同章对照

• April 2017, France, Village of La Turbie.

It was a sunny day in Monaco. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, and Simon rolled a boulder in hell.

How many times had Ryan looked at Monaco from this promontory? He had spent one year’s worth of loops trying to figure out this place’s ‘rules,’ and today would just be another attempt.

It took him a while, but he had found an old, pre-war UAV drone in an abandoned military base near Istres; a stealth, tactical reconnaissance device which Dassault built for the French Air Force. Ryan had modified it into a purple-painted quadcopter, and outfitted it with a submachine gun.

Controlling the device with a remote control, the courier received a constant video-feed as he directed the drone towards Monaco. His quadcopter flew through empty streets, and broke through windows to enter deserted houses. All buildings looked the same from the inside.

The whole city was a prop.

At least Ryan now confirmed the teleportation effect didn’t apply to machines, once the drone passed the two-hour time limit. The casino’s propaganda about fighting back Mechron was just as baseless as its tales of Andorran invasions.

As the sun fell behind the horizon, Ryan directed the drone to the Monte-Carlo casino. The quadcopter moved inside after blasting the doors with the submachine gun, and no clown came to stop it.

The real Monte-Carlo casino looked similar to the hellish dimension Ryan had spent a lifetime trapped inside, but it was neither infinite nor abnormal. The rooms were in their place, and the drone couldn’t find anyone within its walls.

When the drone prepared to leave the casino to resupply, the doors had repaired themselves. Ryan had the machine blast them again, fly through, and then turn around again. The doors had recovered the second they had been left out of sight.

Well, time to bring out the big guns then.

---

Ryan spent three months’ worth of loops mapping out the casino and its surroundings with the drone, down to the sewers. In the end, he had to face the obvious.

He couldn’t find any entrance into the pocket dimension.

“An ‘invitation only’ kind of place, eh?” Ryan said, as he put on sunglasses. Having taken offense at the situation, he had strapped a small nuke to his drone; thank the French for their pre-war nuclear arsenal. “You don’t say no to me.”

Sitting on a longchair on the coast of Cap-Ferrat, almost fifteen kilometers from Monaco, Ryan directed the drone to the Monte-Carlo with his remote control. He had to repurpose a local radio station to control his toy from so far away, but his work would pay dividends.

“After the shrimp,” the courier said while pressing the big red button, “the mushrooms!”

The video feed stopped functioning, as a bright sphere of light consumed Monaco. Everything within Ryan’s line of sight caught fire, from forests to the ruins of French ports along the Mediterranean coast. Colossal waves rose around the detonation point, and spread for miles. The ground trembled as far as Cap-Ferrat, a massive fiery mushroom rising up in the skies.

Ryan watched the cursed microstate go down in flames with a deep sense of satisfaction… at least, until the shockwave reached him and a powerful gust tossed his sunglasses off his face.

“Independence for Andorra!” the courier shouted in the microstate’s direction, as the mushroom cloud slowly died out.

A few hours later, Ryan strode through the burning ruins of Monaco in a reinforced hazmat suit, braving the firestorms, the ashes, and the irradiated dust falling from the skies. Every building had collapsed from the blast, and the roads were blocked by debris. The courier almost considered this experience a hiking trip.

“I will be the very best,” Ryan hummed to himself, as he reached the blast’s epicenter. Of the Monte-Carlo casino, only a crater remained. Whatever force allowed the place to rebuild itself, it couldn’t undo such devastation. “Like no one ever was...”

A flash of yellow and violet swallowed him whole, followed by the sight of a familiar marble hallway.

Damn it!

---

When he woke up again on the Tête de Chien promontory on April 1st, Ryan let out a scream of frustration.

Even nuking the whole place couldn’t dispel the effect!

He should have expected something like this. While the real Monte-Carlo served as the phenomenon’s anchor on Earth, the true maze existed in a separate reality. As far as Ryan could tell, the mysterious controller, ‘Jean-Stéphanie,’ lived inside his pocket dimension.

Or most probably, he had become the maze.

Ryan sighed, sat on the promontory’s edge, and considered what he had learned over his various experiments.

The effect activated whenever someone crossed into Monaco’s boundaries, as described by international law. This included the airspace, but not the territorial waters; Ryan assumed it had something to do with the old Franco-Monégasque treaties, with Jean-Stéphanie’s power unable to recognize the waters as ‘fully’ Monaco’s.

A victim was teleported inside the maze if they approached the Monte-Carlo, or stayed more than two hours inside the city’s limits. If they had crossed the frontier and left, they would be trapped the moment they fell asleep. It didn’t matter if they had stayed in Monaco for less than a minute, or spent three days fleeing across Europe before falling asleep from exhaustion. Ryan had checked both possibilities, to his dismay.

Once you entered Monaco, it never let you go. Ever.

The effect also applied to animals, except unlike humans, they were immediately teleported to the maze’s kitchens instead of the relatively safe marble hallway. Ryan had sent countless puppies to their death over the course of his research, and didn’t regret any of it.

He was, after all, a cat person.

At one point, he had even strapped the same nuke to a lamb, wiring it to detonate inside the pocket dimension. Since the sacrificial animal had teleported inside the kitchen, the resulting explosion spared Suitestown and blasted a large part of the maze to kingdom come. Ryan had personally entered the pocket dimension afterward to observe the results.

The damage lasted for twenty-four hours, until new rooms replaced the destroyed ones.

Since the teleportation always involved a flash of violet and yellow light, Ryan suspected the controller was a Psycho associated with these colors. It would explain the spacetime anomaly and all the weird, conceptual rules.

This meant only a powerful Yellow or Violet could permanently destroy the maze, if at all. So far, Ryan hadn’t located anyone capable of such a feat.

“Do I truly need to destroy this place though?” Ryan pondered out loud, as he observed Monaco from afar. The city was mocking him with its very existence. “I mean, it’s static and doesn’t spread. A fence would keep it contained, at least until I find a way to terminate it.”

His Perfect Run demanded that he free the people trapped inside Monaco, first and foremost.

According to his research, he could remain outside Monaco until April 28th, after which Martine would die in a shrimp supply run gone wrong. The lights would die out, and the clowns would tear her apart before Simon could rescue her.

Ryan had to find an exit within that timespan, but where? This place didn’t have a door in or out, and nobody could interact with the outside world once trapped inside!

… no one but Ryan himself.

“I am an exit,” the courier realized.

From what he understood of his power, the courier existed in two places at once: some kind of dimension beyond space and time, and Earth. The connection remained even within Monaco, though whatever power ruled the maze prevented his two selves from fusing.

It didn’t cancel the convergence entirely, it simply pushed back.

Thus, while the pocket dimension could act as a barrier between its prisoners and the universe outside, it wasn’t an inviolate frontier. If Ryan could push the underlying principle of his power to the limit, maybe he could overcome it…

An idea crossed his mind.

---

Five years.

It took Ryan five years’ worth of loops to master particle physics, find a Genius capable of helping him with his problem, and raid enough laboratories to gather the equipment he needed. He had to travel all the way to Switzerland and back, to scavenge parts of CERN’s unfinished Hadron collider.

And now, on this sunny day of April 27th, Ryan stood atop the promontory dressed for war.

He had decided to wear something nice for this historical day. A purple shirt and blue pants, black gloves, and boots, and most importantly, a classic trench coat. He kept an MP3 device around his belt, alongside a Japanese katana he ‘borrowed’ from a Swiss raider.

Since the clowns shrugged off most firearms, he would make sushi out of them.

Most importantly, the courier had brought with him two cube-shaped devices forty centimeters in diameter. These steel-plated machines each had a hand-sized hole on one side, the ‘mouth’ of a particle collider, and a small control panel on the other.

The Resonators.

These nuclear-powered devices, through a science Ryan himself barely understood, should create a ‘convergence’ similar to the courier’s own power. Particles would travel from one cube to the other, forcing a path through dimensions.

Maybe he could use that technology to build an interdimensional radio one day. That would be funny.

Leaving one on the Tête de Chien promontory and wiring it to activate within two hours, Ryan put the other in a travel bag and drove down towards Monaco with his trusty motorcycle. He crossed the microstate’s official frontier, ignoring the anti-Andorran propaganda signs on his way to Monte-Carlo.

Ryan stopped in front of the casino, stepped away from his vehicle, and moved towards the doors with confidence.

---

The plaza vanished in a flash of yellow and violet light.

Ryan had lost count of how many times he had lived through this moment, but hopefully, this would be the last. He took a deep breath, basking in the conditioned air flowing through this dreadful prison, and moved to tear it apart.

“Hello, dear guest!” a gold-faced clown immediately welcomed the intruder, as he walked out of the marble hallway and into the main lobby. “Welcome to Monaco! The greatest c—”

Ryan casually beheaded him with his katana, the creature’s warm blood spraying the carpet. The courier didn’t even wait for the head to hit the floor, as he moved towards the elevator.

Half a dozen clowns emerged from behind the lobby’s marble pillars, carrying silver plates, refreshments, and appetizers. “Dear guest, we must warn you that violence is forbidden during opening hours!” one of them addressed Ryan with an obsequious tone. “If you insist on misbehaving, we will have to show you the door!”

The courier called the elevator, and hit the fourth floor button. “Pick the place,” Ryan told the clowns, as the doors closed behind him. “It’s where you will die.”

The monsters kept grinning, but behind the empty smiles, there were knives.

A few minutes later, Ryan had reached Suitestown.

The sight of the long hallway leading into the hotel suites almost made Ryan feel nostalgic. Almost. He walked towards Room 44, and knocked on the metal door. “Simon!” he shouted, “Simon! I have a hamburger, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

The door immediately opened, and a shotgun raised at Ryan’s face. Simon was outfitted for combat, his leather armor still white with the alien blood of murdered clowns. “Who the hell are you?”

“‘Français par le sang versé,’” Ryan replied in French. “‘Le schleu est dans le garage.’”

Simon froze for a split second, before asking with skepticism: “‘Il n’a pas couru assez vite?’”

“‘Je l’ai laissé en Alsace,’” Ryan replied.

The sheriff lowered his weapon, astonished. “How do you know that password, rital?”

You told me, the courier almost blurted out. “A former friend of yours in the French Foreign Legion,” Ryan lied for simplicity’s sake, “I came to save you. According to my timing, everyone should be in their respective rooms right now.”

“How do you know that? Is this a commando operation? I thought the French government collapsed?”

“That’s what we make them think,” Ryan whispered ominously before moving inside the suite. Simon was too confused to protest, as the courier quickly moved in front of his tunnel.

Ryan opened his bag, brought out the resonator, and placed it in front of the hole Simon had spent his life digging. Technically, the device would have worked anywhere inside the pocket dimension, but the courier thought this particular location was poetically appropriate.

“You have a way out?” Simon asked with a tone Ryan never heard him use before. The emotion in the old man’s voice was one he had given up on a long time ago.

Hope.

And as Ryan typed on the Resonator’s control panel and activated the device, he prayed not to disappoint it.

Light built up inside the cube’s hole, projecting a stream of light into the tunnel. Space itself warped around this energy stream, warping Simon’s hole into a shining hallway. Tension rose in the air, as if an evil force suddenly took notice of these events.

Ryan took this as a good sign.

After pulsating and twisting for half a minute, the hallway of light seemed to stabilize around the particle stream. Though he couldn’t see anything beyond the threshold, the courier sensed a faint, pleasant gust brush against his face.

Wind.

“Is that…” Simon removed his helmet, unable to trust his own senses. His eyes had widened, and tears of relief formed at the edge of them. “Fresh air?”

Ryan activated his power, an opposing force pushing back...

And yet Monaco turned purple.

The Resonators had breached the pocket dimension.

“Who are you?” Simon asked when time resumed, unable to take his eyes off the portal. “Who are you?”

Quick, Ryan, think of a clever superhero name!

“I’m Quicksave,” Ryan declared confidently. “The boulder who rolls.”

Damn, that sounded way better in his mind.

“Dear guests.”

A horribly familiar voice echoed through the floor’s loudspeakers, a promise of deadly retaliation.

“We regretfully inform you that due to the current Andorran invasion threatening our border, the Monte-Carlo will permanently close until further notice.” Far from professional, the voice sounded downright passive-aggressive this time around. “Please exit the suites, so our beloved staff can help you check-out.”

Click.

The sound of countless doors opening caused Ryan’s heart to skip a beat, as he rushed outside Simon’s home.

All the suites’ doors had snapped open, people looking through their thresholds in confusion. Ryan recognized so many faces, from Martine, to Jean, and Geoff, and Sally. The illusion of safety had been stripped away from them, and the lights started going out.

Monaco wouldn’t let them escape without a fight.

Ryan looked for what remained inside his bag: a metal mask with two rounded glasses for eyes, custom-made for the occasion.

“Game on, Pogo,” the courier said, as he put on the mask and activated the night vision mode. “Simon, evacuate everyone through the portal. I’ll take care of the comedy rejects downstairs.”

“Alone?” the gunman protested, clocking his shotgun. “You’re mad, I’m coming with you!”

“No, Simon,” Ryan said, as he moved towards the elevator with only his katana for a weapon. He would have blown it up if he didn’t know the place could repair itself. “You can’t fathom how long I’ve rehearsed this one-man show.”

As the elevator climbed down the floors towards the final showdown, the courier activated his MP3 and put on a cheerful song. “Nobody but me…” Ryan hummed to himself, as the elevator’s doors opened. He disliked that show, but it had an awesome intro.

The courier entered the lobby, and faced an army of clowns.

Hundreds of them had crawled out of the shadows, and into the casino’s main lobby; all carrying napkins around their neck. Ryan could scarcely see the giant roulette in the middle of the room, and the ceiling’s candelabras had all been extinguished.

The Monte-Carlo’s staff had grabbed all the weapons they could find. Silver cutlery; golf clubs; sushi knives; and even a few nightsticks. Their metallic masks kept smiling, though their grins had turned downright vicious.

And the only person standing between them and Suitestown, was one handsome courier.

“Monaco...” Ryan raised his katana, and uttered his war cry. “Monaco isn’t a real country!”

The smiling horde charged at him like a screaming chorus.

What followed was a whirlwind of blood and fury, as Ryan cut through the creatures like butter. His sword’s edge disemboweled five clowns in a single strike, thick white blood flowing from their wounds like a wine waterfall.

Two monsters attempted to shank him, one with a knife, the other with a fork. He threw one into the other, impaling the two in a single strike and causing them to drop their weapons. When a clown attempted to bypass him and reach the elevator, Ryan grabbed the knife and threw it behind him. The projectile hit the back of his target’s head, killing him instantly.

“The armies of Andorra will fail!” a frenzied voice shouted through the loudspeakers, as a berserk Ryan killed clowns left and right. “Pledge your life to Monaco! Glory to Jean-Stéphanie! The Monte-Carlo shall stand forever!”

“Where are my winnings?!” Ryan snarled as he smashed a clown’s head against the floor, his face smearing the giant roulette below their feet. “What do I win?”

He froze time in quick succession to dodge two knife strikes, only to notice something coming from his left when the clock resumed tickling. One platinum-faced clown had thrown a silver plate at the courier like a frisbee, with enough force to turn it into a deadly weapon.

Ryan barely had the time to blink, before the projectile hit his neck and sliced it in half.

---

Time and again.

The second time around, Ryan dodged the plate, grabbed it in midair, and threw it back at the sender. The improvised frisbee snapped the monster’s skull open.

Ryan parried a golf club’s swing, then another swing. His foe’s short game was good, but the courier cut his hands off with a stroke of his own. He leaped around, dodging strikes and swings, countering, killing, swirling. His sword was one with his body, his focus unparalleled.

Three clowns tackled him by surprise and threw him to the ground, as a fourth crushed his head with a giant token.

---

Three clowns fell with one swing, and the fourth’s legs were sliced clean. His own token crushed him, and Ryan stomped on the body.

Dozens he had slain, and more followed. A lifetime of suffering he avenged. Backs were smashed against pillars, shrimps force-fed down a throat. Wine bottles flew, and plates shattered. His fury couldn’t be quenched.

The bloody floor turned slippery, and yet Ryan kept going with a grin.

Each life he took was a pleasure greater than sex. Each strike carried the weight of a century of pain, the exaltation of a performance rehearsed for years. The hyenas that hounded him for decades fell like flies before his blade, and he couldn’t put into words how amazing it felt.

He killed many clowns, but more took their place. An endless tide of death, but he would cut them down all the same.

“Tonight, we have the pleasure of introducing veteran entertainers from the International Circus Festival of Monte-Carlo!” The loudspeaker’s voice said with fear, as its mooks perished. “Everyone, please applaud... the acrobats!”

Four shadows leaped amidst the carnage, clown faces atop black bodysuits. They wielded swords, and into the fray, they charged. They threw shurikens at Ryan’s face, and with his blade he parried them.

Swords clashed, and on one he was impaled!

---

A sword swing he dodged, and a ninja he slew!

Time froze and began again. He raged and cursed as he parried, dodged, and struggled. They pushed him back, back against the wall. And his blood they shed.

And Ryan tried again!

---

Again, and again!

---

And again!

Their blades clashed in a storm of steel, but Ryan was pushing them back, and the clowns no longer grinned.

Each run made him a little faster, a little deadlier. Each sneak attack he dodged, each strike he countered. Each opportunity he exploited. None could harm him, but every one of his strikes landed a kill. No breath was wasted, no step was for nothing. He stole a second sword, for double the pain.

“It’s impossible… nobody ever expects the clown ninjas!”

The loudspeaker’s voice screamed in rage, and the courier laughed.

More minibosses came, firecrackers and magicians, strongmen and ringmasters. All of them Ryan faced, and none lived to tell the tale.

All his foes fell, until only one remained. His rounded hat Ryan coveted, and he would not be denied. Against the statue of Jean-Stephanie the clown was pushed, and under which he was crushed!

The massacre finished, the song ended. Ryan gathered his breath, a hill of corpses before him, and frightened clowns behind.

“Well.” Ryan looked over his shoulder at his future victims, drenched in white blood. None of it was his own. “Up for more?”

The clowns had stopped smiling, and ran away screaming.

With a blissful smile, Ryan dropped his swords, grabbed his last victim’s rounded hat, and put it on his head over his mask. What a good souvenir it would make!

The courier returned to Suitestown, finding it almost empty. Only Simon remained, keeping watch over the portal with his shotgun raised. “You could have left some for me,” he said while glancing at the courier’s bloodied clothes. “I was about to go downstairs and help.”

“You know that the whole point of last stands, is that you’re not expected to survive them?” Ryan asked rhetorically. “Why didn’t you leave already?”

“You asked me to evacuate everyone,” the man replied, “you’re part of everyone.”

So nice. Ryan activated a code on the Resonator’s control panel, triggering the self-destruct sequence to make sure the clowns wouldn’t follow them outside. “Explosion in five minutes,” a digital voice came out of the device.

“How big?” Simon asked, quickly searching below his bar counter for his last belongings.

“Nuclear,” Ryan replied, as he grabbed his travel bag. As expected, Simon brought a pile of books as souvenirs, with a familiar one at the top. “The Myth of Sisyphus?”

“How did you know?” the old sheriff asked, suspicious.

Ryan chuckled, as they walked into the light. “Intuition.”

Farewell, Monaco.

You won’t be missed.

---

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

At the wheel of an old Renault Mégane II, Ryan replied with a negative. “There’s someone I’ve got to find,” he told Martine and Simon, as the two stood outside his window, “No offense, but that side-quest lasted long enough already.”

“I’m not familiar with the term,” Martine said, while Simon shrugged. “We owe you our lives. Whoever you are, you’ll always be welcome among us.”

Whoever you are.

Ryan glanced through his car’s window, and at the forty men and women he just saved today. The group had established a makeshift camp atop the Tête de Chien promontory, celebrating their freedom around a campfire. Monaco remained in the distance, a prison without captives.

It had been three days since the jailbreak, and nobody had been yanked back to the pocket dimension, even when they slept. Either the forceful escape had broken the pocket dimension’s power over its captives, or they would have to cross its frontier again like anyone else. No one was stupid enough to go back there.

From his point of view, he had lived with these people for over a century. He had learned all of their secrets, helped them through the darkest times, seen them react to all possible circumstances.

He knew Simon’s real name, the one he abandoned when he joined the French Foreign Legion. He knew what happened to his sons, the horrible past he tried to leave behind, and even the books he wanted to read, but never got around to.

He knew Martine’s hometown, the names she wanted to give her future children, her favorite movie, the one she loathed most, that she had always wanted to become a nurse but never could. He knew her deepest fears and greatest triumphs.

And they had just learned his name.

He knew these people better than they knew themselves, but he remained a stranger to them.

“Maybe we’ll keep in touch,” Ryan said, though he didn’t really believe it. “You know how to contact me.”

“If you need a favor, you just have to call,” the blonde woman smiled warmly at him, though there was a sadness to her gaze. She knew they were unlikely to meet again.

Simon watched as Martine rejoined the other survivors, remaining with Ryan a little longer. “Have we met before?” he asked Ryan. “I can tell you know me, but I don’t remember you.”

“Without false modesty, I’m unforgettable.”

“Yeah, you sure know how to make an introduction, freeing me from twelve years of captivity. Now, what’s your secret? Everything that happened so far seems a bit too… convenient.”

“I’m immortal,” Ryan confessed with a sigh, “but don’t tell anyone.”

Simon examined the time-traveler for a moment, before offering him an old, dusty book. “Here. Take this.”

Ryan expected a copy of The Myth of Sisyphus, but it was another book entirely. “Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None,” the courier read the cover’s title. “By Friedrich Nietzsche.”

“There’s a concept inside, the eternal recurrence, that I think you’ll like.”

Ryan looked into the older man’s wise, knowing gaze. “Thanks,” the courier said, before putting the book at the car’s back. “What will you do now?”

“Martine and the others will probably move west towards greener pastures, but I’ll stay here. My life is almost over, so I figure… someone has to watch over this place. Put fences all around this giant death trap, and make sure nobody wanders inside. Nobody ain’t goin’ past me, I can tell you. I’ve got experience with border duties.”

Ryan didn’t doubt that. “Well, if anybody wanders where they shouldn’t, give me a call.”

“Sure, p’tit rital,” Simon said, before patting the courier’s shoulder. “Don’t break your back climbing the hill.”

Ryan looked at Simon’s book, and then at its previous owner as he joined the Monaco survivors. The courier watched the bashful smiles on their face, the happy glances they sent one another. They had gone through Hell, and made it out. They would rebuild their lives, and begin again.

This… this was the perfect ending, for everyone.

Everyone but Ryan.

The courier froze time, and let it last more than ten seconds. Two periods converged, a flash of violet light swallowing the courier whole.

He lived through everything in the span of a second. This cursed century spent trapped in Monaco, and the shorter stays afterward. His years of research, all the pain, all the joy, and all the sorrow. All these moments that could have been, but that only Ryan remembered. He took all his memories into himself, and they would live on through him.

Time resumed abruptly, the past set in stone, and the save point moved into the present.

His Perfect Run complete, Ryan drove into the sunset and didn’t look back.

• 2017年4月，法国，拉蒂尔比村。

摩纳哥阳光明媚。鲜花盛开，鸟儿歌唱，西蒙在地狱里推着巨石。

瑞恩已经多少次从这片高地眺望摩纳哥了？为了摸清这里的“规则”，他在一次次循环里耗去了整整一年，而今天不过是又一次尝试。

他费了些工夫，才在伊斯特尔附近一座废弃的军事基地里找到一架战前的老式无人机——达索为法国空军制造的隐身战术侦察机。瑞恩把它改造成了一架涂着紫漆的四旋翼飞行器，还装上了一把冲锋枪。

快递员用遥控器操纵着无人机飞向摩纳哥，不断接收它传回的实时画面。四旋翼飞行器穿过空荡荡的街道，撞破窗户，钻进无人的房屋。所有建筑的内部都一个样。

整座城市就是一件道具。

无人机超过了两小时的时限，至少让瑞恩确认了一点：传送效应对机器不起作用。赌场宣扬自己曾击退梅克隆，和它那些安道尔入侵的鬼话一样，全无根据。

太阳落到地平线下时，瑞恩操纵无人机飞向了蒙特卡洛赌场。四旋翼飞行器用冲锋枪轰开大门，飞了进去，没有小丑前来阻拦。

现实中的蒙特卡洛赌场，和那个困了瑞恩一生的地狱维度颇为相似，却既不是无限延伸，也没有什么异常。房间都待在各自的位置上，无人机在赌场内部没找到任何人。

等无人机准备离开赌场、回去补给时，大门已经自行修复。瑞恩让机器再轰一次，飞出门去，然后回头。大门刚一离开视野，就恢复了原样。

行吧，那就该上大家伙了。

---

瑞恩又在循环里耗了三个月，用无人机把赌场和周边的地图画了个遍，连下水道也没放过。到头来，他不得不面对一个显而易见的事实。

他找不到任何通往那个口袋维度的入口。

“还是个‘只接待受邀客人’的地方，是吧？”瑞恩说着，戴上了墨镜。他觉得受到了冒犯，于是往无人机上绑了一枚小型核弹；感谢法国人的战前核武库。“你可不能拒绝我。”

瑞恩坐在费拉角海岸的一张躺椅上，距离摩纳哥将近十五公里，用遥控器操纵无人机飞向蒙特卡洛赌场。为了从这么远的地方遥控自己的玩具，他不得不改装了当地的一座广播站，不过这番工夫很快就会值回票价。

“虾吃过了，”快递员说着，按下了那个大红按钮，“该上蘑菇了！”

明亮的光球吞没了摩纳哥，视频信号就此中断。瑞恩视线所及的一切都燃烧起来，从森林到地中海沿岸法国港口的废墟，无一幸免。爆心周围掀起滔天巨浪，向外奔涌数英里。远在费拉角，大地也在震颤，一朵巨大的火焰蘑菇升上了天空。

看着这个该死的弹丸小国在烈火中覆灭，瑞恩心满意足……至少，在冲击波抵达、一阵狂风把他的墨镜从脸上掀飞之前，他是这么想的。

“安道尔独立万岁！”蘑菇云缓缓消散，快递员朝着那个弹丸小国的方向高声呐喊。

几个小时后，瑞恩穿着加固防护服，大步行走在摩纳哥燃烧的废墟中，顶着火风暴、灰烬，以及从天而降的放射性尘埃。所有建筑都已被炸塌，道路上堆满残骸。他几乎把这当成了一次徒步旅行。

“我要成为最强的，”抵达爆心时，瑞恩轻声哼着。蒙特卡洛赌场只剩下一个弹坑。不管曾让这里自行重建的是什么力量，都无力修复这种程度的毁灭。“前无古人的最强者……”

黄紫两色的闪光吞没了他，紧接着，一条熟悉的大理石长廊映入眼帘。

妈的！

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当瑞恩再次于4月1日在犬首岩高地上醒来时，他发出了一声挫败的怒吼。

就连用核弹炸掉整个地方，都消除不了那种效应！

他早该料到会这样。现实中的蒙特卡洛赌场，只是这种现象在地球上的锚点，真正的迷宫存在于另一重现实。就瑞恩所知，那个神秘的控制者“让-斯特凡妮”住在他自己的口袋维度里。

或者更有可能的是，他已经变成了迷宫本身。

瑞恩叹了口气，在高地边缘坐下，梳理自己通过种种实验获得的信息。

只要有人跨进国际法界定的摩纳哥边界，效应就会激活。其中包括领空，却不包括领海；瑞恩猜测，这可能和旧时的法摩条约有关，让-斯特凡妮的能力无法把那片海域认定为“完全”属于摩纳哥。

受害者一旦靠近蒙特卡洛赌场，或在城内停留超过两小时，就会被传送进迷宫。即便越过边境后又离开，也会在睡着的那一刻被困进去。无论是在摩纳哥停留了不到一分钟，还是穿越欧洲逃亡三天、最后精疲力竭地睡去，结果都一样。令瑞恩沮丧的是，这两种情况他都验证过。

只要你进了摩纳哥，它就再也不会放你走。永远不会。

这种效应也适用于动物，只不过和人类不同，它们会立刻被传送进迷宫的厨房，而不是相对安全的大理石长廊。在研究过程中，瑞恩送无数小狗上了死路，对此毫不后悔。

毕竟，他是个爱猫人士。

有一次，他甚至把同一枚核弹绑在一只小羊身上，接好引爆装置，让它在口袋维度内爆炸。由于这只祭品被传送进了厨房，爆炸没有波及套房镇，却把大片迷宫炸上了天。之后，瑞恩亲自进入口袋维度，观察爆炸的结果。

破坏的痕迹保留了二十四小时，随后，新的房间取代了被毁掉的那些。

传送总是伴随着紫色与黄色的闪光，因此瑞恩怀疑，控制者是个与这两种颜色相关的疯魔。这就能解释时空异常，以及那些稀奇古怪的概念性规则了。

这意味着，即便真有办法永久摧毁迷宫，也只有强大的黄系或紫系异能者才能办到。到目前为止，瑞恩还没找到具备这种本事的人。

“不过，我真有必要毁掉这个地方吗？”瑞恩望着远处的摩纳哥，自言自语。这座城市光是存在着，就在嘲笑他。“我是说，它是固定的，又不会扩散。围一圈栅栏就能把它封起来，至少能撑到我找到彻底灭掉它的办法。”

他的完美通关，首先要求他救出被困在摩纳哥的人。

根据他的调查，他可以一直留在摩纳哥之外，直到4月28日；再往后，玛蒂娜就会在一次出了岔子的取虾补给行动中丧命。灯光会熄灭，在西蒙来得及救她之前，小丑们就会把她撕碎。

瑞恩必须在这段时间内找到出口，可出口在哪儿？这个地方根本没有进出的门，任何人一旦被困进去，就再也无法和外界接触！

……除了瑞恩自己。

“我就是一个出口。”快递员恍然大悟。

按照他对自身能力的理解，他同时存在于两个地方：某个超越时空的维度，以及地球。即便身在摩纳哥，这种联系也依然存在，只是支配迷宫的某种力量阻止了两个他融为一体。

那种力量并没有完全消除重合，只是在向相反的方向施加阻力。

所以，尽管口袋维度能充当囚徒与外部宇宙之间的屏障，这道边界却并非不可逾越。如果瑞恩能将自身能力的底层原理推至极限，也许就能突破它……

一个念头掠过他的脑海。

---

五年。

瑞恩在循环中花了整整五年，掌握粒子物理学，找到一位能帮他解决难题的天才，又洗劫了足够多的实验室，凑齐所需的设备。他还不得不远赴瑞士，往返一趟，从欧洲核子研究中心尚未完工的强子对撞机上拆取零件。

而如今，在这个阳光明媚的4月27日，瑞恩站在高地顶端，戎装待战。

在这具有历史意义的一天，他决定穿得漂亮些。紫衬衫，蓝裤子，黑手套和黑靴子，最重要的是，一件经典款风衣。腰带上挂着一部MP3播放器，旁边还有一把从瑞士掠夺者那里“借”来的日本武士刀。

既然大多数枪械都伤不了那些小丑，他就把它们切成寿司。

最重要的是，快递员带来了两台直径四十厘米的立方体装置。这些包覆钢板的机器，一侧各有一个手掌大小的孔洞，那是粒子对撞机的“口”；另一侧则装着一块小型控制面板。

共振器。

这两台核动力装置所依据的科学原理，连瑞恩自己都一知半解，但理论上，它们能产生一种与快递员自身能力相似的“重合”。粒子会从一个立方体行进到另一个，强行在维度之间打通一条路径。

也许有一天，他能用这项技术造一台跨维度收音机。那应该挺有意思。

瑞恩把一台留在犬首岩高地，接好线路，设定在两小时内启动；另一台则装进旅行包，带着它骑上自己可靠的摩托车，沿路下山，驶向摩纳哥。他越过了这个弹丸小国的正式国界，直奔蒙特卡洛赌场，对一路上的反安道尔宣传牌视而不见。

瑞恩在赌场前停下，下了车，信心十足地走向大门。

---

广场在黄紫两色的闪光中消失了。

瑞恩已经记不清自己经历过多少次这一刻，但愿这就是最后一次。他深吸一口气，任这座可怖牢狱里的空调风拂过自己，随后迈步，要将它彻底撕开。

“您好，亲爱的贵宾！”他走出大理石长廊、进入大厅时，一个金脸小丑立刻迎上了这位闯入者。“欢迎来到摩纳哥！最伟大的国——”

瑞恩随手一刀，砍下了它的脑袋，怪物温热的鲜血喷上地毯。不等那颗脑袋落地，快递员已经走向了电梯。

六个小丑从大厅的大理石柱后现身，端着银盘、饮料和开胃小食。“亲爱的贵宾，我们必须提醒您，营业时间内禁止暴力行为！”其中一个谄媚地对瑞恩说道，“如果您执意胡闹，我们就不得不请您出门了！”

快递员叫来电梯，按下四楼的按钮。“挑个地方吧。”电梯门在他身后合拢时，瑞恩对小丑们说道，“那就是你们的葬身之地。”

怪物们依然咧着嘴，空洞的笑容背后却藏着刀锋。

几分钟后，瑞恩来到了套房镇。

通往酒店套房的长走廊，几乎让瑞恩生出几分怀念。只是几乎。他走到44号房间，敲响金属门。“西蒙！”他大喊，“西蒙！我手里有个汉堡，可别逼我动用它！”

房门立刻打开，一把霰弹枪举起，对准了瑞恩的脸。西蒙全副武装，皮甲上还染着被他杀死的小丑流出的异样白血。“你他妈是谁？”

“‘以流血换得法国人之身。’”瑞恩用法语回答，“‘德国佬在车库里。’”

西蒙愣了一瞬，然后狐疑地问道：“‘他跑得不够快？’”

“‘我把他留在阿尔萨斯了。’”瑞恩答道。

治安官惊愕地放下武器。“你怎么知道这句口令的，意大利佬？”

是你告诉我的。快递员差点脱口而出。“你以前在法国外籍兵团的一个朋友告诉我的。”为了省事，瑞恩撒了个谎，“我是来救你们的。按我的时间表，这会儿所有人应该都在各自的房间里。”

“你怎么知道的？这是一次突击队行动？法国政府不是垮了吗？”

“我们就是要让他们这么想。”瑞恩阴恻恻地低声说完，走进套房。西蒙被弄得一头雾水，连阻拦都忘了，快递员已经快步来到他挖的隧道前。

瑞恩打开包，取出共振器，放在西蒙耗费一生挖出的洞口前。严格来说，装置放在口袋维度内的任何地方都能起效，但快递员觉得，偏偏选在这里才富有诗意。

“你有办法出去？”西蒙问道，那语气是瑞恩从未听过的。老人声音里流露的那种情绪，他早就已经舍弃了。

希望。

瑞恩在共振器的控制面板上输入指令、启动装置时，默默祈祷自己不会辜负这份希望。

光芒在立方体的孔洞中汇聚，向隧道内射出一道光流。空间本身在这股能量流周围扭曲，将西蒙挖出的洞化作一条光芒耀眼的长廊。空气骤然紧绷，仿佛某种邪恶的力量突然注意到了这里的动静。

瑞恩觉得这是个好兆头。

光之长廊搏动、扭转了半分钟，似乎终于在粒子流周围稳定下来。尽管看不见入口另一侧的景象，快递员却感觉到一缕微弱而宜人的气流拂过脸庞。

风。

“这是……”西蒙摘下头盔，不敢相信自己的感官。他睁大双眼，眼角泛起如释重负的泪光。“新鲜空气？”

瑞恩发动能力，一股相反的力量顶了回来……

然而，摩纳哥还是变成了紫色。

共振器打穿了口袋维度。

“你是谁？”时间恢复流动后，西蒙问道，双眼仍牢牢盯着传送门。“你到底是谁？”

快点，瑞恩，赶紧想个漂亮的超级英雄名号！

“我是快存。”瑞恩自信地宣布，“会滚的巨石。”

妈的，刚才在脑子里想的时候，听着可比这强多了。

“亲爱的各位贵宾。”

一个熟悉得令人毛骨悚然的声音，从这一层的扬声器中回荡开来，预告着致命的报复。

“我们遗憾地通知您，鉴于当前安道尔的入侵正在威胁我国边境，蒙特卡洛赌场即日起永久停业，直至另行通知。”这一次，那个声音毫无职业素养可言，简直阴阳怪气到了极点。“请离开套房，以便我们亲爱的工作人员协助各位办理退房。”

咔哒。

无数扇门开启的声音，让瑞恩心头一跳。他冲出了西蒙的家。

所有套房的门都猛地敞开了，人们困惑地站在门口向外张望。瑞恩认出了那么多张面孔：玛蒂娜、让、杰夫、萨莉。他们安全的假象被彻底撕去，灯光开始一盏盏熄灭。

摩纳哥不会不战而放他们离开。

瑞恩翻找包里剩下的东西：一副金属面具，双眼处嵌着两片圆镜片，是他专为今天定制的。

“游戏开始了，波戈。”快递员戴上面具，开启夜视模式。“西蒙，带所有人从传送门撤离。楼下那些不入流的喜剧演员交给我。”

“你一个人？”枪手一边给霰弹枪上膛，一边反对道，“你疯了，我跟你一起去！”

“不，西蒙。”瑞恩走向电梯，武器只有那把武士刀。要不是知道这里能自行修复，他早就把电梯炸了。“你根本想象不到，这场独角戏，我已经排练了多久。”

电梯一层层下降，驶向最后的决战。快递员打开MP3，放起一首欢快的歌。“只有我……”电梯门打开时，瑞恩轻声哼着。他不喜欢那部剧，但它的片头棒极了。

快递员走进大厅，迎面是一支小丑大军。

数百只小丑从阴影中爬出来，涌进赌场大厅，个个脖子上围着餐巾。瑞恩几乎看不见大厅中央的巨型轮盘，天花板上的吊灯也全部熄灭了。

蒙特卡洛赌场的员工抓起了一切能找到的武器：银餐具、高尔夫球杆、寿司刀，甚至还有几根警棍。它们的金属面具仍在微笑，只是那笑容已经变得狰狞无比。

而挡在它们与套房镇之间的，只有一位英俊的快递员。

“摩纳哥……”瑞恩举起武士刀，吼出自己的战斗口号，“摩纳哥算个屁的国家！”

微笑的怪物们像一支尖叫的合唱团，朝他蜂拥而来。

随之而来的是鲜血与狂怒的旋风。瑞恩切开那些怪物，轻易得如同切黄油。一刀横斩，五只小丑开膛破肚，浓稠的白血从伤口中倾泻而下，宛如酒液的瀑布。

两只怪物试图捅他，一只拿刀，一只拿叉。他将其中一只扔向另一只，一刀把两只刺了个对穿，逼得它们丢下武器。一只小丑试图绕过他奔向电梯，瑞恩抓起那把餐刀，向身后掷去。刀刃击中目标的后脑，当场要了它的命。

“安道尔的大军必将失败！”瑞恩狂性大发，左右砍杀着小丑，扬声器里传出歇斯底里的吼声。“将你们的生命献给摩纳哥！荣耀归于让-斯特凡妮！蒙特卡洛永世屹立！”

“我的奖金呢？！”瑞恩咆哮着，把一只小丑的脑袋砸向地面，那张脸在脚下的巨型轮盘上抹出一片血污。“我赢到了什么？”

他接连暂停时间，躲开两记刀刺，却在时间恢复流动时，发觉有什么东西从左侧飞来。一只白金脸小丑把银盘当作飞盘，朝快递员掷了过来，力道大得足以让它成为致命的武器。

瑞恩几乎连眨眼都来不及，那飞来的银盘就击中了他的脖子，将其截断。

---

一次，又一次。

第二次，瑞恩躲开银盘，在半空中一把抓住，原路掷了回去。这只临时飞盘劈开了怪物的头骨。

瑞恩架住一记挥来的高尔夫球杆，又架住一记。对手的短杆技术不错，可快递员一记挥刀，削掉了它的双手。他腾挪跳跃，闪开一次次刺击与挥砍，反击，杀戮，旋身。刀刃与身体浑然一体，心神凝聚到了极致。

三只小丑出其不意地扑上来，将他撞倒在地，第四只用一枚巨大的筹码砸碎了他的脑袋。

---

一刀挥过，三只小丑倒地，第四只的双腿也被齐齐斩断。它自己的筹码砸扁了它，瑞恩又在尸体上重重踩了一脚。

他已杀了数十只，后面还有更多。他要为那一生的苦难复仇。脊背被狠狠撞向石柱，虾被强行塞进喉咙。酒瓶横飞，银盘碎裂。他的怒火无法平息。

鲜血浸透的地板变得湿滑，瑞恩却依旧咧着嘴，一路杀下去。

每夺走一条性命，带来的快感都胜过性爱。每一击都承载着一个世纪的痛苦，也承载着排练多年、终于登台的狂喜。追猎了他数十年的鬣狗们，在他刀下如苍蝇般纷纷坠落。那感觉有多美妙，他根本无法用言语形容。

他杀了许多小丑，却有更多填补了它们的位置。死亡的狂潮无穷无尽，他照样要将它们悉数斩落。

“今晚，我们有幸请到了来自蒙特卡洛国际马戏节的资深艺人！”喽啰们接连丧命，扬声器里的声音透出了恐惧。“各位，请鼓掌欢迎……杂技演员！”

四道黑影跃入屠场，黑色紧身衣上顶着小丑的脸。它们手持利剑，冲入战团。手里剑朝瑞恩面门飞来，被他挥刀格开。

刀剑相击，其中一柄刺穿了他的身体！

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他闪过一剑，斩杀一名忍者！

时间凝固，又重新流动。他怒吼咒骂，格挡、躲闪、苦战。它们将他逼退，一路逼退到墙边。随后，他的鲜血流了下来。

瑞恩再来一次！

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一次，再一次！

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再来一次！

兵刃碰撞，掀起钢铁的风暴，但这回是瑞恩在步步进逼，小丑们再也笑不出来了。

每一轮，他都更快一点，更致命一点。每次偷袭，他都能躲过；每次攻击，他都能反制。每一个破绽，他都抓得住。没有谁能伤到他，他每次出手却都能夺走一条性命。没有一次呼吸被浪费，没有一步是多余。他又夺来一把剑，好让痛苦加倍。

“不可能……从来没人料得到小丑忍者这一招！”

扬声器里的声音愤怒地尖叫，快递员却笑了。

更多小头目接踵而至，爆竹手、魔术师、大力士、马戏团司仪。瑞恩一一迎战，没有一个能活着回去报信。

敌人接连倒下，最后只剩一个。瑞恩看上了它的圆顶帽，这顶帽子，他非拿到不可。他把小丑推到让-斯泰法妮的雕像旁，再让雕像压下来，将它碾碎！

屠杀结束，歌曲终了。瑞恩平复着呼吸，身前是一座尸山，身后是吓破胆的小丑。

“那么。”瑞恩满身白血，回头看向接下来的受害者。那些血没有一滴是他自己的。“还想再来吗？”

小丑们收起笑容，尖叫着逃走了。

瑞恩心满意足地笑着，丢下刀剑，捡起最后那个受害者的圆顶帽，戴在覆着面具的头上。多棒的纪念品！

快递员回到套房镇，发现这里几乎已经空了。只有西蒙还在，举着霰弹枪守在传送门旁。“你也可以给我留几个。”他看了一眼快递员染满鲜血的衣服，“我正准备下楼帮忙呢。”

“你知道这种最后的死守，本来就没人指望你能活下来吧？”瑞恩反问道，“你怎么还不走？”

“你让我带所有人撤离。”男人答道，“所有人也包括你。”

真是个好人。瑞恩在共振器的控制面板上输入代码，启动自毁程序，确保小丑们无法跟着他们逃到外面。“五分钟后爆炸。”装置里传来电子提示音。

“威力多大？”西蒙一边问，一边迅速翻找吧台下面，收拾最后那点家当。

“核爆。”瑞恩答道，拎起旅行包。果不其然，西蒙带走了一摞书作纪念，最上面放着熟悉的一本。“《西西弗神话》？”

“你怎么知道？”老治安官狐疑地问。

两人走进光里，瑞恩轻笑了一声。“直觉。”

永别了，摩纳哥。

没人会想你的。

---

“你确定不想留下吗？”

瑞恩坐在一辆老雷诺梅甘娜二代的驾驶座上，给出了否定的回答。“我还有个人必须去找。”他对站在车窗外的玛蒂娜和西蒙说道，“无意冒犯，不过这个支线任务拖得已经够久了。”

“这说法我不太懂。”玛蒂娜说，西蒙则耸了耸肩。“我们欠你一条命。不管你是谁，我们永远都欢迎你。”

不管你是谁。

瑞恩透过车窗，看向自己今天刚救出来的四十个男男女女。他们在犬首岩高地顶端搭起了临时营地，围着篝火庆祝重获自由。摩纳哥仍在远处，一座没有囚徒的监狱。

越狱至今已经过了三天，没有人被拽回口袋维度，即使睡着了也没有。要么是强行逃脱打破了口袋维度对囚徒的控制，要么他们和其他人一样，必须再次跨过边界才会中招。没人蠢到会再回去。

从他的角度而言，他和这些人共同生活了一个多世纪。他知道他们所有的秘密，陪他们熬过了最黑暗的时光，见过他们面对每一种可能的境况时会作何反应。

他知道西蒙的真名，那个他加入法国外籍兵团时舍弃的名字。他知道西蒙的儿子们遭遇了什么，知道他试图抛在身后的可怕往事，甚至知道他想读、却一直没能读上的书。

他知道玛蒂娜的故乡，知道她想给未来的孩子们取什么名字，知道她最喜欢和最讨厌的电影，也知道她一直想当护士，却始终没能如愿。他知道她最深的恐惧，也知道她最引以为傲的成就。

而他们才刚刚知道他的名字。

他比这些人自己还了解他们，可对他们来说，他依然是个陌生人。

“也许我们还能保持联系。”瑞恩说，尽管连他自己也不太相信。“你们知道怎么联系我。”

“要是需要帮忙，打个电话就行。”金发女人对他温柔地笑了笑，目光里却带着悲伤。她知道，他们大概不会再见了。

西蒙看着玛蒂娜回到其他幸存者身边，又留下来陪了瑞恩一会儿。“我们以前见过吗？”他问瑞恩，“我看得出来，你认识我，可我不记得你。”

“不是我不谦虚，我可是那种让人过目难忘的人。”

“是啊，你这开场可真够厉害，一上来就把我从十二年的囚禁里救了出来。所以，你到底藏着什么秘密？到目前为止，所有事情似乎都太……恰到好处了。”

“我是不死之身。”瑞恩叹了口气，坦白道，“不过别告诉别人。”

西蒙端详了这位时间旅行者片刻，随后递给他一本落满灰尘的旧书。“来，拿着。”

瑞恩以为会是一本《西西弗神话》，可那是另一本截然不同的书。“《查拉图斯特拉如是说：一本为所有人而又不为任何人写的书》。”快递员读出封面上的书名，“弗里德里希·尼采著。”

“里面有个概念，叫永恒轮回，我想你会喜欢的。”

瑞恩迎上老人睿智而了然的目光。“谢谢。”快递员说着，把书放到车后座。“接下来你有什么打算？”

“玛蒂娜他们大概会往西走，找个好点的去处，不过我会留下。我这辈子也快到头了，所以我想……总得有人守着这里。在这个巨大的死亡陷阱周围围上栅栏，确保没人误闯进去。我告诉你，有我在，谁也别想过去。守边境这活儿，我有经验。”

瑞恩对此毫不怀疑。“好吧，要是真有人误闯了不该去的地方，就给我打电话。”

“没问题，小意大利佬。”西蒙说着，拍了拍快递员的肩膀。“上山的时候，别把腰累断了。”

瑞恩看了看西蒙给他的书，又望向它原来的主人，看着他走回那群摩纳哥幸存者中间。快递员看着他们脸上羞涩的笑容，看着他们彼此投去欢欣的目光。他们走过地狱，又从中生还。他们将重建自己的生活，重新开始。

这……这就是所有人的完美结局。

所有人，除了瑞恩。

快递员暂停了时间，并让它持续了十秒以上。两个时刻重合，一道紫色闪光将他整个吞没。

他在一秒之间重新经历了一切。被困在摩纳哥那该死的一个世纪，以及之后短暂的数次停留。多年的研究，所有的痛苦，所有的喜悦，所有的悲伤。那些本可能发生、却只有瑞恩一人记得的时刻。他将全部记忆收进心底，它们会通过他继续活下去。

时间骤然恢复流动，过去就此定格，存档点移到了当下。

这场完美通关已经完成，瑞恩驾车驶向落日，没有回头。