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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 Tête 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.

Nobody had entered the maze for years, probably because people finally wised up to the danger of Monaco. Or perhaps their mysterious abductor had died, and his dimension kept working without him. Whatever the case, with no fresh blood, the 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.

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.

Over the century, the wanderer had explored the Monte Carlo Casino farther than anyone, but learned little more. The maze truly was infinite, as far as he could tell. None 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.

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.

And then, Ryan’s health suddenly started deteriorating one year ago. Perhaps his Elixir-enhanced body came with an expiration date, or it was just the accumulated toll of living so long without natural light, fresh air, or company. Thirty days ago, the Genome woke up only to realize he couldn’t move far from his bed without collapsing. Thankfully, he had accumulated a food and water reserve just for this occasion.

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.”

It…

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.

瑞恩·罗马诺死过无数次，或死于自己之手，或死于他人之手。

但有一次死亡，凌驾于所有死亡之上。那次死亡让他不再在乎，也教会了他享受人生。那是一场完美的死亡，任何人都不该再从中归来。

这就是那次死亡的故事。

这就是摩纳哥的故事。

---

• 2017年4月1日，法国，拉蒂尔比村。

太阳正沉向地平线，下方的摩纳哥城灯火璀璨。

瑞恩站在犬首岩高地边缘，仔细观察着自己的目的地。他那辆可靠的摩托车和旅行包就放在旁边。离开意大利已经五年，如今，终于到了见分晓的时候。

好吧，严格说来只过了三个月，但这三个月，他过了一遍，又一遍，再一遍。他走遍地中海沿岸，寻找蕾恩和她那艘潜艇的任何踪迹。他知道他们原本计划去美国，在……在分开之前。可她不可能已经横渡大西洋。她一定在近一些的地方停下了。在某个他能找到的地方。

然而，瑞恩已经开始失去希望。他去过希腊、西班牙、法国，去过所有能想到的地方。他在战后的废土上四处漂泊，却一无所获。如果她彻底离开了欧洲，搬去了海底或某座遥远的岛屿，那他这番寻找，无异于大海捞针。

地中海周边，只剩一个地方瑞恩还没去过。每个人都劝他远离的那个国家。一个无人能够归来的地方。

“摩纳哥。”瑞恩望着那座滨海城市说道。它看上去……很不错，一时也找不到更合适的词。而这让他十分不安。

首先，这个袖珍国家依然完好无损。光这一点就已经很不寻常了。摩纳哥曾是欧洲最奢华的海滨度假胜地之一，是赌徒和百万富翁的巢穴；不知为何，末日之后，它看上去竟依旧名副其实。炸弹、机器人和纳米瘟疫，仿佛全都止步于国境线外。

楼宇与民居毫无破败的痕迹，可这位时间旅者在街上一个人也没看见。海面上漂着船只和游艇，车道上排着一长串空无一人的汽车，瑞恩听不到任何声音。连一声鸟鸣都没有。

“我知道，这话说出来就是在招灾，”瑞恩喃喃自语。他常靠这样排遣孤独，“但我有种不好的预感。”

时间旅者就在这一刻存了档，以防万一。许多人去过摩纳哥，寻找物资、灵药，或是安全的避难所；但没有一个人回来。

不过，那些人也都不会穿越时间。

“好吧，看来这是最后的机会了，小矮个。”瑞恩跨上摩托，朝城市驶去，“如果连这个有去无回的地方都找不到你……”

嗯，他还可以试着横渡大洋，去美国看看——如果美国还存在的话。但更可能的是，瑞恩得面对那个显而易见的事实。

蕾恩已经不在了。

时间旅者已经尽力让人知道自己还在，通过无线电塔和一切能找到的通信渠道发送信号。如果她至今都没有联系他，那她不是无法回应，就是已经死了。

而如果放弃寻找朋友，瑞恩不知道自己还能做什么。寻找蕾恩的目标，支撑着他度过了那么多次重来，除此之外，他的人生再无目的。没有任何值得他投身的事业。自从血流死后，时间旅者就始终觉得自己无所依凭，连他的能力也抵挡不住那不断啃噬他的孤独。没有蕾恩，他的存在便毫无意义。

瑞恩驱散这些念头，跨上摩托，沿路向下驶往摩纳哥。抵达城市正式的边界时，时间旅者注意到路边立着一块字迹粗劣的牌子。

“安道尔的军队永远征服不了我们伟大的国家！”瑞恩大声念道。安道尔不也是个袖珍国家吗？

世界末日还真把所有怪胎都从藏身之处逼出来了。

瑞恩骑车穿行于摩纳哥的街道，出乎意料的是，什么可怕的事也没发生。他没有当场暴毙，也没有哪个发疯的疯魔跳出来伏击他。简直有点让人失望。

然而，时间旅者能感觉到空气中弥漫的紧张。街道干干净净，所有车辆都规规矩矩地停在该停的地方，路灯竟然也运转如常；可瑞恩知道，这座城市需要从法兰西共和国输入电力，而后者早已崩溃。他透过民居的窗户往里看，里面空无一人。

瑞恩来到了摩纳哥最著名的地标——赌场广场。知名的蒙特卡洛赌场依旧巍然耸立，那份十九世纪的华美在末日中完好地保存了下来。入口上方的钟停在十二点，灯光却依旧亮着。门前的喷泉也在运作，周围是葱郁的步道和精心布置的花卉。

“有人吗？”瑞恩问道，继续招惹命运。回应他的只有沉沉的寂静。

好吧，或许他该找找——

---

黄紫相间的光芒一闪，广场消失了。

眨眼之间，瑞恩发现自己置身于一条豪华的大理石走廊。墙上挂着画，吊灯洒下些许光亮，走廊通向几扇高大的木门。

短暂的惊愕过后，瑞恩环顾四周，却发现身后只是一面墙，身边只剩那只物资包。有人把他传送到了别的地方？

瑞恩看了看那些画。大部分都是超现实主义风格，让他想起勒内·马格利特。其中一幅名为《创世》，画的是两只戴着手套的手，正在打开一个炼金术师的奇迹盒。另一幅《摩纳哥的凯旋》，描绘的则是一支金色人形军队，正势如破竹地击溃梅克隆的机器人。

瑞恩满心疑惑，拿起物资包，沿着走廊走到尽头的门前。他注意到门上方有块牌子，用最鲜艳的颜色精心绘制而成。

“蒙特卡洛盛大开业！”

然而，就在牌子旁边，瑞恩发现大理石墙上粗粗刻着一行字。

“别相信小丑，他们会吃掉你的心。”

瑞恩继续读下去，发现石头上还刻着更多“忠告”。

“在天黑前，沿箭头去套房。”旁边还刻着第二句话，刻字的人显然十分仓促：“别走楼梯，坐电梯。”

瑞恩低头一看，发现地板上刻着箭头。他越发困惑，推开木门，走进了下一个房间。

令瑞恩意外的是，门后竟是蒙特卡洛赌场的复刻版；至少和他在战前照片上见过的那点模样一致。他的脚步声回荡在宽阔的大厅里，大厅由立柱支撑，地面被一张巨大的轮盘赌桌取代，上面的筹码足有一米宽。天花板上垂下的枝形烛台提供着照明，艺术陈设极尽十九世纪的奢华。瑞恩看向窗户，却发现它们全被大理石封死了。

“您好，尊贵的客人！”左侧传来一个声音，有人悄无声息地摸到了瑞恩身边。

“啊！”瑞恩后退一步，立刻发动了时间暂停。或者说，他试图这么做。短短一瞬，他感觉自己的能力正竭力对抗着一股无形的力量，可时间就是不肯停下。

惊慌之下，瑞恩拔出藏在衣服下面的手枪，却很快意识到自己判断错了。

面前的生物看上去像人，却也仅仅是表面上像。它的皮肤白得不自然，更重要的是，它的脸是一张纯金打造的小丑面具。它穿着荷官的制服，系着领结，套着旧外套，还戴着手套。

“欢迎来到摩纳哥！”小丑欢快地说道。每吐出一个字，那张金面具都会不自然地活动一下。它的眼眶和嘴里渗着黑暗。“地球上最伟大的国家！有什么可以为您效劳的吗？”

瑞恩又试了一次暂停时间，但有什么东西阻止了能力发动。该死，这地方会干扰他的能力？如果是这样，那要是瑞恩死在这些墙里面……

“我这是在哪儿，潘尼怀斯？”时间旅者问道，枪口始终指着那只小丑怪物。

“当然是在摩纳哥！蒙让-斯特凡妮殿下的神圣庇佑，这是地球上最伟大、最繁荣的国家！”

“噢，一位新客人！”瑞恩听见了另一个声音。又一个小丑走进大厅，只不过它的脸是青铜的，而不是黄金。它和同伴一样穿着荷官制服，胳膊下夹着一只银托盘。“欢迎！要来一杯吗？”

这——这他妈是什么情况？瑞恩是一不小心闯进了斯蒂芬·金的小说里吗？“让-斯特凡妮？”他重复道，拿不准该先开枪打哪个小丑。

“让-斯特凡妮一世殿下，摩纳哥亲王，列支敦士登与圣马力诺的征服者！”金面小丑挥手指向立柱附近的一尊大理石雕像。雕像刻的是某种奇怪的生物，摆着一个美化过的姿势。那模样让瑞恩隐约想到一个穿西装、戴软呢帽的男人，只是手臂长得过分，五官也扭曲了。“殿下出身卑微，却在2005年登上了摩纳哥的王位，凭的正是其他人全都死光了！”

它说这话时，语气居然还那么欢快……

“从那以后，他就一直英勇地守护着摩纳哥，抵御那些企图毁灭我们伟大国家的安道尔蛮军。”青铜面小丑接着说道，随后伸手指向大厅东边的某个方向。“那么，如果您想吃顿热饭，我可以带您去我们的五星级餐厅。还是说，您更想玩一局轮盘赌？”

“为什么窗户都封死了？”瑞恩一边问，一边瞥向地面。地板上刻的箭头指向西边。“出口在哪儿？”

“您为什么想离开摩纳哥？”青铜面小丑轻笑着问道，“摩纳哥是地球上最伟大的国家，怎么会有人想离开呢？”

“我就想。”瑞恩说道，心里越来越不舒服。

“可您是客人，您受到了邀请。”那名侍者继续说道，面具变形，露出一个令人不安的笑容。它的声音天真又欢快，可语调中的某些东西却让瑞恩不寒而栗。“营业时间内，我们随时为您效劳。我们永远陪伴着您，尊贵的客人！”

跟它们待得越久，瑞恩就越不安。它们的善意既虚伪又生硬。“我晚点再来。”他答应道，沿箭头走去。

“可是，我们很快就要打烊了。”金面小丑说道，和另一名侍者一起跟在瑞恩身后。它们的姿态发生了细微变化，透出威胁。“我们很快、很快就要打烊了。”

“离我远点！”瑞恩举枪对准它们，这时又发现更多小丑正走进大厅。它们全都穿着荷官制服，面具则有青铜、白银和黄金之分。虽然保持着礼貌的距离，它们却依旧像一群面带笑容的狼，尾随着时间旅者。“我可不怕小丑！”

“我们只是想帮助您，尊贵的客人！”青铜面小丑说道。它想让人安心，听着却只让人毛骨悚然。“我们存在，就是为了请人上桌。”

瑞恩想起入口处的那行字，忽然怀疑这句话是不是还有另一层意思。他沿着箭头一路走，终于来到两座楼梯之间的一部电梯前，电梯门正敞着。这位漂泊者朝楼梯瞥了一眼，发现台阶上放着捕兽夹，还拉着绊线。别无出路，他只好走进电梯，同时用枪威胁着那些小丑。

这位基因者注意到四楼按钮旁有个标记，写着“这里”，便狠狠按了下去。电梯门在瑞恩面前合拢，十几个戴面具的怪物在诡异的寂静中瞪着他。

“尊贵的各位来宾。”电梯扬声器里响起一个男声，瑞恩僵住了。“我们不得不通知各位，由于国家进入紧急状态，蒙特卡洛赌场将提前打烊！但我向各位保证，只要有让-斯特凡妮殿下保护我们，安道尔的军队就永远无法毁灭我们的公国！摩纳哥万岁！”

这他妈到底是什么地方？

电梯“叮”的一声抵达四楼时，灯已经灭了；瑞恩刚一走出去，电梯门便立即关上。他还听见下方传来一声响动，有什么人触发了绊线陷阱。

瑞恩感觉情况很快就会变得非常糟糕，便掏出手机，打开手电筒功能。这里像是一条通往各间酒店套房的走廊，只是墙壁和房门都用钢板加固过。只有一间44号房似乎从里面透出了灯光，瑞恩赶紧上前敲门。

“喂！”他用尽力气大喊，却无人回应。“有人吗？喂！”

叮！

瑞恩望向电梯。门开了，六个小丑从里面走了出来。这次，它们没有礼貌地邀请他，甚至一个字也没说。

只是每个小丑手里都拿着银刀银叉，脖子上围着餐巾。

“小孩子现在不喜欢小丑，就是这个原因！”瑞恩举枪开火，同时又一次试图暂停时间。

不光能力没能发动，就连那只脸上挨了一枪的银面小丑，脚步也丝毫没有放缓。

套房门打开，有人走了出来。让瑞恩松了口气的是，救他的是个正常人，只不过身材像野蛮人柯南一样魁梧。他的救星穿着一身像是从废品里拼凑出来的装备：美式橄榄球头盔和护具，外加几片中世纪盔甲作为加固。

最重要的是，他拿着一把霰弹枪。

“我就知道我听见动静了！”男人用法语说道，给霰弹枪上了膛。头盔下的脸布满皱纹，一双眼睛是冰冷的蓝色。“让开！”

瑞恩立即闪到一旁，救星随即开火。一枪就把一只青铜面小丑轰得四分五裂，怪物流出的不是血，而是白色液体。然而，其他小丑很快推开尸体，满眼饥渴地扑向两个人类。

“走走走！”男人冲时间旅者喊道，两人英勇地逃进了套房。穿盔甲的男人迅速关门落锁，瑞恩听见门那边传来砰的一声巨响。那些恶毒的荷官开始在金属门外尖叫，使出浑身力气捶门，但门始终撑住了。

“总有一天，在关节炎找上我之前，老子要跟你们来场神风特攻！”穿盔甲的男人隔着门吼道，“我要像托尼·蒙塔纳那样，把你们轰个稀巴烂，杀得一个不剩！”

随后，他转向瑞恩。“没事吧，小子？”

“应该没事……”瑞恩缓了口气，打量四周。和从外面看起来一样，这是一间豪华酒店套房，大得足够住下一家人。房间采用十九世纪的法式装潢，墙壁雪白，窗户用大理石封死。套房里各种设施一应俱全，从沙发、电视，到藏书室，甚至还有吧台。

最奇怪的是，瑞恩还发现一面墙上挖着个洞，旁边放着一把镐。

“听着像意大利口音，你是个意大利佬？”穿盔甲的男人换成意大利语问道。他完全无视外面的声响，走向吧台，把霰弹枪放在伸手可及的地方。他摘下头盔，露出光秃秃的脑袋；瑞恩估计他六十岁上下，也许再老一点。“离家挺远啊，通心粉。你叫什么？”

“瑞恩，你这块法国奶酪。”旅者没好气地答道，“瑞恩·罗马诺。”

“我叫西蒙，套房镇的警长。”男人说着，拿出两只杯子和一瓶白兰地。“外面是什么日子了？我得核对一下。”

“2017年4月1日。”瑞恩皱着眉回答。

男人长长叹了口气。“操，十二年了，老弟。困在这鬼地方十二年了。地球还是个辐射垃圾场吗？”

“是，但我们到底在哪儿？”瑞恩追问，非要弄个明白，“这是蒙特卡洛吗？”

“我倒想说是地狱，可惜你没那么走运。你在摩纳哥。真正的摩纳哥，没人回得去的那个。”房间里响起铃声，西蒙往吧台下面看了一眼，拿起一部座机。“喂，玛蒂娜？”

虽然听不懂对话，瑞恩还是听见了电话另一头的女声。

“对，对，来了个新人，荷官跟着他过来了。对，他安全了。别担心。”西蒙直视瑞恩的眼睛。“你包里有武器吗？”

“呃，三把枪、子弹、医疗用品、食物，还有水……”

“很好。得请你拿出来共享。我们这里不收自私的吃白食的。”西蒙随后又对着电话说，“好，玛蒂娜，明天见。保重。”

“你说你是套房镇的警长？”西蒙挂断电话后，瑞恩问道，小心地接过酒杯。他注意到吧台边上放着一本书，是阿尔贝·加缪的《西西弗神话》。

“我们大概有四十来个人，散住在整个四楼。”男人解释道，“我负责守住电梯这条边界，维护楼梯上的陷阱。逼着荷官只能走电梯，就能形成瓶颈。对付起来容易些。”

“你见过一个叫蕾恩的人吗？”瑞恩从这疯狂的噩梦中找到了一线希望。“蕾恩·萨比诺。黑头发，蓝眼睛，信马列主义。她应该是一年前到这里的。”

“还没见过什么赤色分子，我在这里可有些年头了。不过也可能死了。像你这样在营业时间到的人，算是走运。来得不是时候的嘛……”西蒙朝门一指，“都被吃了。”

所以，蕾恩不是死了，就是没来过这里。瑞恩祈祷是后者。“有没有——”

“没有别的避难所，也没有出口。”西蒙直截了当地说道，“只有套房是安全区。有某种东西把它们挡在外头，但前提是得把门锁上。我们会给你找一间自己的套房。”

男人朝瑞恩露出一个恶魔般的坏笑。

“你得在这儿住上一阵子了，小意大利佬。”

该死。

---

十个小时。

小丑的进攻持续了十个小时。它们不停尖叫，不停撞门，一刻也不歇。然而，走廊灯光重新亮起的那一刻，攻击戛然而止。小丑们平静下来，返回了楼下。原来，它们只有在“打烊期间”才会变得充满敌意。

第二天，西蒙把瑞恩介绍给了这个聚居区的镇长玛蒂娜。她二十八岁，一头金发，住在从电梯边界往里数第四间套房。她很快向他概述了这里的情况。

镇上每个人的经历都一样。他们来到摩纳哥，要么不知道危险，要么低估了危险，最后都被传送到了入口走廊。西蒙待得最久，基因者战争开始几个月后，他就来到了这里。

其他人都没有异能，而瑞恩自己的时间暂停在这个怪地方也不起作用。确切地说，他仍能感觉到能力在发动，但总有一股相抗的力量在最后一刻将它抵消。随着对这地方了解得越来越多，时间旅者终于意识到了原因。

蒙特卡洛赌场是一个口袋维度。

至少，这是瑞恩最合理的猜测。除了套房所在的楼层，其他所有房间都是八种类型的变体：厨房餐厅、巨型轮盘赌桌、大厅、老虎机室、零售商店、纸牌竞技场、仓储区，以及剧院。一个房间接着另一个，布局却从不固定，组成了一座巨大的迷宫，只有电梯和“入口走廊”能当作地标。据探索者估计，这里占地至少八平方公里，是摩纳哥本身的四倍大。而他们还在不断发现新的房间。

这让瑞恩想起那些房间由电脑生成的地牢探索游戏。只不过，这可比他记忆中的游戏无趣多了。

至少，咖啡馆和餐厅会定期补充物资，虽然没人知道这是怎么做到的。有人曾在厨房里放了一台摄像机，记录这一现象；结果发现，食物和水会在“打烊期间”凭空出现。

瑞恩不确定自己的存档点是否还有效。想弄清楚只有一个办法，而他并不急着试试上吊退房。他已经死过十几次，到目前为止，每次经历都无比痛苦。许多人跟他说过，死亡是一种安宁的终结，可他们显然从来没死过。

聚居区的人分成了几个小组，每组都有专门的任务，有的探索迷宫、绘制地图，有的四处搜集食物。瑞恩是少数有枪械使用经验的人之一，因此很快便成了西蒙的副警长，还在电梯旁分到了一间自己的套房。

此刻，时间旅者正护送玛蒂娜的小队搜集食物。而他已经后悔了。

“尊贵的客人，希望您在地球上最伟大的国家摩纳哥过得愉快！”一只银面小丑对瑞恩说道，向他奉上一只盘子，上面满满盛着精致的虾肉和三文鱼吐司。“请允许我为您献上我们主厨的赠礼？”

“滚蛋。”瑞恩举枪威胁着荷官，答道。玛蒂娜没有他那么坚决，把吐司一扫而空，全装进了包里。

营业时间内，小丑们友善得无可挑剔，在瑞恩看来，这反而让它们更加诡异。它们从虚情假意的热忱切换到嗜血的饥饿，快得令人毛骨悚然，而且极其擅长悄无声息地摸到人身边。

更糟的是，蒙特卡洛赌场常常会提前“打烊”，全凭控制扬声器的那股力量一时兴起。第一次碰上这种事时，他们只有五分钟能赶回套房，瑞恩以为自己大限已至。要不是他发疯似的冲向电梯，肯定已经死了。

扬声器里响起一个声音。有那么一瞬间，瑞恩恐惧地以为又要宣布紧急打烊了，好在只是惯常的胡言乱语。“今天是摩纳哥伟大的一天！我们的士兵大败卢森堡公爵，取得了辉煌的胜利！敌人的鲜血将为我们的游艇上色！”

“摩纳哥”一直在同列支敦士登、卢森堡、安道尔、圣马力诺交战，只不过每天的对手都不一样。

“崛起吧，摩纳哥，崛起吧！”那个声音继续说道。“让-斯特凡妮万岁！”

“我甚至不确定他是不是真的存在。”玛蒂娜对瑞恩说，“谁也没见过他，连小丑也没有。”

“那是因为殿下超乎我们的理解！”一只怪物插嘴道，却根本没人理它。“让-斯特凡妮万岁！”

“可能是个疯魔。”一行人结束搜集、返回电梯时，瑞恩说道。如果它能干扰他的能力，那多半是紫系。“不过我不明白，为什么没人来追杀我。”

“也许他靠自己的能力就能活下去吧。”回到套房楼层时，玛蒂娜提出了一个猜测。“你的无线电有进展吗？”

“没有。”众人搜集到的书籍中，有一些技术手册和战前的科技杂志。瑞恩觉得，或许可以造出一台功率足够大的无线电，向外界求救。

这希望愚蠢得很，可在有人找到出口之前，这是他们仅有的指望。

“今晚想看部电影吗？”玛蒂娜邀请他，“前几天我找到一盘《虎口脱险》的录像带。算不上什么高雅喜剧，不过可以打发时间。”

“改天吧。”瑞恩在西蒙的房门前停下，答道，“得看看老头子去。”

“我就是不明白，他为什么还在挖。”镇长叹了口气，“大概是尽可能给自己找点事做吧。”

瑞恩耸耸肩，打开西蒙的门锁。身为副警长，他有每个人房门的备用钥匙。

关上身后的门后，瑞恩来到墙洞前，打开手电筒，走了进去。他走了一个多小时，才终于听见镐头敲击石头的声音。西蒙的头盔上绑着手电筒，正忙着挖掘。

“嗨，西蒙。”瑞恩出声招呼，警长却没有停下。“今晚有虾吃。”

“唉，谁给我个汉堡，让我杀人都行。”男人抱怨着，一镐砸在石壁上。“你来我们这儿多久了，小意大利佬？”

“六个月。”

“六个月……也就是说，再过两个月就换菜单了。每年圣诞节他们都会换。”老人叹了口气。“你知道吗，以前有个家伙养了条小狗。他觉得那狗可爱，老给我发照片。每次我去看那毛茸茸的小东西，它都冲我叫。叫啊，叫啊，叫个没完。烦得你简直没法想象。每次烦到受不了，我就琢磨……这家伙尝起来是什么味道？”

“那个养狗的？”瑞恩问道，这话题让他有些不自在。

“那条小狗。”西蒙说，“后来有一天……我没忍住。肉不多，不过味道真不错。就像送给自己的一份圣诞礼物。”

“我不太明白你想说什么……”

“上帝让我们来到世上，总有个目的，小意大利佬。”西蒙说着，稍稍停了下来。“我的目的就是吃小狗。每次看着外面那些发狂的小丑，我都觉得它们像一条条小狗。”

瑞恩忽然意识到，被困在酒店套房里多年，对一个人的精神状态真是大有裨益。这位漂泊者不敢想象，十年后自己会是什么模样。“你的隧道现在多长了？”

“两公里，小意大利佬。”

“两公里。”瑞恩重复道。这玩意儿怎么还没塌下来把他埋了？“你的隧道已经有两公里长了。”

“我还有力气再挖十公里。”

“我只是觉得，这个方向不会有出口。”虽然瑞恩还没放弃寻找出口，但他直觉上认为，这个疯狂的维度会无穷无尽地延伸下去。“我不明白，你为什么还要挖。”

老人看着瑞恩的眼睛。“你读过《西西弗神话》吗？”

“没有，不过你成天向我推荐，我大概会读的。”

“书里，加缪讲述了西西弗的命运。他被迫永无止境地推动一块巨石。一项彻头彻尾、毫无意义的劳作。但当他终于意识到这一切都是徒劳，不再反抗自己的命运时，他就真正自由了。他接受了自己的处境，并在接受中找到了幸福。”

“所以你……怎么，你觉得我们永远逃不出去？”瑞恩反感地皱起眉头，“觉得我们所有的努力都白费了？”

“没错，我们的努力都是徒劳。可我接受了它们毫无意义的事实，所以我能心安理得。你呢，小意大利佬？你还觉得自己能出去，可你失败得越多，就越沮丧。”

“外面有人在等我。”瑞恩想起蕾恩，说道。

“我不这么想。”西蒙耸耸肩，“不过随你。我只是告诉你幸福的秘诀，没法强迫你接受。我的意思是，面对毫无意义的荒诞，你就得顺着它滚下去。就像那块巨石。”

“这太可笑了。”

“总有一天，你会明白那块巨石不是你的敌人。”西蒙耸耸肩，“它是你的朋友。”

“要是真出了什么奇迹，让你挖到了头呢？”瑞恩问，“可隧道通往的不是出口，而是另一间套房。到时候你会怎么想？”

“我会找一面新墙。”西蒙笑容灿烂，再次举起镐头，“再挖一个洞。”

瑞恩张开嘴，闭上，又张开。“巨石是你的朋友？”他皱着眉问。

“巨石是你唯一的朋友。”

---

套房镇的时间来到了2035年12月，除了菜单，几乎什么都没变。

已经好几年没人进入这座迷宫了，大概是人们终于长了记性，知道了摩纳哥的危险。也可能，那个神秘的绑架者已经死了，他的维度却仍自行运转着。无论如何，没有新鲜血液补充，聚居区的人数开始减少。最多时将近五十人，如今只剩一半。有些被小丑吃了，另一些……只是放弃了。

昨天，西蒙终于兑现了他的承诺，出去自寻死路。他要像个男人一样赴死，于是夜里走出房门，嘴里叼着雪茄，左手一瓶伏特加，右手一把霰弹枪。最终，荷官们没能杀死他，尽管它们为此送掉了不少条命。

倒是老警长的心脏先撑不住了，没能承受住战斗的压力。

那些怪物没有吃掉尸体，瑞恩拿不准究竟是西蒙死后仍让它们害怕，还是出于某种扭曲的敬意。镇民们火化了遗体，把骨骸埋在他深爱的吧台下面，而瑞恩接任了套房镇警长。他甚至继承了西蒙的套房。

而现在……

瑞恩面对那条隧道，琢磨着该拿它怎么办。西蒙死前曾夸口，说自己已经挖到了五公里；要不是身体垮了，他多半还会继续挖下去。他甚至把镐就放在入口旁。如今，那把镐早已磨损得不成样子，几乎挖不动东西了。

然而……

“巨石是你的朋友，是吧。”瑞恩喃喃自语，拿起了那把镐。

---

套房镇的时间来到了2101年12月，瑞恩成了摩纳哥最后一个人。

他躺在床上，手边堆着食物，正在一本日记里写下自己一生的回忆。几十年都没有新人到来了，可万一还有人被困进摩纳哥，他想尽可能留下些能帮上忙的东西。

这近一个世纪里，漂泊者探索蒙特卡洛赌场的范围比任何人都广，可新的收获寥寥无几。据他所知，这座迷宫确实是无限的。这里所有系统都不需要电力，连通各个房间的座机，即便切断彼此之间的线路，也能正常使用。没有通过扬声器传达指令的中央通信系统，也找不到那些员工诞生的地方。

这个地方毫无道理可言。它是一个概念空间，除创造者的意志之外，没有任何逻辑。一定是某个黄系基因者干的，可瑞恩始终没能证实。

从无线电到炸弹，他什么都试过。他炸毁了入口走廊，解剖过小丑，甚至在所有办法都失败后，尝试了古怪的神秘学仪式。全都没用。逃离这个地方只剩一种办法，而瑞恩觉得，那一刻很快就要到了。

二十年前，只剩下他们五个人时，幸存者们开了一次会。他们大多数都老得无法独立活下去了。除了瑞恩，所有人都决定选择用子弹退房。

他已经死过太多次，不想再急着赴死。

一只小丑敲响了套房的门，打断了他的书写。“尊贵的客人，要不要下楼玩一局百家乐？我们正专门为您举办一场锦标赛！”

“不，谢谢。”瑞恩嗓音嘶哑地答道，不肯离开床。那群混蛋日夜守在门口。它们等着他死去，就像饥饿的鬣狗尾随着一头老狮子。而时间旅者光凭一口气，也绝不肯死。

身为天生优于人类的基因者，瑞恩老得相当体面。虽然身上有了皱纹，但即便年过百岁，他仍保有中年人的精力。

可在一年前，瑞恩的健康突然开始恶化。或许，经灵药强化的身体也有保质期；又或许，是长期缺乏自然光、新鲜空气和他人陪伴所积累的损耗，终于显现了出来。三十天前，这位基因者醒来后发现，自己只要离床稍远，就会倒下。幸好，他早已储备了一批食物和水，专门应对这种情况。

瑞恩有点后悔，没趁还来得及，像西蒙那样来一场自杀式冲锋。至少，他仍能用自己的方式，不让那些狱卒如愿。

苍老的目光移向房间边缘，以及那之后的隧道。身体终于垮掉时，他几乎已经挖到了十五公里，这会成为他最后的遗憾之一。

可瑞恩最遗憾的，还是始终没能找到蕾恩。始终不知道她究竟遭遇了什么。多年来，他学会了太多东西，如饥似渴地汲取所有能找到的知识，不断磨炼战斗技艺，却始终不知道这些墙壁之外，世界是怎样继续下去的。

他会带着未竟之事死去。最可悲的莫过于此。

不过……好吧，至少，他也算活过了一生。他打败了血流，确保那家伙再也不能杀人。瑞恩没能做尽自己本可以做的事，但他努力过了。也许，这只是一个老人最后一次试图安抚自己愧疚的良心，但……当漂泊者最后一次闭上眼睛时，他觉得自己终于学会了接受——西蒙很久很久以前，就向他讲过的那种接受。

接受命运，并没有让他幸福。

却让他得以释然。

于是，瑞恩睡去了。

---

然后，他再次醒来，迎面是一片明亮的光。

“这是什……”漂泊者抬起手，那片耀眼的光芒让他难以承受。光辉灼得他双眼生疼。还有一股奇异的力量，正拂过他的脸颊。

那是……风？

适应光线后，瑞恩才意识到，自己正面朝太阳。他的手不再布满皱纹，双腿又能支撑起身体，他重新感到了年轻。那么年轻，那么有力。近一个世纪以来，他第一次重新呼吸到了新鲜空气。

他低头俯瞰摩纳哥，很快便认出了自己身在何处。

正是那座岩石岬角。他最后一次存档的地方，距今已近一个世纪。

“可我……可我死了。我死在摩纳哥了，我的能力……”难道那个口袋维度只能阻止时间暂停，却影响不了存档点？可是，他的死法……绝不可能弄错。瑞恩从骨子里知道这一点。

老死。

瑞恩·罗马诺已经老死了。

而这一切，又开始了。

全部。

从头！

再来！

“我没法老死。”瑞恩跪倒在地，终于明白过来。“我……我是永生的。我是永生的。”

这……

这一切永远不会结束。

永远、永远都不会结束。

他总会重新开始，一遍又一遍。永无止境。即便摩纳哥能阻止时间暂停，也无法抹除存档点。就连老死，也不能取消他的存档点。

“哈……”瑞恩自顾自地笑了一声。“哈……”

瑞恩突然爆发出一阵神经质的大笑，在摩托车旁的岩石上翻滚。他不知道自己笑了多久，只知道笑到最后，太阳早已消失，喉咙也疼了。随后，时间旅者仰面躺着，默默望了半个小时的星空。

终于，他起身抬头看向繁星，发现自己什么感觉都没有了。

从前，他害怕死亡。畏惧死亡。他害怕痛苦，害怕失去，害怕光明熄灭后那短暂的虚无。死亡一点也不好玩。

但那是从前。

现在呢？

现在，他不再害怕了。死亡也不再让他觉得痛苦。意识到就连老死都无法让自己长眠之后，漂泊者已经对这一切麻木了。

瑞恩·罗马诺被判处永生。把那块巨石推上山顶，然后重新开始。他想起西蒙的话，意识到那个老人也许是对的。时间旅者就是西西弗的再世，他的人生本就荒诞不经。

而此刻，瑞恩感受到的不是恐惧……而是一种深深的解脱。

“知道吗？”时间旅者俯视着下方的摩纳哥，喃喃自语，“我不在乎了。”

如果瑞恩注定必须活着，那就要活个尽兴。他已经什么都不怕了，而且拥有世上全部的时间。有时间看看一切究竟能走向何方，有时间尝遍一切值得尝试的事。他的人生是一场永不结束的游戏，一切皆有可能。他可以自由地做任何想做的事。

而此时此刻，瑞恩想解救西蒙、玛蒂娜，以及每一个被困在这个地狱般的地方的人。

如果时间旅者的人生是一款电子游戏，那这就是他的第一个任务。此后还会有许许多多的任务，这只是开头，远非终点。而在见识过坏结局之后，除了完美结局，他绝不会再满足于其他任何结果。

瑞恩拥抱了荒诞，也学会了爱上那块巨石。