The Perfect Run

“I win,” Ryan said, resting on the flower garden in the outer wall's shadow.
“Again?” Geist complained, the ghost overseeing the game with a doubtful
expression. Apparently, his phantom skull of a face could squint. “It's impossible.
How can I keep losing?”
Well, it was hard to catch someone capable of stopping time.
In the end, the trip to Bliss island had been a disappointment. Every time Ryan
tried to “visit’ a restricted area beyond the walls and the gardens, armored guards
or Geist kindly asked him to turn back. Though he memorized the patrols and
turrets’ locations, the courier didn’t see any way to get inside the facility without
starting a fight and ending the current run.
Eventually, he just settled into playing games with Geist in the plant garden
outside the fortress, waiting for Vulcan and the others to finish their business.
The ghost had happily played along, though he wasn't very good. Ryan had the
feeling the suicidal specter appreciated having some company.
“I really need a job as a drug cook,” Ryan told Geist. “Can't you haunt Cardinal
Creep until he gives in?”
“There's only one cook, and it's Ceres,” Geist shrugged. “The rest of the facility
supports her work, and nothing else.”
Ryan figured as much. Narcinia's power made it easy for her to create new plants
to harvest as raw material. Even this entire garden, capable of thriving in a toxic
island, was probably her work. “So if she retires, no more Bliss?”
“Sort of,” Geist replied. “Father Torque has enough flower strains to continue the
work even if she’s gone, though the quality will take a hit.”
“You shouldn't say that out loud.” Ryan didn’t even move an inch, as Mortimer
leaned over his shoulder, having phased out of the ground. “Walls have ears.”
“Do you want to play?” the courier casually asked the bodyguard. “It's funnier
when there are three players, and the guards are humorless killjoys.”
“You are no fun, no fun at all,” the hitman said, disappointed that he couldn't
startle Ryan no matter how hard he tried.
“Shouldn't you be inside?” Geist asked, telekinetically crafting a chair out of
nearby stones and dirt.
“Sparrow asked me to check on him,” Mortimer said, glancing at Ryan while
sitting on the makeshift chair. “She was worried he might start a forest fire or
something.”
“That's demeaning,” Ryan said. “Sometimes I settle for nuclear winters.”
“They make me want to glow in the dark,” the hitman replied, looking at the
game. “What are you playing?”
Ryan showed Mortimer bird talus bones. The hitman glanced at the bones, then
at Casper the Ghost. “Knucklebones, really?”
“It's to stick with the ghost theme,” the courier replied. “Want to play? It's an old
variant, a pure game of luck.”
Mortimer shrugged and grabbed some of the bones. “We should play cards
next,” he said.
“Or use a Ouija board,” Ryan suggested, glancing at Casper. “Should be easy.”
“How does it even work?” Mortimer asked Geist, as he threw the bones with the
force of his mind. “You need to settle some unfinished business before moving
on?”
“Bite me,” Casper the Ghost explained. “I drank a Yellow Elixir on Last Easter, but
it didn’t come with a manual. Hell, I thought I didn’t get any power until Mechron’s
nanoplague turned my body to dust. I got the briefest glimpse of an afterlife, and
then I was yanked back to that dumpster and bound to my mortal remains.”
“And you can't leave the island?” Mortimer asked, throwing his bones on the
ground. “Mortimer likes haunted houses. I could bury you in my garden.”
“I can't go far, no,” Geist lamented. “My remains are all over the place now, so
good luck putting it back together. Even Cancel only goes as far as preventing
me from manifesting, and Pluto's power needs someone to be alive in the first
place.”
If you asked Ryan, besides that geographic limitation, Casper had hit the jackpot
as far as Yellow Elixirs went. Unlimited ectoplasmic powers plus immortality?
That was a life to die for! Ryan laughed at his own mental joke, much to the
others’ confusion.
“Frankly, I'm just a groundskeeper cleaning up the place, waiting for the end,”
Geist said before throwing more bones on the ground. It would explain his casual
attitude about the crime family's secrets, especially if they couldn't kill him
permanently. “Father Torque says he’s close to achieving Heaven though.”
“Poor Mortimer sent many people there,” the hitman said. “And to the place
below too.”
“I haven't reached any of those places, and I tried a lot,” Ryan said, winning
another Knucklebones round, and fairly this time.
“Father Torque saw God when he took his Elixir,” Geist said, and he sounded like
he believed it too. “He thinks a powerful psychotropic like Bliss could replicate the
effect and allow him to receive a divine revelation. Not sure if it will work, but a
ghost can always hope.”
“I hope Ceres can solve all the long-term health problems before he overdoses
on Bliss though,” Ryan said. “Especially the sterility thing. Though I guess it won't
matter much to a priest.”
“Sterility?” Geist asked, a bit surprised.
“I know health safety isn’t high among your priorities, but trust me, don't get high
on your own product.” Ryan had studied all drugs in-depth... for research
purposes only. “Among other side-effects, Bliss acts as a long-term endocrine
disruptor, working on a genetic level. Genomes aren't affected much due to their
enhanced metabolism, but everyone else more or less becomes sterile after one
year.”
“Oh, that?” Mortimer shrugged. “I heard the rumor, but if you ask Poor OI'
Mortimer, it's just Dynamis propaganda. They can't make a better product so they
denigrate ours.”
Ryan looked at the hitman, squinted, and then stopped time.
When it resumed, the courier had grabbed Mortimer's mask and looked beneath.
His true face looked a lot like Laurence Fishburne's. Same receding hairline,
same soft features, same Morpheus glare.
“Hey, my secret identity!” Mortimer complained while grabbing back his skull
mask.
“You aren't even old!” Ryan complained, extremely disappointed. He must have
been in his early forties at worst! “You're thirty years early to be such a downer!”
“Poor Mortimer is old inside,” the hitman replied, putting back the mask. “He's an
old soul!”
More like an emo teen's soul in an adult's body.
Before Ryan could mock the hitman further, his phone rang inside his coat. The
courier grabbed it but didn’t recognize the number. “Quicksave Deliveries, what
can I do for you?” he asked while taking the call.
“Riri?”
“Shortie?” Wait, Len had a phone?
“Is that your goomah?” Mortimer asked mockingly, still sore about the mask part.
“Vulcan won't be happy about that.”
Ryan threw the bones at Mortimer’s face while walking away, and they bounced
off the cackling hitman’s mask. Maybe his intangibility only worked through
inorganic matter.
“I couldn't contact you on the Chronoradio,” Len said. Her voice was tense,
alarmed, and Ryan could hear the children talking in the background. “You are on
Ischia Island?”
“The only habitable part of it,” he replied, leaning against the outer wall. “You
know Vulcan can probably record our conversations? Everything you say will be
held against you before in a court of law.”
“I couldn't wait,” she said, clearly in no mood for jokes, “My radars picked tremors
coming from Rust Town, and multiple flying objects moving towards Ischia
Island.”
Oh? Were the Meta climbing out of their hole? Ryan wasn't sure if this was good
or bad news.
Before he could ask for details, someone else called him; once again, the courier
didn’t recognize the number.
“Excuse me, Shortie, I will be back in a minute,” Ryan said, before switching
calls. “Quicksave Deliveries, what can I do for you? Pay for four explosions, and
the fifth one is free!”
“You owe me a suit, Romano.”
Blackthorn.
“I hope you appreciate, that everything-"
“-everything that happens now, will be on your head,” Ryan said at the same time
as his caller.
“You think this is-"
“-a game?” Ryan said at the same time, their words matching with perfect
synchronicity. Enrique Manada fell silent on the other side of the line; the courier
briefly wondered if he had been vexed. “I'm sorry, but after a while, you've heard
them all. You should stick to gardening, Poison Rosy.”
“I see this isn't your first rodeo, Romano, but this will be your last.”
“I'm not sure if you use a marketing department for your speeches, but I would
fire them if I were you.” Though Ryan was flattered to have earned himself an
archenemy. “Have you called to exchange threats? Perhaps challenge me to a
duel to restore your lost honor?”
“Nothing so old-fashioned,” the corporate mastermind replied, considering his
next words. “In truth, I wanted to thank you. You succeeded where I failed for
years.”
That was a new one. “Looking fabulous?”
“You people mistake pragmatism for weakness,” Enrique said, ignoring Ryan's
jab. “You think that because we let you be for so long, that we are prey. You're
wrong. We simply know that war is bad for business. War has no winners, only
different shades of losers.”
“I'm not sure I follow.”
“My father is a pragmatic man,” Enrique explained. “He believes we can have a
“detente’ with your boss, but my brother and I know better. You Augusti aren't a
state or corporation we can coexist with. You are feudal warlords who only
understand strength. And after you dared to attack our HQ, Don Hector finally
decided to speak your language. Consider what's about to follow... a friendly
reminder not to overstep again.”
Well, that was ominous. “Is this about the suit? Or revenge for the public
humiliation?”
“No, Romano, this goes beyond that.” Blackthorn's composure broke slightly, and
his true feelings poured through the corporate mask. “We have struggled for
years to rebuild a functioning society. Now we are at a crossroads, with two
visions facing off. The one that prevails will dictate what new world emerges from
the Earth's ashes... and I cannot, in good conscience, let Augustus become
humanity's future.”
To be honest, he had a point... at least in theory. “Take a look at Rust Town,”
Ryan replied, completely unimpressed. “See where your high-minded words
meet reality.”
“We don't always succeed at improving things, I will concede it, but the difference
between my organization and yours is that at least we try.” Another short pause.
“Have you heard of Giorgio Rosa, Romano?”
Giorgio Rosa, Giorgio Rosa... the Republic of Rose Island? “That crazy guy who
built an oil platform in the middle sea and called it an independent nation?”
“You are a man of culture,” Enrique said, his tone switching from icy to extremely
pleased. “I assume you also remember what happened to his rogue island?”
Ryan frowned, before looking at the sea. Black spots appeared in the skies,
flying under the sun towards the island. “It was sunk by the Italian government?”
Blackthorn hung up on him.
Ryan switched back to Len. “Riri? What's happening?”
“Say whatever you want about Dynamis,” Ryan said, a strident alarm echoing
across Ischia Island as the spots started taking shape. “They aren't all bark.”
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Thirty war helicopters were making
their way towards the Bliss
production facility, moxing In Hieg
grou psf ten, Rydntetdanized the
modal as customized NH90s,
optimized for troop transports and
naval warfare. They probably
transported three hundred soldiers,
perhaps more. The content is on
Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
“That's a lot of mooks,” Ryan observed. It reminded him of the Rust Town raid,
except he was on the receiving end this time.
“I'm coming,” Len said, before abruptly ending the call.
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Ryan slowly put the cellphone back in
its pocket, while Geist looked up at
the skies. Besides the helicopters, a
few Genomes followed the assault
team by flight. Besides the usual
)
suspect Wyvern, w pgdntt @
= "0
trgngforged YeER an noticed a man
wearing a fabulous hawk-like
costume made of crimson and green
feathers; the very winds seemed to
carry him above the ground, with a
small tornado forming around his
waist. A red-skinned, muscled
amazon followed, unleashing
streams of flames from her feet to
propel herself up. A devilish tail grew
out of her pants, and two curved
horns from her long black hair. Her
skin-tight, suggestive leather suit
reminded Ryan of a biker . The
content is on Novelxo.org! Read
the latest chapter there!
“Well, well,” Mortimer said, rising from his chair, bringing out a rifle hidden
beneath his cloak, “that ain't good at all. And Windsweep’s back in town!”
“Devilry too,” Casper said, looking at the red-skinned woman. Windsweep was
the template of the Tempest Knockoff Elixirs, and Devilry had inspired the
pyrokinetic Firebrand type. Dynamis had summoned Il Migliore's elite team.
Maybe they brought Felix the Cat too?
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. )
The guards protecting the island's
walls had immediately raised their
weapons, while the turrets around
the fortress turned YokardSthe
: N oN ~
helicopters. Instead of powering
through and starting a fight
0 ; Ss
immediately, Dynamis’ troops
stopped at a respectable distance,
waiting for a signal before opening
fire. The content is on
Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
Wyvern moved at the army’s vanguard, carrying a megaphone; out of everyone
present, she looked the happiest. Knowing the heroine, she must have been
waiting for a pretext to attack the island for a long time.
“Quicksave!” Wyvern spoke through the megaphone, her voice echoing across
the skies. “Jasmine! You are under arrest for staging a terrorist attack against
Dynamis’ labs! Both of you, step outside, hands behind the head!”
So what, they could let Vulcan trying to murder Ryan in a past loop slide, but not
the theft of a suit? Then again, it was cashmere.
Most probably, it was the public nature of the heist that pissed off Dynamis. An
attempted murder off-cameras could be swept under the rug, but a public affront
had to be met with a harsh response to save face.
“Fuck off, Laura!” Vulcan's furious voice echoed from the fortress, carried by
loudspeakers. She must have noticed the incoming army on her radars long
before it showed up. “I'm barely keeping my thumb from the trigger right now!”
“If you both come without resisting, you shall remain unharmed and we will leave
this island peacefully,” Wyvern said, her gaze focusing on Ryan. “Otherwise...”
She left the sentence hanging, all the defensive turrets pointed at her.
“Can I pay you to look the other way?” Ryan asked, raising euro bills like a white
flag.
“You are fighting for the wrong side, Quicksave,” Wyvern replied, completely
unfazed by his taunts. “But suit yourself. I've daydreamed about wrecking that
death factory for over two years.”
“I would like to see you yuppies try,” Mortimer added, the walls trembling while
Geist's skull face transformed into a ghastly vision of hell. “Mortimer has been
itching for blood lately, and he wonders if you bleed red or green.”
“I will say it again, Laura,” Vulcan's voice echoed through the loudspeakers, a
turret firing a warning shot into the sea. “Fuck. Off!”
“I'm sorry,” Ryan said regretfully, straightening his coat. “But giving you back that
suit would be a legit war crime.”
“I will take this as a no,” Wyvern said, more pleased than anything. “Good. I no
longer have to hold back.”
The heroine quickly tossed the megaphone into the sea and started changing
shape, growing into an enormous dragon.
“To be honest,” the mighty beast roared, her powerful voice carrying across the
island. “I have never done a drug bust this big before!”
As both the turrets and helicopters opened fire at each other, Ryan stopped time,
moved back to Mortimer’s chair, and turned it to face the sea. The courier sat, put
his hands behind his hair, and let time resume to watch the fireworks.
Shroud had wanted this island wrecked.
And Ryan always delivered.