The Perfect Run

Ryan Romano died countless times, by his hand or that of someone else.

But there was one death that trumped them all. The death that made him stop caring, and taught him to enjoy life. The perfect death, that no one should return from.

This is the story of this death.

This is the story of Monaco.

• April 1st 2017, France, Village of La Turbie.

The sun was falling behind the horizon, and the city of Monaco shone from below.

Standing at the edge of the Tête de Chien promontory, his trusty motorcycle and travel bag nearby, Ryan observed his target carefully. It had been five years since he had left Italy, and now was the moment of truth.

Well, technically it had been three months, but he lived through them again, and again, and over again. He had toured the coasts of the Mediterranean Sea, looking for any sign of Len and her submarine. He knew they had planned to go to America before… before the separation, but she couldn’t have crossed the Atlantic Ocean. She had to have stopped somewhere closer. Somewhere within his reach.

However, Ryan was starting to lose hope. He had toured Greece, Spain, France, every place he could think of. He had wandered the post-Wars wasteland, and came up short. And if she had left Europe completely, relocated underwater or on a distant island, he might as well look for a needle in a haystack.

There was only one place around the Mediterranean Sea that Ryan hadn’t visited yet. The country everyone warned him against. The place nobody returned from.

“Monaco,” Ryan said, as he observed the coastal city. It looked… nice, for a lack of a better term. And it bothered him a great deal.

First of all, the microstate was still standing. That alone was unusual. Monaco had once been one of Europe’s most luxurious coastal resorts, a den for gamblers and millionaires; and somehow, it still looked the part after the apocalypse. It seemed the bombs, robots, and nano-plagues had stopped at the border.

The buildings and houses had been spared from any degradation, and yet the time-traveler didn’t see anybody in the streets. Boats and yachts floated in the sea, empty cars formed long lines on the driveways, and Ryan couldn’t hear any noise. Not even the song of birds.

“I know I’m tempting fate by saying this,” Ryan muttered to himself, as he usually did to alleviate his loneliness, “but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

The time-traveler saved this very instant, just in case. Many had gone to Monaco, searching for supplies, Elixirs, or a safe haven; but none returned.

But none of these people could time-travel either.

“Well, guess this is the last chance, Shortie,” Ryan said, as he climbed on his motorcycle and drove towards the city. “If you aren’t in the place nobody returns from…”

Well, he could always try to cross the ocean and reach America, if it still existed. But most likely, Ryan would have to face the obvious.

That Len was gone.

The time-traveler had made his presence obvious, sent signals through radio towers and whatever communication channels he could find. If she hadn’t contacted him yet, then she was either unable to respond or dead.

And Ryan didn’t know what to do, if he gave up on his friend. His quest to find Len had guided him through so many restarts, and he had no other purpose in life. No cause to dedicate himself to. The time-traveler had been feeling adrift ever since Bloodstream’s death, and not even his power could counter his gnawing sense of solitude. Without Len, his existence had no meaning.

Ryan chased away these thoughts, climbed on his motorcycle, and followed the path down towards Monaco. As he reached the city’s official frontier, the time-traveler noticed a badly-painted sign on the side of the road.

“The armies of Andorra shall never conquer our great nation!” Ryan read out loud. Wasn’t Andorra another microstate?

The apocalypse truly caused all the weirdos to crawl out of hiding.

Ryan drove through the streets of Monaco, and much to his surprise, nothing terrible happened. He didn’t instantly fall dead, and no crazy Psycho ambushed him. It was almost disappointing.

However, the time-traveler sensed the pervading tension in the air. The streets were clean, the cars were all parked in the right spot, and the streetlights somehow worked perfectly; yet Ryan knew the city needed to import electricity from the French Republic, which had long collapsed. When he peeked through houses’ windows, he found them empty.

Ryan made his way to Monaco’s most well-known landmark, the Place du Casino. The famous Monte Carlo casino stood strong and proud, its 19th century magnificence preserved from the apocalypse. The clock above the entrance remained stuck at twelve, though the lights remained functional. The fountain in front of the entrance worked too, surrounded by a lush lane and floral arrangements.

“Is there someone here?” Ryan asked, tempting fate. Only a heavy silence answered.

Well, maybe he should look—

The plaza vanished in a flash of yellow and violet.

In the blink of an eye, Ryan found himself inside a luxurious marble hallway. Paintings adorned the walls, chandeliers provided some light, and the room led towards large wooden doors.

After a brief moment of surprise, Ryan looked around, but found himself back against a wall with only his bag of supplies. Had he been teleported somewhere else?

Ryan glanced at the paintings, most of them drawn in a surrealist style reminding him of René Magritte’s. One painting, ‘The Genesis,’ showed two gloved hands opening an Alchemist Wonderbox. Another, ‘The Triumph of Monaco,’ represented an army of golden men overrunning Mechron’s robots.

Perplexed, Ryan grabbed his supply bag and walked through the hallway until he reached the doors at the end. He noticed a sign above them, exquisitely painted with the brightest colors possible.

‘MONTE CARLO GRAND OPENING!’

However, next to that sign, Ryan noticed words crudely carved into the marble wall.

‘DON’T TRUST THE CLOWNS THEY WILL EAT YOUR HEART.’

Ryan continued reading, finding more ‘advice’ carved into the stone.

“Follow the arrows to the suites before it goes dark.” A second sentence was written next to it. Whoever carved it had done so in a hurry: ‘DON’T USE THE STAIRS TAKE THE ELEVATOR.’

Ryan lowered his gaze, noticing arrows carved on the floor. More and more confused, he opened the wooden doors and walked into the next room.

Much to his surprise, Ryan entered a replica of the Monte Carlo casino; or at least, what little he had seen from pre-Wars pictures. His steps echoed in a vast lobby supported by pillars, the ground replaced with a giant roulette table with one meter-wide tokens. Candelabras dangling from the ceiling provided the light, and the art decoration was the peak of 19th century luxury. Ryan glanced at the windows, but all of them were walled off with marble.

“Hello, dear guest!” a voice said at Ryan’s left, someone having snuck up on him.

“Ah!” Ryan took a step back, and instantly activated his time-stop. Or so he tried. He felt his ability strain against an invisible force for a brief second, but time refused to stop.

Panicking, Ryan drew a gun hidden beneath his clothes, only to quickly realize his mistake.

The creature in front of him looked like a human, but only superficially so. Its skin was unnaturally white, and most importantly, a clownish mask made of solid gold served as its face. It wore a croupier’s costume, including a bowtie, an old jacket, and gloves.

“Welcome to Monaco!” said the clown with a cheerful voice, the gold mask moving unnaturally with each new word. Its eyes and mouth oozed darkness. “The greatest country on Earth! How may I assist you?”

Ryan tried to stop time again, but something prevented his ability from activating. Damn it, did this place interfere with his power? In that case, if Ryan died within these walls…

“Where am I, Pennywise?” the time-traveler asked, keeping his gun pointed at the clown creature.

“In Monaco, of course! The greatest, most prosperous nation on Earth, by the divine providence of His Highness Jean-Stéphanie!”

“Oh, a new guest!” Ryan heard a new voice, as another clown walked into the lobby, albeit with a face of bronze instead of gold. Like its fellow clown, it wore a croupier outfit and carried a silver plate under its arm. “Welcome! Can I offer you a drink?”

What—what the hell? Did Ryan enter a Stephen King novel by accident? “Jean-Stéphanie?” he repeated, unsure which of these two clowns to shoot first.

“His Highness Jean-Stéphanie the First, Sovereign Prince of Monaco, Conqueror of Liechtenstein and San Marino!” The golden clown waved a hand at a marble statue near the pillars, representing a strange creature in a flattering position. The figure vaguely reminded Ryan of a man in a suit with a fedora, but with elongated arms and distorted facial features. “His Highness rose from humble birth to ascend to the throne of Monaco in 2005, by virtue of everyone else being dead!”

It said that with such cheerfulness too...

“Ever since, he has bravely defended Monaco against the Andorran hordes trying to destroy our great nation,” the bronze clown continued, before pointing his hand in one direction east of the lobby. “Now, I can show you our five-stars restaurant, if you wish for a warm meal? Or perhaps you would prefer to enjoy a game of roulette?”

the ground. The arrows

the bronze clown asked with a chuckle. “Why would anyone want to leave Monaco,

Ryan asked, more

invited,” the servant continued, its mask morphing into a disturbing smile. While he sounded innocent and cheerful, something in his tone made Ryan shiver.

more he stayed in their company, the more uneasy Ryan grew. Their kindness felt fake

clown said, as he and the other servant followed Ryan. Their

lobby. While all of them dressed like croupiers, their masks were made of bronze, silver or gold. Though they

bronze clown said. He tried to sound reassuring, but

the message at the entrance, and suddenly wondered if the sentence had a double meaning. He followed the arrow trail and eventually reached an open elevator in between two stairways. The wanderer briefly looked at them, only to notice bear traps and wires placed on the

Genome noticed a sign saying ‘HERE’ right next to the fourth-floor button, and smashed it as hard as he could. The door closed in front of Ryan, as a dozen masked

the elevator’s loudspeaker. “We must inform you that due to a national emergency, the Monte Carlo Casino will close early! But I assure you that, as long as His Highness Jean-Stéphanie protects us, the armies

hell was this

elevator’s doors closed the second

and activated the torchlight option. The area looked like a hallway leading to various hotel suites, though the walls and doors had been reinforced with steel plates. Only one room, numbered 44, seemed to have light coming from the other side, so

he shouted as loud as he could, though nobody answered. “Is somebody there?

Ding!

a dozen clowns emerging from it. This time, they didn’t invite him politely, or even say a

carried silver forks and knives in hands, and napkins

children don’t like clowns anymore!” Ryan opened fire

silver clown took a bullet to the face without slowing

normal human, albeit one built like Conan the Barbarian. His savior wore some kind of scavenged outfit composed

importantly, he carried a

man spoke in French, clocking his shotgun. The face beneath

clown apart, the creature leaking a white liquid rather than blood. However, the others quickly pushed the corpse

them and locked the door, Ryan hearing a loud thump on the other side. The

your ass!” the armored man shouted through the door. “I’ll

then turned to Ryan. “You alright,

gathered his breath and looked around. As implied from the outside, the area was a luxurious hotel suite, big enough to welcome an entire family. Decorated in the 19th French century style, the place had walls

Ryan also noticed a hole dug into one of the walls, a pickaxe

to Italian. He completely ignored the noises coming from outside and moved to the counter, leaving his shotgun within arm’s reach. He removed his helmet, revealing his utter baldness; Ryan would peg him around sixty, maybe a bit more. “You’ve wandered far away from your country, macaroni. What’s your

cheese,” the traveler replied gruffly. “Ryan

Simon. I’m the sheriff of Suitestown.” The man said while bringing out two glasses and a

Ryan replied

a heavy sigh. “Fuck, twelve years, man. Twelve years

where are we?” Ryan asked, demanding answers. “Is this

The real Monaco, that nobody comes back from.” An alarm echoed in the room, and Simon looked beneath the counter to

heard a woman’s voice on the other side

croupiers followed him. Yeah, he’s safe. Don’t worry.” Simon looked at Ryan dead in the eyes. “You’ve got weapons in

three guns, bullets, medical supplies,

then focused on the phone.

Simon hung up, carefully accepting the glass. He noticed a book at the edge of the counter, ‘The Myth of

the fourth floor,” the man explained. “I’m keeping the elevator border secure, maintaining the stairs traps. If we force the croupiers to use the elevator, it

a ray of hope in this insane nightmare. “Len Sabino. Black hair, blue eyes,

though. People like you, who arrive during the opening hours, they’re the lucky ones. Those who arrive at

dead, or not in this place. Ryan prayed for the

only safe zones. Something keeps them out, but only if the door is locked. We’ll find you a suite of

man gave Ryan a fiendish

stay here for a

Damn it.

Ten hours.

hallway though, the attack stopped abruptly. The clowns calmed themselves and returned to the lower floor; as it turned out,

the community’s mayor Martine, a twenty-eight year old blonde living four rooms ahead of

the danger, or underestimating it, and ended up teleported into the entrance hallway. Simon had been here the longest, a few

in that strange place. Well, he still sensed his ability activating, but an opposing force canceled it at the

Casino

card game arena, a stocking area, and a theater. Each room led to another, never in the same configuration, forming a giant maze with only the elevator and the ‘entrance hallway’ as the landmarks. According to the explorers’ estimation, the

reminded Ryan of a dungeon crawl video game, with computer-generated

the coffee and restaurants restocked regularly, though nobody knew how it worked. Someone once placed a camera in

one way to find out, and he wasn’t in a hurry to try the noose checkout. He had died a dozen times, and each experience had been harrowing so far. Many had told him death was

divided into groups, each with a specific task; from explorers mapping the maze, to gatherers looking for food. Since he was one of

was escorting Martine’s group as they scavenged food. And

Ryan, presenting him with a plate full of exquisite shrimps and salmon toasts. “May I offer you these gifts from our

threatening the croupier with a gun. Martine, less categorical, swiped all the toasts away and put it in a

completely friendly during opening hours, which in Ryan’s mind, made them even creepier. They switched from false affability to murderous hunger eerily fast, and they were frighteningly good

Carlo Casino often ‘closed’ early, at the whims of whatever force controlled the loudspeakers. The first time it happened, with only five minutes to return to the suites, Ryan thought his last hour had come. If he hadn’t made

moment Ryan dreaded it might announce an emergency closing, but it was just the usual nonsense. “Today is a great day for Monaco! Our soldiers won a great victory against the duke of Luxembourg!

with Lichtenstein, Luxembourg, Andorra, San Marino, but never the same one each

rise!” the voice

exists,” Martine told Ryan, “nobody’s ever seen him, not

His Highness is beyond our comprehension!” one of the creatures interjected, only to

it interfered with his power, then it was probably a Violet. “Though

as they returned to the

or pre-Wars technology magazines. Ryan thought he could perhaps create

found an exit,

a cassette of La Grande Vadrouille the other

replied, stopping in front of Simon’s room.

the mayor sighed. “I guess he’s occupying himself the best way he

door. As the deputy,

way to the hole in the wall, activated a torchlight, and walked inside. It took him more

his presence, though the sheriff didn’t stop.

would kill for a hamburger,” the man complained, hitting the wall with his pickaxe. “How long has it been since you

“Six months.”

means two more until they change the menu. They do that each time on Christmas.” The old man let out a sigh. “You know, there was this guy, who had a puppy dog. He thought it was cute, so he kept sending me pictures. Every time I looked at the furred thing, it kept barking at me. It barked, and barked, and barked. It was annoying like you wouldn’t believe. Every time it got on my nerves, I wondered…

a bit uncomfortable with

said. “And one day… I couldn’t resist. There wasn’t much meat, but it tasted good. Like a Christmas

not sure I understand

a reason, p’tit rital,” Simon said while making a short pause. “Mine was to eat puppies. When I look at these rabid clowns outside, they

a hotel suite did wonders for a man’s sanity. The wanderer dreaded to imagine how he would look ten years from now. “How long is your

“Two kilometers, p’tit rital.”

collapsed

energy for

don’t think there’s an exit this way.” Though Ryan hadn’t given up on finding one, he had the

eyes. “Have you ever read

you pitch

of Sisyphus, forced to roll a boulder for all eternity. A purely meaningless task. But when he finally realizes that it’s futile, and he stops struggling against his

Ryan asked with a disgusted frown. “That all our efforts

are futile. But I accepted them as meaningless, so I’m at peace with myself. You though, p’tit rital? You still think you’ll get

me outside,” Ryan pointed out,

shrug. “But suit yourself. I’m just telling you the secret of happiness, but I can’t force it on you. What I’m saying is, when you’re confronted with meaningless absurdity, you’ve

“That’s ridiculous.”