The Perfect Run

It was May 8th, 2020 for the third time, and Ryan had already caused two traffic accidents.

He blamed the people of New Rome for this. The city’s inhabitants were as nervous as coffee addicts in the morning, and drove their cars like monkeys out for his blood. Moving on the walkway would have been safer.

Thankfully, he had saved right before passing the ‘Welcome to New Rome’ sign at the end of the highway linking the city to the rest of the Campania region.

Driving his highly customized red Plymouth Fury, Ryan stopped right before a tank truck would have hit him to the left, dodged a Bliss-addict meth-head, and then finally reached New Rome’s strip.

Owing to its reputation as the largest metropolis in Italy and a ravaged Europe’s capital of sin, New Rome was quite the sight. Built around the shores of the gulf of Naples years after Mechron’s drones bombed it to oblivion, it had the tallest buildings Ryan had seen since the end of the Genome Wars. None held a candle to the Dynamis Tower north of town, a glass spire symbolizing the company’s power over the region; corporate money had built New Rome, a city with no gods nor kings. Only money.

At the left of the driveway, Ryan could see the pristine Mediterranean Sea, glittering with the sunset while a distant island cast a long shadow on the horizon; on his right, he could glance at the countless casinos, gambling dens, and luxury hostels who drew so many tourists to the city. He even glimpsed the famous Colosseum Maximus, a modern replica of the old world’s Colosseum.

This district truly deserved its name of the Golden Coast.

Ryan himself attracted a few glances from tourists since he drove in his Quicksave costume. He covered his adorable face with a metal, mouthless mask with two rounded glasses for eyes, and his black hair beneath a black top hat. Add to that a navy blue trench coat, a purple shirt, blue pants, black gloves, and boots, and you became style incarnate.

The outfit was hot to wear, and not very practical for fighting, but it looked amazing. To Quicksave, that was all that mattered.

As he continued moving north towards his destination, Ryan noticed a few eye-catching publicity boards. One of them portrayed the superheroine Wyvern, a beautiful amazon of a woman with shoulder-length black hair, sharp greyish eyes, and a white bodysuit, showing off her muscles with a green potion in the background.

‘Want to be as strong as Wyvern? With our Hercules Elixir, what Hercules did in twelve labors, you will do in an afternoon!’

‘One hundred thousand euros, only at Dynamis!’

Meh, everyone wanted to be a Genome these days, even the shadow of one. Then again, who could resist superpowers-in-a-can? Ryan hadn’t, although he had taken the real stuff, not a cheap knockoff giving just a fraction of a real superpower.

His life had been a rollercoaster ever since.

Driving in front of a cliff tourist spot and a Miami-like beach, Ryan reached a tourist district, full of bars, nightclubs, and restaurants. The place smelled of drugs and alcohol, but it didn’t look seedy either. The worst neighborhoods were in the north, from what he had heard.

Having memorized the city’s map, Ryan quickly found the place he was looking for; an unremarkable pub located between an Italian restaurant and a closed nightclub. Parking his car nearby, the courier stepped down and opened his trunk.

Never good at organizing stuff, the young man had left all his belongings in a chaotic mess. His tools, computers, and weapons formed a mass of metal almost overflowing from the car; although none compared to his white rabbit plushie, the most devastating tool in his arsenal.

After searching, Ryan quickly found the black briefcase he had been hired to deliver, seized it, closed the trunk, and then entered the pub.

It was something of a cozy place with ten tables, only a third of them occupied. He briefly noticed some Latin muchacho trying to impress his date by levitating a coin in the air—he must have wasted fifty thousand bucks on a knockoff elixir. A balding, wrinkled old man with tanned skin stood behind the counter, looking at the newcomer suspiciously.

“Hello, local humans, I come in peace!” Ryan addressed the carbon-based lifeform called a barman. “Is this Renesco’s Jolie Wrangler?”

The man behind the counter glared at him. “It’s written on the front door. What do you want?”

Why did the bar’s title involve both French and English words, while the barman sounded like a true Italian? Multiculturalism struck again! “Then you must be Renesco!” Ryan handed the poor fellow the briefcase. “I’ve been hired to give you this! It’s full of mushrooms and a bomb, but I didn’t open it this time.”

“This time?” the barman frowned. “Are you…”

“I’m Quicksave,” Ryan introduced himself, tipping his hat. “I’m immortal, but don’t tell anyone.”

“Man, you said it loud enough for everyone to hear!” someone jeered at the back, the few clients laughing.

“That’s your power?” the barman asked, unimpressed. “Immortality?”

a

he seized the briefcase. “I’ll tell my boss and you should receive your payment

replied, a hand on the counter. “Hey, look, since I’m

her,” the barman said with a shrug. “If you’re

thanks anyway.” Knowing her, Len was probably hiding in some underground Kremlin bunker. “Any place where you can

you’re brave enough. You can always find interesting stuff at the Junkyard, but it’s full of cutthroats and Psychos nowadays.” The barman looked at Quicksave head to toe. “They’re going to eat

shrugged, while he heard someone enter the bar. The temperature seemed to suddenly drop a

the barman

tore out Renesco’s throat and nailed him

to activate his time-stop, but a sharp icicle hit his chest at astonishing speed. It pierced his bulletproof jacket and his ribs like a spear, then came out on the other side; leaving a gaping

sharp pain in his chest, Ryan collapsed on the counter but

lack of one. He looked like a walking, skinless skeleton with vestigial muscles, skeletal fingers, and frozen eyes. An unnatural, chilling mist came out of his mouth and nasal cavities, transforming into ice

his physical mutation,

telekinetically throw a chair at him, but the hostile Genome grew an armor of ice over his bones. A few icicles later, the Spanish guy and his date had their face redrawn

a finger at his murderer, blood flowing from his

wave of

for the fourth time, and Ryan

times! Three times he had died trying to make this

again, that was what he got when not paying attention. With the exception of his save point, his powers needed a conscious action to activate; his enhanced timing sense, in particular, didn’t kick in until after he had lived

hours after establishing a save point, three times in a row? His loops usually

This meant war.

repeated all the actions of his previous save. He

of entering, Ryan remained in his car, waiting for his killer

his pockets and his ugly face hidden beneath a hoodie. It said something about New Rome that this crook didn’t draw attention, as he entered the

one rational, responsible way

of the pub, set an ACDC song on the

the Wrangler’s entrance. Having been reinforced specifically for this kind of stunt, the Plymouth demolished the wall and hit the assassin from behind before he could attack. The collision propelled the hostile Genome

around, in case he had accidentally hit any of the clients; he had been very careful to position himself in an angle with nobody but the assassin on the path, but you could never

wouldn’t have to

he stepped down and moved behind

shouted while

before opening his car’s trunk,

The pisto-gauntlets? Too intimate.

gauss rifle?

shotgun? Tempting,

rabbit plushie?

The baseball bat?

Bat it was.

back to his feet, using the counter as support. Any other person would have died, but all

the fuck are you?” the undead assassin hissed angrily, trying to manifest his armor of ice over his

courier,” Ryan said, trying to think of a good

responded by raising his hand, unleashing a

Ryan lazily stopped time. The world turned silent, everything gained a purple hue, and the icicles froze

memorized that pun

around the path of the attack until he was right in front of his target. Neither clients nor the enemy Genome could move, trapped between two seconds. “Not gonna

the aluminum bat intimately. The undead Genome