearly six centuries now.

After a while, I reach the famous bench that we all know and love, with a familiar girl that we all know and love.

With a very unfamiliar person who I've never seen before.

*

Please don't misunderstand, I'm not a jealous man. By all means, this random person can take God. I really don't care that much.

That wasn't the problem.

The problem here is that this is someone I've never seen before in nearly six centuries.

Let's take a quick detour.

Where we are is somewhere between revivals five-hundred-and-seventy-five and five-ninety. So what went on in those centuries?

I don't want to bore you with the sad act, but for a good amount of time, I had no idea what was going on. I still went to school, or college, like a normal person, and participated in regular classes, for about a week.

Actually that's wrong.

Saying a week would be incorrect. That would imply that time had passed. It would be correct to say that I had experienced the same day seven times in a row.

How could I not have noticed an alien presence murdering me nightly for seven cycles? Am I an idiot?

The answer may shock you.

I went to bed early every night seven cycles, with the full belief that I would get to class early this time.

How wrong I could ever be.

School timeline went on for about a hundred cycles, involving wacky and quirky scenarios such as a recreation of the Breakfast Club movie dance in the lunch hall, as well as a water fight in the hall. Surprisingly enough, I'd lost creativity within the school after that, so I decided to only go back when I really felt bothered to go again.

When I want to be told what I've been told a hundred times before.

Mum was surprisingly understanding about the situation, when I told her. That was the night that I died.

A night that I died.

You want to know something hilarious about that, however?

She forgot what I said the very next morning. Now every morning, she makes me breakfast with the full understanding that I'm going to school today.

An endless cycle of doing the same thing over and over again.

Time for a break - and by break, of course, I mean my psyche.

You can only get murdered by an alien so many times, so maybe it's time for a change of perspective.

I took my ridiculous ignorance to the police and asked to be put into protective custody, to be watched for twenty-four hours, so I could see for myself, with my own two eyes if I am the only person with this curse. Actually, the conversation was less of a civil conversation between adults, and more of a toddler trying to reason with their father.

You could never ask the things I did, especially in the place I asked them. The lights were low power, flickering even, as if a demon could rise up from the puddles caused by the constant drips in about three of the pipes above us. Every now and then you could hear a *plop* from a droplet hitting a bucket directly underneath, followed by another dozen drops flooding over the bucket, which was apparently full. The desks were somewhat spaced apart to allow office time, but each desk was situated right next to a cell. Three desks in total, three cells. So that means there's three competent people here to look after one to three people at a time.

I don't know if this is smart or stupid.

"I'm basically asking to be put in detention." I'm pleading with my arms out.

At this point, I'm basically begging for my life.

"Just put me in a cell, keep watch over me until midnight, at least. I'm begging you."

"Listen, kid, we have dedicated people here who have things to do. You can't expect someone to be willing to -" and just like that, my saviour. A gruff-looking man wearing a fedora and a pinstripe suit, lifts his hat upwards with his single index finger to reveal a lit cigarette in his grinning teeth. Sitting at a desk full to the brim with papers that were flooding over one another. Folders open and closed, a bin full of crumpled papers and an ashtray that looked like the inside of a boot.

A real protagonist.

"I'll watch the kid. I've done babysitting before, I'm the best man for the job." Sarcastic son of a gun but how could I stay mad?

"You have a lot of guts coming back here like nothing happened. I hope your findings were up to scratch. Last case weren't looking too good."

"That's for later. The kid? Put him in the cell closest to my desk, and I'll make sure to keep a reeeeeeal close eye on him till at least midnight. 1AM if you're lucky, kid, we might hit the town later."

Later.

I don't think it was visible how glad I was not to be alone, but eventually, being alone is the one thing you can count on. You'll see why.

I never got the name of my saviour that night. It was something along the likes of "Wise guy". Detective Wise Guy… Yeah.

Anyway, that night was a night I couldn't forget.

Sitting in my bed with the cell bars completely closed off. Locked, by my own request.

What a stupid, ignorant request it was.

I have to assume you know why, yes?

What I assumed was that with the bars closed, the alien would have a harder time getting in, which would give other people the opportunity to see this and assumedly protect me, which is what you'd assume as well in my position. Right?

You are reading this, right?

I was in that cell between 11AM and 10:30PM until the deadline started rapidly approaching. Detective Wise Guy and I were talking about girls.

I lied, actually.

He was talking about girls, I was lying about them.

"Yep… eighth girl I dated by your age, she was a real looker, truly." He looked up past the fedora towards the leaky pipes, longingly, as if reminiscing on a really impactful moment. "Broke my heart before I got to take her out. Different times then. By the time I was gonna take her dancing, I got myself a car from the part time jobs I was hustling. Newspapers in the morning, shining shoes in the evening. Everything in a jar, hid it from mum otherwise she'd suddenly lost her purse." He laughed a really handsome and genuine laugh through the cigarette that seemed to be magnetised to his teeth, like he missed these times. I'll never forget that gruff, yet sensitive smile. Like he lost something special to him, not once, but multiple times.

"But that's life, kid." He tipped his hat down as the shade covered his eyes. "You live and you lose."

You live and you lose.

It's time.

My heart rate rises exponentially and I fucking lose my breath like it's easy.

I grab the cell bars in desperation, as what I saw even a hundred-or-so times in the past had walked directly through Detective Wise Guy on its way to me.

He didn't see it.

He couldn't see it.

No-one but me can see it.

*

I wake up in my bed about nine in the morning, clutching my chest, mum calling me from downstairs in familiar fashion.

I think I'm starting to gain some understanding now.

The following hundred cycles, were to continue the understanding journey.

What else is going on?

I spent about twenty-five cycles observing the four different corners of the quaint town I live in. Twenty-five areas in each corner, so there's plenty of opportunity to catch every detail.

That's when I decided to take a trip on impulse.

After the final death of the hundred I dedicated to exploration and analysis, which involved talking to people to see what NPC-level default text they come up with, I was scouted out by someone. A man in a black suit asked me to go with him, which reminded me of something mum said to me not long ago.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

You might've thought she said that in the future from now, but she's said it a hundred times, at least.

Either way, I had been kidnapped by an organisation.