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?”

asked, as he glanced at the ground.

a chuckle. “Why would anyone want to leave

asked, more and more

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

Their kindness felt fake and forced. “I’ll come back later,” he

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

were made of bronze, silver or gold. Though they maintained a

He tried to sound reassuring, but

elevator in between two stairways. The wanderer briefly looked at them, only to notice bear traps and wires placed on

button, and smashed it as hard as he could. The door closed in front of Ryan, as

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 of Andorra

hell

elevator reached the fourth floor with a ‘ding’ sound, the lights had gone out; and the elevator’s doors closed the second Ryan exited it.

cellphone 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

he could, though nobody

Ding!

opened, half a dozen clowns emerging from

forks and knives

Ryan opened fire with his

fail to activate, but a silver clown took a bullet to the face

savior was a normal human, albeit one built like Conan the Barbarian. His savior wore some kind of scavenged outfit composed of an American football player’s helmet and pads, reinforced with pieces of medieval

he carried a

spoke in French, clocking his shotgun. The face beneath the helmet was wrinkled, the eyes

out of his savior’s way, as he fired the shotgun. The shot blasted a bronze clown apart, the creature leaking a white liquid rather than blood. However, the others quickly pushed the

behind them and locked the door, Ryan

day, before arthritis gets to me, I’m going to go kamikaze on your ass!” the armored man shouted through the door. “I’ll shoot you all up like Tony Montana, and kill

then turned to Ryan. “You alright,

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 white as snow, and windows walled off with marble. The suite included various amenities, from a sofa with TV, to a library and even a

strangely, Ryan also noticed a hole dug

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

the traveler replied gruffly. “Ryan

the sheriff of Suitestown.” The man said while bringing out two glasses and a bottle of Brandy. “Which

April, 2017,” Ryan replied with a

“Fuck, twelve years, man. Twelve years

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

from.” An alarm echoed in the room, and Simon looked beneath the counter to grab a landline

understand the conversation. Ryan heard a woman’s

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, food,

you to share. No selfish freeloaders here.” Simon then focused on the phone.

the glass. He noticed a

secure, maintaining the stairs traps. If we force the croupiers to use the elevator, it creates a bottleneck.

of hope in this insane nightmare. “Len

I’ve been here for a while. Might be dead though. People like you, who arrive during the opening hours, they’re the lucky ones. Those who arrive at a bad time, well...” Simon gestured at the door. “They

dead, or not in this

“The suites are the only safe zones. Something keeps them out, but

man gave Ryan

stay here for a

Damn it.

Ten hours.

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

introduced Ryan to the community’s mayor Martine, a twenty-eight year old blonde living

had the same story. They came to Monaco, either unaware of the danger, or underestimating it, and ended up teleported into the entrance hallway. Simon had been here

place. Well, he still sensed his ability activating, but

Casino

was Ryan’s best guess. Besides the suite’s floor, every room was a variant of eight others; a kitchen-restaurant, a giant roulette table, a lobby, a slot machines room, a retail shop, a card game arena, a stocking area, and a theater. Each room led to another,

a dungeon crawl video game, with computer-generated rooms. Except it was a lot less

how it worked. Someone once placed a camera in a kitchen to record the phenomenon, and the food and water

He had died a dozen times, and each experience had been harrowing so

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

group as

told Ryan, presenting him with a plate full of

croupier with a gun. Martine, less categorical, swiped all the toasts away

friendly during opening hours, which in Ryan’s mind, made them even creepier. They switched

only five minutes to return to the suites, Ryan thought his last hour had come. If he hadn’t

usual nonsense. “Today is a great day for Monaco! Our soldiers won a great victory

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

Monaco, rise!” the voice

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

one of the creatures interjected,

said as the group finished its scavenging and returned to the elevator. If it interfered with his power, then

offered, as they returned to the

technology magazines. Ryan thought he could perhaps create a radio powerful enough to call for

was a fool’s hope, but until someone found an exit, it

a cassette of La Grande

Ryan replied, stopping in front of Simon’s room. “Gotta check

keeps digging,” the mayor sighed. “I guess he’s occupying himself the best way

the deputy,

him more than an hour, but he

Simon,” Ryan announced his presence, though the sheriff didn’t stop. “We’ve

with his pickaxe. “How long has

“Six months.”

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

guy?” Ryan asked, a bit

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

sure I understand where this is

a short pause. “Mine was to eat puppies. When I look at these rabid clowns outside, they all

man’s sanity. The wanderer dreaded to imagine how he would look ten years from now. “How long

“Two kilometers, p’tit rital.”

not collapsed on him yet?

energy for ten

exit this way.” Though Ryan hadn’t given up on finding one, he had the intuition this insane dimension expanded endlessly. “I

“Have you ever read ‘The Myth

but I probably will, since you pitch

fate 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 fate, he is truly free. He has accepted his situation, and through acceptance, found

Ryan asked with

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

me outside,” Ryan

you the secret of happiness, but I can’t force it on you. What

“That’s ridiculous.”