Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  The moment I was awake, I impulsively took out my phone and checked the message notifications to see if there was anything from Vicky.

  There wasn’t. That was a relief. My phone screen was pristine these days, free from all the icons as I’d removed all the games and deleted all the social media apps. They might be convenient information-wise but on the other hand, this convenience provoked a Pavlov’s dog reaction, constantly prompting you to check out this and that. It might sound funny but I used to reach for my phone even during sex just to see who’d written what.

  I spent the first hour of each day doing mundane chores — not the kind that we are conditioned to consider monotonous and boring but something totally different. To me, it was a sequence of habitual actions necessary to steer my day to its maximum productivity.

  Put the kettle on, feed the cat, brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, have a shave, take a shower, do five minutes of exercise, collect and take out the garbage, sort my washed clothes and put them away, pack my gym bag — all this took me just over half an hour.

  After that, I’d make a light breakfast. By then, I’d finally start getting hungry as normally I had no appetite after I'd just got up. I’d top up my fuel tank with proteins, fats and carbs, eating unhurriedly without pausing to look at the newsfeeds in my phone. Later, I’d drink my first and only mug of coffee for the day — large with just one sugar, both for the taste and to give my brain a glucose boost — while making a mental list of all the important things to do today as well as those that could wait till tomorrow.

  So these were my plans for the weekend:

  I set aside two hours a day for Stamina, Strength and Agility training, plus another hour to get to the gym, get changed and come back again. My one-on-one boxing sessions with Matov had finished and the group training wouldn’t start until Tuesday. That meant six hours of physical training this Saturday and Sunday.

  I also had to go to our summer cottage to check up on my parents. And if Kira managed to do the same, I would see here there too. That was a minimum of five hours but if they needed some help, I might spend the whole day there. Leveling up was all well and good, but my parents were quite old now and I had no idea how much longer they might last. My every visit strengthened their bond with this world, giving them a charge of positive emotions and consequently, a reason to live.

  I scheduled my trip for tomorrow. Today I had too many other things to do.

  On top of everything else, I had to work out a few potential Insight development scenarios. It had been quite a while since I’d last received quests from strangers. It might be worth my while taking a walk around town looking to see if I could find anybody sporting the exclamation mark of a quest giver hovering above their head.

  I scheduled this task for tomorrow as well.

  Also, the office rent couldn’t wait any longer. I absolutely needed a place where I could start to receive my unemployed clients — because I viewed the unemployed as my main target market, and we had officially over a hundred thousand of them in our city alone. Naturally, some of them still worked somewhere undeclared, receiving under-the-counter payments but some of them were bound to be truly without work. Especially because those who already had work were unlikely to give my new unknown agency a try. People like them aren’t normally in a hurry; they upload their CVs to employment sites and wait for the best offer.

  The program duly classified this task as a priority, shoving my visit to my parents into second place.

  I had a week until the rent payment deadline. All kinds of ways of earning a quick buck passed through my head. Playing online poker seemed like a relatively easy way to do so but my heart wasn’t in it. The very idea of making money through gambling met with some sort of inner resentment and rejection, even though the possibility of using poker to check my post-Optimization leveling rates seemed more than attractive.

  I could try and raise some money through bounty hunting. According to the official website of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Russian Federation, they promised a million rubles[8] for each criminal caught. Still, I had no idea how I was going to explain my knowledge of their whereabouts, especially if they were located in different parts of the country.

  I set this idea aside as a last resort. What a shame I couldn’t assist justice without having all these reservations. Why couldn’t I just email them the coordinates of all these wanted crooks from my computer? Was it because every such letter would provoke an investigation, triggering an unhealthy interest in me? As in, who was I? Where did I get my information from? What connection did I have with the criminal?

  So generally, I did want to help them — but I wanted to do it so as not to attract the attention of all the intelligence services.

  Having said that... wait a sec!

  We lived in a globalized world, didn’t we? Why was I focused on our country alone?

  Gripped by excitement, I brought my laptop to the kitchen.

  Within a minute, I’d found the Rewards for Justice site. This was a program created by the US Department of State in order to fight international terrorism.

  One of the site pages read,

  You may submit information anonymously. The personal information requested is not required, although it will help us to contact you in the event that there are any questions.

  All information you provide will be kept strictly confidential.

  You may be eligible for a reward. In addition, you and your family may be eligible for relocation if necessary.

  I tried to listen to the voice of my intuition but it didn’t seem to protest. Just to be on the safe side, I Googled some information about the program. Apparently, it had already helped to arrest a number of terrorists and a reward had already been paid out to those who’d tipped them off. I read a few discussions which confirmed a few cases when the reward had been paid out within a few weeks.

  Oh well. It might be worth a try.

  The list of the most dangerous terrorists was split into regions. I checked them one by one, initiating my own search every time. Not all of them could be located due to a lack of information.

  The first one was a Jabar Aziz Haqqani, 52 years old, a terrorist with Yemeni roots who’d lived a long time in the States. I had all the information about him. He’d sponsored various terrorist organizations in the US, including Al-Qaeda. He was involved in the explosions in NYC and Chicago with over a hundred dead.

  The reward for the information about his current whereabouts was five million dollars. And judging by some other sums mentioned on the site, it wasn’t the limit. The information about Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, one of the ISIL leaders, had been valued at twenty-five million!

  When I’d Googled Haqqani’s name, one of the first listings was the link to his profile on the FBI site. There, I had more than enough KIDD points. Ditto for Wikipedia. The date and place of birth, photographs taken at different times in his life, his height, weight and family information...

  I committed it all to memory.

  A new marker lit up on my internal map, showing a small Saudi town Al Kharkhir almost on the Yemeni border. Haqqani was in a large house in the north of the town, not far from the power station. I jotted down his coordinates, returned to his profile on the Rewards For Justice site and pressed the Submit a Tip button.

  I entered the house address and the coordinates into the form. After some deliberation, I also entered my name, email address and phone number. I made a mental note about leveling up some English in case they called me. Having said that, an organization like this was bound to have Russian-speaking staff.

  I was fed up with having to lie and hide all the time. Hundreds and thousands of psychics — authentic as well as charlatans — worked quite happily and advertised their extrasensory abilities, real as well as invented ones.

  Having made up my mind, I pressed Send with a light heart. After a moment’s hesitation, the browser offered the following text:

  Thank you for the tip. If yo
u’ve left your details on the site, we might contact you again for any additional information.

  If your tip results in the criminal’s arrest and court judgment, you might be eligible for a monetary reward. In applicable cases, you and your family could be subject to relocation.

  All the submitted information will be treated in strict confidence.

  I finally breathed out. That’s it, Phil. Now you should be prepared for anything.

  Still, something was nagging at me. It wasn’t even the fact of me disclosing my identity but rather something I hadn’t done yet. I couldn’t quite place it, so I went back to my plan.

  Having sent them the data worth 5 million bucks, I then spent quite a bit of time trying to come up with a way of quickly raising 50,000 rubles for the rent, discarding different ideas one after the other.

  For instance, debt collecting agencies offered hefty rewards to those who gave up the whereabouts of certain debtors. Like a Vakha Salamgadjiev who’d siphoned off about two million dollars from the bank accounts of some private company. Anyone who could report his whereabouts was promised 10% of all the assets he’d stolen.

  It didn’t take me long to locate Vakha in Chechnya — or the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, as it was called these days.

  I was about to send them the data when my intuition screamed a desperate warning, alerting me to some sort of mortal danger and completely discouraging me from pursuing this route.

  Without having decided anything, I dashed off to the school stadium for a run. Dashed being the operative word. I’d seen enough overweight guys who’d taken the elevator to the gym on the second floor just to walk unhurriedly on the treadmill. Hats off to them, of course, for trying to conserve energy before their training but this wasn’t my case. I invested every effort into my continuously progressing Stamina.

  The midday sun was blazing so hard in the faded sky that I could feel my exposed skin burning. My breathing, light and level at first, soon dried out my throat, becoming wheezy and laborious. The old rubberized coating of the running track flashed underfoot; its every dent and crack were like old friends to me.

  My Stamina training didn’t go easy. No matter how many long miles I’d run in my life, every new one would still be a challenge despite having stronger legs, a second wind, and the constant injection of endorphins into my bloodstream.

  As you run, you don’t have any deep thoughts, only instincts: to drink, to breathe, to jump over an obstacle. Still, my mind kept working on autopilot, processing its tasks. Snippets of ideas coursed through my head, all of them centered around either some sort of gambling or missing persons’ search.

  Finally I stumbled across the seed of something more practical and dependable. I remembered how I’d earned my first money after Yanna had left, offering copywriting services via some freelance portal. Last night, Vicky had left me too — so was it worth trying again, maybe?

  Although this route didn’t promise much money, it was also risk free. Especially if you took payment upfront.

  I couldn’t quite finish these thoughts because my heart was too busy pumping hundreds of gallons of seething blood as I ran. My body had no intention of wasting precious energy on whatever mental considerations I was busy with, investing every bit of it into my survival.

  Ten interminably long miles of running and a gallon of water later, I finally got the precious new Stamina level I’d been after.

  Task status: Running Practice

  Task completed!

  XP received: 300pt.

  +5% to Satisfaction

  Current level: 13. XP points gained: 8730/14000

  Your Stamina has improved!

  +1 to Stamina

  Current Stamina: 10

  You’ve received 1000 pt. XP for successfully leveling up a main characteristic!

  Current level: 13. XP points gained: 9730/14000.

  Congratulations! You’ve unblocked one of the requirements for the Stealth and Vanish heroic ability: Stamina (level 10+)

  Having finished my training, I went to do some shopping.

  The guard by the door stepped in my way — or rather, tried to but was too late, so he just shouted threateningly at my back, “Sir! Excuse me, sir! I’m talking to you!”

  I kept walking as if I hadn’t understood he was addressing me but I had a funny feeling he wasn't going to let it drop.

  “Hey, mister! You!”

  I stopped and turned round with a long-suffering expression on my face. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, you!” he nodded vigorously as he came closer. “You can’t come here dressed like that!”

  “Like what?”

  “Eh...” he paused, trying to remember the word. “Unhygienic!”

  Okay, what did we have here? Name: Alexander. Age: 23. Social status level: 3. Intellect: 5. The picture was pretty clear.

  I pretended I was reading his name tag pinned to his T-shirt. “Listen, Alex, bro, I’m parched. We had a bit of a shindig with the guys last night. I won’t be long, all I need is some water and grub. Your till’s working, I take it?”

  His narrow forehead furrowed. He'd already grasped my situation which was way too common. Also, the unwritten street code demanded he did me a favor. On the other hand, he could get what-for from his superiors.

  Furthermore, this was the legendary big man syndrome in action: he was drunk on his power which allowed him to either stop me or wave me through.

  “Alex, please, be a mensch!”

  “Okay. Just make it quick.”

  I smiled, nodding. “I’ll be back in a flash! Thanks!”

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Communication Skills

  Current level: 7

  XP received: 500

  I’d chosen how to address him instinctively — and it had worked. Had I started to read him my rights, demanding to see the manager or look at their dress code rules for customers — that might have worked too but it might have taken infinitely more time.

  I did some shopping and carried it all home, throwing the bag over my shoulder. As I walked, I entertained myself by opening my interface map and adjusting its transparency so that I could view it out of the corner of my eye, then spinning the globe in search of any old friends, mentally zooming in on cities from Antananarivo to Zurich.

  Once back home, I took a quick shower to wash away the sweat, then cooked lunch as I drew the office layout on a sheet of paper. My visual memory worked fine, allowing me to plot out the position of the furniture and working places.

  I spent some time pondering whether we would need a receptionist who’d answer the telephone and greet visitors, but decided against it for the time being. Once we had a steady flow of customers, we might have enough money to expand. In the meantime, there was only me and Alik for whom I still had to find something to do.

  I estimated a rough budget. Fifty grand for the rent and another thirty for some decent furniture which I was planning to buy second hand. We needed some desks, chairs and a couch for any visitors. I already had a laptop but we might have to splurge on a printer to print out our contracts with clients. We also had to have the Internet and a landline installed and buy the phone itself, which also was going to cost money.

  And finally, the most important thing was to advertise our services. Opening an office wasn’t enough; we had to attract a clientele which would actually come.

  And how exactly were they supposed to come if they didn’t even know we existed? In an ideal world, we’d need a signboard and a couple of sidewalk signs which we could place on both sides of the street.

  The cheapest but arguably the most cheerful way of making ourselves known was by plastering the whole city with posters announcing “100% Employment Guarantee”. Yes, we’d have to compete with the numerous MLM and pyramid schemes but that would give me hope for some popularity through the grapevine. Everyone who’d found employment through us would surely tell others about us.

 
In total, I reckoned it was about a hundred thousand[9]. Some I could invest by depleting my bank account and the rest I’d have to find.

  I remembered my long-neglected freelance portal account and decided to check it out.

  I had several unread messages from potential clients. Judging by the dates, the orders were long gone but still I sent each of them a quick message, apologizing for the belated reply.

  The home page of the site advertised a large competition project, offering 50,000 rubles to anyone who could write up a book-size biography of some local public figure for his anniversary. The rules were simple: contestants had to write the first chapter based on the materials provided, after which the person’s children would choose who to make the contract with.

  The minimum word count of the finished biography had to be 35 thousand words. That was about half the size of an ordinary book. If I only did that, I could finish it within a couple of weeks.

  And — they promised a 50% advance!

  That could actually work. If they did hire me, I could always top it up by emptying my bank account and pay the rent to the business center manager which was the most urgent matter. The rest could wait.

  Once I’d made that decision, the program duly recorded a new task:

  Write the first chapter of the biography of Mr. Vladimir Koutzel and enter it into the competition.

  I downloaded the archive with all the materials and opened it, leafing through scan after scan of yellowed childhood and teenage photos, newspaper cuttings and articles as well as testimonials by his friends, family and fellow workers.

  I spent about an hour reading through them, soaking up the information and trying to put myself in his shoes. Then I picked up my gym bag and headed for the fitness center.