It started with a whisper.
"Ian…"
Soft. Close. Like someone speaking directly into his ear, though he was alone.
Ian Blake sat up in bed, heart thudding against his ribs. His breath came sharp and shallow. The room was quiet—too quiet. No wind outside. No creaking pipes. Just that heavy stillness that doesn't belong.
He rubbed his face and looked around.
Same room. Same ceiling with that little crack in the corner. Same cold morning air coming from the broken window. But something didn't feel right.
Not wrong in a way he could point to. Just... off.
* * *
7:04 AM.
His phone screen glowed with the time.
He got out of bed, went through the motions—shower, coffee, burnt toast. The morning routine felt mechanical, like someone else was controlling his body.
By 7:42 AM, he was outside, blending into the city's endless crowd. The streets buzzed with the usual noise—footsteps, engines, bits of conversation. But Ian noticed everything today.
The same lady walking her dog.
The man in the red hoodie leaning against the same lamppost as yesterday... or was it today again?
The same tune playing from a coffee shop radio. A song he hadn't heard in years, now repeating like it meant something.
Something inside him whispered: Pay attention.
* * *
9:43 AM.
Ian stood at the corner of West and 31st, waiting for the light to change. A small crowd gathered around him. Someone laughed nearby. A street performer played a quiet melody on a violin.
Then—
A sharp sound. Tires screeching.
He turned.
A black van was coming straight at him, up on the sidewalk, too fast to stop.
Ian's legs refused to move.
The world froze for a moment, like it wanted to give him one last look.
Impact.
A flash of white.
Pain, bright, blinding, all-consuming.
Then nothing.
But it wasn't over.
He gasped awake.
Same bed. Same ceiling. Same cold air.
"Ian…"
That same whisper.
He looked around wildly. Everything looked exactly the same—but now it was more than a feeling. He knew something was wrong.
He reached for his phone with trembling hands.
7:04 AM.
The time hadn't changed. Or maybe it had restarted.
He stumbled to the window. The same bus passed by. Same lady. Same man in the red hoodie. Same song.
This wasn't just déjà vu.
This was something else.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
A single notification appeared on the screen:
"You have died. Attempt 1 of 99. Try again, Ian."
He stared at it.
His chest tightened.
What is happening to me…?