Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  “Wait a sec, I’m gonna pay you an advance now just to shut you up.”

  “Oh no, leave it,” he said with a wave of his hand. He very nearly spat on the floor but refrained at the last moment, remembering where he was. “It’s not about this even. We need more advertising. Listen, what about if I make a quick video with my guys? Why not? We can do it with my phone. Like, there’re a few guys who use the services of the Great Job agency! Everything above board, no cheating! We could ask Yagoza to participate. He’s the top man around here.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well... I suppose we could upload it to VK. You could post it on the company website too. People would start talking. It might even go — what’s it called? — yes, viral!”

  “What you just said is total bullshit but the idea isn’t bad. Actually... I used to be an SMM guy[24], so why not?”

  “An S and what guy?” Alik shook an uncomprehending head.

  “SMM guy,” I replied absent-mindedly as more thoughts flooded over me.

  To do that, I would have to level up the skill, study the relevant literature, read all sorts of articles and watch webinars, create a landing page, write a few viral texts mentioning the agency, spend some money on both targeted and contextual advertising, then upload it all to social media...

  “SMM guy…” Alik mumbled. “What kind of job is that? Is that what you’re doing for the cops?”

  Chapter Nine. Spreading The Word

  A good advertisement is one which sells the product without drawing attention to itself.

  David Ogilvy

  THE EVENING after Ludmila and her son Leo had come to visit us in the office, I was standing together with the rest of our boxing group, lined up. The training was over but Matov had kept us back in order to make some announcement. He paced up and down the line, barking every word,

  “Listen up, boys. In the beginning of August some very serious people are going to organize the city’s open boxing championship. The prize money is very good and there’re no participation restrictions. Still, you have to pay to sign up.”

  The group members breathed a collective sigh of disappointment.

  “How much?” Kostya asked. He was the only one in the group who treated me halfway decent.

  “Ten grand,” Matov said. “So if you’re not sure of yourself, there’s no point in even trying.”

  “You can forget it, dude,” Mohammed laughed.

  “Nah, count me out,” Kostya said, visibly upset. “Why is it so expensive?”

  “Go and ask the organizers,” Matov replied nonchalantly. “But you’re right. They seem to be greedy.”

  “Count us in,” Mohammed replied for himself and his brother. “Zaurbek?”

  “Sure,” Zaurbek bashed his gloves together. “Where do we sign up?”

  “Come to me. The registration will close one week before the tournament. That’ll give you some time to think about it. But I don’t advise you to drag it out for too long,” he looked over the other group members. “So! I’m signing the Kichiev brothers up. Who else?”

  “Okay, I’m in,” Ivan took a step forward.

  “I’ll risk ten grand too,” Nick said, raising his hand. “Shit. I wanted to buy myself a new phone.”

  “If you win, you can buy yourself a car,” Bulat encouraged him. “Maybe not a new one, but still. What kind of prize money are we talking about?”

  “The organizers are some very serious dudes. So on top of your registration fee, you can expect at least a million rubles[25] from them. There’re eight weight categories. All the city clubs have already signed up: the Lions, the Legion, the factory guys, the Torpedo team... Moscow is also gonna send some boys, and the country of Kazakhstan, as well.”

  “Kazakhstan? They’re your homies, Bulat!” Zaurbek said. “If you’re matched against them, you’ll have to show some hospitality and lose!”

  “Yeah right,” Bulat grinned. “In case you didn’t know, I’m not a Kazakh. I’m a Kalmyk[26].”

  “By the way, there’ll be some guys from Kalmykia too. Everybody will be there. Even the Rocky club.”

  “What, those clowns?” Mohammed scowled.

  “Yep, them too. So this competition might give you the chance to show what you’re made of.”

  “Hey Phil, why are you so quiet?” Mohammed jeered. “Are you up for it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not? Kostya can’t participate because he can’t afford it, but what about you? You’re the rich daddy’s boy, aren’t you? Are you chicken shit?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just being realistic. I’m the worst in the whole group and I’m pretty sure the guys taking part will all be at least as good as you.”

  “Aha, finally!” Mohammed guffawed. “You said it!”

  “Cut the crap!” Matov shouted. “You’re making a circus out of it! Today’s training is over. You can all go!”

  After that conversation, I’d spent the whole evening and all of the next day leveling up Marketing. I'd started by refreshing the basics, concentrating on review articles on specialist sites.

  My level 8 in Reading kept creeping up to 9, all the while improving my reading speed to 80% which in total gave me just over 500 words a minute. In this way, I could read an average-sized book in one and a half to two hours these days without any loss of comprehension. The skill’s description now included several sub-skills, showing me the details which apparently influenced both my reading speed and comprehension: the suppression of internal enunciation, the broadening of my field of vision as well as the development of concentration. I hadn’t done anything to improve them, they just evolved together with the main skill.

  In any case, thanks to my ability to speed read I’d imbibed two top books in the last 24 hours which are a must for every marketologist: Philip Kotler’s Principles of Marketing and John Jantsch’s Duct Take Marketing.

  After a few hours of going through them — these days I skimmed through the text only pausing at the paragraphs containing crucial data — I finally received a new level. Between all the articles and webinars I’d studied in the office earlier today, it had brought my Marketing skill to 4.

  By the way, the whole day we hadn’t had a single client. Despite that, I’d managed to convince both Alik and myself that very soon we’d have clients flocking to the door. The reason I was so confident was my new knowledge of marketing principles which had transformed abstract customers into a very real target market of unemployed or needy people working low-paid jobs. They weren’t necessarily down and out drunks like Alik's old friends — because their kind didn’t really need jobs and even if you found them some, they wouldn’t last long.

  Our potential customers were rather the likes of Ludmila or Fatso who only needed a chance. Both had family and children, making their motivation quite strong. Plus college graduates and downsized specialists, as well as active retirees unwilling to survive on their meager pensions and feeling strong enough to carry on working. And so on and so forth. The gist of it was, they couldn’t afford to pay our 1000-ruble fee upfront. Also, this business model had already been discredited by all sorts of fly-by-night scams which charged you good money — but when you checked the small print, you discovered that all they did was offer “consultancy services” taking no responsibility for actually finding you a job.

  So we might be forced to switch to getting paid by results. I’d have to see Mr. Katz and ask him to help me with the contract to make sure that our clients actually came back to pay us once they’d been hired.

  Also, I'd been wondering whether I should wrap up all this charity stuff and switch back to the business model I’d already test run at Ultrapak, namely B2B. Still, my intuition kept telling me it could wait until I got this thing off the ground because that was where my heart really lay. Ordinary people could use my help: all those who couldn’t always afford to buy their children some fruit or get them new school clothes that weren’t falling apart.

  Whenever I
’d debated with myself, coming up with various pros and cons of this enterprise, I’d even thought that this whole idea was bullshit. I would have probably done better leveling up Vending instead and making millions of dollars the way Valiadis had done — and then start helping people by getting involved in various charities, supporting struggling artists and all that sort of stuff.

  But still... I’d rather give people a fishing rod than a fish, if you know what I mean.

  Also, by developing this business as a socially meaningful venture from the start, I might actually achieve much more — not as a businessman maybe but as an interface user. At least that was what my intuition kept whispering in my ear just lately, and I was already used to trusting my hunches.

  Once the boxing session was finished, I headed off home, making plans for the evening: dinner and some quality time with Vicky, followed by more copyrighting lessons and studying SMM — the skill I’d activated earlier today. I really wanted to bring it up to at least level 3 so that tomorrow morning I could concentrate on the online promotion of our services. I already had some ideas for a viral message which I planned to post in various VK communities and employment forums.

  As I reached the front door, I noticed old Panikoff, my first quest giver. He was standing with his back to me, reading something on the notice board.

  “Good evening, sir!” I said as I walked past him.

  “It’s not so damn good,” a rough voice said to my back, rude and so not like Panikoff.

  I turned round. The old man seemed much younger than his eighty-three years old. His back was straight, his shoulders spread wide. He stood firmly on his feet.

  “I’m sorry-” I began.

  “No, you’re not. Before you ask any questions, no, I’m not Panikoff. It’s his body but it’s not him who’s speaking.”

  “Who are you, then?”

  “We don’t know each other yet. The time of our meeting hasn’t yet come. I can only tell you that I have something to do with the interface you’re currently using. You’re one of the few users in this world in this particular period of time.”

  “So how do you want me to address you?”

  “I’m just a voice. The voice of an entity, and this entity isn’t human.”

  Well, well, well. Could it be that Khphor guy from my dream, by any chance? But I wasn’t dreaming now. Did that mean that it hadn’t been a dream? In which case why was he saying that we didn’t know each other?

  “Have we ever met before, Mr. Voice?” I asked.

  “No, we haven’t. At least not in this segment of reality. But allow me to offer you a bit of advice, Phil. I’ve been watching you for quite a few days now and this is what I can’t understand,” the old boy’s voice had acquired a steely edge.

  I suddenly realized we were enveloped in silence. Everything was frozen. Even the leaves on the trees weren’t rustling.

  “Why are you whittling this opportunity away?” he thundered. “Why aren’t you working on raising your social status? In your primitive society, the possession of a unique technology such as your augmented reality interface combined with the ability to rapidly improve both your body and skills is a shortcut to power and riches. What makes you linger in your playpen which you should have left already a month ago? You should be evolving and improving your body; you should be discovering the paths to the top of your society pyramid. You must be prepared. This path is the path of the strong. You need to stop bustling about helping all sorts of weaklings and society dropouts. Doesn’t the program reward you for exercising power? Doesn’t it motivate you to climb over others and manipulate them in order to achieve your own goals? You won’t be successful in what the program is preparing you for by wasting your time and abilities!”

  “And what is it preparing me for, then?”

  I’d known the answer before I’d even asked him. It must have been preparing me for some sort of ultimate trial.

  Still, contrary to my expectations, the Voice evaded the direct response. “You’ll find out the answer to that question in due time. Listen to my advice. Stop wasting your time on losers. You’re destined to be strong, and strong people are constantly surrounded by syahrs who are nothing but dust on your feet. Shake them off and continue toward the great goal! Become faster and stronger!”

  “You forgot ‘higher’.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Ah, forget it. Who are syahrs?”

  “They’re like your current entourage. Vultures. Hangers-on. Those incapable of rising themselves will always try to sponge off a Hero. They constantly need a Hero’s help and attention in order to raise their own useless self-esteem. They’re like parasites; they’ll weaken you, halting your development and sapping your strength. Remember this next time you stray from your path... oh... Phil? Is that you?”

  The Voice had left Mr. Panikoff’s body. The old man was standing in front of me, squinting shortsightedly at me.

  “Yes, it’s me, sir,” I said. “Are you off for your nightly walk?”

  “Exactly. I might have to cut it short because I don’t feel so good. I’ve just been standing over there reading the house management announcement on the notice board. Then I blinked — and here I am standing in front of you! I must be getting old...” he drawled, flapping his eyelashes.

  “You’d better go to bed now, sir. Good night!”

  Having bidden my goodbyes to the old boy, I headed on upstairs to my place.

  I had a funny feeling there was something wrong about that Voice. The image of the interface it had attempted to portray differed too much from the one I actually had. Didn’t the program encourage me to help others? Hadn’t it showered me with XP for the missing persons I’d found as well as for helping Alik, Marina, Cyril and Fatso? Somehow I didn’t remember it ever asking me to climb over others and manipulate them.

  Should I pick a fight with somebody maybe, just to check it out?

  * * *

  “ARE YOU SURE they’ll hire me?” asked a fearful puny guy in a shabby old suit who was sitting opposite me.

  “Absolutely!” Alik butted in from his desk. “Don’t worry! Just do what Mr. Panfilov told you.”

  “Because, you know, my Valentina has already found a job thanks to you. But she’s a bookkeeper; it wasn’t that difficult with her experience. But me... I’m only an Uber driver. And look what you’re offering me,” he shrugged. “Somehow I doubt somebody might need a biologist.”

  “But didn’t you want a job in your field of expertise?”

  “Of course. I’d love to. You can’t just wipe out twenty-five years of experience. Had they not closed our research lab...”

  “Well, go for it, then! The pharmaceutical company to which I’m sending you needs someone to set up a genetics lab. It requires a lot of research work. There’s a 99.6% probability of you being taken on. Be brave, don’t doubt yourself and speak confidently. Are you a scientist or just a pretty face?”

  “Do you have any idea how many research papers and treatises I've written?” the biologist said hotly.

  “That’s the attitude you need to show them,” I rose to shake his hand. “Good luck. If, by any slim chance, they don’t accept you, come back and we’ll find you more options. They’re not as good as far as pay is concerned but still quite acceptable. If you do decide to take the step and move country, we have an excellent position for you in France. But you’ll need to speak the language and there’s no guarantee of you being hired. Also, you’ll have to pay your own flight.”

  He waved my suggestion away. “France doesn’t interest me!”

  “In that case, good luck with your interview!”

  “Thank you!” the much-encouraged biologist shook first my hand, then Alik’s, and walked out, leaving his umbrella behind.

  “Alik, run after him, please, and give him his umbrella back.”

  “No problem,” smiling, Alik hurried after the scientist.

  If all the pharmaceutical lab researchers were this absent-mi
nded, we could soon be looking at a looming zombie apocalypse.

  In the week that had elapsed since the launch of our online promotional campaign, our business seemed to be picking up slowly but surely. Ludmila — the woman who’d come to us with her son Leo — had successfully been employed. Already the next day, two very uptight and timid women came to the office saying they were friends of hers. One of them happened to have an aptitude for gardening — while my search came up with a rich family in need of a gardener. The other girl turned out to be an elementary school teacher whom I managed to place at an expensive private school.

  Isn’t it strange that neither of them had ever thought about seeking employment in the areas of their own hobbies and achievements? They’d spent years biding their time doing low-paying jobs they’d hated without even trying to look for anything better. All because they were too afraid of losing stability or taking any kind of risk because for them, going out of their comfort zone was already a risk.

  By now, we’d already successfully found work for over a dozen people — and that’s only counting those who’d called us back reporting their success. Just as I was talking to the biologist, Alik was busy polishing off yet another cream cake brought by yet another grateful client.

  I'd leveled up Marketing and SMM, anyway, to levels 6 and 5 respectively, and it had already started bearing fruit. I’d noticed that I could level up a skill quicker if I immediately applied the newly-acquired theory in practice.

  Our agency pages which I’d opened over all social media were fast garnering subscribers. That’s where I was honing my skills these days, alternating useful posts with promotional texts such as positive reviews from our successful clients, viral texts and even memes because Alik had shown a remarkable talent for inventing them. Like his meme pic of some surly hoods crouching and staring at the camera with the inscription,

  Real men take responsibility for their loved ones. Find a job, feed your family.