Infinite Loop

Chapter 2 - The Setup

Thoughts swirled around him, threatening to overload his brain, but he came back to the basics. There were major items he needed to sort through before he could talk to the stranger in the bed, let alone anyone else he might bump into.

Staggering a little with the roll of the ship, he wondered what terrible part awaited him within the script he had entered. It did not help his mood while Warren gathered in every detail of the unimpressive stateroom.

Aside from the two narrow beds, brown painted walls, worn carpet, it was a first-class cabin. It said so on the yellowed plaque on the wall. Still, the room had grown tired, and the carpet gave off a musty smell.

Overall, the place was spartan, with no radio or television. Other than the narrow bed, the only other furniture in the cabin comprised a mahogany secretary with a single chair, along with a mahogany wardrobe.

He silently found his pants, instantly searching through the pockets for identification. Finding nothing but loose change, he remembered men often kept their wallets in their inner chest pocket of the suit jacket back in the day. He picked up the jacket and found a wallet. As he opened the leather case, Warren glanced at the woman, a strange feeling he was robbing the former tenant of the room.

Get a grip!

In the pocket, he found a passport. Dated June 1933, he learned his character's name, Warren Baker. It wasn't a surprise. Most of the scripts inside his insane world appeared set in the era, so he was getting used to it.

That's a bunch of bull, he thought.

Pulling out a pigskin leather wallet from the same pocket; he noticed the initials 'WB' on it. Inside, he found several hundred dollars and four unsigned traveler's checks worth a thousand a piece. The money surprised him, given the surrounding décor. The amount made him wealthy.

"What was it? Maybe a grand or so," Warren tried to remember a college lecture that brought up the average yearly wage in the era. For some reason, the information intrigued him at the time.

Funny that I can't remember the name of that hot blond in the class!

He shrugged to himself as he recounted the money and went through the wallet finding identification papers.

"Well, at least I have the same first name," he said.

The woman in the bed mumbled, rolling over in bed. Warren silently cursed himself for nearly waking the woman with his words.

Get yourself together. Maybe there's hope, he thought.

His brain rebelled at the thought amid the increasing pressure from the throbbing pounding.

Well, let's get this over with!

Rubbing his face, he went to the mirror. Identifying his latest look and body was always a shock. A glimpse earlier showed him he wasn't overweight or skinny. That was pretty average, which seemed normal in his crazy world. He leaned in close to get a good look at the new appearance. A white oval face with a slight stubble stared back at him.

According to his identification, Warren was five foot eleven, weighing 185 pounds. His green eyes and brown hair showed in the mirror. The man considered his average looks, determining he could live with the face. Not that he had a choice, he thought.

Shirtless and wearing boxer underwear. Warren turned, inspecting his stomach, arms, and legs and pleased with his general shape. Not a bad carcass for him, considering some of the other bodies he had lived in. Warren could swear he saw a hint of his former self in the mirror.

Out of habit, he rubbed on his elbow and found the same small scar just under the elbow. Strangely, the scar and his eye color remained the only identifiable marks he carried from what he called his first life. The traits came through the various characters he inhabited throughout his time in his purgatory.

Warren turned on the faucet, splashing the tepid water on his face. He stuck his tongue out before filling the glass next to the sink. After he downed the water in two gulps, filled another glass.

Phillips sat the glass back on the sink edge, preparing himself for the day. Investigating his new character and look for ways to avoid his promised death. It was the way of his existence, if you could call jumping into a place with a target on your back.

Over time, Warren gradually convinced himself that he must reach the conclusion of the movie alive. He convinced himself that he must change the script in order to get out of this cycle. Of course, it was only a hunch. He had no way to prove it. Obviously, he never made it far enough to determine the truth. His many attempts bore only bitter fruit, to use a biblical term. Warren Baker is the persona for him now. He sighed, trying to guess the reason for his role in this new place.

It's damn tiresome.

Hearing movement coming from the next room, he went to the toilet and relieved himself. After washing his hands, the new character walked over to the chair and sat down.

With his identity established, Warren flipped through his wallet and passport again to embed the little information in his head. His background consisted of a few pieces of paper so far. But that was normal for him.

The woman grunted as she rolled over, allowing him to get a good look at her face for the first time. It was nice-looking, round with a little too small nose and pouty lips. While she had a nice body and he enjoyed the bare breasts in his view, the woman was a little older than he would go for. Warren noted she was slightly overweight, and she wore too much makeup. Some of it remained smeared across the pillow cover.

How did they say it in the 30s? That's right, she's curvaceous.