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?”

force took over Ryan’s mind, twisting his tongue. “Mr. Wave

peeved. “You like that cringey

stop himself. “Also, I’m pretty hetero, but if Leo Hargraves sneaked into my room at night, I would still

Luigi said, the effect lifted from Ryan’s mind. “See? Once you start talking,

“You’re going to ask me the wrong question, and you

have to reload and start over. Bragging about his time stop was one thing, but Ryan always kept quiet about his save point. Someday, someone smart might figure out a way around his ace in the hole, so Ryan always kept it hidden up

guy instead of Sphere?” Luigi complained to Zanbato. “Or

elsewhere,” the samurai replied. “And you

to stop any of the Meta,” his fellow crook

can always

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

Migliore?” Ryan asked, curious. “Can you even

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

from Ryan’s car. “It’s like the Cold War. But we’re close to Rust Town

fist,” Ryan said, opening the trunk of his

gauntlets with a hydraulic piston-powered ram built upon them. The mechanism pushed the ram forward, knocking back the enemy upon smashing; the courier even improved upon the original design by adding an electrical shock effect to the mix, for double the

gloves on and showed them off. “I call them The Fisty

at Ryan’s gauntlets, then at Zanbato. “Zan, I don’t know on which planet your guy lives, but it’s clearly not

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

Luigi, as the other grunts helped add their crates to the existing

like weird people, period.” Luigi shrugged, raising his sweater’s sleeve to reveal a watch.

each large enough to house many within their confines. The machines lacked any form of cables, unlike old bathysphere models, and instead seemed powered by small propellers. Their reinforced glass door opened, but Ryan couldn’t

gasped, instantly recognizing the design.

as the courier summarily pushed him out of the way to observe the

thousands; the fondness for an outdated, steampunk technology made viable again; the ruggedness of the design, with

of the bathysphere awakened old emotions in Ryan, long-buried beneath the apathy and boredom. Nostalgia, joy,

after years of fruitless search, Ryan was finally on the right track. His days of solitude would soon be

this mission would

flashback, turning to Zanbato and

division takes care of the tech, not ours.

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 us

Speaking of cold.

thought of it, it seemed to be getting chillier

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

and quickly noticed

had covered his body in sheets of ice, forming a multi-layered armor. His body released a cloud of white mist,

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

recognized the two. “Maybe

Ryan said, eager to continue his main quest without interruptions. “You can continue with

to take them on alone?” Zanbato asked,

the stony beach and the supertanker. He almost slipped on the oiled stones,

who mimicked a home

how a bull challenged a matador, the Psycho instantly veered off course, much

the arctic as he came closer. A dozen ice shards formed from the moisture around the Psycho, while he said so many

wasn’t child friendly. That wasn’t child

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

a dozen ice daggers at Ryan at the same time. Apparently, he

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

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