My phone woke me. The annoying jingle I used for Monday to ensure that I had some measure of control. It had been a tidbit I read off a news site on the internet. Rebbit was fun, but fuck was it a sinkhole of both good and bad. Updoots for all!

So I had it set to denote Monday as a livelier jingle to ensure that my week started off on a fun foot. A high note, I joked to myself as I slowly got up.

It was a habit from before the loops. I was never happier of any habit then that one. It grounded me and kept me whole through the loop. Let me know when a new reset dawned and my life was reset to square one.

Nature called and I had long since stopped peeing myself. Those weeks were messed and I was glad that the resets took care of all of that rubbish. Depression and looping did not mix well. At all.

The loops were freakish at first, but then it became routine. It was true. Humans could adapt to anything.

Hey, when you live the same days over, and over, and over, and over again. You get crazy.

So I did what any sane person would do. I went crazy.

I started with the fun. You know, tweak friends and family, knowing stuff you shouldn’t. Though I did only destroyed Tracy, the crazy cunt coworker, a dozen times before I stopped.

It was for science that I kept at it, and my theory was proven.

Fact. Bitch was a religious nut.

Fact. Bitch had a gun in her purse.

Fact. Bitch was a great shot.

I have been shot a lot. Her shots sucked extra hard because it wasn’t due to my own faults, but hers. Satan has possessed you! Bang!

The. Fuck.

How is she still functioning in our society with such a hair-trigger?

Alas, I never did pursue it after I got my revenge. I killed her back and to this day, I only regret that it wasn’t real.

Nothing was.

The loops ensured that I would restart the week on Monday. I woke up at 9:12 AM. Late for breakfast, but not for work.

It wasn’t until I relieved myself that I realized something was wrong. Very wrong.

The washroom was different and I was wearing a bathrobe.

First off, my apartment could have fit inside this washroom.

Shit had marble and a white/gold theme going.

Second, I didn’t own a bathrobe. A very soft, lulu lemon bathrobe.

Third, my cellphone read Monday, 9:38. I was always coherent by 9:12. Nothing had ever changed that and my piss didn’t take 20ish minutes.

My mouth tasted of regret and I was sure that absinth, the devil’s piss, was flowing freely last night. I must have been crazy, but that didn’t explain today.

I walked out of the bathroom as another person knocked and I quickly finished up. Some bald guy nodded to me as we traded place.

It took almost five minutes to make it back to the living room, what with the hallway of shame. There must have been close to twenty people passed out and felled to their arch-nemesis, gravity.

I found a half-full water bottle and picked it up. The warm water was disgusting, but it was definitely tastier than my dry mouth.

“Morn,” Jake grumbled at me and I growled something back.

I sat on a surprising open spot on the couch as I leaned back and down the rest of the water. Then I tossed the empty container onto the table.

Poof!

Magic occurred as my aim was true and now cocaine was thrown everywhere.

“Shit!”

I looked over and Jake was angry as he kicked something. He was really frustrated as he gnashed his teeth. Our eyes met as he looked for support from me. The new guy.

Which was funny. I had joined Jake on terrible escapades in the past. The dude was a high-end drug dealer and had a lot of friends in low places. He threw great parties and all you had to do was make a great cocktail and he was your BFF.

I learned about him the easy way. I hit all the drugs. Hard. Jake was good at finding anything you wanted. I tried them all. A lot.

So I learned about his weakness for the sauce. For like a year, I robbed liquor stores and mastered the art of bartending. Through books, videos, and watching actual workers.

Then I did real bartending to hone my craft. I became its master and it was surprising how a good drink literally mixed your way into high society. Or with Jake, low society.

Jake stood no chance to the best BFF he never knew. I perfected my greeting to worm my way into his heart within an hour. My record was about 15 minutes, but I never did recreate that night.

“FUCK! Hookers’ dead,” he spat out as he kicked the body again.

I nodded and knew that one of his ‘buddies’ would clean it up quickly. Wait. Wasn’t that where that blonde passed out last night? She did hit the powder game pretty hard. The nipple tassels were tacky, however.

Thank god it was Monday. I wouldn’t have to deal with this….

My eyes widened as reality backhanded my brain awake.

Today was Monday.

Monday.

Monday and I were still in this high-end warehouse/apartment/drug-den. My home away from home.

I shot up straight as my mind kicked into high gear. Monday and I weren’t home in my nice, safe bed. I double-checked my cell and something new made itself known. Monday 11. Not 4th. Time has resumed.

I had researched things long ago. Time loops were a common theme in fiction. You did things until everything reset. Usually after a moral and a perfect day of some sort.

It didn’t work for me. I did everything and even donated away my worldly possessions to have it all back the following week.

So I had plans, things to do when time moved again. Except….

The plan was to have a good week when the loop ended. Not the bender I just lived through. Not with what? Three dozen murders and a bad drug run under my belt? Shit. There was also the gang we smashed against. I think I curb stopped a guy or two. Or was that another reset?

Shit. I needed some coffee to start thinking straight.

“Fuck!” I echoed and Jake nodded as he tipped back his wine bottle and guzzled it. White wine my mind supplied. Jake liked white in the morning, red in the evening, and cocktails for the late-night extravaganzas.

A loud whoop pierced the air.

Our eyes met again, except this time they were at least twice as large.

[This is the police! We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.]

FUCK!!

“Fuck!” Jake screamed and that started a chain where people were startled awake.

Within two minutes nearly sixty people scrambled around the place as I raked my hands through my hair.

Okay. Plan A was fucked. Time for plan D? Plan R?

A loud smashing sound occurred from the front entrance. The sharp sound carried it and now people were panicking.

I got up and made my way over to the head man. There were other people almost screaming at him and he was gnashing his teeth again.

I elbowed my way in.

“Trap door?” I whispered.

Jake’s eyes widened. He froze. He smiled.

My whisper must have been heard as some cunt shrieked ‘Trap door’ and there was a scramble.

Some people knew about it and they quickly made their way over.

The less knowledgeable started to shout.

Jake stared at me and gave me a fierce look and a single nod. I had won his real respect. He respected two types of people. Humans, and bartenders. Humans were smart, loyal, and collected. Bartenders served great drinks.

To Jake, they were almost the same shade of awesome.

The door smashed open and the sounds of heavy boots on concrete echoed.

We scrambled towards the back. Where a trap door to a cellar, and more importantly, an exit through the adjacent warehouse. It was built to be a communal storage area for scraps or some shit.

We hurried along as the sound of gunfire broke the air. Police used rubber bullets. We didn’t.

The police were always more touchy when fired upon. Real bullets killed. Rubbers generally didn't and they were very liberal about using them.

I picked up my pace as we unlatched the simple lock and we poured our way through.

Once we made it up and out, we scrambled out the side exit and some people fucked up and screamed as they ran in every direction.

“Freeze!”

Jake and I stopped as an officer was suddenly there. His eyes were on Jake.

We both raised our hands, but I knew that if Jake got caught, I was fucked. I needed his backing now. More than ever since I might have. Might have you. Fucked up my life.

Wait. Didn’t I kill Tracy this week? Kill and piss on her dying form with a laugh. Yeah, No police for me!

I shifted my hip and it cracked. It seems that I slept funny.

It was loud enough and my motion big enough that the officer pointed his gun at me. I absently noted that it was suddenly just me and Jake. Those fuckers.

The officer's eyes met mine. He was frightened. Tense. His hands shook.

I must have looked like a monster. A bad beard, bored expression, and I yawned at him. A man with a gun.

I looked to the side, my eyes widened. As if something had caught my eye.

The officer looked as well.

I moved. It was with practiced ease that I ducked and lunged forward.

The officer panicked. His gun fired with an explosive boom.

The poor bastard never had a chance as I weaved to the left. The trick was that bullets traveled within a straight line within a set distance. Avoid looking into the barrel and you were safe.

Easier said than done, but I had been in a lot of duels in my loops. Boredom had made me find fun things to do. Like the underground fight rings, where you fight in a cage or duel in a field in the countryside.

My youtube-fu. Gained from constant training from tons of videos. Honed by cage fights, bar fights, and that stint where I punched random gangsters for fun and karma.

I hit the officer like a master.

I grabbed his hand and forced it up while I punched his nose with a fast jab.

Sure, I had no real physical conditioning, but my brain was hard-wired with close combat experience and knowledge.

I had trained my youtube-fu for countless hours. Countless years.

I chopped the man in the throat to keep him busy and then hit his armpit to strike that vital nerve. His arm shook and I pried the gun from his shaking fingers and pistol-whipped him.

The man dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I looked over at Jake. The man stared at me.

I smiled and jabbed a thumb over my shoulder.

We really should run.

Jake nodded and we both took off.

If I wasn’t his defacto new BFF, I would shoot myself with this stolen gun.