Delivery on New Year's Eve

"What are you standing around for? This is a huge payout. Hurry up and go!"

The cheap cigarette's smoke choked me, making me gag uncontrollably as my blurred vision gradually cleared up.

In front of me was a desk with peeling paint, overflowing with delivery receipts and ashtrays. Sitting behind it was a grease-slicked, heavy-set Dominic Flint, my dispatch manager, blowing clouds of smoke right at me.

In that split second, my heart seized violently, as if hit full force by a sledgehammer.

I wasn't dead?

My last memory was still stuck on that freezing New Year's Eve, being stabbed to death on the spot by the victim's family.

I hurriedly checked my phone for the time: December 31st, 2023, 9:30 p.m.

I was reborn! I had returned two and a half hours before the crime took place!

"Hurry up and change your clothes! Or do you not want to work here anymore?!"

Dominic’s impatient voice snapped me back to reality. He grabbed a pile of clothes next to him and threw them into my arms like trash.

The fabric felt cold and slick. It wasn't my familiar bright delivery windbreaker, but a midnight-black hoodie and cargo pants combo. The material was thick and radiated an indescribably creepy vibe.

"This customer had special instructions, super high-maintenance," Dominic exhaled a plume of smoke, tapping his nicotine-stained yellow finger against the order receipt on the desk.

"The courier has to wear this exact outfit. No company gear allowed. Said it was for… some ritual. And..."

He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You must knock on the door and deliver it at midnight sharp. Not a minute early, not a minute late. Got it?"

Those words hit me like a bolt of lightning, shattering my freshly reassembled consciousness.

It was identical.

Even Dominic's tone and the way he hurled those clothes were the same as in my past.

In my previous life, all because I chased that massive delivery fee, I foolishly threw on those black clothes and knocked on that door from hell right at midnight.

The door was unlocked and slightly ajar. The moment I pushed it open, the warm stench of rust and metallic blood hit my face. I reflexively peeked inside, only to see a woman in a red dress brutally murdered on the bed.

Panicked, I called 911, but I ended up taking the fall as the killer instead.

The interrogation, the jail cell, the sheer hopelessness that followed spun wildly through my head like a nightmare on loop.

Before I even had a chance to explain, the victim's family stabbed me to death right then and there.

Overcome by sheer terror, my hands instinctively shook, and I tossed the dark outfit right back onto the desk like a hot iron.

"I'm not taking it!"

My voice trembled, raspy and strained from peak tension. "This order is twisted! I'm not going! Find someone else!"

Dominic froze for a second before his face instantly darkened. He slammed his hand on the desk so hard that the cigarette butts jumped in the ashtray.

"Elliot, what the hell are you losing your mind over?!"

He stood up and pointed a finger right at my nose, roaring, "It’s New Year's Eve! Most couriers are home with their families, and there's only you and Jackson left at the station.

"Jackson just broke his leg and went to the ER, so who else is gonna deliver it if not you?!"

"The customer wrote in the notes that if we cancel or are late, we owe a hundred-thousand-dollar penalty fee! A hundred grand! I couldn't even sell you for that much!"

I gritted my teeth tightly and took a step back. "The penalty is your problem, but I'm not going! There's something wrong with this order!"