Sunday evening, mike pov

The sounds of combat filled the air, these sounds were not supposed to be happening, but neither was the collision supposed to be here but here they were.

A crossbow bolt sailed over his head and nailed an approaching collision member in the eye, killing them instantly. Hearing footsteps to his left, Mike turned and sent a bolt into the chest of another one.

Not all of his team were lucky though, as one collision member broke the line and crushed one of Mike’s teammate’s windpipe with a tire iron with a sick crunch. The perpetrator let out a laugh that was cut off by a bolt to the lungs.

Things took a turn for the worse when more and more collision members pushed through their defenses, one tackling Mike, snd getting into a tussle before being put down via crossbow bolt to the neck. Another teammate barely gets a shot off before a collision member attacks barely surviving the encounter.

The collision’s forces seemed to be endless, they were overrunning his position, he needs to- thwack Mike’s thoughts were cut off by a wrench to the cranium and everything went black.

Elsewhere, by complete coincidence, Mal shared a similar fate, and thus time began to rewind itself once again.

Sunday morning, Mike’s pov

Mike’s head jerked suddenly startling the other members of his team, a sharp pain resounded in the back of his head, he had died.

Wait...

WHAT?

Amidst the confusion, random flashes of memory shot through his head, but these weren't he, he saw a lanky man in an orange coat get their ribs caved in by a baseball bat, but this only served to confuse Mike even more. Who was that guy? I should be dead? What time is it?

These questions could wait though, right now he had to save himself and his team.

Sunday morning, Mal pov

’Well, that sucked’ Mal was thinking before the image of a man getting “wacka-a-mole’d” shot through their mind. That is not supposed to happen, what was going on and who is that?

Mal pondered these queries as they restarted their day.