"This time. . . that meteor is going down."

Electrical sparks echoed through the bright tubes fixed on the ceiling of Andrew Garage's makeshift laboratory. Bright sparks flashed and crackled like fireworks with each stroke of the torch as it welded together the pieces of his new weapon. As he worked, Andrew had to personally stop the sparks from hitting his desk with the thick protective glove on his other hand. He'd need to win the lotto at least five more times to rebuild it if it caught fire, and with ten wins already under his belt, he didn't want any more attention.

"Patience, patience. . ." He murmured as he welded the trigger onto his platinum gun. "The fate of the world rests in my hand."

After hours of going over every detail, his work was complete at last. With the device finally assembled, he slumped into his swivel chair, wiping the sweat off his forehead. His eyes shone and his lips curled in a radiant arc. He lifted the masterpiece he has just crafted above his head, laughing hysterically as he shouted. "I did it! I did it! The Antimatter Gun is finally done!"

He was so happy he almost wanted to shatter his workstation and never have to look at it again, but in the end calmed himself enough to put the gun aside. What remained on his desk was a mess, a jumble of blueprints, metal scraps, electronic components, and his half-eaten taco. He swept his hand in one motion and they all flew off to the air before crashing into the trash bin nearby.

"I won't have to see this junk ever again!"

He grabbed the gun and sprinted to his testing room. His second lab had a separate glass case he had pre-crafted. A circular hole was cut in the center, and Andrew placed the muzzle on it. His finger throbbed as it grazed over the trigger of the loaded gun. He could feel the antimatter energy gradually accumulating on the muzzle, and he heard the beep of his computer systems as they began to measure the indexes.

Andrew couldn't risk shooting. He might vaporize the entire lab with himself in it, and while death would just send him back through time to try again, he'd have to go through the arduous chore of rebuilding the gun. Not only would it be another long wait, but his favorite taco place always closed on the day he traveled back in time, and he had to order from Taco Bella. Nobody likes Taco Bella.

The glass case projected a string of holographic numbers onto its surface. No ordinary person could interpret this dense stream of data, but this was the tenth time Andrew had done this and by now it was old hat to him.

He looked at the clock on the wall, confirming that he had three hours and seventeen more minutes until the meteor crashed into the Earth and obliterated all of humanity. Or at least it would if the Antimatter Gun didn't take care of it. But this time, it won't happen again. I can't let it.

Every time that meteor hit the ground, he was sent back in time exactly one year. The first time it happened, he'd vigorously thanked Buddha, Judas, and every other god in existence for granting him a second chance. However, as he died in the apocalypse more and more times, Andrew gradually learned what the hell was going on: he was the Chosen One, tasked to save the world.

Since deciding that he needed to save the world, Andrew had been trying to come up with a plan to destroy the giant meteor. He tried warning the police, A-ASS (the Astronomical Association), and even NASA about the meteor heading towards Earth, but was always laughed off. Both NASA and A-ASS assured him that there was no trace of any asteroid about to destroy the planet and didn't bother replying to his subsequent messages. The police took him even less seriously. They'd called and asked him to come down to the station to report his "concerns." When he got there, the entire station had a good laugh at his seemingly crazy ramblings. One even asked, "Are you fucking stupid, you nonce?"

Andrew didn't suspect NASA of negligence (fuck the police though), but he still could not explain why on that exact day and that exact hour, the meteor would destroy all life. After his third encounter with death, Andrew decided to save the Earth with his own hands. Being the excellent graduate physics student he was, he chose the easiest way to save humanity: gain ten billion dollars invent an antimatter gun that could destroy the meteor before it crashed into the Earth.

He had no idea where to start, though, so in his first loop, he did it the Thommas Edinson way: he went to see a famous physicist, beat the crap out of him and stole a blueprint. That's the progressive way of doing science: knowledge should be free, and ideas should be stolen.

After his third time loop, he had memorized the blueprints and the Special Prize Lottery Ticket combinations. He used his winnings to invest in a monumental laboratory, and after returning to the loop four times, Andrew had had enough time to build the perfect weapon.

Now, for the moment of truth.

He rushed out to the balcony. The TV in his living room was still on, showing a weather forecast. “Good morning, citizens of Dinosaurland City! Today, September 6, 2069, is another splendid day! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and a giant fucking meteor his heading towards Earth. HELPPPPPPPPPPPP!"

He mounted the gun to the railings. At that moment, the phone in his pocket vibrated and kept on for minutes without stopping. He knew who the person calling was because he'd checked it six times already. His ex.

No time for mushy smoochy 'I want you back' essays. Nothing is more important than saving the world.

The surrounding space was too quiet for a beautiful morning, and Andrew knew why.

The cheerful, clear blue color of the sky slowly dimmed to an ominous black, as the sun was gradually being obscured by a giant rock. The highways were already packed with vehicles and even swarms of people fleeing in panic. As if running gets them away from a meteor.

The black spot in the sky kept growing. On the TV, the weather forecast was cut short for an emergency notification from the government, advising people to stay at home and let them handle things—the usual empty promises. The blotch would soon grow into a giant burning, scarred, jagged ball of fire.

Andrew raised his face to his enemy in the sky and burst out laughing. "Time to show those assholes at NASA who's crazy," he thought. He loaded the gun and aimed at the flaming meteor.

"See you on the evening news, asshole."

He pulled the trigger. The jet black bullet lanced through the air.