I watched the sea of humans roil beneath me, screams of panic rising to the winter air.

What is it with people and jumping to their deaths? Both old and young are insane.

I sighed. I could already tell this would be troublesome.

The boy, the screamer, the fire, and the old man just now. That's already four problematic areas, one right after the other.

Shouts of pain and outrage mixed with the screams of panic below. People were getting trampled under the stampede.

Let's review. If left alone, the boy will fall and die at 11:16, the building will get demolished at around 11:30, the fire starts around 11:40, and the old man jumped to his death at 11:50.

My head pounded with the beginning of a headache.

What a mess. How am I supposed to prevent all these deaths? Maybe if I rush...?

I watched the stampede beneath me absentmindedly, already planning out the next run. A soft beep interrupted my thoughts, and I fell forward to the sidewalk. I took a step and regained balance, then bent down to pick up my briefcase.

Without looking back at the bus behind me, I jogged up the street, intent on replicating the beginning of the previous run.

I felt something missing a few minutes in. I was immersed with daydrea- revising the presentation last run. I still didn't know why or how that scared the boy away, but I had to replicate it. I gathered myself, then started.

Good afternoon directors of Stratos...

...

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I froze in my tracks, both physically and mentally. Ahead of me, the boy was jumping at the balloons. A wave of guilt crashed into me, knocking me off balance. I wrestled with my own feelings for a while, then forced myself forward.

I set my briefcase down next to the boy, then jumped for the balloons.

He looked back at me curiously.

I offered the balloon I snagged.

He disregarded it.

I jumped for the next one, then paused.

It's different from the last run. I'm doing it wrong. At this rate, I’ll be stuck here getting the balloons one by one. I need to scare him away. How? What did I even do to scare him last time?

I looked into the boy's eyes, and with a voice as stern as I could make it, said, "Leave. Now."

The boy tilted his head, then ignored me.

I almost cursed right there and then, but held it in. I also couldn't bring myself to shout at the boy.

What do I do then?

My eyes fell on the balloon in my arm. I pulled down the string and held the balloon, feeling it slightly give under my grip.

Then I squeezed as hard as I could.

Pop!

The boy turned at the sound.

"Go. There's nothing for you here," I said.

The boy ignored me.

Frustration welled up in my chest. This couldn't go on. This will take too long. I popped the other balloon I had retrieved, but the boy didn’t even glance at me this time.

I jumped for the next one.

The boy jumped along instead of watching me now. Every time I snagged a balloon, I popped it right in front of him.

The boy didn't show any signs of complaint, but he leaped for the balloons more frantically.

I panted heavily, my suit soaked with sweat. Beside me, the boy stared down at the scattered pieces of popped balloons on the sidewalk. He looked up at me, tears running down his face. It drove a spike into my chest to see it, but I committed the expression to memory, nonetheless.

I did this. I deserve your blame.

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The boy ran up the street.

I glanced down at my watch—it was 11:27. Slightly faster than usual because I didn't have to wait for the boy to reject the balloons before popping them, but it was still too late to make it in time to the demolition site. Especially since I was too tired to run.

This damned weak body of mine.

It wasn't fair. I've run and exercised a lot over dozens of time loop cycles. But my body was still as weak and frail as it was on the very first run. I sighed, then walked up the street.

The argument was in full swing by the time I arrived at the demolition site. Fifteen residents were shouting over each other at the foreman, their complaints forming an incoherent racket. The foreman had been joined by four burly workers—operators of the vehicles, I presume. They were silent, soaking in all the complaints with thunderous expressions. The foreman didn't even try to pretend he was listening, ears covered with construction muffs while smoking a cigarette to the side.

I risked a quick, thrilling jaunt on the street to bypass the crowd, then joined the foreman on the blocked-off street lane.

He glanced at me with indifference, but I could see the panic building in his eyes.

The beginnings of a plan formed in my head. I shot a wry smile at the foreman, then set down my briefcase next to him. Before he could say anything, I produced a silver case from my suit’s left pocket, then flicked it open.

He eyed it with interest, taking off his construction earmuffs.

I studied the rolled-up cigarettes inside the case, then took out two sticks. "What a mess, am I right?"

The foreman opened his mouth, about to argue, but then changed his mind and looked away with a huff.

I offered him one of the cigarettes.

His eyes lit up and his hand rose to take it, but he hesitated.

"Take it," I said with a smile. "You deserve a smoke break."

The foreman flicked his eyes down in what must’ve the world’s most subtle nod and took the offered cigarette. "Thanks," he said in a gruff voice. He spat the one he was smoking on the sidewalk and exchanged it with the one I gave him. My eye twitched at the sight of the still burning cigarette. I smoothly stepped on it.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," I said offhandedly, looking at the ruins of the apartment in front of us.

I could see the foreman flinching out of the corner of my eyes.

It was most definitely his fault. Who doesn't even check the building before knocking it down?

I picked out the man with auburn sideburns at the back of the crowd. He was on a phone call. My eyes narrowed with annoyance. The sight rubbed me the wrong way for some reason.

"What do you mean?" asked the foreman.

Huh? Oh. I struggled to keep a straight face, trying not to show I forgot we were having a conversation. Where was I again? Right.

"I meant exactly that. It wasn't your fault. See him?" I nodded towards Sideburns.

The foreman followed my gaze and gave a grunt of assent.

"He knew there was someone still inside." I smiled meaningfully.

Several expressions crossed the foreman's face in quick succession. He must've already had an inkling, or just wanted to shift the blame, because he didn't require much convincing before he started cursing Sideburns in a rant.

"It won't matter though," I said, cutting him off. "You'll still get the blame for this," I continued the sentence internally, because you didn't check the building, you idiot.

The foreman sucked on the cigarette I handed him, then sighed out the smoke and his frustrations with it. Only a lifetime of experience prevented me from stepping away. As a non-smoker, I really hate it when smokers do this near me.

It's working. I knew no smoker could resist the premium cigarettes I have on me.

"What should I do?" the foreman asked me in a flat tone. But I detected a hint of desperation underneath.

I smiled inwardly. "That's for you to figure out."

Before he could say anything, I continued, "If I were you though, I'd stop that man from finishing his phone call. Maybe call your boss and get this handled while you're at it?"

The foreman seemed to realize something as he watched Sideburns with his phone, then gave me a small nod of appreciation and rushed off. After everyone focused on the foreman and the argument resumed, I returned the unlit cigarette to its case.

I crept towards the ruins of the apartment, sweeping my gaze over it. I wanted to take a look at the screamer or at least get his room number, but I haven’t thought this through. It was impossible to get any meaningful information from this pile of rubble.

I neatly gave up and switched objectives, approaching the crowd instead. At least I've confirmed that the foreman was a smoker and could be coaxed with a gift. I had an inkling when I saw him stress smoking earlier. I didn't know what I would do with this information, but I was sure it would be useful somerun.

I glanced down at the time—it was 11:40. The fire should've started by now. I knew I couldn't have prevented it this run anyway since I spent too long with the boy, but the failure still galled me.

"...your fault! How could you..." a woman screamed.

"Compensate..." a man this time.

"...murder" another man.

"Shut up!" that was the foreman.

I sat down on the sidewalk and leaned on a traffic cone, watching them argue. I might learn something new. Even if I didn't, I needed some time to plan the next run, anyway.

I closed my eyes, the symphony of greed and guilt filling my ears.

***

A moment of weightlessness that stretched for an eternity, then I was falling forward to the sidewalk again. I took a step to regain balance, then bent down to pick up my briefcase. I jogged up the street, thoughts rattling in my head.

This is difficult. Too difficult.

I couldn't figure out how to prevent the deaths in time. They all occur too close to each other. I mulled my options over, rolling them from one side to another like a cat playing with a ball of yarn. Like said cat, all I end up with was a tangle of thoughts.

I found myself skidding to a stop right next to the boy before I could form an actionable plan.

I sighed. How do I do this?

Truthfully, I already knew what I should do. To untangle a ball of yarn, you need to first find one end. Similarly, to gain enough time to prevent the deaths, I need to first quickly resolve the boy. Spending half an hour on him alone was just suboptimal.

I kneeled in front of the boy, looking him straight in the eyes. A deep breath to brace myself. Last run I tried to be stern and order the boy away from the balloons. It didn't work. This run, I decided to take a softer approach and persuade him.

Long story short, it still didn't work. I should've known it wouldn't. Didn't I try to explain the dire dangers of jumping to the boy in my earlier runs? Didn't the boy jump to his death, anyway?

On the next run, I tried to be stern again. Didn't work.

Next run? Even sterner. I was practically scolding him, overcoming my reluctance to raise my voice. Still didn't work.

Next run I changed tack and tried earnestly pleading with him to listen to me.

I tried to find the set of words and attitude that would move him. But it was impossible because there were none.

I knew then that words were useless with the boy.

Boiling with frustration, I skidded to a stop next to the boy. I didn’t set my briefcase down.

This run… this run, I will resolve the boy. One way or another.