The Perfect Run

Two presidents had walked into a room, and only one would escape it alive.

“How about we start this debate with gun politics?” Ryan said, as he clocked his Beretta. “Then we can move on to the War on Terror. Spoiler warning: you’re going to lose it hard.”

“I was about to suggest dietary policies, Laddie,” the living Michelin ad replied with pitch-black humor, as he kept his left hand hidden behind his back. Having lived through this situation before, Ryan had a pretty good idea of what, or rather who, he kept in reserve. “You’ll be the second person most concerned.”

He revealed his left hand, and Ryan didn’t flinch.

Big Fat Adam had brought a hostage, as he did during the courier’s suicide run. An Arab boy no older than fourteen, with tears of terror raining down his cheeks. A Rust Town denizen kidnapped to serve as cannon-fodder against the bunker’s defenses.

“And though I prefer to eat French,” Adam said with a vicious smirk, moving his right hand to hold his prisoner like a sandwich, “I can settle for a keb—”

Ryan swiftly shot him thrice, once in the face, and twice in the left hand.

Big Fat Adam closed his eyelids on reflex, but the first bullet impacted on the giant’s left eye and bypassed the carbon skin. The ocular organ exploded into a rain of shrapnel and blood, while the other bullets blew off the Psycho’s thumb.

The surprised Adam let out a roar of pain and agony, and his victim slipped through his bloodied fingers.

“Sorry, fatass, you made that joke before,” Ryan said as he rushed toward the falling victim and activated his power. “And it wasn’t funny the first time either!”

Adam’s right hand lunged to grab his hostage, but stopped inches away from his neck as the world turned purple. Ryan caught his ‘damsel-in-distress’ in his arms, and immediately moonwalked in the opposite direction.

No sooner did time resume than Adam’s carbon fist hit the metal ground, bending the steel.

“Run!” Ryan said, as he helped the hostage stand on his feet.

“But—” he started to speak in a Turkish dialect, too shocked to react.

“Escape through the corridor to the nearest voting booth, and stuff these ballots!” Ryan shouted in the same tongue, while Adam rushed at them with murderous fury. “Vote for me!”

The hostage was too shaken to do his patriotic duty, so Ryan decided to narrow his voting options. He began to freeze time, right as Adam the Ogre protected his face with his right hand.

Huh? Odd timing.

But still, Ryan loved immobile targets, and shot the hardened Psycho in the left leg thrice. One bullet bounced off his knee, but the others blasted holes in the calf.

“Let me introduce you to my friend, Depleted.” Ryan said as time resumed. Adam stumbled on the cold hard ground, and the courier was still out of his hand’s reach. “Family name Uranium.”

President Romano did not believe in gun control.

Where Ryan’s presidential charisma failed, the fear of the opposition worked like a charm. The hostage ran as fast as he could through the entrance corridor, leaving the two POTUS candidates to fight for the White House.

“I remember that voice…” Adam rasped as he rose back to his feet. In spite of the calf wounds, his enhanced Genome metabolism allowed him to carry on. “You’re Bloodstream’s kid. Cesare something. You’re here to settle Daddy’s score with us?”

“Actually, I’m here to take your presidential office for myself,” Ryan said, as he circled the giant from the left and waited for his time-stop’s cooldown to end. “Even people in your campaign staff voted for me!”

“The dead don’t get to vote,” Adam replied, although without any false joviality. His jaw extended as he put his unharmed hand through, and he brought out a grenade with Mechron’s symbol on it. “And you’re forgetting abstention.”

He activated the bomb and tossed it at Ryan.

The courier froze time and dashed to the left side to dodge, while Adam lowered himself as if to sprint.

he had only a limited amount. Worse, although the bullets were top-notch quality, the caliber couldn’t piece the colossus’ carbon shield in all places. The bones below the knee

list, but in the meantime, he needed to target Adam’s throat and stomach. Ryan wondered how the Psycho’s second power would react to intestinal

to

was so big that he barely bothered to aim. The bullet tore a hole through the carbon skin as

of red particles without harming anyone, while Big Fat Adam sprinted at his rival. Ryan had to roll to the side to avoid a punch, then lower himself to avoid a second. The ogre moved with greater speed and agility than his size would

that the Psycho’s attacks weren’t random at all. Though the courier survived the volley of blows by retreating, he did so by getting closer to the colored vats

contained knockoff Elixirs, or substances just

a better line of fire. But Big Fat Adam quickly covered his head, once again shielding his lone remaining

doubt crossed

frozen Adam’s gullet, before diving down between the giant’s legs. The shot opened a hole in the Psycho’s throat, but once again no blood flowed out. Big Fat Adam held

far from the Knockoff vats as possible, while Adam the

distance between Ryan’s current spot and his previous one. His voice had turned raspy

was a Violet?” Ryan asked, holding the Beretta with one hand and grabbing throwing knives from below his trench coat with the other. “You hadn’t recognized me

ripping it off the ground. Cables dangled from the

Acid Rain.

was like Acid Rain. He could sense Ryan’s power,

never dueled the Meta-Gang’s leader for an extended period in the past. Each of them usually fought with back-up, so Ryan never paid his movements full attention. But the way the Psycho covered his vitals whenever the courier attempted to freeze time, or the quickness of

with the courier backhanded all the way across this very room. He thought the fatass had simply been fast enough to hit him right after his time-stop ended, but now, the courier wondered if

Even after so many loops, he

Rain, the Fatass didn’t have the reflexes nor teleportation ability to fully exploit that knowledge. Ryan

the courier, right as Ryan tossed a knife at his right eye. Adam closed his eyelid and the blade bounced off it, but this

crossed the gap between the two fighters faster than the glass vat did, blowing off Adam’s other

burning through his

on the ground on impact, spraying blue liquid and glass shards in all directions. Ryan had escaped to safety by then, but

it past his clothes and reached

blood flowing from his eyes. If anything, the outside now matched the inside in its horror.

last,” Ryan replied, before realizing his mistake as the blind Psycho tossed the vat in his direction. He might

another projectile, but another red puddle joined the blue one, both covering half the chamber’s ground. Adam

the Knockoffs, Ryan dashed towards the chamber’s exit. His boots made a

picture, rushing into the corridor without looking

Or so he thought.

his waist, making

an arrow sticking out from his trenchcoat. Crossbow, the courier realized, as he heard

so easy without space to run around, huh?” Adam said as he dropped the flail and entered the steel corridor, his head reaching the ceiling.

bolt sticking out from between his

“Lived through this before.”

Shit.

Ryan opened fire with the Beretta. He blew holes in the blind Adam’s throat and chest, while the Psycho responded by spitting out a volley of

away, but the bolt embedded in his body slowed him down. When time resumed, one of his foe’s projectiles hit him in

when I watched you on the cams. Your timing was too perfect, your team too well-prepared. And then I wondered… if you can control time enough to stop it, maybe you could turn it

With one last card up his sleeve, the courier put a hand in his

your pocket

you would have turned the clock by now. And if you fear the substitute so much, then the real deal will hurt even worse.” Adam opened his mouth, the tip of a Blue Elixir’s syringe sticking out from the gullet.

throwing the triggered A-bomb down Adam’s

Adam gulped on instinct, swallowing both the explosive device and his own Blue Elixir. The Psycho covered his mouth with his hands, perhaps trying to vomit out the bomb, but he was too late to make

immediately crawled as far away as he could, while the bullet wounds on his foe’s chest and throat started to light up. “Bon appétit,” he said, taking the time