同章对照

Not to change a winning day, Ryan redid everything like last time. He arrived at Renesco's place, waited for Ghoul to get in, then smashed the Psycho with his Plymouth from behind.

However, as he opened the trunk to grab his baseball bat and finish the job, the courier felt a pang of guilt. Could he live with such laziness? Beating an old bag of bones the exact same way, over and over again? Couldn't he give this moment a little more dignity and uniqueness?

Mmmm…

For the sake of novelty, Ryan grabbed his shotgun instead. He waltzed toward Ghoul and shot him in the left knee before he could even realize what was going on. The undead bastard almost collapsed, but managed to hang on to the counter.

“Hey, are you alright?” the courier asked his favorite target practice companion. “You don’t look alright.”

“You shot me!” the Psycho snarled, half-surprised, half-angered. “You shot me in the leg!”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?“ Ryan asked with kindness, reloading the shotgun.

“I’m going to—” Ryan shot Ghoul in the other knee, making him collapse to the ground screaming. “You bastard!”

“And now you do!”

The courier had the feeling they were going to do this routine a lot.

---

After shooting Ghoul everywhere it mattered—and even places where it didn’t—Ryan paid off Renesco and the Private Security, before diverging from the previous loop.

Having learned his lesson from last time, Ryan chose another hotel, one where he hopefully shouldn’t have his room firebombed; a place away from the tourist areas. He drove south, towards the Plebeian district, and he could already see the reason for the name; as soon as he left the strip and tourist hotspots, the architecture changed. Casinos and nightclubs vanished, replaced with three-story apartment buildings clustered together and narrow alleys. Small markets and cafes gave off a tantalizing smell of food.

Eventually, Ryan reached the Arab district, which he recognized by the billboard ads—most written in Arabic and Turkish, although he caught a little Spanish here and there. The locals called it Little Maghreb from what Ryan had heard.

He drove by a perfect replica of the synagogue of Turin—Ryan had visited the original, although he had needed a hazmat suit to survive the trip through the irradiated city—standing next to a mosque. Both buildings were slightly derelict, showing how little Dynamis and other corporations cared about maintaining religious sites.

However, the site that caught his attention was a hill at the south, which seemed to be the city’s highest natural point. An enormous estate stood atop it, roughly the size of the Vatican, and whose architecture was clearly inspired by antiquity work. It included an oversized, multiple-floor Roman villa, fountains, a private park, and even a smaller replica of the Greek Parthenon. Clearly, whoever lived there had a huge god complex.

Why the obsession with marble columns though? Why did nobody ever add obelisks, for diversity?

And strangely, nothing was built around that estate for kilometers, and only one way led to the summit, the hill being surrounded by a fortified fence and security forces. Curious. Ryan had a good idea who inhabited those halls, and so decided to stay as far away from it as possible.

Yes, there were a few people against whom Ryan didn’t dare to test his immortality against, at least not yet. Especially now that he had a lead on Len after so many years.

His hotel was… a lot dirtier than the previous one. The owner had traded security cameras for cockroaches in the walls, and Ryan’s bed smelled of Bliss, that mushroom drug everyone consumed nowadays. Someone even drew a dick graffiti in the shower, alongside a number to call a prostitute.

Ryan did the sensible thing.

He called, out of curiosity.

“Yeah?” a male voice answered.

Ryan glanced at the graffiti, then ended the call without a word, chuckling to himself. Some things never changed.

---

The next morning, like in the previous loop, Ryan did science in his underwear. This time, though, he focused more on reinforcing Fisty, to prevent the ice trick that allowed Ghoul to jam it in their last encounter. The courier couldn’t have his weapons underperform while beating up an old bone yeller.

He also did Dynanet research about sightings of submarines and bathyspheres in the local gulf but found nothing. He did learn that the old island of Ischia, the one he had seen while driving on the coast, was a toxic ruin since Mechron bombed Italy back to the stone age; unlike other areas, corporations never bothered to renovate it.

The Augusti had to send those crates somewhere, and there must have been a reason why they used Genius-made submarines rather than boats. Maybe it was to send supplies to the island? He couldn’t prove it, but Ryan had a good feeling about it.

A knock on his window interrupted his research, like the sight of a familiar winged heroine.

Ryan replayed the same conversation as last time, except on the third floor rather than the tenth. Wyvern seemed a little more nervous than in the last loop, though. Maybe it was the closeness to the mountain estate?

Also, Ryan noticed the locals had emptied the street below his bedroom when Wyvern showed up. They didn’t seem to like Il Migliore around here.

“You say the Meta will break out Ghoul today, with the complicity of corrupt Private Security guards?” Wyvern frowned. “How do you know that?”

“You don’t ask a magician to reveal his tricks,” Ryan protested. “I’m just saying, you should probably escort the creepy undead yourself.”

“From what I heard, even if they break him out, he won’t run far. The medics said he had more bullets than intact bones in his body.” Wyvern marked a short pause, focusing on her earplug. “Looks like you were right. The Meta are ambushing Ghoul’s transport convoy as we speak, in broad daylight.”

Oh, so that's why she left in a hurry before? She clearly hadn't been fast enough last loop, maybe this time would do the trick?

“Before you go save the world and save me a miniboss battle later,” Ryan pointed in the direction of the hill, and the estate on it, “what is the name of this beautiful and not at all suspicious Roman-themed park?”

“Officially? Hillside. Unofficially?” Wyvern sighed. “Mount Augustus.”

He even plagiarized Mount Olympus but renamed it after himself. It should have been called Mount Narcissus.

“Take care,” Wyvern told Ryan after giving him a business card, before flying off without a sound. Ryan watched her vanish at high-speed, wondering if she would make it this time.

Anyway, in spite of that little divergence, he didn’t have to worry. He just had to wait for Vulcan’s call and everything would be back on track. Since he was close to Augusti territory, no doubt they would contact him again in short order.

The call would come any second now.

…

…

Any second now.

…

…

KABOOM!

The sound of a distant explosion startled Ryan, who opened the window. He noticed a pillar of smoke reaching up to the skies, somewhat in the direction where Wyvern flew.

Shit.

---

Vulcan didn’t call him all day long.

Disturbed, Ryan went to the Bakuto casino anyway at night, but the guards refused to let him in when he arrived in costume. Unlike last time, they gently told him to fuck off after noticing his A-bomb.

As if it was a crime to carry a thermonuclear device nowadays!

So Ryan returned but unmasked and in civilian clothes; he even put on a classy red tie. This time, he managed to slip in, the guards mistaking him for a normal client.

“Hey, friendly nameless extra,” Ryan asked a card croupier, playing blackjack with a well-dressed group of professional gamblers straight out of Casino Royale. “I am looking for Zanbato. Have you seen him?”

“Zanbato?” the croupier frowned. “No, he’s not here tonight.”

“My plumber friend Luigi then?”

The dealer shrugged his shoulders. “No, I don’t think so. What is it about? I can give them a message if I see them.”

Damn it. Still, Ryan approached the dealer’s ear and whispered into it. “The orange is in the hen house.”

“The orange is in the hen house?”

“It’s a code, they will understand. Their lives depend on it, so don’t screw up.” The dealer nodded seriously, promising to deliver the message.

But still, goddamnit! Clearly things had gone off the rails somewhere, but what caused it? Shooting Ghoul? The hotel switch? Warning Wyvern about Ghoul’s escape? Whatever it was, it made him fall off the Augusti’s radar or changed their priorities, just when he finally found a lead on Len!

Ryan stayed at the casino just in case, playing for hours. Knowing the results of every game, he accumulated quite a nice sum at the roulette and Colosseum bets, although he was very careful never to overplay his hand. Having entire lifetimes' worth of cheating experience, the courier had mastered the art of looking like a professional gambler; sacrificing money when needed, discussing overcomplicated probability theories with other players, and faking nerve-wracking tension while waiting for the results. He also played legitimately at poker and blackjack, not even using his time-stop to look at his rivals’ hands.

In the end, the main defense against anti-seer methods was banality. Seers were rare and usually obvious, always trying to win it big; while skilled gamblers and talented amateurs were legion. Ryan just had to convince guards he belonged to the latter group, winning high but believable amounts, and it did the work.

Ryan usually enjoyed these tricks, but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead, he kept asking himself questions. Should he go to the supply run at the harbor even without being invited? It could get him right back on the Augusti Path, but Ryan wasn’t sure if it would even happen now.

Also, who killed him in the last loop? The Meta were the obvious suspect, but it could also be an unrelated hit. Since the courier took a job for the Augusti after denying Wyvern, Dynamis could have simply ordered him dead.

No, the easiest solution was to reload and deviate after receiving the Augusti mission, but Ryan needed to die first.

Car crash? Too common already. Traffic had killed him almost as often as enemy Genomes.

Bullet to the head? The last time Ryan tried he woke up six months later, the medics congratulating themselves on their ‘miraculous’ surgery.

Train tracks? Unoriginal, everybody did that nowadays.

Roman suicide? Thematic and classy, but he would have to find a sword or hemlock.

“Nice play.” Ryan glanced at the left of his table, noticing that a stunning woman had taken a seat right next to him. She was an elegant lady with long black hair, a crimson gown, and a beauty spot on the right cheek. She played with a glass full of alcohol, clearly trying to get Ryan’s attention. “This is the first time I’ve seen you around here.”

It was strange how everybody wanted to be Ryan’s friend when he started making money. Was it his magnetic personality? “Sorry, I’m thinking about something else.”

“What could be more important than accumulating a big pile of money?” she asked, flirtatiously playing with her glass.

“I’m trying to find a suicide method that hasn’t been done before. Something original and over-the-top.”

The question took her aback, but the woman did consider it. “Jumping into Mt. Vesuvius?” she proposed.

Ryan could have sworn he already experienced a similar conversation in a previous loop. “Already done, though with Etna rather than Vesuvius.”

“I didn’t know,” she replied, sipping her cocktail. “Do you want to commit suicide or is this just theoretical?”

Already bored with the conversation and failing to find a suicide method he hadn’t already tried, Ryan raised his hand at a waiter. “Can I have an electric fan?”

“A fan, sir?” the waiter asked, confused. Ryan answered by giving him a three hundred euro tip.

One minute later, he had his fan.

While he took most of his winnings for himself, the Genome piled up thousands of euros banknotes in front of the fan, aiming for the center of the casino. The woman at his side probably guessed what crossed his mind, if the flash of recognition in her eyes was of any indication.

Ryan switched on the fan, which sent euro bills flying all over the casino. “To the fastest!” he shouted as loud as he could, a flash of greed in everyone’s eyes.

When the Genome exited the Bakuto, all the locals were fighting over the bills, the woman included. Even the bouncers and the staff tried to grab a fistful.

Ignoring the chaos he started, Ryan glanced at Wyvern’s business card and the Dynamis logo on its back. Should he check them out?

Mmm… no. Len was his priority—his only priority. He was tired of these long years of loneliness, and he wanted to find her at all costs.

The Augusti had provided him hints already. Ryan knew people used her Genius technology, and that people traded such devices in Rust Town. If the Augusti Path was closed to him for this loop, then he should try to figure out where they could have obtained the bathyspheres. If there was a black market for Genius goods, he should check it out.

He could always kill himself afterward.

既然这一天的套路管用，就没必要换。瑞恩把上次做过的事原样重来了一遍。他来到雷内斯科的店前，等食尸鬼进去，再开着普利茅斯从背后撞上那个疯魔。

然而，打开后备厢、准备拿棒球棍收尾时，这位快递员心里却生出了一丝愧疚。自己这么偷懒，良心过得去吗？一遍又一遍，用一模一样的手法殴打一把老骨头？难道就不能让这一刻更有尊严、更与众不同一点？

唔……

为了图个新鲜，瑞恩改拿了霰弹枪。他悠然踱到食尸鬼面前，不等对方弄清状况，就朝他的左膝开了一枪。那个不死的混蛋险些栽倒，好歹抓住柜台撑住了身体。

“嘿，你还好吗？”快递员问自己最喜欢的打靶伙伴，“你看起来不太好啊。”

“你开枪打我！”疯魔又惊又怒地咆哮，“你开枪打我的腿！”

“需要去医院吗？”瑞恩亲切地问，给霰弹枪重新装弹。

“我要——”瑞恩朝食尸鬼的另一边膝盖开了一枪，打得他惨叫着瘫倒在地。“你这混蛋！”

“现在需要了！”

快递员有种预感，这套戏码，他们还要演上很多遍。

---

朝食尸鬼身上所有要紧的部位开过枪——连不要紧的地方也没放过——之后，瑞恩花钱打点了雷内斯科和私人安保队，这才走上与上一轮循环不同的路线。

吸取上次的教训，瑞恩另选了一家旅馆，远离游客扎堆的地段，但愿这回不会有人用燃烧弹炸他的房间。他开车向南，驶往平民区，很快就明白了这名字的由来：一离开娱乐街和旅游热点，建筑风格就变了。赌场与夜总会消失无踪，取而代之的是挤作一团的三层公寓楼和狭窄的小巷。小市场和咖啡馆里飘出诱人的食物香气。

最后，瑞恩来到阿拉伯街区，广告牌上的文字让他认出了这里——大多是阿拉伯语和土耳其语，偶尔也能见到一点西班牙语。据瑞恩所知，本地人管这里叫小马格里布。

他开车经过一座与都灵犹太会堂一模一样的建筑，旁边紧挨着一座清真寺。瑞恩参观过会堂的原版，不过得穿着防化服，才能活着在那座遍布辐射的城市里走上一遭。眼前的两座建筑都有些破败，可见迪纳米斯和其他公司有多不在乎宗教场所的维护。

不过，真正吸引他注意的，是南边的一座山丘，那里似乎是整座城市自然地势最高的地方。丘顶坐落着一座规模堪比梵蒂冈的巨大庄园，建筑风格显然借鉴了古典作品。里面有一栋大得过分的多层罗马式别墅，有喷泉、私人公园，甚至还仿建了一座缩小版的希腊帕特农神庙。显然，不管住在里面的是谁，自封为神的毛病都严重得很。

不过，干吗那么迷恋大理石柱？怎么就没人添几座方尖碑，换换花样？

而且奇怪的是，那座庄园周围几公里内没有任何建筑，也只有一条路通往山顶；山丘四周则围着加固的围栏，还有安保力量驻守。有意思。瑞恩大致猜到了谁住在那些殿堂里，于是决定能离多远就离多远。

没错，确实有那么几个人，瑞恩还不敢拿自己的不死之身去跟他们较量，至少现在不敢。尤其是找了这么多年，如今终于有了蕾恩的线索。

他住的这家旅馆……比上一家脏多了。老板把监控摄像头换成了墙缝里的蟑螂，瑞恩的床上还散发着极乐的气味——如今人人都在吸的那种蘑菇毒品。甚至有人在淋浴间涂鸦了一根鸡巴，旁边留着一个召妓用的电话号码。

瑞恩做了件明智的事。

出于好奇，他拨了那个号码。

“喂？”一个男人接起电话。

瑞恩瞥了眼那幅涂鸦，一言不发地挂断电话，自己笑出了声。有些事永远不会变。

---

第二天早上，和上一轮一样，瑞恩只穿着内裤搞起了科学研究。不过这一次，他主要忙着加固拳拳，以防食尸鬼故技重施，像上次交手时那样用冰冻把它卡死。快递员可不能在痛揍那个嚎叫的老骨头时，让自己的武器掉链子。

他还在迪纳网上搜索了附近海湾里潜艇和深潜球的目击记录，却一无所获。不过他倒是查到，古老的伊斯基亚岛——他沿海岸开车时看到的那座岛——自从梅克隆把意大利炸回石器时代后，就成了毒物遍地的废墟；与其他地区不同，各家公司从未费心修复过那里。

奥古斯蒂总得把那些箱子送到什么地方去，而且他们不用船，偏用天才制造的潜艇，肯定有原因。也许就是给那座岛运送物资？瑞恩拿不出证据，却觉得这个猜测很靠谱。

一阵敲窗声打断了他的搜索，窗外出现了一位熟悉的有翼女英雄。

瑞恩把上次那番对话又演了一遍，只不过地点从十楼换到了三楼。不过，双足飞龙看起来比上一轮更紧张些。也许是因为这里离山顶庄园很近？

另外，瑞恩注意到，双足飞龙一出现，房间楼下街道上的居民就全都散了。这里的人似乎不喜欢至优者。

“你是说，超能帮今天就会在腐败的私人安保队队员协助下，把食尸鬼救出去？”双足飞龙皱起眉头，“你怎么知道的？”

“哪有让魔术师揭秘自己戏法的道理？”瑞恩抗议道，“我只是说，那个阴森森的活死人，你最好还是亲自押送。”

“据我所知，就算他们把他救走，他也跑不远。医护人员说，他身上的弹丸比完好的骨头还多。”双足飞龙短暂地停顿了一下，留神听着耳机，“看来你说对了。就在我们说话的时候，超能帮正在伏击押送食尸鬼的车队，大白天的。”

哦，所以她之前急匆匆离开，是为了这个？上一轮她显然没来得及，这回说不定能赶上？

“在你去拯救世界、顺便替我省掉之后的一场小头目战之前，”瑞恩指了指山丘，以及丘顶的庄园，“这座漂亮又完全不可疑的罗马主题公园，叫什么名字？”

“官方名称？山坡。非官方的？”双足飞龙叹了口气，“奥古斯都山。”

他连奥林匹斯山都抄袭了，还改成了自己的名字。这地方该叫纳西索斯山才对。

“保重。”双足飞龙递给瑞恩一张名片，随后无声地飞走了。瑞恩看着她疾速远去、消失不见，心想她这次能不能赶上。

不管怎样，虽然出了这点小分歧，他也不必担心。只要等伏尔甘的电话打来，一切就会重回正轨。他现在离奥古斯蒂的地盘这么近，他们肯定很快就会再次联系他。

电话随时都会响。

……

……

随时都会响。

……

……

轰隆——！

远处传来的爆炸声吓了瑞恩一跳，他打开窗户，看见一道烟柱直冲天际，大致就在双足飞龙飞走的那个方向。

妈的。

---

一整天，伏尔甘都没给他打电话。

瑞恩心里不安，晚上还是去了博徒赌场，可他穿着全套行头到场时，门卫不让他进去。与上次不同，这回他们一看到他带着原子弹，就客客气气地叫他滚蛋。

搞得好像如今带个热核装置都犯法似的！

于是瑞恩摘下面具，换了便装，又来了一趟；他甚至还打上了一条很有格调的红领带。这一次，他成功混了进去，门卫把他当成了普通客人。

“嘿，友善的无名龙套，”瑞恩正和一群衣冠楚楚、仿佛直接从《皇家赌场》里走出来的职业赌徒玩二十一点，他开口问荷官，“我在找斩马刀。你见过他吗？”

“斩马刀？”荷官皱起眉，“没有，他今晚不在。”

“那我的水管工朋友路易吉呢？”

荷官耸了耸肩。“没有，我想他也不在。有什么事吗？见到他们的话，我可以替你带个话。”

该死。不过，瑞恩还是凑到荷官耳边，低声说：“橙子在鸡舍里。”

“橙子在鸡舍里？”

“这是暗号，他们会明白的。事关他们的性命，可别搞砸了。”荷官郑重地点头，保证会把话带到。

可这也太他妈见鬼了！事情显然在某处脱了轨，可原因是什么？开枪打了食尸鬼？换了旅馆？提醒双足飞龙食尸鬼会被救走？不管是什么，要么让他从奥古斯蒂的视野里消失了，要么让他们有了更要紧的事，偏偏还是在他终于找到蕾恩的线索之后！

为了以防万一，瑞恩留在赌场，玩了几个小时。他知道每场赌局的结果，在轮盘和斗兽场的盘口上赢了一笔相当可观的钱，不过始终小心拿捏，从不做得太过。凭着足够填满好几辈子的作弊经验，快递员早已精通如何让自己看起来像个职业赌徒：必要时故意输钱，和其他玩家讨论复杂过头的概率理论，等结果时还要装出紧张得要命的样子。他玩扑克和二十一点时倒是规规矩矩，甚至没有暂停时间去偷看对手底牌。

说到底，想避开那些防范预知者的手段，最主要的办法就是显得平平无奇。预知者很稀少，而且通常很显眼，总想一把赢个大的；有本事的赌徒和有天赋的业余玩家却多如牛毛。瑞恩只要让门卫相信他属于后一类，赢的钱虽多，却不超出可信的范围，就能蒙混过关。

瑞恩平时很享受这些小把戏，但这会儿，他的心思并不在赌桌上。他反而一直在问自己：就算没人叫他，是不是也该去港口参加那次物资运送？这或许能让他直接回到奥古斯蒂路线，可瑞恩甚至不能确定，现在那次行动还会不会发生。

还有，上一轮究竟是谁杀了他？超能帮显然嫌疑最大，但那也可能是一起毫不相干的暗杀。毕竟快递员先拒绝了双足飞龙，转头却接了奥古斯蒂的活，迪纳米斯完全可能直接下令要他的命。

不，最简单的办法还是读档，等接下奥古斯蒂的任务后再改变路线，但瑞恩得先死一次。

车祸？已经太常见了。他死在交通事故里的次数，差不多快赶上死在敌对基因者手里的次数了。

朝脑袋开一枪？瑞恩上次试过，结果六个月后醒了过来，医护人员还在为那场“奇迹般”的手术沾沾自喜。

卧轨？没创意，现在谁都这么干。

罗马式自杀？既应景又有格调，但他得先找一把剑，或者弄些毒芹。

“打得漂亮。”瑞恩往赌桌左边瞥了一眼，发现一个惊艳的女人已经紧挨着他坐下。她举止优雅，留着一头黑色长发，身穿深红色礼服，右脸颊上有一颗美人痣。她把玩着一只盛满酒的杯子，显然是想引起瑞恩的注意。“我还是第一次在这里见到你。”

说来也怪，他一开始赚钱，人人就都想跟他做朋友。难道是他那令人无法抗拒的人格魅力？“抱歉，我在想别的事。”

“还有什么事，比赚一大堆钱更重要？”她问，带着挑逗意味把玩着酒杯。

“我想找一种从来没人用过的自杀方法。要有创意，还得够夸张。”

这个问题让女人一愣，不过她还真认真考虑了起来。“跳进维苏威火山？”她提议。

瑞恩敢发誓，他在以前的某一轮循环里经历过类似的对话。“做过了，不过是埃特纳，不是维苏威。”

“这我倒不知道。”她抿了一口鸡尾酒，“你是真想自杀，还是只做理论探讨？”

瑞恩已经厌倦了这场对话，也想不出什么自己没试过的自杀方法，便朝一名侍者举起手。“能给我拿台电风扇吗？”

“电风扇，先生？”侍者困惑地问。瑞恩用三百欧元的小费作了回答。

一分钟后，他有风扇了。

这名基因者把赢来的钱大部分留给自己，另拿出数千欧元的纸钞堆在风扇前，让风扇对准赌场中央。从身旁女人眼中闪过的那丝恍然来看，她大概猜到了他在打什么主意。

瑞恩打开风扇，欧元纸钞顿时飞遍了整个赌场。“谁快归谁！”他扯着嗓子喊道，所有人眼里都闪起了贪婪的光。

当这名基因者走出博徒赌场时，里面所有人都在争抢钞票，那个女人也不例外。就连看场子的和工作人员都想抓上一把。

瑞恩没理会自己制造的混乱，瞥了眼双足飞龙的名片，以及背面的迪纳米斯标志。要不要去他们那里看看？

唔……不。蕾恩才是头等大事——唯一的头等大事。他厌倦了这么多年来的孤独，无论付出什么代价，他都想找到她。

奥古斯蒂已经给过他线索。瑞恩知道有人在使用她的天才科技，也知道锈镇有人买卖这类设备。如果这一轮走不通奥古斯蒂路线，那他就该试着查清，他们可能从哪里弄到了那些深潜球。要是有天才造物的黑市，他就该去看看。

反正过后再自杀也不迟。