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 were probably as hard as the skin

his Christmas 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

the Psycho in his belly, which was so big that he barely bothered to aim. The bullet tore a hole through the carbon skin as time resumed, but no blood

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 suggest, giving his foe

realized that the Psycho’s attacks weren’t random at all. Though the courier survived the volley of blows

Elixirs, or substances just

get a better line of fire. But Big Fat

crossed Ryan’s

in the 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

as far from the Knockoff vats as possible, while Adam the Ogre

Meta-Gang’s leader said, as glanced at the distance between Ryan’s current spot and his previous one. His voice had turned raspy from the throat wound, but he could still speak. “Ten if you push it. That’s

hand and

replied, before grabbing the blue liquid vat with both hands, and ripping it off the ground. Cables dangled from the device, spraying the

Acid Rain.

was like Acid Rain. He could

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

big fat president, which ended 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

loops, he still kept tricks up

didn’t have the reflexes nor teleportation ability to fully exploit that knowledge. Ryan still had the edge,

the courier, right as Ryan tossed a knife at his right eye. Adam closed

the two fighters faster than the glass vat did, blowing off Adam’s other eye. Ryan froze time before the vat could

burning through his reserve faster than the national defense

blue liquid and glass shards in all directions. Ryan had escaped to safety by then, but a puddle of liquid spread on

past his clothes and

turned red from the blood flowing from his eyes. If anything, the outside now matched the inside in its horror. “You know how I fight. You move

it’s gonna be the last,” Ryan replied, before realizing his mistake as the blind Psycho tossed the vat in his direction. He might have been blinded, but he could

projectile, but another red puddle joined the blue one, both covering half the chamber’s ground. Adam dragged a heavy flail from his gullet, and swiftly swung it with his

without risking getting exposed to the Knockoffs, Ryan dashed towards the chamber’s exit. His boots made a sound while he walked on a drop of liquid,

to avoid becoming a Picasso picture, rushing into the corridor without looking back. The time-traveler heard the flail’s spiked head hit a

Or so he thought.

waist, making him

panicked Ryan glanced at his belly, seeing the tip of an arrow sticking out from his trenchcoat. Crossbow, the courier realized,

Adam said as he dropped the flail and

bolt

“Lived through this before.”

Shit.

the Beretta. He blew holes in the blind Adam’s throat and chest, while the Psycho responded by spitting out a volley of crossbow bolts. First

bolt embedded in his body slowed him down. When time resumed, one of his foe’s projectiles hit him in the right leg below the knee. The courier collapsed on the cold hard ground,

The wounds didn’t slow him down at all. “I knew something was up 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,

one last card up his sleeve, the courier put a hand in his trench coat and

see how far your pocket dimension extends,

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. “Time to

throwing the triggered

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 a

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 to taunt his foe