The Perfect Run

Chapter 4

It was May 10th, 2020 for the first time, and Ryan hadn’t blown up something yet.

Frankly, this surprised him. Seventy-two hours were almost a hard cap for him for non-destructive behavior; he didn’t always cause it, he just had a knack for getting into exciting situations. Ryan wasn’t drawn to adventure. Adventure was drawn to him, and he couldn’t wait for a new adrenaline rush.

Driving at night up north, the courier and his Plymouth left the wealthy districts for more industrial ones. Hotels and casinos slowly vanished, replaced with railroad stations, grey buildings, taxi centrals, and other businesses. According to the map, they should reach the old harbor in no time.

“Existence is subjective.”

“Mmm?” Ryan asked, turning his head to the passenger to his right. He had to lower himself in the car, to avoid reaching the roof with his head.

“Your question, about whether I exist if you can roll back time,” Zanbato continued. The man had put crates full of chemicals at the car’s back, then insisted on chaperoning Quicksave during his first job for ‘the family.’ Both were supposed to protect a shipment from attack and beat up the Meta if they dared to interrupt it. “We can never know we exist, so there is no objective truth to existence.”

“You’re still thinking it over?” Ryan asked, a bit surprised. He said so much nonsense in such a short time, that people usually forgot what he said halfway through.

“Yes. It’s disturbing.”

“Eh, you get used to the uncertainty.” Better not tell him the truth.

The sound of cars gave way to that of waves crashing on the shore, and the faint rustle of the evening wind. The city’s old harbor seemed rather derelict, rusting buildings standing next to abandoned waterfront warehouses. The remains of a massive supertanker overlooked the sea, having crashed against a stony beach; the captain must have been drunk when it happened. If humans lived in the area, Ryan didn’t notice any.

They had entered the Poor Zone.

The quality of the air also drastically declined, to the point that Ryan felt like he was kissing a professional smoker; the stink even overwhelmed the smell of the sea. He blamed it on the proximity of a nuclear power plant, industrial facilities, and the famous Rust Town further north. “Somebody call Greenpeace,” Ryan complained. “They can’t all be dead.”

“Dynamis uses knockoff Genomes to keep the pollution in Rust Town,” Zanbato replied as they drove towards the stony beach. “But they don't do much to protect this area.”

“Is this what remains of Naples’ old port?” Ryan asked, curious. He had always been interested in pre-war facilities, especially since most cities had been transformed into nice, aesthetic craters.

“Yeah. Dynamis is building new docks in the south for freighters.” Zanbato pointed at a spot at the waterfront. “We can stop there.”

Ryan parked the car between two warehouses, then stepped down alongside his chaperone. A group waited for them near the remains of a pier, next to a huge pile of crates and a minivan.

The leader, and the youngest, was an African-Italian barely above eighteen, yet taller than Ryan himself. Physically fit, he kept his hair short and dressed fashionably; he had invested his drug money on a stylized sweater, boots, and refined pants. He really gave off a cultured middle-class vibe, even if he was busy smoking a joint as the duo showed up.

The rest… well, they were grunts with submachine guns, nothing special. Cannon fodder with a short life expectancy, and even shorter opportunities for career advancement, whom Ryan could identify on sight nowadays. The courier nicknamed them Grunt 1, Grunt 2, and Gruntie.

“Finally!” the leader complained upon seeing the two Genomes arrive, “What took you so long? You were supposed to arrive first! We’re in the open!”

“Sorry Luigi,” Zanbato replied, much calmer. “Traffic delayed us.”

“Hey, Luigi!” Ryan said with his best accent ever. “It’s-a-me, Mario!”

Luigi frowned, trying to make the connection, and failing. “I don’t get it.”

“I think it’s video game stuff,” Gruntie said, the other mooks shrugging their shoulders.

Ryan sighed. “It’s exhausting,” he complained, “to be an island of culture amidst a sea of ignorance.”

“Luigi, this is Quicksave, the new muscle I told you about,” Zanbato made the introductions. “Quicksave, this is Luigi, alias Crypto. He’s our supply guy.”

“You have a superpower too?” Ryan asked, faking astonishment. Could the only guy without a weapon be special?

“Yeah, I have a bullshit filter,” Luigi replied, tossing his joint into the sea to share with the fish. “Who’s your favorite Genome?”

foreign force took over Ryan’s mind, twisting

asked, a little peeved. “You like that cringey

hetero, but if Leo Hargraves sneaked into my room at night,

don’t want the details,” Luigi said, the effect lifted from Ryan’s mind. “See? Once you start

Ryan warned, wagging a finger at Luigi, “You’re going to ask me the wrong question,

to reload and start over. Bragging about his time stop was one thing, but Ryan always kept quiet about his save point. Someday,

you bring this guy instead of Sphere?” Luigi complained

samurai replied.

his fellow crook replied, turning to the grunts.

cleared his throat. “We can always argue about security after

Luigi replied. “I paid off the Private Security to look

about Il Migliore?” Ryan asked, curious.

they make a show of hitting our operations from time to time, but they’re too scared of us to try anything truly disruptive. They usually go after

theirs,” Zanbato explained, removing the crates from Ryan’s car. “It’s like the Cold War. But we’re close to Rust Town

to fist,” Ryan said, opening the trunk

upon them. The mechanism pushed the ram forward, knocking

he put his gloves on and showed them off. “I call them The Fisty Brothers because they fist people to oblivion. Everyone is afraid of nuclear bombs, but these?

that he alone had a future. Luigi looked at Ryan’s gauntlets, then at Zanbato. “Zan,

madness is a pit,” Ryan replied cheerfully, hands on his waist. “They’re wrong. Madness is

Luigi, as the other grunts helped add their crates

raising his sweater’s sleeve to reveal a

The machines lacked any form of cables, unlike old bathysphere models, and instead seemed powered by small propellers. Their

gasped, instantly recognizing the design. “That’s Len’s

courier summarily pushed him out of the way to

among thousands; the fondness for an outdated, steampunk technology made viable again; the ruggedness of the design, with beauty sacrificed on the altar of barbaric efficiency; the crimson

long-buried beneath the apathy and boredom.

search, Ryan was finally on the right

this mission would further his main

a flashback, turning to Zanbato and pleading like a child. “Where did you find it?! Please,

of the tech, not ours. We just

own these machines,” Luigi said, dusting his clothes and bringing out a phone. He started typing as the grunts threw the crates in the bathyspheres, perhaps sending a signal to someone else. “Just help

Speaking of cold.

that Ryan thought of it, it seemed to be getting chillier by the second. Unnaturally

sword of solid crimson light appeared in his hands, the perfect replica of a katana. “They’re here,” he said, the

and quickly noticed them

hoodie, the geriatric disaster had covered his body in sheets of ice, forming a multi-layered

behind Ghoul, although floating might have been a better term. The second Genome wore a black hazmat suit and gas mask, giving them a spooky vibe. Their gauntlets unleashed streams of compressed air, allowing them to propel themselves on the sea. In short, a living Chernobyl

Zanbato recognized the

main quest

to take them on alone?” Zanbato asked, a bit concerned. “You’re sure? They’re

the oiled stones, caught himself, and

Ryan, who mimicked a home run with an invisible

bull challenged a matador, the Psycho instantly veered off course, much to his companion’s surprise. He charged

as he came closer. A dozen ice shards formed from the moisture around the Psycho, while he said so many insults that Ryan’s mind automatically censored him. “You BLEEP, I’m going to BLEEP your skull

friendly. That wasn’t child friendly at

your teeth?” Ryan noticed. “You must have drunk a lot

the beach, unleashing a dozen ice daggers at Ryan at the same time. Apparently, he no longer played baseball but throwing knives. The courier accepted

knives hidden under his trench coat, aimed, and threw them. When time resumed, Ghoul’s projectiles were deflected by Ryan’s own; most ice shards hit a warehouse behind, missing their targets, while a throwing knife found its way to the Psycho’s

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