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?”

“It’s part of a package deal,” Ryan replied.

“Whatever,” Renesco grumbled while he seized the briefcase. “I’ll tell my boss and you should receive your payment soon.”

“Good to hear!” Ryan replied, a hand on the counter. “Hey, look, since I’m here, have you seen a girl called Len? Black hair, blue eyes, Marxist-Leninist?”

“Never heard of her,” the barman said with a shrug. “If you’re looking for a girl, try a brothel.”

“That’s not really the type, but thanks anyway.” Knowing her, Len was probably hiding in some underground Kremlin bunker. “Any place where you can buy custom genius tech? Homemade?”

“Try Rust Town in the north, if 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 you alive.”

Ryan shrugged, while he heard someone enter the bar. The temperature seemed to suddenly drop a few degrees. “Renesco?” the newcomer asked.

“Yes?” the barman replied, frowning.

A second later, an ice spear tore out Renesco’s throat and nailed him to the back wall.

Ryan tried 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 hole where the lungs should have been.

The room erupted in screams, as projectiles shredded the tables and clients alike. Struggling against the sharp pain in his chest, Ryan collapsed on the counter but managed to glance at his attacker.

The newcomer removed his hoodie, revealing his face… or rather his 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 weapons.

A Genome. Considering his physical mutation, maybe even a Psycho.

“Adam sends his regards,” the killer rasped. The muchacho man in the bar’s back tried to 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 in a cubic style.

“I will get you…” Ryan dramatically raised a finger at his murderer, blood flowing from his mouth, “on my next save...”

The undead froze him alive with a wave of his hand, and all went dark.

It was May 8th 2020 for the fourth time, and Ryan was pissed.

Three times! Three times he had died trying to make this damn delivery!

Then 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 through events once already.

Ryan didn’t mind dying, since he had gotten used to it after the first two dozen times… but dying so soon? Less than two hours after establishing a save point, three times in a row? His loops usually lasted days, allowing him to try new and interesting stunts; while repeating the same things in quick succession bored him to death.

This meant war.

Ryan entered his autopilot mode, his mind wandering off while his body repeated all the actions of his previous save. He only stopped and regained full consciousness as he reached the bar.

Instead of entering, Ryan remained in his car, waiting for his killer to show up.

He didn’t have to wait long, as the assassin walked out of a street corner, hands in 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 Jolie Wrangler.

There was only one rational, responsible way to act.

Ryan moved the car right in front of the pub, set an ACDC song on the radio, and then smashed the accelerator.

Pedestrians screamed in panic, some leaping out of the way as the car drove into 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 against the counter, like a deer on the road.

Quicksave briefly looked 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 know. Thankfully, he hadn’t harmed anyone, and the Spanish muchacho was too busy holding his terrified girlfriend in his arms to throw stuff at Ryan.

Good. He wouldn’t have to reload again.

“Hey, guys, I’m Quicksave!” Ryan told the shocked clients, as he stepped down and moved behind his car. “I’m immortal, but don’t tell anyone!”

“I’m calling Security!” Renesco shouted while hiding behind the counter.

“Don’t bother, I will be done in a minute!” Ryan replied before opening his car’s trunk, unconcerned. He looked at his weapons, trying to find the right one for the job.

The pisto-gauntlets? Too intimate.

The gauss rifle? Too quick.

The shotgun? Tempting, but overdone.

The rabbit plushie? Far too powerful.

The baseball bat?

Bat it was.

Ryan whistled while playing with his chosen weapon, approaching the assassin as he rose back to his feet, using the counter as support. Any other person would have died, but all Genomes possessed enhanced physical abilities.

“Who the **** are you?” the undead assassin hissed angrily, trying to manifest his armor of ice over his body as he did in the last loop, but too stunned to focus. “An Augusti?!”

“Nah, I’m just a courier,” Ryan said, trying to think of a good one-liner. “Sorry, can you give me your name while you still have teeth?”

The skeleton responded by raising his hand, unleashing a volley of ice shards.

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

Eh. Froze. The courier memorized that pun for later.

“Yeah, you took me by surprise last time,” Quicksave said, as he moved 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 happen again.”

When time resumed and the world regained its colors, the skeleton kissed the aluminum bat intimately. The undead Genome lost a few teeth since his jaw was tight. Must have been his first time.

The attack tossed the killer to his knees, and another strike introduced him face-first to the ground. Ryan started beating him up to the tune of Highway to Hell, singing to himself. Between the shock of being hit by a car at full speed and the blow to the head, the enemy Genome couldn’t mount a resistance. Also, it seemed he had some frozen blood below the bones and vestigial flesh.

“I feel like the healthcare system, beating up a helpless granny.” Ryan shook his head in disgust at the assassin, before hitting him again. “Look at what you made me do!”

The wicked fossil couldn’t offer a good excuse, so Quicksave continued his assault. His unnatural resilience would allow him to survive far worse, and considering he had killed Ryan once, the courier didn’t feel bad beating him up within an inch of his life.

“Drop your weapons!”

Ryan turned around, three men in black riot gear pointing energy rifles at him from behind. They surrounded his car, while they proudly displayed the ouroboros symbol of the Dynamis corporation on their chests; probably members of Private Security. A crowd of civilians had gathered outside the bar, looking at the scene while maintaining a respectful distance. Some had even started taking pictures.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help!” Ryan protested, waving his bloodstained bat in surrender after kicking the assassin with his boot one last time.

“You blew up my bar!” Renesco protested, emerging from behind the counter with a crimson face.

“Oh, you want money?” Quicksave quickly searched inside his trench coat as three red circles appeared on his mask, before bringing out a wad of banknotes worth fifty thousand euros. “Here, have a treat!”

Renesco looked at the money, grabbed it, counted, and then made a conflicted face. “That’s more than enough to pay for the repairs,” he told the guards. “The guy on the floor tried to attack us, the other weirdo came to help.”

“You have a license?” one of the security guards asked Ryan, who shook his head. “You’re a vigilante? An Augusti? Company Genome?”

“Nope!” Ryan replied.

“Well, if you don’t have a license, why shouldn’t we take you into custody alongside that bone guy?”

“What, you want money too?”

And Ryan threw a bribe at him.

The security captain grabbed the wad with one hand, counted while keeping his weapon aimed at Quicksave’s head, then chuckled. “You think you can buy our honor with that?”

Ryan threw him a bigger bribe.

“Better,” the Security guardsman said, putting the money in a pocket full of grenades. He lowered his rifle and had his two compatriots gently grab the assassin, after punching him in the gut. “I’m glad we helped make the neighborhood safer today.”

“Me too,” Ryan replied. “Me too.”

“Renesco?” The captain asked the barman, as his men carried the assassin away. “Don’t forget to pay your monthly subscription. We won’t always be there to protect your establishment.”

And on these wise words, the trio left without looking back.

“Do you always carry wads of money on yourself?” Renesco asked Quicksave, astonished by the surreal scene.

“When you cause as much collateral damage as I do, it’s a real time saver,” Ryan replied, the baseball bat still dripping with blood. “Who was that skeletal fellow anyway?”

“Ghoul, a Psycho from the Meta-Gang. Elixir junkies who have been hitting places like mine recently.” Renesco glared at Ryan, then at his car, and then back at its driver. “Now, get the **** out of my bar.”

“Uh, not until after I finish the damn delivery.” Ryan handed the briefcase to Renesco, not really caring about the attention he brought on it. Quicksave always delivered; no matter how many deaths needed!

The barman’s eyes flashed with recognition, and then confusion. “I don’t get it,” Renesco said, as he grabbed the briefcase. “You aren’t paid half of what you spent in the last minute.”

“It’s not about the money,” Ryan replied. He looked around as if worried that anyone listened, then whispered into Renesco’s ear.

“I’m just bored.”

The man looked at Ryan in silence, while the courier whistled to himself as he returned to his car, driving under the sunset towards new adventures.

Sidequest, complete!

Ryan always did science in his underwear.

Clothes embodied society’s restrictions upon the human spirit, the crushing power of civilization attempting to make the individual fit into the mold. But by being mostly *****, Ryan reconnected with his creativity, unbound by conformity; while his boxers represented his lingering attachment to his mental stability, preventing him from going completely off the rails. The one time Ryan had worked completely *****, he ended up building his rabbit plushie.

Also, his boxers felt comfy and warm. Len had made them for him, years ago.

Having rented a hotel room near the city center, Ryan spent the early morning splitting his time between researching information about New Rome and improving his gadgets. The receptionist had given Quicksave a strange glance upon seeing him move upstairs with his hands full of weapons, but didn’t call the Private Security. Masked strangers were nothing unusual in this city.

Of course, Ryan took the time to hack the bedroom’s camera to protect his secret identity, and to avoid panic. He had a lot of unsafe stuff in his arsenal.

Resting on a chair, Ryan typed on his computer with his toes—a skill he spent many loops mastering— while he worked on his coil gun with his hands. The client had wired him his money for yesterday’s delivery, with compliments for Ghoul’s arrest, although the courier didn't care much. The job was just an excuse to travel across Italy, looking for new adventures.

Though he had put his endless wandering on hold, once he heard Len might be in New Rome.

From what Renesco had told him, he should go to Rust Town for information; according to the local Dynanet, that was the nickname given to New Rome's poor northwest neighborhood. The corporations controlling the city had put all the industrial plants there, turning the area into a dumpster. They had even built a wall to prevent vagrants from moving into the other districts.

According to the receptionist, the ‘Junkyard’ was a landmark of that area, an old coal mine transformed into an open landfill. Many rogue Geniuses and adventurers exchanged stuff there. Maybe Len was among them.

Someone knocked on his bedroom window.

Ryan glanced at it, a woman waving her hand at him from the other side. “Hi,” she said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Ryan’s room was on floor ten, and it had no fire exit.

“Hey!” Ryan grabbed his mask and put it on, alongside the hat. “You’re violating my secret identity!”

“You don’t have one, Ryan Romano,” the woman replied, raising an eyebrow. “And according to your file, you never did anything to hide it.”

“I have a file?” Ryan asked, overtaken by happiness. “I’m famous! How am I described?”

“Deranged, but reliable.’” Sweet! They got him halfway right! The flying woman eyed him from head to toe through the glass. “Don’t you intend to put on your other clothes?”

Ryan chuckled. “No.”

He would always stand against oppressors.

The personal space invader responded with a frown, knocking on the window again, albeit with a bit more frustration than before. “Can you…”

Ryan rose from his chair to open the window with one hand, and kept the coil gun aimed at the newcomer with the other.

Now that he had a better view, Ryan immediately recognized the woman, having seen her on a publicity board yesterday. She was floating in midair thanks to translucent dragonfly wings flapping at high speed on her back, her hands on her waist. This made her look as graceful as a fairy, especially since unlike bugs she made no sound while hovering in place.

“I’m Wyvern,” the show-off introduced herself. She wore a sleeveless, skintight white uniform with Dynamis’ D-shaped logo on the left, and a silver star surrounded by golden laurel on the right. She was probably between her mid-twenties and early thirties, and quite the eye-catcher. “I wanted to thank you for Ghoul’s arrest yesterday.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

Then Ryan started to close the window.

“Hey, wait!” Wyvern caught the window and kept it open; Ryan had heard she could bench press a school bus even while partially transformed, so he didn’t press the issue. “What are you doing in town, Quicksave? Can I call you Quicksave?”

“Sure.” Ryan then shrugged. “I’m a courier, I deliver mail. No matter how many people want me dead!”

“So the Augusti didn’t hire you as muscle?” the superheroine asked, a bit amused by his last comment. “The place you defended was one of their fronts. I figured they might have hired you to defend their turf from the Meta-Gang.”

“Nah, I beat that geriatric disaster because he was in the way of completing my side quest.” Wyvern made a strange face, unable to understand his jargon. The Genome Wars had all but destroyed the video game sector, making Ryan feel very alone. “Oh, by the way, have you heard of a girl my age called Len? Black hair, blue eyes, Marxist-Leninist?”

“Marxist-Leninist?” Wyvern’s frown deepened. “You mean communists? Those guys still exist?”

“I know that’s probably a dirty word in this city of unbridled capitalism, but yes.”

“No, never heard of her.” The superheroine shook her head. “But I can look at our files. Is that why you are in New Rome? Looking for her?”

“Oh yes, she’s beautiful and kind and she’s my best friend!” Ryan couldn’t help but gush about her. "I've been looking for her since forever!"

“I’ll help if I can,” Wyvern replied with a smile. “Actually, I believe I can help you a great deal.”

Oh.

Here comes the recruitment offer...

“I belong to a group called Il Migliore,” Wyvern said, confirming Ryan’s suspicions. “You’ve probably heard of us.”

Il Migliore. A bunch of corporate superheroes who were the official protectors of New Rome, and modern celebrities. Of course, they were also on Dynamis’ payroll, who owned their image, merchandising rights, and told them whom to fight. Nothing like Leo Hargraves’ Carnival.

Now those were real, pro-bono superheroes, wandering knights style! Ryan couldn’t help but admire them, even if they had caused the worst day of his life.

“We’re always on the lookout for new talents, and while you have a… reputation for collateral damage… you possess an extremely useful superpower, and as far as we know you haven’t dabbled into reprehensible enterprises, nor closely associated with wanted criminals.” Poor girl, if only she knew. “Since you stopped Ghoul before he could go on a killing spree, I think you have your heart in the right place.”

“So what, you want me to audition for a movie or something? Because I've only ever tried theater once, and it wasn’t funny.”

Wyvern laughed. “I wish we did fewer commercials and more arrests,” she admitted, Ryan sensing a little bitterness in her tone. “But we do our best to protect citizens. Come visit our HQ, see if you match with our organization. After that stunt with Ghoul, you’ll need people to have your back.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Ryan replied, a bit insulted that she thought he needed coddling.

“Look, Quicksave, the Meta aren’t reasonable like the Augusti,” she insisted. “They are a roving band of Psychos, and you’ve beat up one of their own. Their boss, Adam, eats people.”

“Then he must have a lot on his plate!”

Wyvern didn’t like the joke, her smile straining and her wings slowing down a bit.

“Alright, alright,” Ryan said. “I’ll think about it if I ever get sidetracked on my main quest.”

The superheroine frowned, looking sideways. Ryan suddenly noticed an earplug in her left ear, although he couldn’t hear anything.

“Understood,” Wyvern said, although not to Ryan, before handing the courier a business card. “If you change your mind, visit us at this address.”

“Sure.”

“Take care.”

And on these words, Wyvern flew away. Her wings moved so fast it became impossible for the human eye to notice them. Yet they made no sound either, except for the wind they produced. She was gone within the blink of an eye, moving north and accelerating until she reached near supersonic speed.

The sound frequency of her wings must have been inaudible to humans, or run on abnormal physics; everything was possible with Genomes. The courier memorized that observation for later.

Finally alone, Ryan closed the window and returned to his task. But no sooner did he sit back in his chair, that he received a vocal communication demand on his computer. The Genome immediately recognized the caller as the same person who ordered the Renesco delivery.

He lazily opened the vocal channel with his left toe. “Quicksave Deliveries, what can I do for you?”

“What did the bitch tell you?” an encrypted voice on the other end answered.

Ryan raised an eyebrow behind his mask. “Wait, am I being spied on?”

“Few places are off the grid in New Rome.”

Note to self: find a more discreet hotel next loop. “I’m pretty sure the last person who used that line didn’t encrypt their voice. Who are you, creepy mystery voice?”

“My name is Vulcan,” the caller answered. “I represent the Augusti. We are the organization that runs things in New Rome, and most of Italy.”

“I thought it was Dynamis?” Ryan deadpanned.

“That’s what they say,” the voice laughed. “But Italy only has one emperor, and his name is Augustus.”

Hard to disagree, the guy was invincible and could shoot homing lightning. He had more victims to his name than the cigarette.

“You have our thanks for saving our employee from that Meta trash,” Vulcan said. “All this to say, whatever the winged lizard promised you, we can offer more.”

“Is it an offer you can’t refuse, or an offer-offer? ‘Cause I’m allergic to horses.”

“We need tough people who get things done,” Vulcan replied. “You want women or boys? New hardware, good weapons? Enough Bliss to fly you to the moon? All that shit can be yours… if you prove you’re a team player.”

“And how do I do that?”

An email notification popped up, indicating an address. Ryan quickly checked, identifying the location as a casino called the Bakuto. “We own the establishment,” Vulcan explained. “Come tonight, alone, and don’t make us wait. We never ask twice.”

Ryan ended the call, pondering about the offers. Phew, you beat up one guy—showing extreme restraint and delicateness by your usual standards—and suddenly everyone wanted a piece of you.

Then again, either group could help him find Len, and he had created a save point before coming to town.

That could only mean one thing.

“Multiple routes unlocked!”

Having parked his car nearby, Ryan glanced up at the building with amazement. The architects had recreated a perfect copy of an oriental pagoda tower, as large as a mall; a red carpet led to golden, ostentatious tori gates with the casino’s title plastered on them. Hordes of gamblers walked inside, some dressed in traditional Asian clothes like qipao, others in tuxedos and expensive gowns. Of course, none were as stylish as Quicksave’s own fabulous outfit, but the Genome gave them points for trying.

The staff had even dressed the bouncers as samurai in low-grade, Genius-made armor. They looked almost like feudal armor, but heavier and bound by flexible circuits instead of clothing fabric. Very nice design, especially the stained glass visor. Ryan wondered if they had lightsabers to go along with it.

“No weapons allowed inside,” one bouncer said, as he and a compatriot checked Ryan out. Due to their armor, both were at least one head taller than the Genome. They immediately found the throwing knives hidden in his sleeves, and then examined him very thoroughly.

It took them a few minutes to find most of his stuff.

“Twenty-five throwing knives, two revolvers, including one desert eagle, one energy pistol, one frag grenade, a switchblade, a hand buzzer, and…” The bouncer frowned, seizing a tiny metal sphere the size of a baseball. “Is that a bomb?

“Yep,” Ryan answered. “Genius tech.”

“EMP? Gunpowder?”

“Thermo-nuclear.”

The bouncer chuckled heartily until he realized Ryan was serious. He then exchanged a glance with his fellow guards, all of them put their hands on a saber around their belts.

“You keep an A-bomb in your back pocket?” The guard wagged the device at Ryan’s face.

“It’s only for dissuasion!” the courier promised while crossing his fingers. “I Korea swear!”

The bouncer remained silent a moment, then touched his helmet and hushed words which Ryan couldn’t hear. No doubt he was contacting his manager.

“You can get your… stuff back after you’re done,” the bouncer declared, putting his weapons in a bag. “But one wrong move and that bomb will find its way in another A-place. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Ryan replied as he waltzed into the casino like a child.

He immediately found himself walking through a corridor of pachinkos, those strange Japanese slot machines; gamblers toiled on them, enslaved by their otherworldly power. The sight reminded Ryan of the four loops he spent addicted to these machines, before getting bored.

Ah, the nostalgia.

A few steps later, Ryan entered the main gambling hall, mixing both Japanese art design and western gambling entertainment. Roulette wheels stood side by side with blackjack tables, and they even had an arena for sumo wrestling next to a sushi bar. An elevator at the center led to the higher floors, each probably catering to different tastes.

A giant screen above the sushi bar showed a promotional image of New Rome’s colosseum, and a T-rex roaring on its grounds, under the acclaim of the crowd. A voice over hyped up the competition.

“This mutant dinosaur has been cloned from ancient times and improved to fight at Colosseum Maximus! MAXIMUS! And if dinosaurs won’t do it, our robots will!” The screen changed from the picture of a Jurassic Park ad to a humanoid mecha straight out of an old Japanese cartoon. “Coming straight out of our weapon development program, Dynamis introduces you to the Megafighter Mark III! Meant to fight the deadliest Psychos and marauders, this killing machine will keep you on your toes! Will any contestant get the better of these bloodthirsty monsters? You will see it in tonight’s episode of Colosseum… MAXIMUS! Only at Dynamis!”

Ryan noticed a smaller screen showing the odds, people betting either which contestants would survive, or if the T-rex would eat them all on the first round. For some obscure reason, most betted on an overwhelming dinosaur victory.

Ryan wandered towards the roulette near the sushi bar and immediately started placing bets, throwing stacks of euro bills on the table.

“Quicksave?” a man asked Ryan, the clinking of his outfit announcing his presence long before he called out to the courier.

This guy also wore samurai armor, but one blue and far sleeker, almost skintight. Instead of a faceless glass visor, his helmet took the shape of a black demon mask, allowing Ryan to see the black eyes and mouth below. The bouncers nodded at him in respect, and quite a few people gave the man a wide berth. Yeah, clearly a Genome.

“Yes?” Ryan asked, feigning innocence.

“You don’t have precognition right, I hope?” the man asked, crossing his arms. “Because I will have to kick you out if you do. We don’t allow Blue Genomes to play.”

“Precognition?” the courier shook his head. “Naaaah, of course not. I’m as Violet as they come.”

Genomes were classified depending on the color of the elixir which gave them their power. Blue focused on information manipulation, from precognition to infohazards, while Violet had spacetime-related abilities.

“Then you can’t peer into alternate timelines or a cheat like that?” samurai-guy asked. “Or rewind time and send information to your past self?”

“But if I can rewind time and erase this conversation so it never happened, do you even exist right now? Or are you a mere simulation of my feverish mind?”

Samurai-guy simply decided to watch, trying to make sense of the terrible existential conundrum Quicksave just threw at his face.

In the end, the courier blew thirty thousand bucks, but he had memorized the roulette numbers and the victorious gladiators’ names for a later loop. Strangely, while the dinosaur won, one firecracker had managed to survive all the way to the end.

“Alright, you definitely aren’t a seer,” samurai-guy said, having acted as Ryan’s chaperone during his entire gambling spree. “I think you should slow down though. At this point, you’re pretty much burning money.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Ryan ended up asking his mysterious samurai overseer.

“I’m Zanbato. I’m an Augusti.”

“Are you Japanese? Because you don’t sound Japanese.”

“No,” he replied, a bit confused by the question. “I’m Italian.”

“Your supervillain name is Zanbato, but you’re not Japanese?” Goddamn counterfeit.

“I’m not a supervillain,” the man protested, clearly missing the point. “My girlfriend is Korean though.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Ryan gasped. “That’s wonderful!”

“Thanks,” the man replied with a smile. “I hope to marry her soon. I'm curious, why did you come to us? I heard Wyvern made you an offer too.”

“You guys won the coin toss,” Ryan replied bluntly.

Zanbato chuckled, rather amused. He quickly invaded Quicksave’s personal space by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m buying you a drink.”

The samurai-wannabe invited Ryan to the sushi bar, taking a beer while Ryan ordered tea. Bouncers formed a security perimeter around them, to allow them some privacy.

“Ghoul escaped,” Zanbato told Quicksave. “A mole in the Private Security told us his pals bust him out, probably with inside help. And knowing that maniac, he will be on your trail shortly. I thought you should know.”

Ryan gasped, promising to inform Wyvern that Ghoul’s friends would bust him out on his next save. “Are you telling me that Private Security is corrupt? I would never have known!”

“The grunts are underpaid, so some are… open to negotiation. Their elite squads, especially those working for Dynamis’ executives, not so much.” Zanbato sipped his beer. “We know you have a pretty powerful ability, but you did good in approaching us. Safety in numbers I always say.”

“You know I’m immortal?” Ryan asked. “But I didn’t tell anyone!”

“You’re immortal?” Zanbato raised an eyebrow. “You can’t die?”

“I think I can, but I never succeeded.”

Zanbato paused, unsure how to answer. “Well, we know you can stop time for an unknown duration as your main power,” the man said. “Now what do you know about us?”

“That you are the biggest supervillain organization in Italy, and that your boss is invincible.”

“We are not…” Zanbato sighed. “We are a family and profit-minded society, men and women of honor. Not supervillains. That’s what Il Migliore labels us as because we aren’t corporate sellouts, and we build houses, churches, and hospitals for the poor. We are good for the community.”

“Your drugs are good for the heart too,” Ryan deadpanned. “But your weapons are better.”

“It’s not illegal,” Zanbato replied, which was true since there wasn’t a true government nowadays. “We have to fund ourselves. I’m telling you, where we rule, things are peaceful, people feel safe. There’s no pillager taking your stuff, no Psychos running around. When Augustus takes over Italy, and he will, you won’t recognize our country. It will be like before the Wars.”

The man sounded like he really believed it too. He seemed a bit young to rant about the ‘good old days’ though.

“Oh, also, do you have anything child related?” Ryan asked. “Because I’m pretty flexible, but if I find you do anything reprehensible to teens and below, then we’re going to have a problem.”

Zanbato’s mouth twisted into an expression of absolute disgust. “We don’t even sell Bliss to minors,” he said. “We aren’t savages. Not like the Meta. Anyway, do you know how we work as an organization? Because if you want to join us, you will have to bend to the hierarchy.”

“I’m more of a free spirit kind of guy,” Ryan said. “I’m just looking for help in finding a friend.”

“Oh?” this seemed to surprise the Genome. He must have thought Ryan a money-only kind of guy. “Whom?”

“Her name is Len. Black hair, blue eyes, Marxist-Leninist.”

“Do you have a photo?” Ryan shook his head. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, just my best friend. Been looking for her for years, until a client tried to pay me in tech she made. He said it came from New Rome.”

“Tech. She’s a Genius?” Zanbato finished his beer, mulling over that information. “Okay, look, if she’s what matters to you, then we’ll help you find her. Favor for a favor.”

Ryan could live with that. Once he had the information, he could always start a new loop and go to Len directly, without having to put a horse’s head in someone’s bed. “What favor?”

“We need muscle,” Zanbato said. “New Rome has a new problem called the Meta-Gang. They’re all Psychos.”

“I know them,” Ryan replied. “Had a skirmish with them years ago, back when they were small fries.”

Ghoul hadn’t joined then, but they were already vicious assholes.

Not that Ryan could blame them. The human body wasn’t made to handle more than one Elixir, even knockoffs. The combination of two powers made the genetic code unstable, usually driving the recipient mad. Sure, they gained an additional ability—nobody ever developed more than two as far as Ryan knew—but needed periodical injections of Elixirs to stabilize their body. These Genome mutants had the well-deserved nickname of Psychos.

You would think people knew better. But the thought of exceptional cases like Augustus, who gained two obscene powers with no ill-effects, always drove fools to try their luck.

“Long short story, these junkies started moving into our turf recently, especially the north neighborhoods,” Zanbato explained, as shouts erupted behind them. Ryan glanced behind him, noticing a new Colosseum battle had begun on TV. “They attacked our guys, we hit ‘em back, and now they assault our associates and suppliers like Renesco.”

“Can’t you…” Ryan mimicked a beheading motion. “You know…”

“Yes we can, but for now they’re just an annoying nuisance and the bosses want our best men to focus on more important matters.” Zanbato asked for another beer. “So what do you say? Help us beat up some mutants, get your girl?”

“Oooh, business.” Ryan joined his hands. “How many?”

“How many what?

“How many casualties?”