Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  Please choose a new secondary skill

  Once again I gave it some thought and decided to sacrifice my Mortal Kombat skill, assigning it as a new secondary skill. I wasn’t going to need it in the next five hundred years, that’s for sure.

  Thank you! You’ve just chosen Playing Mortal Kombat as a secondary skill associated with your current primary skill.

  Would you like to convert the 1 pt. of your secondary skill (Playing Mortal Kombat) into 0.5 pt. of the primary skill associated with it (Learning Skills)?

  Yes / No

  I pressed Yes, then promptly realized what a certified idiot I’d been. I should have gone to any old gaming club first, something which had either a Playstation or an Xbox, and spent a few hours playing Mortal Kombat, trying to level it up as much as I could, then assign it as a new secondary skill.

  Never mind. I took a deep breath and solemnly invested the five available system points I’d been saving almost since my Ultrapak days into Learning Skills.

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Your current social status level: 14

  Characteristic points available: 1

  Skill points available: 1

  XP points left until the next social status level: 1760/15000

  Cogratulations! You’ve received +5 to a new skill level!

  Skill name: Learning Skills

  Current level: 12

  I spent another few minutes waiting but nothing happened. I opened my profile and looked it up. Everything had turned out right: my Learning Skills were now level 12 while my status had changed from Book Reader and Empath to Knowledge Seeker.

  And then I received my first achievement. The pleasure effect from getting it was comparable to that of receiving a new level multiplied by the rate of ten. I was overwhelmed by joy and happiness. I was almost flying.

  I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes, unable to control my euphoria.

  Once it was finally over, I spent another ten minutes just lying there trying to come back to the real world — the world where even the air felt gritty and the couch hard and uncomfortable. I certainly didn’t envy junkies if they experienced these kinds of mood swings day in day out.

  As soon as I’d come back to my senses, I studied a new notification,

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new achievement: The Fastest Learner!

  Your level of Learning Skills is now the highest in this particular local segment of our Galaxy!

  Reward: +10% to your skill development rate

  Having recovered somewhat, I spent the next two hours working on Koutzel’s biography, only stopping once to eat a quick sandwich. I grated some onion, mixed it with some meat paté and spread it generously over some bread. Grow, O Cooking skill!

  By the time I’d finished the third chapter, the program made me happy yet again,

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Creative Writing

  Current level: 5

  XP received: 500

  How cool was that? This was my Learning Skill in all its glory!

  * * *

  IN THE GYM’s locker room, I got changed in the unfriendly company of other guys from my group. There was no place on the benches so I had to put my gym bag on the floor in front of me.

  The air here was pungent with the sharp smell of male sweat, testosterone, dirty socks and cheap deodorant.

  I cast a quick look over my future groupmates. The two brothers Mohammed and Zaurbek; Kostya Bekhterev who’d taken my side the other day; there was Ivan, sinewy with a shaven head; a guy called Max tattooed all over except for his hands; the unsmiling Bulat whose slanted Asian eyes squinted at me inconspicuously; a very focused Nick, tall and gangly who sported a deep scar across his face; then there was a stocky, thick-set Vitaly...

  All of the guys were young and brusque. Quite honestly, I personally felt uncomfortable among them. They were far from being friendly; and once we’d gone to the gym and the coach had introduced me as a newcomer to the group, I could see some of my Reputation readings drop to Dislike, stripping me of some of my precious XP points.

  “Pair up!” Matov ordered once the lengthy warmup was finally over. “Zaurbek with me, Mohammed with the new guy!”

  I was the first to put on the sparring pads. I assumed the stance in front of Mohammed who knocked his gloves together and raised his head inquiringly. “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  “Concentrate on your footwork, moving your center of gravity and twisting your body properly,” Matov instructed us. “Off you go!”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  My partner moved so quickly and smoothly that I could barely keep up with his slashing blows. My arms had soon grown numb with lack of practice, to the point where I couldn’t even begin to imitate counterattacks as the coach had demanded. At a certain point I shook my hands, trying to get the blood flowing into my numbed muscles, when a thousand-pounder from Mohammed’s right hook caught me on my cheekbone.

  The program panicked, blossoming with damage alerts and messages about the temporary Knock Down debuff I’d just received.

  Damage taken: 314 (Punch)

  Current Vitality: 91,64278%

  Chapter Seven. The Wannabe Entrepreneurs

  All those who open new businesses and start new production lines in Russia should be awarded medals for personal courage.

  Vladimir Putin

  “SO WHERE ARE WE gonna stick the couch?” Alik asked. “There’s loads of room here. How about putting it in the middle?”

  “Yeah right. We can hang a television on the wall and call it a palace!”

  Alik had in fact distracted me from writing an advert. I’d decided not to make it too wordy, as long as the meaning came through. It was perfectly short and sweet:

  Jobs for professional people

  100% Employment Guarantee

  Chekhov Business Center, 3rd floor. 72 Chekhov St

  Phone inquiries at...

  The graphic design took me much more time. Knowing how to use a graphics editor wasn’t even on my skill list, and I’d never come around to actually leveling it up.

  While I was trying to decide whether I should choose some other font, Alik distracted me again. This time it was the rattling of the wretched second-hand PVC couch we’d bought through a classified ad as he dragged it across the office floor. The rest of our classified-ad finds — three desks, a filing cabinet, a coat rack and a bunch of wobbly office chairs — were already strategically placed around the room.

  “Alik, are you stupid or something? Why did you put the couch in the middle of the room?”

  “Why not? That’s what you just said, didn’t you? Didn’t you say we were gonna buy a television? And how about getting a fridge once we make a bit of money? A microwave would be good as well. I used to have one at my old workplace. You put your grub in it and it’s hot in two shakes of a rat’s tail! What do you think?”

  “Is that your wish list for today?”

  “Well... for the moment, yes. So what’s with the couch?”

  “Alik, I was only joking about the couch and the television. I thought that you’d have got that. The couch is for any waiting customers, so that’s where you put it: by the door with its back against the wall. When you’re done, you can go to the printers. They’re our next door neighbors, I’ve just seen their company’s nameplate in the corridor. Ask them how much they’d charge for five hundred black and white leaflets.”

  “Eh,” Alik scratched the back of his head, “I got it. I’ll get on with it. Just keep your hair on.”

  After more rattling of the displaced couch, my partner left to see our neighbors, simply because we hadn’t had enough money to buy our own printer. As for moving the couch, I’d offered my help to him several times but he’d refused saying that manual labor was his thing and mine was “using my head”. He’d said it so theatrically that I just shrugged and let him get on with it.

  In
the end, I decided not to use any graphic design at all. What was the point using all those embellishments, frames and pretty patterns? Bold block letters over the whole page, with our contacts added in small print below: our office number as well as a cell number I’d got specifically for the job.

  With a click, the electric kettle turned off. I poured some boiling water into my mug, added a spoonful of instant coffee and a couple of lumps of sugar to it, then returned to my place, leaned back in my chair and turned it toward the window sill, placing my outstretched legs on it.

  These must have been the first few minutes in the last week which I devoted to doing absolutely nothing.

  The time since last Tuesday had flown by in a flash.

  That night after my first group training when I’d been knocked down by Mohammed, Vicky had turned up out of the blue as if nothing had happened. Admittedly, she’d called to warn me about her imminent arrival just to allow me some grace time to destroy any compromising evidence. Having said that, she’d phoned when practically on the doorstep so I’d just asked her to use her own key. I had nothing to conceal from her apart from the software in my head.

  I didn’t show any emotion at seeing her, just pretended that these last few days and the visit to her parents hadn’t happened. She was back, that was all that mattered. What was it the poet had said? ‘The less we love her when we woo her, The more we draw a woman in.[13]’ This seemed to be the case because in response to my calm and even coldness Vicky had been especially passionate that night.

  Her return, however, had its pros and cons. On one hand, it had calmed me down somewhat: knowing that the woman I loved was by my side seemed to have added purpose to my life. By then, I'd already got out of the habit of sharing my life with the cat. Like any other normal man, I needed to take care of somebody other than a house pet. Not to even mention sex; that side of things was all right.

  But on the other hand, whether I liked it or not, it meant spending some quality time on my better half. And although I enjoyed giving her lots of attention, time was in short supply.

  Still, Vicky encouraged my industriousness, supporting me both in word and deed. She seemed to have thought that I’d learned her lesson and finally got my act together.

  Alik and I had spent until the end of last week rushing around town piecing together our motley collection of furniture, with the help from my interface which suggested the best deals. It’s true that I’d had to really exercise my imagination to come up with the right search keywords. I’d filter out all the furniture offers leaving only “office couches”, then I’d narrow the search further until I only had one offer left which answered all my requirements.

  One of which, by the way, was the delivery option — or failing that, the couch’s proximity to the office.

  “Phil? There’s, er...” Alik said behind my back.

  “Good morning,” a deep voice boomed from the doorway.

  I took my feet off the window sill and turned round in the chair. Alik had brought around some guy or other, about my age.

  I peered at his stats. Innokenty “Kesha” Dimidko, 34 years old, entrepreneur, divorced with an 11-year-old daughter.

  “Hi,” I rose to greet him. “I’m Phil.”

  “I’m Innokenty, or just Kesha for short. I’m the owner of the printing business next door.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kesha.”

  “I need to know what exactly you need to have printed.”

  Alik winced, about to say something, but I motioned him to keep quiet. I wanted the guy to finish.

  “Or rather he couldn’t answer my questions without knowing all the details. All I need to know is what size you want: letter? Legal? Or do you have your sights set on tabloid? What kind of paper — something cheap or something that’s thick or maybe self-adhesive? I could also offer you the choice between glossy and matte in case you’re gonna post your adverts indoors. If the size you have in mind is smaller than standard, I could do you a custom batch. We could also-” he stopped to take in another lungful of air.

  “Listen, Kesha, what we need is minimalism in its purest form, both in design and in price. Basically, our advert is just a few lines of text, black and white on the most ordinary paper. We’ll begin by pasting them in this area for a start, then we’ll move into the dormitory blocks because we don’t expect the most respectable of clientele,” I opened my laptop and showed him the finished mockup.

  “I see,” he said. “That’ll be two rubles[14] per sheet.”

  “One-fifty,” I insisted. “As neighbor to neighbor.”

  He beamed. “I’ll do the next order for one-fifty. All right?”

  “Not just the next order but every order after that,” I said just in case. “This order we’ll do in half-letter. A custom batch, as you’ve already offered.”

  “Deal,” he gave me a hearty handshake. “Here’s a memory key, you can copy the file here.”

  I took it and ran it through my antivirus. It seemed okay. I copied the mockup to it and handed it back to Kesha. He told me that the order would be ready in three hours and left, whistling happily.

  According to the program, his Mood had indeed improved. Just think how a petty order like this could make a man’s day.

  “You see now?” Alik seethed. “He just started asking me all those questions and I didn’t know what to tell him!”

  “Take it easy, my friend. It’ll come. In a month’s time, you’ll know all these PowerPoints, GIMPs and CorelDRAWs like the back of your hand. Because you’ll be responsible for the most important task of this month.”

  The sheer responsibility of having such a job entrusted to him made Alik stand tall. “I’ll be there, you know me! I can move mountains!”

  “You don’t need to move any of them yet. All you’ll have to do is paste a thousand posters in the area. Bus stops, lamp posts, trees, building entrances, fences... I’d like you to also walk around the backyards and talk to the locals about who needs work. Like, they’re very welcome to drop in at the Great Job Recruitment Agency. Basically, I want you to draw clients. Think you can do it?”

  “Eh,” Alik faltered. “And where am I gonna get paste from? Would you like me to get my lads, Tarzan and the other two? They could help me in the evenings to be my spotters or whatever.”

  “The paste is in the shop and the money’s here, take it. Now you’ll have to collect receipts for anything you buy for the company and give them to Mrs. Reznikova, our new bookkeeper. She’ll need them for her reports. You know where she works?”

  Alik nodded toward the door.

  “That’s right,” I said. “She’s in that other office with her husband Mr. Katz. Any questions?”

  “And the lads?”

  “Ah, yeah right. You can take them along if you want, but no money yet. We have absolutely no money yet. None at all. What we need is clients.”

  “Okay. We know each other. We’ll sort it out. Right on, I’ll split then.”

  “And please mind your language. You aren’t going to speak like that to clients, are you?”

  “Why, whassup, bro?”

  “Ah, leave it. It’s okay. Just get on with it.”

  “I was just going to get some paste.”

  “Go!”

  I held my breath and counted to ten, trying not to explode. A week of close proximity to Alik had almost given me the “Bro” debuff.

  Having said that, he was a good guy. I waved him off with a desperate hand and returned to my desk.

  Alik left, mumbling, “Whassup with the way I speak?”

  Nothing, bro.

  I looked at the clock. I had to go for my boxing session at 7 p.m. and I hadn’t even eaten properly yet.

  Admittedly, over the last few days I’d got used to the group’s rhythm. My boosted leveling had even allowed me to bring my Boxing skill up to 5. Still, I wasn’t sure if I could handle Mohammed’s sharp angry blows on an empty stomach. Matov continued to stubbornly pair us up together as if hoping to work me
out of the group. Still I hung on, becoming more confident with every session.

  Actually, over the last week I hadn’t had a single day when I hadn’t received a new level in one skill or another. My tough schedule and the necessity to meticulously plan every day had predictable brought my Planning skill to 4. My Self-Discipline had also improved, reaching 5.

  The Koutzel’s biography which I’d written in record time had allowed me to level up a whole bundle of skills: Creative Writing, Speed Typing, MS Word and Russian Grammar. I’d had to study a bunch of dictionaries in order to find the right synonyms and turns of phrase seeing as they were all available online. As soon as I’d finished a new chapter, I’d sent it to Koutzel’s daughter Dina who’d made virtually no corrections. She liked my work so much she didn’t stop praising it.

  Could I become a writer, after all?

  My intense use of dictionaries and historical documents had also improved my previously non-existent Erudition which had jumped directly to 4 pt. Its description contained a very important detail: each Erudition point gave 10% to my Intellect development rate. So this mine of useless information hadn’t been so useless after all! At this rate, I might soon outdo Mr. Vasserman and join the Experts Club[15]. I just wished I could have a vest just like his with all those bottomless pockets — one of which would do nicely for a non-dimensional subspace inventory.

  My incessant traipsing between my house, the office, the gym, the school stadium, and visiting all sorts of official institutions which are required in order to start up a new business had added 2 pt. to my Walking in the last week alone. Running and Athletics had also grown due to my daily morning runs, even though I’d made myself get up even earlier than Vicky.

  Still, I wasn’t feeling that great. These days, my Lack of Sleep debuff renewed every 24 hours, accumulating and progressing. I should really get some sleep but Koutzel’s biography wouldn’t write itself. His granddaughter Dina kept hassling me on the phone every day about it. Vicky had already begun to look weird at me every time the phone rang.