The Perfect Run

• April 2017, France, Village of La Turbie.

It was a sunny day in Monaco. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, and Simon rolled a boulder in hell.

How many times had Ryan looked at Monaco from this promontory? He had spent one year’s worth of loops trying to figure out this place’s ‘rules,’ and today would just be another attempt.

It took him a while, but he had found an old, pre-war UAV drone in an abandoned military base near Istres; a stealth, tactical reconnaissance device which Dassault built for the French Air Force. Ryan had modified it into a purple-painted quadcopter, and outfitted it with a submachine gun.

Controlling the device with a remote control, the courier received a constant video-feed as he directed the drone towards Monaco. His quadcopter flew through empty streets, and broke through windows to enter deserted houses. All buildings looked the same from the inside.

The whole city was a prop.

At least Ryan now confirmed the teleportation effect didn’t apply to machines, once the drone passed the two-hour time limit. The casino’s propaganda about fighting back Mechron was just as baseless as its tales of Andorran invasions.

As the sun fell behind the horizon, Ryan directed the drone to the Monte-Carlo casino. The quadcopter moved inside after blasting the doors with the submachine gun, and no clown came to stop it.

The real Monte-Carlo casino looked similar to the hellish dimension Ryan had spent a lifetime trapped inside, but it was neither infinite nor abnormal. The rooms were in their place, and the drone couldn’t find anyone within its walls.

When the drone prepared to leave the casino to resupply, the doors had repaired themselves. Ryan had the machine blast them again, fly through, and then turn around again. The doors had recovered the second they had been left out of sight.

Well, time to bring out the big guns then.

Ryan spent three months’ worth of loops mapping out the casino and its surroundings with the drone, down to the sewers. In the end, he had to face the obvious.

He couldn’t find any entrance into the pocket dimension.

“An ‘invitation only’ kind of place, eh?” Ryan said, as he put on sunglasses. Having taken offense at the situation, he had strapped a small nuke to his drone; thank the French for their pre-war nuclear arsenal. “You don’t say no to me.”

Sitting on a longchair on the coast of Cap-Ferrat, almost fifteen kilometers from Monaco, Ryan directed the drone to the Monte-Carlo with his remote control. He had to repurpose a local radio station to control his toy from so far away, but his work would pay dividends.

“After the shrimp,” the courier said while pressing the big red button, “the mushrooms!”

The video feed stopped functioning, as a bright sphere of light consumed Monaco. Everything within Ryan’s line of sight caught fire, from forests to the ruins of French ports along the Mediterranean coast. Colossal waves rose around the detonation point, and spread for miles. The ground trembled as far as Cap-Ferrat, a massive fiery mushroom rising up in the skies.

Ryan watched the cursed microstate go down in flames with a deep sense of satisfaction… at least, until the shockwave reached him and a powerful gust tossed his sunglasses off his face.

“Independence for Andorra!” the courier shouted in the microstate’s direction, as the mushroom cloud slowly died out.

A few hours later, Ryan strode through the burning ruins of Monaco in a reinforced hazmat suit, braving the firestorms, the ashes, and the irradiated dust falling from the skies. Every building had collapsed from the blast, and the roads were blocked by debris. The courier almost considered this experience a hiking trip.

“I will be the very best,” Ryan hummed to himself, as he reached the blast’s epicenter. Of the Monte-Carlo casino, only a crater remained. Whatever force allowed the place to rebuild itself, it couldn’t undo such devastation. “Like no one ever was...”

A flash of yellow and violet swallowed him whole, followed by the sight of a familiar marble hallway.

Damn it!

When he woke up again on the Tête de Chien promontory on April 1st, Ryan let out a scream of frustration.

Even nuking the whole place couldn’t dispel the effect!

He should have expected something like this. While the real Monte-Carlo served as the phenomenon’s anchor on Earth, the true maze existed in a separate reality. As far as Ryan could tell, the mysterious controller, ‘Jean-Stéphanie,’ lived inside his pocket dimension.

Or most probably, he had become the maze.

Ryan sighed, sat on the promontory’s edge, and considered what he had learned over his various experiments.

The effect activated whenever someone crossed into Monaco’s boundaries, as described by international law. This included the airspace, but not the territorial waters; Ryan assumed it had something to do with the old Franco-Monégasque treaties, with Jean-Stéphanie’s power unable to recognize the waters as ‘fully’ Monaco’s.

A victim was teleported inside the maze if they approached the Monte-Carlo, or stayed more than two hours inside the city’s limits. If they had crossed the frontier and left, they would be trapped the moment they fell asleep. It didn’t matter if they had stayed in Monaco for less than a minute, or spent three days fleeing across Europe before falling asleep from exhaustion. Ryan had checked both possibilities, to his dismay.

Once you entered Monaco, it never let you go. Ever.

The effect also applied to animals, except unlike humans, they were immediately teleported to the maze’s kitchens instead of the relatively safe marble hallway. Ryan had sent countless puppies to their death over the course of his research, and didn’t regret any of it.

He was, after all, a cat person.

At one point, he had even strapped the same nuke to a lamb, wiring it to detonate inside the pocket dimension. Since the sacrificial animal had teleported inside the kitchen, the resulting explosion spared Suitestown and blasted a large part of the maze to kingdom come. Ryan had personally entered the pocket dimension afterward to observe the results.

The damage lasted for twenty-four hours, until new rooms replaced the destroyed ones.

Since the teleportation always involved a flash of violet and yellow light, Ryan suspected the controller was a Psycho associated with these colors. It would explain the spacetime anomaly and all the weird, conceptual rules.

This meant only a powerful Yellow or Violet could permanently destroy the maze, if at all. So far, Ryan hadn’t located anyone capable of such a feat.

“Do I truly need to destroy this place though?” Ryan pondered out loud, as he observed Monaco from afar. The city was mocking him with its very existence. “I mean, it’s static and doesn’t spread. A fence would keep it contained, at least until I find a way to terminate it.”

His Perfect Run demanded that he free the people trapped inside Monaco, first and foremost.

According to his research, he could remain outside Monaco until April 28th, after which Martine would die in a shrimp supply run gone wrong. The lights would die out, and the clowns would tear her apart before Simon could rescue her.

Ryan had to find an exit within that timespan, but where? This place didn’t have a door in or out, and nobody could interact with the outside world once trapped inside!

… no one but Ryan himself.

“I am an exit,” the courier realized.

From what he understood of his power, the courier existed in two places at once: some kind of dimension beyond space and time, and Earth. The connection remained even within Monaco, though whatever power ruled the maze prevented his two selves from fusing.

It didn’t cancel the convergence entirely, it simply pushed back.

a barrier between its prisoners and the universe outside, it wasn’t an inviolate frontier. If Ryan could push

idea crossed

Five years.

and raid enough laboratories to gather the equipment he needed. He had

on this sunny day of April 27th, Ryan stood atop the promontory dressed for

most importantly, a classic trench coat. He kept an MP3 device around his belt, alongside a

the clowns shrugged off most firearms, he would make sushi

diameter. These steel-plated machines each had a hand-sized hole on one side,

The Resonators.

a ‘convergence’ similar to the courier’s own power. Particles would travel from one cube to the other, forcing a

build an interdimensional radio one

to activate within two hours, Ryan put the other in a travel bag and drove down towards Monaco with his trusty motorcycle. He crossed the microstate’s official frontier, ignoring the anti-Andorran propaganda signs on his way

front of the casino, stepped away from his vehicle, and moved towards

in a flash

many times he had lived through this moment, but hopefully, this would be the last. He took a deep breath, basking in the conditioned air flowing through this dreadful prison,

he walked out of the marble hallway and into the main lobby. “Welcome

spraying the carpet. The courier didn’t even wait for the head to hit the floor, as

and appetizers. “Dear guest, we must warn you that violence is

button. “Pick the place,” Ryan told the clowns,

monsters kept grinning, but behind the empty smiles, there were

few minutes later,

of the long hallway leading into the hotel suites almost made Ryan feel nostalgic. Almost. He walked towards Room 44, and knocked on the metal door. “Simon!” he shouted, “Simon! I

opened, and a shotgun raised at Ryan’s face. Simon was outfitted for combat, his leather armor

le sang versé,’” Ryan replied in

asking with skepticism: “‘Il n’a pas

laissé en Alsace,’”

astonished. “How do you know

the courier almost blurted out. “A former friend of yours in the French Foreign Legion,” Ryan lied for simplicity’s sake, “I came to save

you know that? Is this a commando operation? I thought the

Simon was too confused

front of the hole Simon had spent his life digging. Technically, the device would have

heard him use before. The emotion in the old

Hope.

Ryan typed on the Resonator’s control panel and activated the device,

warped around this energy stream, warping Simon’s hole into a shining hallway. Tension rose in the air,

this as

hallway of light seemed to stabilize around the particle stream.

Wind.

eyes had widened, and

his power, an opposing

Monaco turned

had breached

when time resumed, unable to take his eyes off the portal.

Ryan, think of a clever superhero

Ryan declared confidently. “The

sounded way better

“Dear guests.”

through the floor’s loudspeakers, a promise of

Andorran invasion threatening our border, the Monte-Carlo will permanently close until further notice.” Far from professional, the voice sounded downright passive-aggressive this time around. “Please exit the suites, so our beloved staff

Click.

of countless doors opening caused Ryan’s heart to skip a

so many faces, from Martine, to Jean, and Geoff, and Sally. The illusion of safety had been

let them escape without a

a metal mask with two rounded glasses

the courier said, as he put on the mask and activated the night vision mode. “Simon, evacuate everyone through the portal. I’ll take care

protested, clocking his shotgun. “You’re mad,

weapon. He would have blown it up if he didn’t know the

towards the final showdown, the courier activated his MP3 and put on a cheerful song. “Nobody but me…” Ryan hummed to himself, as the elevator’s doors opened. He disliked

entered the lobby, and faced an army of

shadows, and into the casino’s main lobby; all carrying napkins around their neck.

grabbed all the weapons they could find. Silver cutlery; golf clubs; sushi knives; and even a few nightsticks. Their metallic masks kept smiling, though their grins had

standing between them and

and uttered his war cry. “Monaco

horde charged at

butter. His sword’s edge disemboweled five clowns in a single strike, thick white blood flowing from their wounds like a

monsters attempted to shank him, one with a knife, the other with a fork. He threw one into the other, impaling the two in a single strike and causing them to drop their weapons. When a clown attempted to bypass him and reach the elevator, Ryan grabbed the knife and threw it behind him. The projectile hit the back of his target’s head, killing him

Ryan killed clowns left and right.

my winnings?!” Ryan snarled as he smashed a clown’s head against the floor, his face smearing the giant roulette below their

tickling. One platinum-faced clown had

the projectile hit his

Time and again.

Ryan dodged the plate, grabbed it in midair, and threw it back at the sender. The improvised frisbee snapped the monster’s skull

foe’s short game was good, but the courier cut his hands off with a stroke of his

to the ground, as a fourth crushed his

with one swing, and the fourth’s legs were sliced clean. His own token

slain, and more followed. A lifetime of suffering he avenged. Backs were smashed against pillars, shrimps force-fed down a throat. Wine

slippery, and yet Ryan

exaltation of a performance rehearsed for years. The hyenas that hounded him for decades fell like flies before his blade, and he

but more took their place. An endless tide of

introducing veteran entertainers from the International Circus Festival of Monte-Carlo!”

carnage, clown faces atop black bodysuits. They wielded swords, and into the

and on one he was

sword swing he dodged, and a ninja

he parried, dodged, and struggled. They pushed him back, back