My Lethal Repetition Revenge System

The golden child threw herself out the window, screaming that I pushed her.

What she didnt know was that I had just been tethered to the Loop System. A digital parasite in my brain that allowed me to select any single action she made and force her to repeat it. One hundred times.

By the time the golden child had crawled back up to the second floor like a reanimated corpse, hurling herself out the window for the hundredth consecutive time, our biased parents and our darling brother had completely lost their minds.

1.

"Helen, you are so dead. Mom and Dad are never going to forgive you for this."

Beverly flashed me a wicked, gleeful smile. Then, without missing a beat, she tipped backward and plummeted out the second-story window.

She landed squarely in the thick hydrangea bushes lining the estates foundation.

The landscaper, who had been watering the beds, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

My parents and my brother, Brooks, practically tore the patio doors off their hinges as they sprinted from the sunroom into the yard. The moment they saw Beverly lying there, the air was sucked right out of the world. Panic, raw and suffocating, took over.

My mother immediately broke into a wailing sob. My father was frantically punching 911 into his phone.

Brooks dropped to his knees in the dirt beside Beverly, his voice cracking in absolute devastation. "Beverly oh my god, how did this happen?! Who? Who did this to you?!"

Trembling, Beverly raised a pale arm, strategically scratched by the thorny branches, stark and beautifully tragic against the pristine white tulle of her dress.

She pointed a shaking finger up at the second-floor window. Up at me.

"Brooks" she whimpered, her voice a masterclass in fragile innocence. "I don't know what I did wrong My sister, she it hurts so much"

Instantly, three pairs of eyes snapped upward, glaring at me.

Whatever thin, polite veneer we had maintained since I moved in was gone. There was no biological affection here, no familial bond. The pure, unadulterated hatred radiating from them was reserved solely for methe sudden intruder, the biological anomaly who had dared to harm their carefully cultivated, deeply cherished daughter and sister.

Perhaps in my past life, the naked cruelty in their stares would have pierced right through my chest.

But right now? My blood was singing.

System, I thought, the command cold and precise in my mind. That exact jumping motion. Lock it in. Repeat one hundred times.

2.

In my last life, Beverlys little stunt worked flawlessly.

She walked away with a few cosmetic scrapes, but it was enough to ignite a blinding fury in the Prescott family. They rushed upstairs, dragged me to the floor, and kicked and beat me until my ribs splintered and my organs ruptured.

While they were speeding in the back of an ambulance to get Beverly a designer band-aid, I bled to death on the hardwood floor alone.

After I died, my soul floated untethered, and the sky above me filled with lines of glowing, scrolling text:

[The real daughter is so pathetic!! The Prescott family are absolute trash, they all deserve to die!!!]

[If the author wanted to write a villainous fake-sister trope, fine, but don't do the innocent girl dirty like this! Using a helpless side characters brutal death just to establish the fake sister's 'mean girl' status is crossing a massive line. This isn't satisfying at all!]

[This family is just a bunch of soulless NPCs like in every other switched-at-birth trope! If the plot doesn't change and they don't get what's coming to them, I'm reporting this entire book!]

[Resurrect the real daughter!! Let her get revenge!!]

Revenge revenge revenge revenge revenge revenge revenge revenge

The glitching, manic text entirely consumed my vision.

That was the moment I realized I wasn't a real person. I was cannon fodder. The tragic, biological daughter in a melodramatic web novel where Beverly was the twisted, untouchable female lead.

[The readers are review-bombing this to hell. It's getting too unhinged. You know what? Take this Loop System. I'm dropping this manuscript. You handle the rest! I'm out!]

A voicepresumably the authorsechoed in the void before vanishing completely.

And then, I woke up. Reborn, mere seconds before Beverlys theatrical leap, with the [Loop System] humming quietly in my temporal lobe.

Looking at her smug, artificially playful face, the phantom aches of a hundred kicks from my past life rushed through my veins, hot and demanding.

In my last life, I was slaughtered by the plot.

In this life, I was going to let this family experience the sheer, unrelenting terror of a protagonist with a cheat code.

"Helen Prescott!! Are you out of your damn mind?! You pushed Beverly?! Get down here right now!!"

Just like before, Brooks thundered up the stairs. He didn't care that I was a hundred-pound girl who had grown up malnourished in foster care. He raised his fist, ready to strike

"Ahhh!!!!! Beverly!!! Beverly, where are you going?!"

This time, however, my mother's hysterical shriek from the yard stopped his fist in mid-air.

He instinctively looked down out the window.

Down in the flowerbed, Beverly had suddenly snapped upright, stiff as a wooden plank.

Her head hung low, chin touching her chest, and her legs began to move in a rapid, inhuman blur, sprinting toward the house with the jerky, terrifying cadence of a malfunctioning animatronic. She scurried up the stairs so fast she practically blurred, slamming her shoulder into Brooks and knocking him entirely out of the doorway.

She marched straight to the window in front of me and hoisted herself onto the sill, perching there.

Her eyes were completely glazed over, dead and vacant, but her mouth moved perfectly to deliver her opening line:

"Helen, you are so dead. Mom and Dad are never going to forgive you for this."

Then, she tipped backward.

CRACK.

She hit the bushes again.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Downstairs, my mother and the landscaper shrieked in unison. My father stood frozen, his jaw slack. His phone slipped from his fingers and shattered on the patio stones.

"Beverly!!!" Brooks screamed, a sound tearing his throat raw, and he bolted down the stairs.

He didn't even make it to the front door.

Beverly was already coming back up.

BANG! She plowed into him again, knocking the breath from his lungs, and scrambled onto the windowsill.

"Helen, you are so dead. Mom and Dad are never going to forgive you for this."

Over she went.

"Grab her!! Stop her!!" my parents finally snapped out of their stupor, bellowing at the top of their lungs.

Brooks lunged. "Beverly!!"

BANG!! Smashed aside again.

And over she went.

"Beverly!" THUD. "Beverly!!" THUD.

"Watch her faceoh my god, her face!!!!"

THUD.

By the tenth repetition, Beverly's speed had exponentially increased, defying all laws of physics. She was moving five times faster than a normal human.

When she hit Brooks this time, she launched him into the air. He crashed hard onto the first-floor landing, his designer glasses splintering across the hardwood.

That was the beauty of the Loop. The speed compounded, and with speed came terrifying, unnatural momentum.

My parents threw themselves at her, tackling her around the waist in a desperate double-team to pin her down.

Instead, her momentum simply dragged them across fifteen feet of manicured lawn. The abrasive patio stones sheared a layer of skin right off their arms, chests, and backs.

They howled in agony.

"Are you insane?! You're running over your own parents?!" "Stop! Stop right now! Do you hear me?!!"

They screamed the words, but the truth was, none of them dared to touch her again.

They scrambled backward, pressing themselves into the corner of the patio, leaving a wide, terrified berth between the doorway and the stairs. All they could do was watch, eyes bulging with pure horror, as Beverly sprinted up the stairs again, and again, and again.

Every single loop was punctuated by my mothers agonizing wails.

And this was only loop twenty-five.

3.

By the time Beverly executed her fifty-fifth jump, the sun had set.

She had entered the peak of her glitching state. She was moving so fast she left afterimages in the twilight.

My mother had entirely run out of tears. The grief had been hollowed out, replaced by a suffocating, primal terror.

And how could it not?

When Beverly planned her little stunt, she had calculated the trajectory perfectly to ensure only superficial cuts. A little pain for a lot of sympathy.

But no human body is meant to endure a second-story drop fifty times in a row. No body is meant to have the same scratches ripped open half a hundred times.

The Beverly that was currently looping was a shredded, bloody mess. Her dress was in tatters, painted in dark crimson strokes, her limbs operating solely on the mechanical willpower of the System.

When she scurried out from the pitch-black doorway of the ground floor, she looked like a charred, skittering spider. Up close, it was straight out of a horror movie.

Who wouldn't be trembling?

"Mom! Dad! Do something!!! If she keeps jumping like this, she's going to break into pieces!"

Only Brooks was still trying to save her.

Ignorance was bliss. Without his glasses, he couldn't actually see the gruesome, twitching entity that was currently crawling across the floorboards.

My mothers vocal cords had ruptured; she was slumped against my fathers shoulder, completely unresponsive.

My father had collapsed into a lotus position on the grass, muttering feverish prayers. He was a ruthless venture capitalist, but right now, he was bargaining with whatever god was listening.

At loop ninety, the sky began to bleed a pale morning gray.

Brooks was kneeling on the floor beside the long, dark-red smear Beverly had dragged across the carpet, rocking back and forth like a mental patient.

My parents were huddled together, drenched in cold sweat, utterly mute.

At loop one hundred, the ambulancewhich had been stalled by the System's interferencefinally wailed up the driveway.

The paramedics had to literally dig Beverlys pulverized, barely-breathing body out of the crater she had formed in the earth.

"Where is the family?! We need a guardian to ride with us!!" the EMT yelled over the flashing lights.

Brooks crawled toward the door. "Me! Me!!! I'm coming with her!!!"

Only then did I take my time walking down from the second floor. I arranged my features into a mask of identical, traumatized shock, rushing over to help my parents up.

"Mom! Dad! Get up... Beverly's condition, it was so... unnatural! Are you really going to let Brooks go to the hospital alone with her?!"

The spell broke.

An adopted daughter was just a daughter, but their son? Their heir? He was their lifeline.

The two old hypocrites scrambled to their feet, their legs shaking violently. "We... we have to go. We have to follow them."

Yes, go, I thought.

The best acts of the play were yet to come. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

4.

Beverly was the protagonist of the original plot, and it showed. She actually survived. Plot armor is a hell of a drug; she was remarkably hard to kill.

Even so, she was a symphony of fractured bones and severe contusions. She wouldn't be walking for at least three to five months.

"It hurts!!!! What happened?!!! Why can't I move?!"

"My face... my face is burning!!! Make it stop!!!"

"Mom!! Dad!! Brooks!! Why aren't you helping me?!!!"

Beverly had never experienced true pain in her life.

With absolutely no memory of her glitching marathon, she woke up screaming, thrashing against her restraints, sobbing hysterically.

The family of three desperately wanted to rush to her bedside to comfort her, but they physically couldn't. The psychological trauma of the "blood-soaked spider" was too fresh.

Especially for Brooks.

When he had climbed into the back of the ambulance, he had leaned in close, desperately crying her name. In response, Beverly had turned a mangled, blood-drenched face toward him, her eyes rolled back so far only the bloodshot whites showed.

He had nearly gone into cardiac arrest on the spot.

So, it was just me. I was the only one who withstood the pressure.

I stepped up to the hospital bed and gently patted the thick gauze wrapped around Beverlys shoulder.

"Beverly, it's okay. You have to be strong. If you can't handle this, how are you going to survive the rest of it?"

I suddenly understood the psychology behind killers returning to the scene of the crime. Looking at Beverly right now, she felt like my own personal masterpiece. The uglier she looked, the more an undeniable fondness bloomed in my chest.

She couldn't even maintain her delicate, innocent facade anymore. She bared her teeth and shrieked at me:

"Helen?! Why the hell are you in here?!! It was you, wasn't it?!! You did this to me!!!"

"Mom! Dad!!! It was Helen!! She pushed me!! Punish her!! Do it now!!!"

I offered a serene, almost saintly smile, my voice perfectly level.

"Beverly, I understand why you're blaming me... It's my fault as your sister. I should have caught you. Mom and Dad tried so hard to stop you from jumping, but..."

I caught the fleeting look of retroactive terror on my parents' faces. Their hands subconsciously drifted to their own bandaged, scraped skin. The physical pain only amplified their deep-seated, biological fear of the girl in the bed.

Beverly, of course, missed all of this subtext.

All she heard was that her parents hadn't caught her.

Panicked over the prospect of being permanently disfigured, she lost her mind entirely, spitting out words without thinking:

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

It was the exact sentence I was waiting for.

System. Let her say it a hundred times.

5.

"We tried to stop you! But we couldn't!!"

My fathers face was twisted in distress as he tried to defend himself. "You were too strong!"

My mother nodded frantically. "Yes, yes! You dragged me right across the ground..."

She pulled back her designer sleeve to show Beverly the massive, angry road rash on her forearm. "Look. My skin was torn right off."

Under normal circumstances, Beverly would have instantly dissolved into tears, apologizing profusely and delicately blowing on her mothers wound to soothe her.

But right now, her eyes remained bulged, and she barked out the exact same accusation, her tone frantic and venomous:

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

My parents froze.

They stared at her, deeply unsettled.

"Beverly...?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling.

Beverly kept going.

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

My fathers guilt instantly calcified into anger.

"How dare you speak to us like that?! I just told you, we couldn't hold you down! If you're going to put this on us, I'm going to lose my patience very quickly!"

...

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

"Excuse me? What is wrong with you? Are you deaf?!"

...

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

"Say that one more time!"

...

"Why didn't you stop me?! If you had just stopped me, I wouldn't look like this!!"

"Shut up!!!!"

My father absolutely lost it. He was panting heavily, jabbing a finger toward the bed. "Do you have zero respect left?!!! Keep acting like this, and you can sit in this room by yourself! We're done visiting you!!"

His eyes were bloodshot with rage.

But Beverly was completely deaf to the world. She just kept repeating the sentence. Over and over. The volume rising, the pitch turning into a grating, shrill siren.

My mother clutched her chest, unable to take the sensory overload, and burst into tears again.

"Beverly, how can you blame me?! Don't you think I wanted to save you?! We couldn't do anything, why can't you understand that!"

Only Brooks was still running defense. "Mom, Dad, she's just in agony. The trauma is too much for a young girl. She's just delirious from the pain, please, the most important thing is her recovery. Don't be angry with her!"

I immediately chimed in to help. "Yes, exactly... And... why does she keep repeating the exact same phrase? Do you think... when she hit her head..."

I delicately tapped my temple with one finger.

"Helen! What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Are you calling her brain-damaged?!" Brooks spat, instantly reverting to his default setting. "Stop trying to tear this family apart! We don't even know why she jumped in the first place. You bully her every single day, maybe you drove her to it!"

Brooks truly was a flawless NPC. No matter what happened to Beverly, his programming automatically pinned the blame on me.

I didn't even dignify him with a look. I just turned my gaze to my parents. "Mom, Dad, let's just call the doctor in. It couldn't hurt for them to check on her head."

The suggestion landed perfectly.

My parents exchanged a long, heavy look, their eyes darting back to the bed, evaluating Beverly with a new, deeply cynical calculation.

After all, a wealthy heiress with a few broken bones could be hidden away to heal. But an heiress whose brain was broken? That was a massive liability.