同章对照

Vulcan’s workshop echoed with the sound of welding, while Ryan reviewed an armor sketch, ass on a chair and legs on the workbench.

Ryan’s job as Vulcan’s assistant turned out to be more desk work than anything exciting like target practice. She handed him designs for new armor, guns, or vehicles, and then asked him to review and improve on them.

As he examined her sketches, the courier realized that Vulcan’s Genius power was probably ‘weapon creation.’ All her inventions either had an offensive application or served to support weaponry. The Genius could even make cyber-warfare programs, like viruses capable of detonating cell phones from afar.

While it made Vulcan a devastatingly dangerous Genius, you couldn’t make a vehicle with just guns. She never patched her armor’s joints weakness, simply because her power refused to entertain innovative solutions in theory unrelated to warfare.

No wonder Vulcan desperately wanted a Genius assistant. She was a missile without a tripod.

“So, let me get this straight,” Vulcan asked, welding a new cannon to her armor’s right arm. “Underdiver doesn’t want you in her life, and Zanbato suggested you persevere?”

“Pretty much,” Ryan replied, scribbling notes on her sketch. He always found Genius-tech to be an interesting intellectual challenge, which was why he had devoted so many loops to studying it. “Oh, and he’s also throwing a party Thursday night.”

“Well, Jamie doesn’t know shit,” the Genius snapped back angrily. “I fucking hate white knights, and Underdiver doesn’t need one. She doesn’t need anyone.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Can you even fathom that girl’s sheer potential?” Vulcan interrupted him. “At least a third of the Earth is uninhabitable nowadays, and she can make self-sustaining habitats that can survive deep oceanic pressure. I’m making weapons, but her? She’s building the future. I could do without her tech, yes. But the money I send her? It’s an investment for mankind.”

She stopped welding, put her tool and iron mask away, and wiped away the sweat with her hand.

“White knights, they’re smothering,” she ranted, grabbing a water bottle and taking a sip. “They don’t help because they’re nice, but because they’re needy. They’re oppressive. What your girl needs is self-confidence, and she’s only going to develop that by building something that is hers alone. So if you really like that Len girl, don’t get in her way. If you want to help, don’t help.”

It didn’t sound at all like psychological projection. Not at all. “I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that opinion,” the courier teased her.

“Wyvern was the worst of the white knights, casting everyone in her shadow,” she replied, as Ryan had guessed. “You think she’s being a hero because she really believes in justice? It’s all ego. Self-righteousness. She wants the cheering children, people looking up to her, without making the hard decisions. If she really wanted to change things, she would have ditched Dynamis long ago. But she didn’t.”

“But what did she do to you personally?” Ryan asked, a bit confused.

“Haven’t you been listening? She kept me in her shadow. When we started, I was the brain and she was the brawn. I gathered intel and made the plans. She’s powerful, but she’s a mace. All the force in the world doesn’t matter if nobody can wield it in the right direction.”

The Genius continued going into a rant, venting off. Her voice dripped with bitterness and anger, her fingers crushing the now empty plastic bottle.

“Wyvern became famous because of me, but she was always the one in the field. The hero everyone talked about. And when we made a deal with Dynamis, it got worse. I wanted their resources to build myself a suit, make a name for myself. Become Wyvern’s partner, instead of her sidekick. But they kept me in a lab, vetoed all my plans. I can make any weapon, the likes that rival Mechron’s, but to the Manada… I was just the girl making their soldiers’ armor.”

“Let’s make a gun then.”

“A gun?” she frowned.

“A very big gun,” Ryan said. “A laser gun that can draw a logo on the Moooooooooon.”

“Why would I draw a logo on the moon?”

“To copyright it.”

Vulcan raised a finger, remained silent as she considered his sentence in-depth, and finally realized that she had no answer to it.

“I defeated you with logic!” Ryan gloated. In response, Vulcan threw her plastic bottle at him, although with a thin smirk at the edge of her lip. She moved towards the courier and grabbed the sketch, reviewing his additions.

“Interesting idea, though it’s useless in the rain,” she said, before raising an eyebrow. “Why is there a duck drawn in the bottom left corner?”

“I got bored halfway through.” She wanted him to review a stealth-model of armor, capable of blending into the environment. Invisible lunch-thief had given Ryan the idea to use optic cameras to record the wearer’s surroundings, and then portray them on the surface.

“You don’t enter a fugue state while working,” she noted. “Curious, curious.”

“Nice work,” a voice spoke from behind Ryan. “I want one.”

“Why thank you,” the courier said, peeking over his shoulder to welcome the newcomer.

A Genome had entered the room, somehow without opening the only door. It was a tall, lanky figure whose costume reminded Ryan of a scarecrow. A ghoulish, metal skull mask hid the face, and a black hooded cloak the rest of the body. Most importantly, that gentledevil seemed as fond of weapons as the courier, carrying guns on bandoleers and a sniper rifle.

“Tch, not even spooked,” the man complained, although Ryan wasn’t sure it was a guy at all; the skull mask digitally altered the voice, even if it sounded vaguely male. “You’re not fun.”

“Mortimer, stop bullying the newbie,” said Sparrow, as Pluto’s bodyguard entered the room through the door; instead of her absent mistress, she was followed by Cancel and a new face. “Sorry, Quicksave, he gets off on startling people.”

“Hi Ryan, hi Jasmine!” Greta waved a hand at them with an endearing smile.

“Hi, Greta!” Ryan returned the greeting, though he paid more attention to the third person in the group.

It was a young woman his physical age, and gorgeous. Not pretty-gorgeous, but top model-gorgeous. A hazel-eyed blonde whose hair fell down to her hips, with tanned skin and a perfectly chiseled face, this Venus could probably bring any man to his knees in adoration. Even her bright white clothes and jewelry were the apex of New Roman fashion, things Ryan would have expected to see on an actress.

Unfortunately, from the way she carried herself, her appearance had clearly gone to her head. She moved with such pompous pride and self-confidence, it was almost nauseating.

But Ryan didn’t care about her beauty.

He cared about her resemblance to a certain feline.

Unfortunately, she mistook his rapturous attention as something else. “I’m Fortuna,” the bombshell introduced herself, the courier immediately remembering the name as one of Atom Cat’s sisters, “the world’s luckiest woman.”

Ryan chuckled. “If you have met me, no, you aren’t.”

“Oh, really?” she moved in front of a metal wall and put her hands on her waist. “Shoot me.”

“You’re sure?” the courier asked for confirmation.

“Yes. Shoot me.”

“Okay.”

Ryan immediately rose from his chair, pulled his Desert Eagle out of his coat, and then fired with enthusiasm. The suddenness of the gesture startled Fortuna’s teammates, although they made no move to step in.

When he ran out of bullets, Ryan didn’t bother reloading. Instead, he threw the gun away, pulled another sidearm in his arsenal, and fired away. When he emptied the magazine, the cycle continued with new weapons.

AMT Hardballer, Browning Hi-Power, Beretta 92FS Inox, gold-plated Beretta 92FS Inox, CZ 75, Glock 17, two Glock 17L, Sistema Colt Modelo 1927, Stechkin APS—because the Russians made the best guns, followed by a Smith & Wesson Model 629.

“He’s persistent,” Mortimer muttered, Ryan almost unable to hear him over the sound of gunfire.

“That’s a lot of weapons,” Sparrow noted. “Where does he find the space?”

“The only certainty in life is that when death comes for you, you will never have enough guns!” Ryan shouted. His gloves fumed with gunpowder.

At that point, armored guards entered the workshop, perhaps expecting a shootout. They looked at the scene, Ryan glanced back, and froze time. When time resumed, the guards found their submachine guns missing, the courier wielding both as he opened fire on Fortuna. Vulcan raised a hand at the confused guards, who wisely returned to their post with confusion and sheepish embarrassment.

When he ran out of small arms after ten minutes of nonstop shooting, Ryan moved on to shotguns, bombarding the model with a Remington Model 870. Then he upgraded to his coil gun, and finally threw almost every single knife he had.

He only had two surprises left.

Ryan paused, as his hand didn’t find the first of his prized weapons. “Hey, where did my A-bomb go?”

“I took it while you were busy shooting,” Vulcan said, raising the metal sphere in her hand. “I knew it would come down to this.”

“Give it back!” Quicksave pleaded like a child, but Vulcan kept the bomb out of arm’s reach. “Give it back!”

“Impressed yet?”

Ryan turned to look at Fortuna, who stood completely unharmed while the wall behind her had turned into Swiss cheese. She didn’t have a single scratch.

Not a single one.

And he was only three steps away, shooting at point blank range.

Goddammit, now Ryan felt like a Stormtrooper in Stars Wars.

“That’s a Pulp Fiction level of divine providence,” the courier admitted. “Although…”

“Although?” the young woman replied with one of the smuggest grins the courier had ever seen.

“I have a secret technique,” Ryan said, abandoning the use of nuclear weapons to get back to his trusty knife. “Which, if I use, will cut your hopes short. I must warn you though. Nobody ever managed to stand up to it.”

She silently told him to bring it.

Alright, she asked for it.

“Za Warudo!”

Time stopped, the workshop turning purple.

Ryan quickly glanced at Cancel, as frozen in time as the others. As he suspected, her negation power offered no automatic defense: she had to switch it on and off.

Good to know. Ryan memorized that information for later.

He took three steps towards Fortuna, expecting to slip up through her ridiculous luck… but he didn’t. His power trumped her own. The courier briefly wondered where he should hit her, hesitating about giving her a light cut, but that sounded a bit too savage.

Instead, as Amerindians scalped their victims as trophies, he swiftly cut her blonde hair to shoulder-length with his sharp knife, keeping the rest for himself.

“Za Warudo: Hairdresser Style!”

She may be lucky, but in this world of frozen time, the courier ruled without equal.

“Toki wo tomare,” Ryan spoke in Japanese, quickly returning to his original spot in the nick of time, before his power ran out.

When the clock turned again, Fortuna let out a ghastly wail of horror and surprise, which startled Ryan by its intensity. Greta didn’t flinch, Mortimer glanced down at his teammate’s hair with what appeared to be quiet satisfaction, and Vulcan…

Vulcan didn’t pay attention to the girl. She only had eyes for one handsome courier.

“You cut my hair!” Fortuna protested, her arrogance replaced with shock. “You cut my hair!”

What? Her stylist probably did that every month, and that woman reacted as if she had been stabbed! “You asked for it,” he replied, putting the cut hair inside his coat. “Now, I shall keep your hair as a war trophy.”

“How could you?” she replied with noble indignation. “Have you no respect?”

“Mademoiselle, I believe in true equality,” Ryan declared. “Equality of gender, of religion, of race. All shall suffer without discrimination. I have no chivalry, no scruples, no respect for the elderly, and I’m utterly color-blind. Doesn’t matter which gods you pray to, none of them will help. Beautiful or ugly, I shall torment without respite!”

Fortuna didn’t share his civilized point of view, but Ryan guessed such was the lot of those ahead of their time.

“Morty, Greta,” Fortuna clenched her teeth, “say something!”

“Serves you right,” Mortimer rasped, unsympathetic. “All the times you mocked poor Mortimer, because he couldn’t hit you. Not so smug now.”

“Wait, is this the first time someone managed to ‘wound’ her?” Vulcan asked, curious.

“I never use my power on my teammates,” Greta replied, her expression ever cheerful. Ryan thought that her behavior had gone from endearing to positively creepy.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” the courier told the crybaby, who kept glaring at him. “If anything I’m the victim.”

“You?” Her glare morphed into a confused expression.

“Yes, I grant you your wish, obey your command without flinching, and I only get ungratefulness in return. Truly, I don’t think we’ll ever be friends.”

Fortuna merely stared at him, unable to form a coherent answer.

“Alright, enough with the bullshit.” Vulcan clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Quicksave, these are the Killer Seven. Our organization’s hit squad.”

“I must be bad at math because I only count four,” Ryan deadpanned.

“We’re six with the Vamp and Night Terror,” Sparrow replied. “The former isn’t good for direct combat, and the latter’s power only works in the dark.”

“Wait, wait,” Ryan immediately asked the important question. “Why do you call yourself the Killer Seven when you’re only six?”

“We started at seven when Boss Pluto led us, one for each color,” Mortimer answered. “But since she mostly does admin nowadays, we’ve rotated between four to six members depending on turnover. The name stuck though. Killer Seven is catchier than Killer Six, ya know?”

“Only Mortimer and I remain out of the original lineup,” Sparrow explained. “We were each a different color.”

“We would need a Violet to complete the set,” Greta said, grinning at Ryan. “Want to join?”

“I veto that proposal,” Fortuna said immediately.

“Me too,” Mortimer added with a shrug. “He’s new meat.”

“But we don’t have a Violet to complete the rainbow,” Cancel complained.

“Greta, you cannot invite an unproven recruit,” Sparrow said, before looking at Ryan. “Nothing personal, Quicksave. Our missions are the most sensitive, so we only welcome Genomes with an extensive history of loyalty towards our organization. Maybe in a few years.”

“Don’t poach my boys,” Vulcan shot down the idea.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t get past the name thing,” Ryan pointed out. “I mean, if you aren’t able to commit to a theme, you should find another one entirely. What, next you’re going to tell me Sparrow’s supervillain name has nothing to do with her superpower?”

Sparrow answered with a forced smile.

Ryan glanced at her with disbelief. “It doesn’t?”

“She shoots lasers,” Mortimer said. “Sort of.”

“I find sparrows adorable,” the Genome replied, embarrassed. “They’re my favorite animals, and the name wasn’t taken.”

“What’s wrong with you people?” Ryan complained, disappointed. “No respect for tradition and proper branding.”

“I’ll give you a brand, you crazy…” Fortuna mumbled, still reeling from the humiliation.

“Enough chit chat,” Vulcan said, growing frustrated with the banter. “I gathered you to attack the Meta-Gang today. We will drive them out of Rust Town, even if we have to fight them city block by city block.”

“‘Bout time,” Mortimer snickered.

My, Ryan may actually fulfill most of his goals in this loop. Could this run finally improve, after the disastrous reunion with Len?

“What about our armor?” Sparrow asked the important question.

“I’ve designed variants for each of you.” Vulcan glanced at Ryan. “With one exception.”

“I’ll pass.” Frankly, while he understood the appeal of armor, Ryan preferred mobility over defense, since his power made death a non-issue. As for stealthy versions, well, he wouldn’t dress in bright colors if he didn’t want to be seen.

“Even one that enhances your power?”

Ryan squinted his eyes at the Genius. “You can’t.”

“Mechron could enhance powers,” she replied, annoyed. “That’s how he recruited his few living followers.”

“Yes, Mechron.”

It said something about Vulcan, that she took the comparison to the world’s most powerful Genius as a challenge. “I can make armor which enhances the user’s power, though I need to study it in depth. I managed to do so for our Fireman division.”

“They took the Firebrand knockoff Elixirs, which grants pyrokinesis,” Sparrow said. “You’ve probably seen one in New Rome. They’re very popular.”

Maybe? He didn’t pay attention to extras. “How much firepower did they gain?”

“They went from throwing embers to fireballs,” Vulcan boasted, putting a finger on her chin. “Now imagine what your power could do.”

This was a trap.

Ryan had noticed it the moment Pluto interrogated him at Jamie’s place. His power fascinated Vulcan to an unhealthy level, perhaps because she suspected he lied about its particularities. That was only an excuse to lower his guard, so she may gather data.

And yet…

Ryan had struggled for years to explore his power, and he knew he hadn’t tapped into its full potential yet. If he could enhance his power, create multiple save points, or move his current one further back into the past...

“I will think about it.”

伏尔甘的工坊里回荡着焊接声。瑞恩屁股搁在椅子上，两条腿架在工作台上，正在审阅一张装甲草图。

给伏尔甘当助手，结果大部分时间都在做案头工作，而非打靶之类令人兴奋的事。她把新装甲、枪械或载具的设计图交给他，让他检查并加以改进。

看过她的草图后，信使意识到，伏尔甘的天才能力大概是“武器制造”。她所有的发明，要么能直接用来攻击，要么是武器的配套设备。这位天才甚至能编写网络战程序，比如能从远处引爆手机的病毒。

这种能力让伏尔甘成了危险得可怕的天才，可光靠枪炮，造不出一辆车。她一直没能弥补装甲关节的弱点，仅仅是因为，她的能力不肯考虑那些理论上与战争无关的创新解法。

难怪伏尔甘那么渴望找个天才助手。她就是一枚没配三脚架的导弹。

“所以，让我捋清楚，”伏尔甘一边把一门新炮焊到装甲的右臂上，一边问，“深潜者不想让你进入她的生活，斩马刀却建议你坚持下去？”

“差不多吧。”瑞恩回答，在她的草图上潦草地写着批注。天才科技在他看来，一直是很有趣的智力挑战，所以他才花了那么多轮循环来研究。“哦，他还要在星期四晚上办个派对。”

“得了吧，杰米懂个屁。”天才怒气冲冲地回道，“我他妈最烦救美骑士了，深潜者不需要那种人。她谁都不需要。”

“这我可不确定——”

“你到底明不明白，那姑娘有多大的潜力？”伏尔甘打断了他，“如今地球上至少有三分之一的地方没法住人，而她能造出自给自足、扛得住深海压力的栖居地。我造的是武器，可她呢？她在建设未来。没错，没有她的技术，我也能过。但我给她的钱？那是对人类未来的投资。”

她停下焊接，放好工具和铁面罩，用手擦了擦汗。

“救美骑士这种人，能把人憋死。”她拿起一瓶水喝了一口，继续发泄，“他们帮忙，不是因为他们善良，而是因为他们需要别人需要自己。他们让人喘不过气。你那姑娘需要的是自信，而要建立自信，她就得做出完全属于她自己的东西。所以，你要是真喜欢那个叫蕾恩的姑娘，就别挡她的路。想帮她，就别帮她。”

这听起来可一点都不像心理投射。一点都不像。“我敢肯定，这番高论背后一定有段有趣的故事。”信使调侃道。

“双足飞龙是最糟糕的救美骑士，所有人都活在她的阴影里。”她的回答不出瑞恩所料，“你以为她当英雄，是因为她真信什么正义？全是为了满足自我。自以为是。她想要孩子们为她欢呼，想让人仰望她，却不愿做艰难的决定。她要是真想改变什么，早就甩掉迪纳米斯了。可她没有。”

“可她对你本人究竟做了什么？”瑞恩有点困惑地问。

“你到底有没有在听？她把我困在了她的阴影里。刚开始的时候，我负责动脑，她负责动手。情报是我收集的，计划是我制订的。她很强，可她就是根狼牙棒。力气再大，没人朝正确的方向挥，也毫无意义。”

天才继续大发牢骚，宣泄着情绪。她的声音里满是苦涩和怒气，手指把已经喝空的塑料瓶捏得变了形。

“双足飞龙是靠我才出名的，可站在前线的人始终是她。人人挂在嘴边的英雄也是她。等我们跟迪纳米斯谈成合作，事情就更糟了。我想借他们的资源给自己造套装甲，闯出自己的名号。做双足飞龙的搭档，而不是她的跟班。可他们把我关在实验室里，我所有的方案都被否决。我什么武器都能造，造出来的东西足以媲美梅克隆，但在马纳达家的人眼里……我不过是个给他们的士兵造装甲的小姑娘。”

“那我们造把枪吧。”

“枪？”她皱起眉。

“一把非常大的枪。”瑞恩说，“一把能在月——球——上画标志的激光枪。”

“我为什么要在月球上画标志？”

“好把它的版权拿下来。”

伏尔甘竖起一根手指，沉默地深入思考了他这句话，最后发现自己无言以对。

“我用逻辑打败了你！”瑞恩得意扬扬地宣布。伏尔甘的回应是把塑料瓶砸向他，不过嘴角却挂着一丝若有若无的笑。她走到信使面前，拿起草图，检查他添上去的内容。

“思路挺有意思，不过下雨就没用了。”她说，随即扬起眉毛，“为什么左下角画了只鸭子？”

“看到一半觉得无聊了。”她让他审阅的是一款能够融入周围环境的隐身装甲。那个隐形的午饭贼给了瑞恩灵感：用光学摄像头拍下穿戴者周围的环境，再把画面显示在装甲表面。

“你工作时不会进入神游状态。”她观察道，“有意思，有意思。”

“不错嘛。”瑞恩身后传来一个声音，“我也想要一套。”

“哎呀，谢谢夸奖。”信使回过头，迎接新来的客人。

一名基因者不知怎么进了屋，唯一的门却根本没开过。那身影又高又瘦，一身装束让瑞恩联想到稻草人。一副阴森的金属骷髅面具遮住了脸，黑色连帽斗篷则藏住了身体的其余部分。最重要的是，这位恶魔绅士似乎和信使一样热爱武器，子弹带上挂着好几把枪，还带了一把狙击步枪。

“啧，居然一点都没吓着。”那男人抱怨道，不过瑞恩也拿不准对方到底是不是男人；骷髅面具对声音做了电子处理，虽说听着隐约像个男的。“你真没意思。”

“莫蒂默，别欺负新人。”麻雀说。普鲁托的这位保镖从门口走了进来；她的女主人没来，跟在身后的是消除者和一张新面孔。“抱歉，快存，他就爱靠吓人找乐子。”

“嗨，瑞恩，嗨，贾丝敏！”格蕾塔笑得十分讨喜，朝他们挥了挥手。

“嗨，格蕾塔！”瑞恩回了声招呼，注意力却更多地放在这群人的第三位成员身上。

那是个与他身体年龄相仿的年轻女人，美极了。不是寻常的漂亮，而是顶级模特般的惊艳。她有一双榛色眼睛，金发垂至臀际，皮肤晒成了棕褐色，面容宛如精雕细琢而成。这位维纳斯恐怕能让任何男人拜倒在她脚下。就连她那一身亮白色的衣服和首饰，也引领着新罗马的时尚潮流，瑞恩本以为只会在女明星身上见到。

遗憾的是，从她的举止来看，这副好皮囊显然已经让她昏了头。她的一举一动都透着浮夸的傲气与自信，几乎令人作呕。

不过，瑞恩并不在意她的美貌。

他在意的是，她长得像某只猫。

不幸的是，她把他这副兴致盎然的模样误会成了另一回事。“我是福尔图娜，”这位惊艳的美人自我介绍道，信使立刻想起，这是原子猫某位姐妹的名字，“全世界最幸运的女人。”

瑞恩笑了起来。“既然已经遇上了我，那你可就不是了。”

“哦，是吗？”她走到一面金属墙前，双手叉腰，“朝我开枪。”

“你确定？”信使确认道。

“确定。朝我开枪。”

“好。”

瑞恩立刻从椅子上站起，从大衣里拔出沙漠之鹰，热情洋溢地扣动了扳机。这动作来得太突然，吓了福尔图娜的队友们一跳，但他们谁也没有出手干预。

子弹打光后，瑞恩懒得换弹，直接把枪扔掉，从自己的武器库里掏出另一把手枪继续射击。等弹匣再次打空，他便换把新枪，重复这个过程。

AMT Hardballer、勃朗宁大威力、伯莱塔92FS Inox、镀金版伯莱塔92FS Inox、CZ 75、格洛克17、两把格洛克17L、柯尔特体系1927型、斯捷奇金APS——因为俄国人造的枪最好——接着又是一把史密斯-韦森629型。

“还挺执着。”莫蒂默嘀咕道，枪声太响，瑞恩差点没听见。

“武器可真不少。”麻雀说，“他哪来这么多地方装？”

“人生唯一能确定的事，就是死神找上门时，你的枪永远不够多！”瑞恩高喊。他的手套上都在冒硝烟。

这时，几名身穿装甲的守卫闯进工坊，大概以为这里爆发了枪战。他们看了看现场，瑞恩回头看了他们一眼，暂停了时间。时间恢复流动时，守卫们发现自己的冲锋枪不见了，信使正一手一把，朝福尔图娜开火。伏尔甘朝困惑的守卫们抬了抬手，他们明智地退回岗位，满心茫然，又有些尴尬。

连续射击了十分钟，把小型枪械全都用尽之后，瑞恩又换上霰弹枪，拿着一把雷明顿870型朝那位模特猛轰。之后他升级到线圈枪，最后又扔出了身上几乎所有的飞刀。

他只剩下两份惊喜了。

瑞恩伸手没摸到第一件宝贝武器，不由一顿。“嘿，我的原子弹哪儿去了？”

“趁你忙着开枪，我拿走了。”伏尔甘举起手里的金属球，“我就知道会闹到这一步。”

“还给我！”快存像小孩子一样央求，伏尔甘却始终把炸弹举在他够不着的地方。“还给我！”

“这下服气了？”

瑞恩转头望向福尔图娜。她身后的墙壁已经被打成了瑞士奶酪，她本人却毫发无损地站在那里，连一丝擦伤都没有。

一丝都没有。

他明明就站在三步开外，近在咫尺地朝她开枪。

妈的，瑞恩现在觉得自己就是《星球大战》里的帝国冲锋队士兵。

“这神佑程度，够得上《低俗小说》了。”信使承认，“不过……”

“不过？”年轻女人脸上那副得意洋洋的笑，足以排进信使生平所见的前几名。

“我有一招秘技。”瑞恩放弃动用核武器，重新拿起那把可靠的小刀，“一旦使出来，就能一刀断了你的念想。不过得先警告你，从来没人扛得住这一招。”

她一言不发，用神情示意他尽管来。

行，这是她自找的。

“世界！”

时间停止，工坊化作一片紫色。

瑞恩飞快地看了消除者一眼，她和其他人一样，被凝固在了时间里。正如他所料，她的消除能力不会自动防御，必须由她主动开关。

这倒是条有用的情报。瑞恩将它记下，留待日后。

他朝福尔图娜走了三步，本以为她那离谱的好运会让他滑上一跤……结果却没有。他的能力压过了她的能力。信使稍稍琢磨了一下该对哪里下手，犹豫着要不要轻轻划她一刀，但那似乎有点太野蛮了。

于是，如同美洲原住民剥下受害者的头皮当战利品一般，他用锋利的小刀迅速把她的金发剪成齐肩长短，余下的则归自己所有。

“世界：理发师式！”

她或许很幸运，但在这个时间静止的世界里，信使才是无可匹敌的主宰。

“时间啊，停止吧。”瑞恩用日语念道，赶在能力结束前的最后一刻，迅速回到了原位。

时钟再次走动，福尔图娜发出一声惊恐交加的凄厉哀号，叫得瑞恩都吓了一跳。格蕾塔毫无反应，莫蒂默低头看了看队友的头发，似乎暗自心满意足，而伏尔甘……

伏尔甘根本没看那姑娘。她眼里只有某位英俊的信使。

“你剪了我的头发！”福尔图娜抗议，傲气已被震惊取代，“你剪了我的头发！”

怎么了？她的发型师恐怕每个月都要这么干一次，这女人的反应却跟挨了一刀似的！“是你自找的。”他边说边把剪下来的头发塞进大衣，“现在，我要把你的头发留下，当作战利品。”

“你怎么能这样？”她一副高贵而义愤填膺的模样，“你连一点尊重都没有吗？”

“小姐，我信奉真正的平等。”瑞恩宣布，“性别平等，宗教平等，种族平等。所有人都得一视同仁地受苦。我没有骑士精神，没有道德顾忌，不尊老，而且在肤色这件事上，我是个彻头彻尾的色盲。随便你向哪路神明祈祷，谁都救不了你。不论美丑，我都将折磨到底，绝不姑息！”

福尔图娜不认同他如此文明的观点，不过瑞恩想，走在时代前沿的人，命运大抵如此。

“莫蒂，格蕾塔，”福尔图娜咬牙切齿，“你们倒是说句话啊！”

“活该。”莫蒂默嗓音沙哑，毫不同情，“以前可怜的莫蒂默打不中你，你哪次不嘲笑他？现在得意不起来了吧。”

“等等，这是头一次有人成功‘伤’到她？”伏尔甘好奇地问。

“我从不用能力对付队友。”格蕾塔回答，神情一如既往地愉快。瑞恩觉得，她这副模样已经从讨人喜欢变成了让人毛骨悚然。

“喂，别那样看着我。”信使对那个始终瞪着他的爱哭鬼说，“真要说起来，我才是受害者。”

“你？”她怒视的表情变成了困惑。

“没错。我满足你的愿望，毫不迟疑地遵从你的命令，换来的却只有忘恩负义。说真的，我觉得我们永远也成不了朋友。”

福尔图娜只能盯着他，连一句完整的回答都组织不出来。

“行了，别扯淡了。”伏尔甘拍了拍手，让所有人看向自己，“快存，这几位就是杀手七人组。我们组织的刺杀小队。”

“肯定是我数学不好，怎么只数出了四个。”瑞恩面无表情地说。

“算上妖姬和夜魇，我们有六个人。”麻雀回答，“前者不擅长正面战斗，后者的能力只能在黑暗中发挥作用。”

“等等，等等。”瑞恩立刻抓住了重点，“明明只有六个人，为什么要叫杀手七人组？”

“当初普鲁托老大带队的时候，一开始有七个人，每种颜色一个。”莫蒂默回答，“不过她现在主要管行政了，随着人员更替，队里的人数也就在四到六个之间变动。名字倒是留了下来。杀手七人组比杀手六人组叫着顺口，对吧？”

“最初那批人，只剩莫蒂默和我了。”麻雀解释，“当时我们每个人的颜色都不一样。”

“还得有个紫色，才能凑齐一套。”格蕾塔朝瑞恩咧嘴一笑，“想加入吗？”

“我否决这个提议。”福尔图娜立刻说。

“我也一样。”莫蒂默耸耸肩，附和道，“他才刚来。”

“可我们缺个紫色，彩虹凑不齐啊。”消除者抱怨。

“格蕾塔，你不能邀请一个还没经受过考验的新人。”麻雀说着，转向瑞恩，“不是针对你，快存。我们的任务最为敏感，所以只接纳长期忠于组织、资历足够的基因者。也许再过几年吧。”

“别挖我的人。”伏尔甘一口否决。

“抱歉，但名字这事我实在过不去。”瑞恩指出，“我是说，既然没法贯彻一个主题，就该干脆换一个。怎么，接下来是不是还要告诉我，麻雀这个超级反派名号，跟她的超能力根本没关系？”

麻雀回以勉强的一笑。

瑞恩难以置信地看着她。“真没关系？”

“她会发射激光。”莫蒂默说，“算是吧。”

“我觉得麻雀很可爱。”那位基因者尴尬地回答，“它们是我最喜欢的动物，而且这名字当时还没人用。”

“你们这些人到底怎么回事？”瑞恩失望地抱怨，“既不尊重传统，也不懂得好好塑造品牌。”

“我给你身上烙个‘品牌’，你这疯……”福尔图娜低声嘟囔，仍没从那场羞辱中缓过来。

“闲聊到此为止。”伏尔甘被这些插科打诨弄得越来越烦，“今天召集你们，是要进攻超能帮。我们要把他们赶出锈镇，哪怕一条街一条街地打过去。”

“早该动手了。”莫蒂默嗤笑一声。

哟，这一轮循环里，瑞恩说不定真能完成大部分目标。跟蕾恩重逢得一塌糊涂之后，这一轮终于要开始好转了吗？

“我们的装甲呢？”麻雀问起了要紧事。

“我为你们每个人都设计了不同的型号。”伏尔甘看向瑞恩，“有一个人除外。”

“我就免了。”坦白说，瑞恩明白装甲的吸引力所在，但比起防御，他更喜欢机动性，毕竟有他的能力在，死亡根本不成问题。至于隐身型嘛，要不是想让别人看见，他也不会穿得那么鲜艳了。

“能增强你能力的装甲，也不要？”

瑞恩眯起眼看着天才。“你做不到。”

“梅克隆就能增强能力。”她不悦地回答，“他就是靠这个，才招到了那几个为数不多的活人追随者。”

“是啊，梅克隆。”

竟然会把与世上最强天才的比较当作挑战，这也很能说明伏尔甘是怎样的人了。“我能制造增强使用者能力的装甲，只不过得先深入研究那种能力。我已经在火焰兵分队身上成功过了。”

“他们服用了‘火种’仿制灵药，能获得控火能力。”麻雀说，“你在新罗马应该见过服用的人。这种药很受欢迎。”

也许吧？他可没留意那些龙套。“火力增强了多少？”

“以前只能扔火星，现在能扔火球了。”伏尔甘得意地说，伸出一根手指抵着下巴，“现在想想，你的能力又能变成什么样。”

这是个陷阱。

普鲁托在杰米家盘问他的时候，瑞恩就已经注意到了。伏尔甘对他的能力着迷得很不健康，也许是因为她怀疑他在能力的具体细节上撒了谎。这不过是个借口，好让他放松警惕，方便她收集数据。

可是……

瑞恩已经花了多年苦苦探索自己的能力，他知道，自己还远没挖掘出它的全部潜力。如果他能增强能力，创建多个存档点，或者把现在这个存档点移到更遥远的过去……

“我会考虑的。”