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.

top-notch quality, the caliber couldn’t piece the colossus’ carbon shield in all

to target Adam’s throat and stomach. Ryan wondered how the Psycho’s second power

to find

through the carbon skin as time resumed, but no blood flowed out 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 suggest, giving his foe no

volley of blows by retreating, he did so by getting closer to the colored

or

raising his gun to counterattack, freezing time to get a better line of fire. But Big Fat Adam quickly covered his head, once again shielding his lone remaining

doubt crossed Ryan’s

but once again no blood flowed out. Big Fat Adam held a pocket dimension

Ryan had ran away as far from the Knockoff vats as

as glanced at the distance between Ryan’s current spot and his previous one. His voice had

Beretta with one hand and grabbing throwing knives

blue liquid vat with both hands, and ripping it off the ground.

Acid Rain.

Rain. He could sense Ryan’s power, at least

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 his

very room. He thought the

many loops, he still kept

to fully exploit that knowledge. Ryan still had the edge,

right eye. Adam closed his eyelid and the blade bounced off it, but this

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

but he was burning through

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

made 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

the blind Psycho tossed the vat in his direction. He might have been blinded, but

chamber’s ground. Adam dragged a heavy flail from his gullet, and swiftly swung it with his right

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, alerting Adam

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

Or so he thought.

waist, making

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

as he dropped the flail and entered the steel corridor, his head reaching the

smirk widened, a crossbow 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,

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 ogre’s footsteps growing

as he gained ground on the courier. The wounds didn’t slow him down at all. “I knew something was up when I watched you on

he had exhausted all his ammo. With one last card up his sleeve, the courier put a hand in his trench

see how far your pocket

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

before throwing the

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

the bullet wounds on his foe’s chest and throat started