The Perfect Run

Vulcan’s workshop echoed with the sound of welding, while Ryan reviewed an armor sketch, ass on a chair and legs on the workbench.

Ryan’s job as Vulcan’s assistant turned out to be more desk work than anything exciting like target practice. She handed him designs for new armor, guns, or vehicles, and then asked him to review and improve on them.

As he examined her sketches, the courier realized that Vulcan’s Genius power was probably ‘weapon creation.’ All her inventions either had an offensive application or served to support weaponry. The Genius could even make cyber-warfare programs, like viruses capable of detonating cell phones from afar.

While it made Vulcan a devastatingly dangerous Genius, you couldn’t make a vehicle with just guns. She never patched her armor’s joints weakness, simply because her power refused to entertain innovative solutions in theory unrelated to warfare.

No wonder Vulcan desperately wanted a Genius assistant. She was a missile without a tripod.

“So, let me get this straight,” Vulcan asked, welding a new cannon to her armor’s right arm. “Underdiver doesn’t want you in her life, and Zanbato suggested you persevere?”

“Pretty much,” Ryan replied, scribbling notes on her sketch. He always found Genius-tech to be an interesting intellectual challenge, which was why he had devoted so many loops to studying it. “Oh, and he’s also throwing a party Thursday night.”

“Well, Jamie doesn’t know shit,” the Genius snapped back angrily. “I fucking hate white knights, and Underdiver doesn’t need one. She doesn’t need anyone.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Can you even fathom that girl’s sheer potential?” Vulcan interrupted him. “At least a third of the Earth is uninhabitable nowadays, and she can make self-sustaining habitats that can survive deep oceanic pressure. I’m making weapons, but her? She’s building the future. I could do without her tech, yes. But the money I send her? It’s an investment for mankind.”

She stopped welding, put her tool and iron mask away, and wiped away the sweat with her hand.

“White knights, they’re smothering,” she ranted, grabbing a water bottle and taking a sip. “They don’t help because they’re nice, but because they’re needy. They’re oppressive. What your girl needs is self-confidence, and she’s only going to develop that by building something that is hers alone. So if you really like that Len girl, don’t get in her way. If you want to help, don’t help.”

It didn’t sound at all like psychological projection. Not at all. “I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that opinion,” the courier teased her.

“Wyvern was the worst of the white knights, casting everyone in her shadow,” she replied, as Ryan had guessed. “You think she’s being a hero because she really believes in justice? It’s all ego. Self-righteousness. She wants the cheering children, people looking up to her, without making the hard decisions. If she really wanted to change things, she would have ditched Dynamis long ago. But she didn’t.”

“But what did she do to you personally?” Ryan asked, a bit confused.

“Haven’t you been listening? She kept me in her shadow. When we started, I was the brain and she was the brawn. I gathered intel and made the plans. She’s powerful, but she’s a mace. All the force in the world doesn’t matter if nobody can wield it in the right direction.”

The Genius continued going into a rant, venting off. Her voice dripped with bitterness and anger, her fingers crushing the now empty plastic bottle.

“Wyvern became famous because of me, but she was always the one in the field. The hero everyone talked about. And when we made a deal with Dynamis, it got worse. I wanted their resources to build myself a suit, make a name for myself. Become Wyvern’s partner, instead of her sidekick. But they kept me in a lab, vetoed all my plans. I can make any weapon, the likes that rival Mechron’s, but to the Manada… I was just the girl making their soldiers’ armor.”

“Let’s make a gun then.”

“A gun?” she frowned.

“A very big gun,” Ryan said. “A laser gun that can draw a logo on the Moooooooooon.”

“Why would I draw a logo on the moon?”

“To copyright it.”

Vulcan raised a finger, remained silent as she considered his sentence in-depth, and finally realized that she had no answer to it.

“I defeated you with logic!” Ryan gloated. In response, Vulcan threw her plastic bottle at him, although with a thin smirk at the edge of her lip. She moved towards the courier and grabbed the sketch, reviewing his additions.

“Interesting idea, though it’s useless in the rain,” she said, before raising an eyebrow. “Why is there a duck drawn in the bottom left corner?”

“I got bored halfway through.” She wanted him to review a stealth-model of armor, capable of blending into the environment. Invisible lunch-thief had given Ryan the idea to use optic cameras to record the wearer’s surroundings, and then portray them on the surface.

“You don’t enter a fugue state while working,” she noted. “Curious, curious.”

“Nice work,” a voice spoke from behind Ryan. “I want one.”

“Why thank you,” the courier said, peeking over his shoulder to welcome the newcomer.

A Genome had entered the room, somehow without opening the only door. It was a tall, lanky figure whose costume reminded Ryan of a scarecrow. A ghoulish, metal skull mask hid the face, and a black hooded cloak the rest of the body. Most importantly, that gentledevil seemed as fond of weapons as the courier, carrying guns on bandoleers and a sniper rifle.

“Tch, not even spooked,” the man complained, although Ryan wasn’t sure it was a guy at all; the skull mask digitally altered the voice, even if it sounded vaguely male. “You’re not fun.”

“Mortimer, stop bullying the newbie,” said Sparrow, as Pluto’s bodyguard entered the room through the door; instead of her absent mistress, she was followed by Cancel and a new face. “Sorry, Quicksave, he gets off on startling people.”

Greta waved a

returned the greeting, though he paid more attention to the third person

to her hips, with tanned skin and a perfectly chiseled face, this Venus could probably bring any man to his knees in

from the way she carried herself, her appearance had clearly gone to her head. She moved with such pompous pride and self-confidence, it was

care about

resemblance to

the bombshell introduced herself, the courier immediately remembering the name as one of

chuckled. “If you have

of a metal wall and put

the courier asked

“Yes. Shoot me.”

“Okay.”

rose from his chair, pulled his Desert Eagle out of his coat, and then fired with enthusiasm. The suddenness of the gesture startled Fortuna’s teammates,

he ran out of bullets, Ryan didn’t bother reloading. Instead, he threw the gun away, pulled another sidearm in his arsenal, and fired away. When he emptied the magazine, the

Glock 17L, Sistema Colt Modelo 1927, Stechkin APS—because the Russians made the best guns, followed by a Smith & Wesson Model

unable to hear him over the sound

Sparrow noted. “Where

death comes for you, you will never have enough guns!” Ryan shouted.

time resumed, the guards found their submachine guns missing, the courier wielding both as he opened fire on Fortuna. Vulcan raised a hand at the confused guards, who wisely returned

of nonstop shooting, Ryan moved on to shotguns, bombarding the model with a Remington

only had

first of his prized

were busy shooting,” Vulcan said, raising the metal sphere in her hand. “I knew it would come

Vulcan kept the bomb out of

“Impressed yet?”

unharmed while the wall behind her had turned into Swiss

Not a single one.

three steps away, shooting

like a Stormtrooper

level of divine providence,” the

the young woman replied with one of the smuggest grins the courier had ever

said, abandoning the use of nuclear weapons to get back to his trusty knife. “Which, if

him

she asked

“Za Warudo!”

stopped, the workshop turning

in time as the others. As he suspected, her negation power offered no automatic defense: she had to switch it

know. Ryan memorized that information

Fortuna, expecting to slip up through her ridiculous luck… but he didn’t. His power trumped her own. The courier briefly wondered where he should hit her,

their victims as trophies, he swiftly cut her blonde hair to shoulder-length with his sharp knife,

“Za Warudo: Hairdresser Style!”

but in this world of frozen time, the courier

original spot in

let out a ghastly wail of horror and surprise, which startled Ryan by its intensity. Greta didn’t flinch, Mortimer glanced down

the girl. She only had eyes for

Fortuna protested, her arrogance replaced with shock. “You cut

“You asked for it,” he replied, putting the cut

with

respect for the elderly, and I’m utterly color-blind. Doesn’t matter which gods you pray to, none of them will help. Beautiful or

share his civilized point of view, but Ryan guessed

clenched her teeth, “say

Mortimer rasped, unsympathetic. “All the times you mocked poor Mortimer,

is this the first time someone managed to

use my power on my teammates,” Greta replied, her expression ever cheerful. Ryan thought that

the courier told the crybaby, who kept glaring at him. “If anything I’m

Her glare morphed into a

obey your command without flinching, and I only get ungratefulness in return. Truly,

at him, unable

everyone’s attention. “Quicksave, these are the Killer Seven. Our