The Perfect Run

“I win,” Ryan said, resting on the flower garden in the outer wall’s shadow.

“Again?” Geist complained, the ghost overseeing the game with a doubtful expression. Apparently, his phantom skull of a face could squint. “It’s impossible. How can I keep losing?”

Well, it was hard to catch someone capable of stopping time.

In the end, the trip to Bliss island had been a disappointment. Every time Ryan tried to ‘visit’ a restricted area beyond the walls and the gardens, armored guards or Geist kindly asked him to turn back. Though he memorized the patrols and turrets’ locations, the courier didn’t see any way to get inside the facility without starting a fight and ending the current run.

Eventually, he just settled into playing games with Geist in the plant garden outside the fortress, waiting for Vulcan and the others to finish their business. The ghost had happily played along, though he wasn’t very good. Ryan had the feeling the suicidal specter appreciated having some company.

“I really need a job as a drug cook,” Ryan told Geist. “Can’t you haunt Cardinal Creep until he gives in?”

“There’s only one cook, and it’s Ceres,” Geist shrugged. “The rest of the facility supports her work, and nothing else.”

Ryan figured as much. Narcinia’s power made it easy for her to create new plants to harvest as raw material. Even this entire garden, capable of thriving in a toxic island, was probably her work. “So if she retires, no more Bliss?”

“Sort of,” Geist replied. “Father Torque has enough flower strains to continue the work even if she’s gone, though the quality will take a hit.”

“You shouldn’t say that out loud.” Ryan didn’t even move an inch, as Mortimer leaned over his shoulder, having phased out of the ground. “Walls have ears.”

“Do you want to play?” the courier casually asked the bodyguard. “It’s funnier when there are three players, and the guards are humorless killjoys.”

“You are no fun, no fun at all,” the hitman said, disappointed that he couldn’t startle Ryan no matter how hard he tried.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Geist asked, telekinetically crafting a chair out of nearby stones and dirt.

“Sparrow asked me to check on him,” Mortimer said, glancing at Ryan while sitting on the makeshift chair. “She was worried he might start a forest fire or something.”

“That’s demeaning,” Ryan said. “Sometimes I settle for nuclear winters.”

“They make me want to glow in the dark,” the hitman replied, looking at the game. “What are you playing?”

Ryan showed Mortimer bird talus bones. The hitman glanced at the bones, then at Casper the Ghost. “Knucklebones, really?”

“It’s to stick with the ghost theme,” the courier replied. “Want to play? It’s an old variant, a pure game of luck.”

Mortimer shrugged and grabbed some of the bones. “We should play cards next,” he said.

“Or use a Ouija board,” Ryan suggested, glancing at Casper. “Should be easy.”

“How does it even work?” Mortimer asked Geist, as he threw the bones with the force of his mind. “You need to settle some unfinished business before moving on?”

“Bite me,” Casper the Ghost explained. “I drank a Yellow Elixir on Last Easter, but it didn’t come with a manual. Hell, I thought I didn’t get any power until Mechron’s nanoplague turned my body to dust. I got the briefest glimpse of an afterlife, and then I was yanked back to that dumpster and bound to my mortal remains.”

“And you can’t leave the island?” Mortimer asked, throwing his bones on the ground. “Mortimer likes haunted houses. I could bury you in my garden.”

“I can’t go far, no,” Geist lamented. “My remains are all over the place now, so good luck putting it back together. Even Cancel only goes as far as preventing me from manifesting, and Pluto's power needs someone to be alive in the first place.”

If you asked Ryan, besides that geographic limitation, Casper had hit the jackpot as far as Yellow Elixirs went. Unlimited ectoplasmic powers plus immortality? That was a life to die for! Ryan laughed at his own mental joke, much to the others’ confusion.

the end,” Geist said before throwing more bones on the ground. It would explain his casual attitude about the

Mortimer sent many people there,” the hitman

haven’t reached any of those places, and I tried a lot,” Ryan said, winning another Knucklebones round, and

believed it too. “He thinks a powerful psychotropic like Bliss

solve all the long-term health problems before he overdoses on Bliss though,” Ryan said. “Especially the sterility thing. Though I guess it won’t matter much to

asked, a bit

get high on your own product.” Ryan had studied all drugs in-depth... for research purposes only. “Among other side-effects, Bliss acts as a long-term endocrine disruptor, working on a genetic level. Genomes aren’t affected much due

heard the rumor, but if you ask Poor Ol’ Mortimer, it’s

hitman, squinted,

the courier had grabbed Mortimer’s mask

Laurence Fishburne's. Same receding hairline, same soft features,

Mortimer complained while grabbing back his

He must have been in his early

the hitman replied, putting

emo teen's soul in an

grabbed it but didn’t recognize the number. “Quicksave Deliveries, what can I do for you?” he

“Riri?”

Wait, Len had

Mortimer asked mockingly, still sore about

at Mortimer’s face while walking away, and they bounced off the cackling hitman’s mask. Maybe his intangibility

Her voice was tense, alarmed, and Ryan could hear the children

probably

“My radars picked tremors coming from Rust Town, and multiple flying

Meta climbing out of their hole? Ryan wasn’t sure if this

called him; once again, the courier didn’t

Shortie, I will be back in a minute,” Ryan said, before switching calls. “Quicksave Deliveries, what can I do for you?

owe me

Blackthorn.

hope you appreciate,

be on your head,” Ryan said at the same

“You think this is-”

other side of the line; the courier briefly wondered

your first rodeo,

I would fire them if I were you.” Though Ryan was flattered to have earned himself an archenemy.

the corporate mastermind replied, considering his next words. “In truth, I wanted to thank you.

was a new

mistake pragmatism for weakness,” Enrique said, ignoring Ryan’s jab. “You think that because we let you be for so long, that we are prey. You’re wrong. We simply know that war is bad for business. War has no winners, only different shades of

not sure I

I know better. You Augusti aren’t a state or corporation we can coexist with. You are feudal warlords who

this about the suit?

composure broke slightly, and his true feelings poured through the corporate mask. “We have struggled for years to rebuild a functioning society. Now we are at a crossroads, with two visions facing off. The one that prevails

a point... at least in theory. “Take a look at Rust Town,” Ryan replied, completely unimpressed. “See where your high-minded words meet

my organization and

“That crazy guy who built an

to extremely pleased. “I assume

in the skies, flying under the sun towards the island.

up