The Perfect Run

Bacchus returned to his factory to find it in ruins.

The face he made upon seeing his base burning would forever remain one of Ryan’s most cherished memories. Such a subtle mix of disbelief, anger, horror… the priest had clenched his jaw so tightly that the courier worried he might break his teeth.

Augustus’ reaction had been far less amusing though.

After landing on the island to see things for himself and hearing reports of the Carnival’s involvement, the mob boss had decimated a tenth of the surviving guards. Literally. He picked one out of ten at random, and had their peers beat them to death.

With their bare hands.

Though Ryan watched the whole show from the safety of Len’s underwater base, a spy bathysphere providing a living feed, the scene had sent chills down his spine.

The courier feared for Vulcan’s life in particular. She had been in charge of maintaining the defensive perimeter which the strike team easily dealt with, and Mob Zeus was clearly out for blood. The Genius was too precious to kill, but Augustus didn’t strike Ryan as the most rational person in the room.

“I kinda feel bad for these mooks,” Ryan said, as the video feed cut.

“They deserved it,” Len replied at his side, typing on her workshop’s computer. Servers thrummed next to steampunk-ish metal pipes, a song of steam and heat. “They were protecting a slaughterhouse, Riri.”

“I agree, but getting beaten to death by your own teammates is a ghastly way to die.” More to the point, it gave a taste of what Augustus would do to Ryan’s friends if he ever learned of their involvement. “Can you evacuate the base in short order if needed? I have the feeling Lightning Butt might pay it a visit in the near future.”

“I can move the habitats if I am forewarned,” his best friend replied. “They were, uh, designed to be self-sufficient. Each of them. If I disassemble them, they can move around independently.”

“Tiny islands of communism in a capitalistic sea… did you call it the Cuba Protocol?”

Len looked up from her computer, her beautiful eyes reeking of guilt.

“You did,” Ryan said, horrified.

“The Cuba Initiative,” she said, weakly.

Ryan studied his poor deluded accomplice, only for his eyes to wander to her clothes. While the time-traveler kept the Saturn armor on, Len had made herself comfortable in her lair; yet instead of her usual jumpsuit, she now wore a pair of blue overalls and a white shirt. The ensemble reminded the courier of these USSR worker ads.

“Riri?”

“Are these new clothes?” Ryan asked, never remembering them from the half a dozen or so loops they spent together.

“Yes.” She blushed a little, intimidated. “Alchemo’s treatment is good for my mood, and I… I thought I should try something else. Something brighter.”

“As long as you don’t wear red,” Ryan mused.

Len looked away. “I… I don’t want to do so. I’ve seen enough red for a lifetime.”

Ryan suddenly wondered if her obsession with communist iconography hadn’t been a subconscious attempt to keep her father’s memory alive. Though that sounded a bit too far-fetched and Freudian for him. “Have you pondered Bloodstream’s situation?” he asked. He knew what needed to be done, but she had to accept it.

“I did,” Len replied with a nod, her gaze harshening. “If… if the treatment we’re developing to cure Psychos doesn’t work on him…”

She took a long, heavy breath.

“If it doesn’t work,” Len said, with an air of finality. “I will do it myself.”

She would euthanize her father.

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked, mindful of her wellbeing. This would be a horrifying ordeal for anyone. “I can do it for you.”

“No, Riri. You already did a lot of things on my behalf. It’s… it’s my duty. My choice. He’s… my father’s memory. He deserves that much.”

“You will carry this pain all your life.”

“I know,” Len replied, her gaze determined. “I know. But I will still do it. I have to.”

It took a while, but she had finally decided to break out of her father’s shadow. To bury his ghost, if the man inside was gone for good.

Ryan put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy, making her smile sadly. “Thanks, Riri,” she said, putting her own hand over his own. He could have sworn he could sense the heat through the metal gauntlet. “I… I know I’m difficult. A wreck. Most wouldn’t have had your patience. Wouldn’t have stayed so long to help.”

“We’re both sinking ships,” Ryan said. “Gotta stick together, if we want to stay afloat.”

“We were sinking ships,” she replied, removing her hand. “We were.”

The workshop’s computer bleeped, as Len received a call from the Mechron bunker. The picture of Stitch appeared on the screen, with Mr. Wave petting Eugène-Henry in the background. “Greetings, sir,” the plague doctor said. “It has reached my ears that the raid was a success.”

“Mr. Wave likes this cozy place,” Mr. Wave said in the background, Eugène-Henry meowing his hands. “But Mr. Wave feels his portrait is missing somewhere.”

“I keep a poster in my room,” Ryan said. “I also have the Mr. Wave doll, the Mr. Wave ring, and the Mr. Wave hat.”

Mr. Wave-themed

replied. That old machine had been at his side

respects a man who loves his car,” the superhero said. “Mr. Wave apologizes for not visiting your underwater base. Mr. Wave doesn’t

in underwater situations,” Stitch mused. “As our fight with the Kraken

Red

getting medical attention as we speak,” Stitch said. “Alchemo is enthusiastic about

and video footage of Mosquito’s and Mongrel’s underwater habitats appeared on the screen. Knockoffs had turned each of them into Psychos in combination with a true Elixir, and both had

recognize either

His bloodshot eyes had reverted to their natural brown color, and a black tuft

indicating his cell number; for the insect had turned into a man. A small, pudgy man in his early forties, with brown skin and a beardless face. He looked vaguely Spanish, with the eyes

could revert back and forth between his

a separate underwater habitat as a lair. Mongrel cut onions on his small kitchen counter, a bright smile on his face. He looked happy, like a cancer patient having made a miracle recovery. In contrast, Mosquito was reading a book and clearly

They looked so... normal.

most importantly, they

cured

this?” Ryan asked. Miss Gasshole was growing impatient about getting a treatment, especially since Alchemo hadn’t found a way to transfer

Knockoffs is currently possible, since our vaccine destroys the Bloodstream particles in their circulatory system and reverses the genetic damage. As illustrated by Mosquito’s

the Mad—or Vladimir the Russian, depending on who you asked. The

Stitch explained. “I heard of a White Genome among the

colored dimension,” Ryan said. “She doesn’t destroy

with the cure?” Len asked,

use DNA to exchange information,” Stitch explained. “They can understand and modify it, like a painter and a canvas, but they work on a different level. If one of my plagues modifies a target’s DNA, even using the Neanderthal gene ratio you believe is the key to managing two powers at once, the Elixirs reassert

their ‘mistake’ in the bonding process, they will see any DNA modification

as your friend Sarin, Frank, or Gemini.

wasn’t hosted in a brain, to the

exchange information?” Ryan suggested. This was his best guess, from

of information on the matter, but nowhere near

the bonding process,” Ryan said. “I know a place where we could learn more

accompany you,” the plague doctor said with eagerness. “I was skeptical at first about this project, but now I believe we are close to a great discovery. If we can negate the dangerous side-effects of Elixirs,

“Sure, but you should

warming,” Mr.

his options, and then looked at his

the negative. “I pushed my power’s limits with the transfer machine, but Elixir communications…

winter vacations,” Ryan said. “Can you outfit the submarine

looked rather eager to leave New Rome. “Do we have time to

with a proud smile. A few loops ago, Len had considered abandoning the surface altogether. She would have asked to go to Antarctica without

of effort, but she was starting

Mount Augustus by car, and moved to Mars and Venus’

was three stories tall, and made of grey stone and stained-glass windows rather than marble. Ryan found it a nice change from Augustus’ obsession

fancy clothes awaiting guests. Ryan noticed

and Sparrow had escorted them all the way to their destination on motorcycles. For a moment,

decoy. By using his powers to pose as the courier, the Psycho had provided him with a foolproof alibi. As far as the Augusti were concerned, Ryan had gambled colossal sums

with nanites that would explode in his blood if he misbehaved. It was Mechron’s version of an ankle tag, and

simple yet elegant. Meanwhile, Livia had chosen to wear a black turtleneck and pants, as if she went to a funeral

a word

the fountain. Sparrow and Mortimer did the same with their motorcycles. The former stayed near the Plymouth Fury, and the latter exchanged

out of her pocket and wordlessly showed

The courier posed in front of the fortress’ smoking rubble, thumb raised, while Mr. Wave peeked from

still looking

Livia said, as she switched out her phone. “If we were married, it would

joke struck you as

paused, before rolling her

crossed my mind.” This time it made her giggle. “I guess I didn’t spend

it rains, it pours,” Livia lamented, a smile on

can see you like my

wounding his sensitive heart, “but so bad they end up being funny

building. “So what’s the plan to get Narcinia out of her parents’ claws? They won’t let her out

an idea in mind, but I need a little more time to refine it,” Livia said. “Whenever your actions

driving wheel. “Bacchus kept test subjects in the

said, looking away.

asked, his girlfriend nodding hesitantly. “Then I will strike the

she warned. “It

that he could destroy Geist and had access to the Bliss Factory’s systems, he could easily shatter the defenses in his next run. “I could take Narcinia to the Carnival

father will

give him the

eyes with her boyfriend. “You intend to fight him,”