Edge Of Tomorrow -

By then, the landing at Porte Dauphine had become a bad dream stitched into his bones. Every bullet, every Mimic claw, every second of Rita Vrataski’s cold glare — all of it rehearsed a thousand times. The beaches of Normandy had nothing on this. This was hell with a save point.

Now, standing in the mud again, rain flattening his combat jacket, he watched the same soldier trip over the same crate. Three seconds until the first explosion. He stepped left, pulled the man up, kept moving. Small changes. Big ripples. Edge of Tomorrow

They hadn’t met a man who’d died so many times that dying became boring. By then, the landing at Porte Dauphine had

He used to think time loops were a gift. Then a prison. Then a teacher. every Mimic claw