<div>
Rex Rewind snapped awake to the sound of a rooster crowing like it was auditioning for a death metal band, its screech tearing through the thin walls of his apartment. He lurched upright, his neon-green mohawk flopping into his face like a rebellious parrot, and immediately regretted it as the stench of burnt toast slammed into his nostrils like a sucker punch. “Oh, come on,” he groaned, kicking off his polka-dot sheets with the enthusiasm of a man who’d already lived this moment fifty times—maybe sixty. He’d lost count after that loop where he accidentally dropkicked the mayor’s prize poodle into a fountain, earning him a lifetime ban from the Chronopolis Dog Show and a very wet nemesis.
He stumbled to his feet, bare toes curling against the cold, cracked linoleum of his tiny apartment. The place was a dump—peeling wallpaper patterned with pineapples, a mattress that sagged like a defeated soufflé, and a single window offering a view of Chronopolis, the city of spandex-clad heroes, rogue vending machines, and an unholy number of pigeons. He shuffled to that window now, rubbing sleep from his eyes with knuckles scarred from too many bad ideas. The sun peeked over the skyline, bathing the city in a glow that screamed “hope” for anyone who hadn’t already seen it snuffed out by a giant robo-cat. Below, Chronopolis was already awake and unhinged: a coffee cart exploded in a caffeine-fueled fireball, sending baristas diving for cover; a hero in a cape tripped over a street mime, both tumbling into a heap of silent profanity; and a flock of robo-pigeons strafed a hot dog vendor with precision strikes, their metallic feathers glinting in the dawn light.
“Same chaos, different day,” Rex muttered, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Except it’s not different. Time loops are a real tick-ing pain in the ass.” In exactly six hours, Captain Catastrophe—Chronopolis’s resident supervillain with a feline fetish—would unleash his Doom-Meow-Tron 3000, a towering robotic cat with laser whiskers and a purr that could level buildings. The city would become kitty litter, Rex would die in some spectacularly stupid way, and then he’d wake up here again, cursing that damn rooster and the cosmic joke that was his life.
The door slammed open with a bang that rattled the pineapple wallpaper, and in stormed Penny Pincher, his landlord and reluctant sidekick. She was a wiry woman with a perm that defied gravity, a calculator where her soul should be, and a glare that could melt steel. “Rex!” she barked, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper like a samurai sword. “Rent’s due! Fork over the cash, or I’m tossing your punk ass out—time loop or no time loop!”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Rex spun on his heel, striking a dramatic pose in his skull-patterned boxers, one hand on his hip, the other pointing to the ceiling. “Penny, my penny-pinching princess, I’m in a temporal pickle here. How about I pay you in puns instead? They’re the gift that keeps on rewinding!”
She swung the newspaper, aiming for his head. “I’ll shove those puns somewhere the sun don’t shine, Rewind! You’ve got till noon—or else!”
He dodged with the grace of a man who’d been dodging her for dozens of loops, grinning like a lunatic. “Fair enough, but stick around. I’ve got a cat-astrophe to stop, and I need a wingwoman with your cents of humor.”
Penny lowered the paper, squinting through her oversized glasses. “What’s that nutjob Captain Catastrophe up to now?”
“Same old, same old,” Rex said, snagging his studded leather jacket from a chair. It was black, battered, and screamed “rebel with a cause”—even if that cause was mostly not dying again. “He’s unleashing his kitty of doom to claw Chronopolis apart. I’ve tried everything: punching it, bribing it with catnip, even challenging it to a dance-off. Spoiler alert: I lost. Badly. My moonwalk’s more of a moon-flop.”
She snorted, a sound like a rusty hinge. “You? Dance? Your moves could scare a banshee back to the grave.”
“Rude, but painfully accurate,” Rex conceded, zipping up the jacket. “This loop, I’m thinking outside the litter box. Let’s hit the streets and shake things up.”
They stepped out into Chronopolis’s morning madness, the air thick with the scent of burnt coffee and pigeon droppings. A hero in a banana suit wrestled a sentient parking meter, losing spectacularly as coins sprayed everywhere. A villain on rollerblades lobbed glitter bombs at a bakery, cackling as sprinkles rained down. In the distance, the faint silhouette of the Doom-Meow-Tron loomed, dormant for now but promising chaos later. Rex cracked his knuckles, his grin widening. “Alright, Penny, let’s paws for a plan. Step one: find the captain. Step two: make him purr-manently regret this hairball of a scheme.”
“You’re unbearable,” Penny groaned, clutching her newspaper tighter, but she followed him anyway, her sensible loafers clacking against the pavement.
Rex smirked, adjusting his mohawk in a passing shop window. He’d died by laser, claw, and once by choking on a stale pretzel during a daring mid-loop snack break (long story, terrible ending). This time, he’d play it smarter—or at least fake it better. First stop: the villain’s lair in the abandoned tuna factory on the edge of town. If he could catch Captain Catastrophe off-guard, he might break this loop and finally get a day off. Or at least land a killer one-liner before the inevitable reset. Either way, it beat sitting around waiting for the robo-cat to turn him into sushi. He clapped Penny on the shoulder, ignoring her scowl. “Let’s roll, sidekick. Time’s a-wastin’, and I’ve got a date with destiny—or at least a really big kitty.”