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.

special ammo, as 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 protecting them, and unlike Lightning Butt, bullets didn’t have

on his Christmas list, but in the meantime, he needed to target Adam’s throat and

to

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 flowed out of the wound. If anything, Ryan noticed

rival. Ryan had to roll to the side to avoid a

the courier survived the volley of blows by retreating, he did so by getting closer to the colored vats in

Elixirs, or

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

doubt crossed

the frozen Adam’s gullet, before diving down between the giant’s legs. The shot opened a hole in the Psycho’s throat, but

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

at the distance between Ryan’s current spot and his previous one. His voice had turned raspy from the throat wound, but

the Beretta with one hand and grabbing throwing knives

it a gut feeling, boyo,” Adam replied, before grabbing the blue liquid vat with both hands, and ripping it off the ground. Cables dangled from the

Acid Rain.

could sense Ryan’s power, at

Each of them usually fought with back-up, so Ryan never paid his movements full attention. But the way the Psycho covered his

encounter with the 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

many loops,

reflexes nor teleportation ability to

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

the glass vat did, blowing off Adam’s other eye. Ryan froze time before the

still had half left, but he was burning through his reserve faster than the national

shards in all directions. Ryan had escaped to safety by then, but a puddle of

it past his clothes and reached the skin

another liquid vat, red this time. His face had 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 like a dancer rehearsing his show. This isn’t

be the last,” Ryan replied, before realizing his mistake as the blind Psycho tossed the

the blue one, both covering half the chamber’s ground. Adam dragged a heavy flail from his gullet, and

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

that the courier had to stop time to avoid becoming a Picasso picture, rushing into the corridor without looking back. The time-traveler heard the flail’s spiked head hit a wall with a devastating

Or so he thought.

sharp pain raced across his waist, making him

at his belly, seeing the tip of an arrow sticking out from his trenchcoat. Crossbow, the courier realized, as he heard footsteps behind him. A crossbow

the flail and entered the steel corridor,

bolt sticking out from between his

“Lived through this before.”

Shit.

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

him down. When time resumed, one of his foe’s projectiles hit him in

the courier. The wounds didn’t slow him down at all. “I knew something was up when I watched you on the cams. Your timing was

With one last card up his sleeve, the

to see how far your pocket dimension

much, then the real deal will hurt even worse.” Adam opened his

replied before throwing the triggered A-bomb down Adam’s

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

bullet wounds on his foe’s chest and throat started to light up. “Bon appétit,”