Mr. Pumble was a simple baker. He made the best croissants in the county, crisp and buttery perfection. Every morning at 5:00 AM, he began his dough.
One Thursday morning, he dropped a small, glittering piece of machinery into his dough mixer. He fished it out, wiped it off, and kept working. He thought nothing of it until Friday morning.
Friday morning, he woke up, went to the bakery, and found yesterday's croissants already perfectly baked and sitting on the cooling rack. Pumble was confused, assuming he was sleep-baking.
Saturday morning, same thing. Friday's croissants were there.
He realized the small, glittering object wasn't just machinery; it was a temporal loop device that had imprinted his Thursday morning baking routine onto the next twenty-four hours. He was living the same perfect baking day over and over.
At first, it was a dream. Perfect croissants forever, no effort required. But soon, the repetition drove him mad. He tried to break the loop—tried baking a cake, tried taking the day off—but every time the clock struck 5:00 AM the next day, he found the Thursday croissants on the rack.
In a fit of brilliant desperation, Pumble realized he couldn't change the outcome, but he could change the input. On Thursday morning, just before the loop was set, he baked the most terrible, rubbery, garlic-and-sardine flavored croissants the world had ever seen.
Friday morning, he woke up to find the foul-smelling pastries on the rack. The loop was still in place, but at least the sameness was broken. He spent the rest of his eternal looped day eating plain toast and waiting for someone to invent a normal, working alarm clock.
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