The Perfect Run

Ryan Romano died countless times, by his hand or that of someone else.
But there was one death that trumped them all. The death that made him stop
caring, and taught him to enjoy life. The perfect death, that no one should return
from.
This is the story of this death.
This is the story of Monaco.
= April 1st 2017, France, Village of La Turbie.
The sun was falling behind the horizon, and the city of Monaco shone from
below.
Standing at the edge of the Téte de Chien promontory, his trusty motorcycle and
travel bag nearby, Ryan observed his target carefully. It had been five years since
he had left Italy, and now was the moment of truth.
Well, technically it had been three months, but he lived through them again, and
again, and over again. He had toured the coasts of the Mediterranean Sea,
looking for any sign of Len and her submarine. He knew they had planned to go
to America before... before the separation, but she couldn't have crossed the
Atlantic Ocean. She had to have stopped somewhere closer. Somewhere within
his reach.
However, Ryan was starting to lose hope. He had toured Greece, Spain, France,
every place he could think of. He had wandered the post-Wars wasteland, and
came up short. And if she had left Europe completely, relocated underwater or on
a distant island, he might as well look for a needle in a haystack.
There was only one place around the Mediterranean Sea that Ryan hadn't visited
yet. The country everyone warned him against. The place nobody returned from.
“Monaco,” Ryan said, as he observed the coastal city. It looked... nice, for a lack
of a better term. And it bothered him a great deal.
First of all, the microstate was still standing. That alone was unusual. Monaco
had once been one of Europe’s most luxurious coastal resorts, a den for
gamblers and millionaires; and somehow, it still looked the part after the
apocalypse. It seemed the bombs, robots, and nano-plagues had stopped at the
border.
The buildings and houses had been spared from any degradation, and yet the
time-traveler didn’t see anybody in the streets. Boats and yachts floated in the
sea, empty cars formed long lines on the driveways, and Ryan couldn't hear any
noise. Not even the song of birds.
“I know I'm tempting fate by saying this,” Ryan muttered to himself, as he usually
did to alleviate his loneliness, “but I've got a bad feeling about this.”
The time-traveler saved this very instant, just in case. Many had gone to Monaco,
searching for supplies, Elixirs, or a safe haven; but none returned.
But none of these people could time-travel either.
“Well, guess this is the last chance, Shortie,” Ryan said, as he climbed on his
motorcycle and drove towards the city. “If you aren't in the place nobody returns
from...”
Well, he could always try to cross the ocean and reach America, if it still existed.
But most likely, Ryan would have to face the obvious.
That Len was gone.
The time-traveler had made his presence obvious, sent signals through radio
towers and whatever communication channels he could find. If she hadn't
contacted him yet, then she was either unable to respond or dead.
And Ryan didn’t know what to do, if he gave up on his friend. His quest to find
Len had guided him through so many restarts, and he had no other purpose in
life. No cause to dedicate himself to. The time-traveler had been feeling adrift
ever since Bloodstream’s death, and not even his power could counter his
gnawing sense of solitude. Without Len, his existence had no meaning.
Ryan chased away these thoughts, climbed on his motorcycle, and followed the
path down towards Monaco. As he reached the city’s official frontier, the time-
traveler noticed a badly-painted sign on the side of the road.
“The armies of Andorra shall never conquer our great nation!” Ryan read out
loud. Wasn't Andorra another microstate?
The apocalypse truly caused all the weirdos to crawl out of hiding.
Ryan drove through the streets of Monaco, and much to his surprise, nothing
terrible happened. He didn't instantly fall dead, and no crazy Psycho ambushed
him. It was almost disappointing.
However, the time-traveler sensed the pervading tension in the air. The streets
were clean, the cars were all parked in the right spot, and the streetlights
somehow worked perfectly; yet Ryan knew the city needed to import electricity
from the French Republic, which had long collapsed. When he peeked through
houses’ windows, he found them empty.
Ryan made his way to Monaco’s most well-known landmark, the Place du
Casino. The famous Monte Carlo casino stood strong and proud, its 19th century
magnificence preserved from the apocalypse. The clock above the entrance
remained stuck at twelve, though the lights remained functional. The fountain in
front of the entrance worked too, surrounded by a lush lane and floral
arrangements.
“Is there someone here?” Ryan asked, tempting fate. Only a heavy silence
answered.
Well, maybe he should look—
The plaza vanished in a flash of yellow and violet.
In the blink of an eye, Ryan found himself inside a luxurious marble hallway.
Paintings adorned the walls, chandeliers provided some light, and the room led
towards large wooden doors.
After a brief moment of surprise, Ryan looked around, but found himself back
against a wall with only his bag of supplies. Had he been teleported somewhere
else?
Ryan glanced at the paintings, most of them drawn in a surrealist style reminding
him of René Magritte's. One painting, “The Genesis,’ showed two gloved hands
opening an Alchemist Wonderbox. Another, “The Triumph of Monaco,’
represented an army of golden men overrunning Mechron’s robots.
Perplexed, Ryan grabbed his supply bag and walked through the hallway until he
reached the doors at the end. He noticed a sign above them, exquisitely painted
with the brightest colors possible.
“MONTE CARLO GRAND OPENING!"
However, next to that sign, Ryan noticed words crudely carved into the marble
wall.
“DON'T TRUST THE CLOWNS THEY WILL EAT YOUR HEART.
Ryan continued reading, finding more “advice’ carved into the stone.
“Follow the arrows to the suites before it goes dark.” A second sentence was
written next to it. Whoever carved it had done so in a hurry: “DON'T USE THE
STAIRS TAKE THE ELEVATOR."
Ryan lowered his gaze, noticing arrows carved on the floor. More and more
confused, he opened the wooden doors and walked into the next room.
Much to his surprise, Ryan entered a replica of the Monte Carlo casino; or at
least, what little he had seen from pre-Wars pictures. His steps echoed in a vast
lobby supported by pillars, the ground replaced with a giant roulette table with
one meter-wide tokens. Candelabras dangling from the ceiling provided the light,
and the art decoration was the peak of 19th century luxury. Ryan glanced at the
windows, but all of them were walled off with marble.
“Hello, dear guest!” a voice said at Ryan's left, someone having snuck up on him.
“Ah!” Ryan took a step back, and instantly activated his time-stop. Or so he tried.
He felt his ability strain against an invisible force for a brief second, but time
refused to stop.
Panicking, Ryan drew a gun hidden beneath his clothes, only to quickly realize
his mistake.
The creature in front of him looked like a human, but only superficially so. Its skin
was unnaturally white, and most importantly, a clownish mask made of solid gold
served as its face. It wore a croupier’s costume, including a bowtie, an old jacket,
and gloves.
“Welcome to Monaco!” said the clown with a cheerful voice, the gold mask
moving unnaturally with each new word. Its eyes and mouth oozed darkness.
“The greatest country on Earth! How may I assist you?”
Ryan tried to stop time again, but something prevented his ability from activating.
Damn it, did this place interfere with his power? In that case, if Ryan died within
these walls...
“Where am I, Pennywise?” the time-traveler asked, keeping his gun pointed at
the clown creature.
“In Monaco, of course! The greatest, most prosperous nation on Earth, by the
divine providence of His Highness Jean-Stéphanie!”
“Oh, a new guest!” Ryan heard a new voice, as another clown walked into the
lobby, albeit with a face of bronze instead of gold. Like its fellow clown, it wore a
croupier outfit and carried a silver plate under its arm. “Welcome! Can I offer you
a drink?”
What—what the hell? Did Ryan enter a Stephen King novel by accident? “Jean-
Stéphanie?” he repeated, unsure which of these two clowns to shoot first.
“His Highness Jean-Stéphanie the First, Sovereign Prince of Monaco, Conqueror
of Liechtenstein and San Marino!” The golden clown waved a hand at a marble
statue near the pillars, representing a strange creature in a flattering position.
The figure vaguely reminded Ryan of a man in a suit with a fedora, but with
elongated arms and distorted facial features. “His Highness rose from humble
birth to ascend to the throne of Monaco in 2005, by virtue of everyone else being
dead!”
It said that with such cheerfulness too...
“Ever since, he has bravely defended Monaco against the Andorran hordes trying
to destroy our great nation,” the bronze clown continued, before pointing his hand
in one direction east of the lobby. “Now, I can show you our five-stars restaurant,
if you wish for a warm meal? Or perhaps you would prefer to enjoy a game of
roulette?”
“Why are the windows walled off?” Ryan asked, as he glanced at the ground. The
arrows carved on the floor pointed west. “Where's the exit?”
“Why would you want to leave Monaco?” the bronze clown asked with a chuckle.
“Why would anyone want to leave Monaco, the greatest nation on Earth?”
“I do,” Ryan asked, more and more uncomfortable.
“But you are a guest, you have been invited,” the servant continued, its mask
morphing into a disturbing smile. While he sounded innocent and cheerful,
something in his tone made Ryan shiver. “We are at your service during opening
hours. We are always there for you, dear guest!”
The more he stayed in their company, the more uneasy Ryan grew. Their
kindness felt fake and forced. “I'll come back later,” he promised, following the
arrows.
“But we'll be closed soon,” the golden clown said, as he and the other servant
followed Ryan. Their posture had changed slightly, turning threatening. “We will
be closed very, very soon.”
“You stay away!” Ryan raised a gun at them, before noticing other clowns making
their way into the lobby. While all of them dressed like croupiers, their masks
were made of bronze, silver or gold. Though they maintained a respectable
distance, they still stalked the time-traveler like a smiling pack of wolves. “I'm not
afraid of clowns!”
“We only want to help you, dear guest!” the bronze clown said. He tried to sound
reassuring, but it just came off as creepy. “We exist to serve man.”
Ryan remembered the message at the entrance, and suddenly wondered if the
sentence had a double meaning. He followed the arrow trail and eventually
reached an open elevator in between two stairways. The wanderer briefly looked
at them, only to notice bear traps and wires placed on the staircases. With no
other way out, he walked inside the elevator while threatening the clowns with his
weapon.
The Genome noticed a sign saying “HERE’ right next to the fourth-floor button,
and smashed it as hard as he could. The door closed in front of Ryan, as a
dozen masked creatures glared at him in eerie silence.
“Dear guests.” Ryan froze, as he heard a male voice come from the elevator’s
loudspeaker. “We must inform you that due to a national emergency, the Monte
Carlo Casino will close early! But I assure you that, as long as His Highness
Jean-Stéphanie protects us, the armies of Andorra shall never destroy our
principality! Long live Monaco!”
What the hell was this place?
When the elevator reached the fourth floor with a “ding’ sound, the lights had
gone out; and the elevator’s doors closed the second Ryan exited it. He also
heard a sound coming from below, someone having triggered the wire trap.
Sensing that things would get ugly very soon, Ryan grabbed his cellphone and
activated the torchlight option. The area looked like a hallway leading to various
hotel suites, though the walls and doors had been reinforced with steel plates.
Only one room, numbered 44, seemed to have light coming from the other side,
so Ryan quickly knocked on its door.
“Hey!” he shouted as loud as he could, though nobody answered. “Is somebody
there? Hey!”
Ding!
Ryan looked at the elevator as its doors opened, half a dozen clowns emerging
from it. This time, they didn’t invite him politely, or even say a word.
Instead, they each carried silver forks and knives in hands, and napkins around
their necks.
“And that's why children don’t like clowns anymore!” Ryan opened fire with his
gun, while trying to stop time once more.
Not only did his power fail to activate, but a silver clown took a bullet to the face
without slowing down.
The suite’s doors opened, and someone stepped out. To Ryan's relief, though,
his savior was a normal human, albeit one built like Conan the Barbarian. His
savior wore some kind of scavenged outfit composed of an American football
player's helmet and pads, reinforced with pieces of medieval armor.
And most importantly, he carried a shotgun.
“I knew I heard something!” The man spoke in French, clocking his shotgun. The
face beneath the helmet was wrinkled, the eyes an icy blue. “Move out!”
Ryan immediately stepped out of his savior's way, as he fired the shotgun. The
shot blasted a bronze clown apart, the creature leaking a white liquid rather than
blood. However, the others quickly pushed the corpse out of the way and rushed
at the humans with hungry looks.
“Go, go, go!” the man shouted at the time-traveler, and both bravely fled into the
suite. The armored figure quickly closed the door behind them and locked the
door, Ryan hearing a loud thump on the other side. The malevolent croupiers
started screaming beyond the metal door, pummeling it with all their strength, but
it held.
“One day, before arthritis gets to me, I'm going to go kamikaze on your ass!” the
armored man shouted through the door. “I'll shoot you all up like Tony Montana,
and kill every last one of you!”
He then turned to Ryan. “You alright, kid?”
“I think so...” Ryan gathered his breath and looked around. As implied from the
outside, the area was a luxurious hotel suite, big enough to welcome an entire
family. Decorated in the 19th French century style, the place had walls white as
snow, and windows walled off with marble. The suite included various amenities,
from a sofa with TV, to a library and even a bar counter.
Most strangely, Ryan also noticed a hole dug into one of the walls, a pickaxe
nearby.
“You sound Italian, are you a rital?” the armored asked, switching to Italian. He
completely ignored the noises coming from outside and moved to the counter,
leaving his shotgun within arm's reach. He removed his helmet, revealing his
utter baldness; Ryan would peg him around sixty, maybe a bit more. “You've
wandered far away from your country, macaroni. What's your name?”
“Ryan, you French cheese,” the traveler replied gruffly. “Ryan Romano.”
“Name's Simon. I'm the sheriff of Suitestown.” The man said while bringing out
two glasses and a bottle of Brandy. “Which date is it outside? Gotta check.”
“First of April, 2017,” Ryan replied with a frown.
The man let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck, twelve years, man. Twelve years trapped in
this place. Is the planet still an irradiated dump?”
“Yeah, but where are we?” Ryan asked, demanding answers. “Is this the Monte
Carlo?”
“I would say Hell, but you're not that lucky. You're in Monaco. The real Monaco,
that nobody comes back from.” An alarm echoed in the room, and Simon looked
beneath the counter to grab a landline phone. “Yeah, Martine?”
Though he didn’t understand the conversation. Ryan heard a woman's voice on
the other side of the line.
“Yeah, yeah, a new guy arrived and the croupiers followed him. Yeah, he’s safe.
Don't worry.” Simon looked at Ryan dead in the eyes. “You've got weapons in
your bag?”
“Uh, three guns, bullets, medical supplies, food, and water...”
“Good. Gonna ask you to share. No selfish freeloaders here.” Simon then
focused on the phone. “Yeah Martine, we'll meet tomorrow. Take care.”
“You said you were the sheriff of Suitestown?” Ryan pointed out after Simon
hung up, carefully accepting the glass. He noticed a book at the edge of the
counter, “The Myth of Sisyphus’ by Albert Camus.
“We're about forty people spread all over the fourth floor,” the man explained. “I'm
keeping the elevator border secure, maintaining the stairs traps. If we force the
croupiers to use the elevator, it creates a bottleneck. Makes them manageable.”
“Have you seen anyone called Len?” Ryan asked, finding a ray of hope in this
insane nightmare. “Len Sabino. Black hair, blue eyes, Marxist-Leninist. She must
have arrived here one year ago.”
“Ain't seen any commies yet, and I've been here for a while. Might be dead
though. People like you, who arrive during the opening hours, they're the lucky
ones. Those who arrive at a bad time, well...” Simon gestured at the door. “They
get eaten.”
So Len was either dead, or not in this place. Ryan prayed for the latter. “Are there
“There's no other sanctuary, and no exit either,” Simon said bluntly. “The suites
are the only safe zones. Something keeps them out, but only if the door is
locked. We'll find you a suite of your own.”
The man gave Ryan a fiendish smirk.
“You're going to stay here for a while, p'tit rital.”
Damn it.
Ten hours.
The clowns’ assault lasted for ten hours. They screamed and hit the door without
any rest. When the lights returned in the hallway though, the attack stopped
abruptly. The clowns calmed themselves and returned to the lower floor; as it
turned out, they only turned hostile during “closed hours.’
The next day, Simon introduced Ryan to the community's mayor Martine, a
twenty-eight year old blonde living four rooms ahead of the elevator border. She
quickly gave him a rundown of the situation.
Everyone in the town had the same story. They came to Monaco, either unaware
of the danger, or underestimating it, and ended up teleported into the entrance
hallway. Simon had been here the longest, a few months after the Genome Wars
started.
Nobody else had powers, and Ryan's own time-stop didn’t work in that strange
place. Well, he still sensed his ability activating, but an opposing force canceled it
at the last minute. When he learned more information about this place, the time-
traveler eventually realized why.
The Monte Carlo Casino was a pocket dimension.
Or at least, that was Ryan's best guess. Besides the suite’s floor, every room was
a variant of eight others; a kitchen-restaurant, a giant roulette table, a lobby, a
slot machines room, a retail shop, a card game arena, a stocking area, and a
theater. Each room led to another, never in the same configuration, forming a
giant maze with only the elevator and the “entrance hallway’ as the landmarks.
According to the explorers’ estimation, the area covered at least eight square
kilometers, four times the size of Monaco itself. And they kept discovering new
rooms.
It reminded Ryan of a dungeon crawl video game, with computer-generated
rooms. Except it was a lot less amusing than he remembered.
At least the coffee and restaurants restocked regularly, though nobody knew how
it worked. Someone once placed a camera in a kitchen to record the
phenomenon, and the food and water magically appeared during the “closed
hours.”
Ryan wasn't certain if his save point still worked. There was only one way to find
out, and he wasn't in a hurry to try the noose checkout. He had died a dozen
times, and each experience had been harrowing so far. Many had told him death
was a peaceful end, but they clearly never died before.
The community was divided into groups, each with a specific task; from explorers
mapping the maze, to gatherers looking for food. Since he was one of the few
experienced with firearms, Ryan quickly became Simon's deputy, with his own
suite right next to the elevator.
Right now, the time-traveler was escorting Martine’s group as they scavenged
food. And he regretted it.
“Dear guest, I hope you have a happy time in Monaco, the greatest nation on
Earth!” a silver clown told Ryan, presenting him with a plate full of exquisite
shrimps and salmon toasts. “May I offer you these gifts from our chef?”
“Screw off,” Ryan replied, threatening the croupier with a gun. Martine, less
categorical, swiped all the toasts away and put it in a bag.
The clowns were completely friendly during opening hours, which in Ryan's mind,
made them even creepier. They switched from false affability to murderous
hunger eerily fast, and they were frighteningly good at sneaking up on people.
Worst, the Monte Carlo Casino often “closed’ early, at the whims of whatever
force controlled the loudspeakers. The first time it happened, with only five
minutes to return to the suites, Ryan thought his last hour had come. If he hadn't
made a mad dash at the elevator, he would have certainly perished.
A voice echoed through the loudspeakers. For a moment Ryan dreaded it might
announce an emergency closing, but it was just the usual nonsense. “Today is a
great day for Monaco! Our soldiers won a great victory against the duke of
Luxembourg! The blood of our enemies shall paint our yachts!”
“Monaco’ had been at war with Lichtenstein, Luxembourg, Andorra, San Marino,
but never the same one each day.
“Rise, Monaco, rise!” the voice continued. “Long live Jean-Stéphanie!”
“I'm not even sure he exists,” Martine told Ryan, “nobody's ever seen him, not
even the clowns.”
“Because His Highness is beyond our comprehension!” one of the creatures
interjected, only to be ignored. “Long live Jean-Stéphanie!”
“Could be a Psycho,” Ryan said as the group finished its scavenging and
returned to the elevator. If it interfered with his power, then it was probably a
Violet. “Though I don’t get why nobody came after me.”
“Perhaps his power sustains him,” Martine offered, as they returned to the suites’
floor. “Any progress with your radio?”
“Nope.” Some of the books the group managed to scavenge included manuals or
pre-Wars technology magazines. Ryan thought he could perhaps create a radio
powerful enough to call for a rescue.
It was a fool's hope, but until someone found an exit, it was all the group had.
“Wanna watch a movie tonight?” Martine offered him. “I found a cassette of La
Grande Vadrouille the other day. It's not high comedy, but it helps pass time.”
“Maybe another day,” Ryan replied, stopping in front of Simon's room. “Gotta
check on the old man.”
“I just don’t get why he keeps digging,” the mayor sighed. “I guess he’s
occupying himself the best way he can.”
Ryan shrugged and unlocked Simon's door. As the deputy, he had a double of
everyone's keys.
After closing the door behind him, Ryan made his way to the hole in the wall,
activated a torchlight, and walked inside. It took him more than an hour, but he
finally heard the sound of a pickaxe hitting stone. Simon was busy digging with a
torchlight strapped to his helmet.
“Hi, Simon,” Ryan announced his presence, though the sheriff didn’t stop. “We've
got shrimp for tonight.”
“Ugh, I would kill for a hamburger,” the man complained, hitting the wall with his
pickaxe. “How long has it been since you joined us, p'tit rital?”
“Six months.”
“Six months... which means two more until they change the menu. They do that
each time on Christmas.” The old man let out a sigh. “You know, there was this
guy, who had a puppy dog. He thought it was cute, so he kept sending me
pictures. Every time I looked at the furred thing, it kept barking at me. It barked,
and barked, and barked. It was annoying like you wouldn't believe. Every time it
got on my nerves, I wondered... how does he taste?”
“The guy?” Ryan asked, a bit uncomfortable with the discussion.
“The puppy,” Simon said. “And one day... I couldn't resist. There wasn't much
meat, but it tasted good. Like a Christmas gift I offered myself.”
“I'm not sure I understand where this is going...”
“God put us on Earth for a reason, p'tit rital,” Simon said while making a short
pause. “Mine was to eat puppies. When I look at these rabid clowns outside, they
all look like puppies to me.”
Ryan suddenly realized that years trapped inside a hotel suite did wonders for a
man’s sanity. The wanderer dreaded to imagine how he would look ten years
from now. “How long is your tunnel now?”
“Two kilometers, p'tit rital.”
“Two kilometers,” Ryan repeated. How had the whole thing not collapsed on him
yet? “Your tunnel is two kilometers long now.”
“I have enough energy for ten more.”
“I'm just saying, I don’t think there’s an exit this way.” Though Ryan hadn't given
up on finding one, he had the intuition this insane dimension expanded endlessly.
“I don't get why you keep digging.”
The older man looked into Ryan's eyes. “Have you ever read “The Myth of
Sisyphus'?”
“No, but I probably will, since you pitch it to me all the time.”
“In it, Camus presents the fate of Sisyphus, forced to roll a boulder for all eternity.
A purely meaningless task. But when he finally realizes that it's futile, and he
stops struggling against his fate, he is truly free. He has accepted his situation,
and through acceptance, found happiness.”
“So you... what, you think we'll never escape?” Ryan asked with a disgusted
frown. “That all our efforts are for naught?”
“Yes, our efforts are futile. But I accepted them as meaningless, so I'm at peace
with myself. You though, p'tit rital? You still think you'll get out, and the more you
fail, the more frustrated you become.”
“There's someone waiting for me outside,” Ryan pointed out, remembering Len.
“I don’t think so,” Simon replied with a shrug. “But suit yourself. I'm just telling you
the secret of happiness, but I can’t force it on you. What I'm saying is, when
you're confronted with meaningless absurdity, you've just got to roll with it. Like
the boulder.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“One day, you will realize the boulder isn’t your enemy,” Simon shrugged. “It's
your friend.”
“What happens if, through some miracle, you reach an end,” Ryan said. “But
instead of an exit, your tunnel leads to another suite? How would you react?”
“I'll find a new wall,” Simon replied with a bright smile, as he raised his pickaxe
again, “and dig another hole.”
Ryan opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “The boulder is your
friend?” he asked with a frown.
“The boulder is your only friend.”
It was December 2035 in Suitestown, and little had changed except the menu.
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Nobody had entered the maze for
years, probably because people
finally wised up to the danger of
Monaco. Or ji mystéridus
choptadfediie nd his dimension
kept working without him. Whatever
the case, with no fresh blood, the
JA)
community's numbers had started to
dwindle. Once nearly fifty at their
peak, they were now half that
number. Some had been eaten by the
clowns, while others... just gave up.
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Read the latest chapter there!
Simon ended up committing harakiri yesterday, as he promised he would. He
went out one night to die like a man, a cigar in the mouth, a bottle of vodka in his
left hand, and his shotgun in the right. In the end, the croupiers didn't kill him,
though many of them died trying.
Instead, the old sheriff's heart had failed him, unable to handle the stress of
battle.
The creatures hadn't eaten the body, though Ryan wasn't sure if it was because
Simon scared them even in death or out of twisted respect. The villagers burnt
the corpse and buried the bones beneath the bar counter he loved so much, and
Ryan had taken over as Suitestown’s sheriff. He even inherited Simon's suite.
And now...
Ryan faced the tunnel, wondering what to do with it. Simon boasted he had
reached the five kilometers mark before perishing, and would have probably
continued had his body not failed him. He even left his pickaxe right next to the
entrance; by now it had grown rugged from overuse, and could hardly dig
anymore.
And yet...
“The boulder is your friend, huh,” Ryan muttered to himself, as he grabbed the
pickaxe.
It was December 2101 in Suitestown, and Ryan was the last man in Monaco.
He rested on his bed, a pile of food within arms’ reach, scribbling his life's
memoir inside a journal. Though nobody new arrived in decades, he wanted to
leave any help he could in case someone ended up trapped in Monaco.
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Over the century, the wanderer had
explored the Monte Carlo Casino
farther than anyone, but learned little
more. The maze i wes infinite, \as
fa as hilcouid wll one of the
systems needed electricity to work,
the landline phones linking the rooms
functioning even while cut off from
one another. There was no central
communication system to carry
orders through loudspeakers, no
birthplace for the staff. The content
is on Novelxo.org! Read the latest
chapter there!
This place made no sense. It was a conceptual space, with no logic but the
maker's will. It had to be a Yellow Genome’s doing, but Ryan could never confirm
it.
He had tried everything, from radios to bombs. He had blown up the entrance
hallway, dissected the clowns, and even attempted bizarre occult rituals when all
else failed. Nothing worked. There was only one way to escape this place, and
Ryan had the feeling it would happen soon.
Two decades ago, when there were only five of them left with most too old to
survive without help, the survivors summoned a meeting. All of them decided to
take the bullet checkout option, except Ryan.
He had died too many times already to want to hurry it up.
A clown knocked on his suite’s door, interrupting his work. “Dear guest, perhaps
you would enjoy a game of baccarat downstairs? We are organizing a
tournament just for you!”
“No thanks,” Ryan rasped, refusing to leave his bed. They waited at the door day
and night, those assholes. They waited for him to die like hungry hyenas stalking
an old lion. But the time-traveler refused to perish out of sheer spite.
As a Genome, inherently better than humans, Ryan had aged gracefully. While
his body showed wrinkles, he kept the vigor of a middle-aged man even while
past a century old.
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)
And then, Ryan's health suddenly
started deteriorating one year ago.
Perhaps his Elixir-enhanced body
came with an prob
wasjusite SES ated toll of
living so long without natural light,
fresh air, or company. Thirty days
ago, the Genome woke up only to
S CL
realize he couldn't move far from his
bed without collapsing. Thankfully, he
had accumulated a food and water
reserve just for this occasion. The
content is on Novelxo.org! Read
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Ryan slightly regretted not going on a suicide run like Simon when he had the
chance. At least he would deny his jailers any satisfaction in his own way.
His old eyes wandered to the edge of his room, and the tunnel beyond. He had
almost reached the fifteen kilometers mark when his body finally failed him, and it
would remain one of his last regrets.
But most of all, Ryan regretted never finding Len. Never knowing what happened
to her. He had learned a great many things over the years, devouring any source
of knowledge he could find, sharpening his fighting skills, but he never
discovered how the world continued beyond these walls.
He would die with unfinished business. That was the most ignominious part.
But... well, it had been a life at least. He had defeated Bloodstream, and made
sure he would never kill anyone again. Ryan hadn't done everything he could
have done, but he tried. Maybe it was an old man’s last attempt at comforting his
guilty conscience, but... as he closed his eyes for the last time, the wanderer
thought he had found the acceptance Simon preached to him so long ago.
Accepting his fate didn’t bring him happiness.
But it brought him closure.
And so, Ryan slept.
And he woke up again, facing a bright light.
“What is...” The wanderer raised his hand, the overwhelming radiance too much
for him. It burned his eyes with its brilliance, and that strange force brushing
against his cheeks.
Was it... wind?
When Ryan acclimated to the light, he realized he was facing the sun. His hand
was no longer wrinkled, his legs could still carry him, and he felt young again. So
very young, so very strong. He breathed fresh air again, for the first time in
almost a century.
As he looked down, and observed Monaco from above, it didn’t take Ryan long to
realize where he was.
It was the same stone promontory where he last saved, almost a century ago.
“But I... but I died. I died in Monaco, and my power..." Did the pocket dimension
prevent the time-stop, but not the save point? And yet, the way he perished... It
couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Ryan knew it deep within his bones.
Old age.
Ryan Romano had died of old age.
And the whole thing started.
All.
Over!
AGAIN!
“I can't die of old age,” Ryan realized, as he collapsed to his knees. “I'm... I'm
immortal. I'm immortal.”
Nis
It would never end.
It would never, ever end.
He would always start over, all over again. Forever and ever. Though it could
prevent the time-stop, even Monaco couldn't undo the save point. Even old age
wouldn't cancel his save point.
“Ah...” Ryan chuckled to himself. “Ah...”
Ryan exploded into nervous laughter, rolling on the stone near his motorcycle.
He didn’t know how long he laughed, but by the end, the sun had long vanished,
and his throat felt sore. Then the time-traveler rested on his back, looking at the
stars in silence for half an hour.
Finally, when he rose up and looked at the stars, Ryan realized that he felt
nothing.
He had been scared of death before. Dreaded it. He feared the pain, the loss, the
brief oblivion after the light went out. Dying wasn't fun.
But that was before.
Now?
Now, he was no longer scared. Death no longer felt painful. After realizing even
old age wouldn't put him down for long, the wanderer had grown numb to it all.
Ryan Romano was condemned to live. To carry that boulder at the top of the hill,
and begin again. He remembered Simon's words, and realized the old man might
have been right. The time-traveler was Sisyphus reborn, and his life was absurd.
And instead of horror... Ryan felt a deep sense of liberation.
“You know what?" the time-traveler muttered to himself, looking down at Monaco
below. “I don’t care anymore.”
If Ryan was condemned to live, it would be to the fullest. He was no longer afraid
of anything, and he had all the time in the world. All the time to see how
everything could play out, to try everything worth doing. His life was an endless
game, and the sky was the limit. He was free to anything he wanted.
And right now, Ryan wanted to free Simon, Martine, and everyone trapped in this
hellish place.
If the time-traveler’s life were a video game, it would be his first quest. The first of
many, but far from the last. And after seeing the bad end, he wouldn't settle for
anything less than the perfect ending.
Ryan had embraced the absurd, and learned to love the boulder.