Cheap Gothic Soap Opera, Part 66

Suddenly, a woman walked in. "You can put that away," she said boldly, "You won't be needing it."
Bewildered, Tony tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move. Then he realized that he was finally sitting down, but with a gun in his hand. Then just like that he was moving, speaking, actions and words that he had no control over.
It was almost as if he were on autopilot.
"But that wouldn't be possible," he thought.
"Has everything else that's happened to you seemed possible?" the other half of his mind asked.
His eyes moved towards the woman. "Wait a minute. I remember her. She came into my office asking for my help on a case. But that already happened." He waited until his mouth opened again and tried to speak to her, to ask her for help, but he couldn't say the words that he wanted to say, and then she had gotten up out of her seat and was walking out of his office.

And then he was driving in his car.
"How did I get here?" he thought, "I didn't even see myself walking to my car."
But then he had arrived at a building. He got out and walked in, the odd sensation of being on autopilot everpresent. Then he was talking with a secratery, or maybe it was more like arguing. Was she a robot? It was hard for Tony to think when his body kept moving so much. Then he was in an elevator. There was a man there too, but Tony couldn't get a good look at him. It felt like time itself was speeding up. He shot out of the elevator into a hallway, but now things were going much to fast for him to discern anything. Was that the set he had worked on? Was that a tentacle?

Then everything stopped. Tony would have flown headfirst into wherever he was if his body had allowed him to move. He still had no control over his actions, but at least he had stopped moving. "Or he's just insane." What was that? "But that's nothing for you to worry about." Was that Sbrach!? Maybe Sbrach! would help him! "You're to be sacrificed!" His rising hope was cut to pieces, as he remembered what was to happen next all to well. And there he went, into the magic box, into the orange glow.

And he was back in his office, tripping over his chair. Wait a second. He could move! "What the hell?" He could speak! He spun around, shouting with joy for a whole minute. But then, midspin, he felt his throat muscles constricting. He started sinking down into his chair. Suddenly, a woman walked in. "You can put that away," she said boldly, "You won't be needing it." Dear god, it was happening all over again. He watched in mute, still horror as he went through that odd series of events all over again, until finally he was back in his office, tripping over his chair. He tried to use the little free time that he had to figure out what was going on. Why wasn't he going through all those other stories? Was he stuck in a loop? Was he in a story himself? Where did the other Tony Spumoni go? And what did that newspaper say? But suddenly, a woman walked in. "You can put that away," she said boldly, "You won't be needing it." And thus it began again. All the same people and places all over again. And then he was back in his office, tripping over his chair. But this time he counted how long he had: 4 minutes and 25 seconds. "4 minutes and twenty five seconds to get back my freedom!" he thought as a woman walked in suddenly. "You can put that away," she said boldly, "You won't be needing it."

(OP: Nate, January 13 2008)