* * *
HAGEN TURNED UP at the Roosevelt Street boxing gym early on Sunday. Mr. Guillermo Ochoa didn’t bat an eyelid when the puny lad arrived at his gym. In fact, Mr. Ochoa stayed as cool as a cucumber even when Hagen declared his intent to train at the gym. However, when this feeble hobbit whom you could pierce with a straw, with his pencil neck, messy fair hair, colorless fair eyebrows and eyelashes, made it clear he wished to train for at least twelve hours every day, it was too much for old Ochoa. He started to laugh out loud.
The young man didn’t seem perturbed by it. He patiently waited for the boxing gym’s owner to finish laughing, his cerulean blue eyes staring directly at Ochoa without one iota of irritation. He was irritated, though. The old man was seventy years old, and he could read people well enough. The Mexican laughed so hard that snot flew from his large broken nose. But the young man stayed perfectly calm, regardless.
Once the old man had stopped laughing, Hagen took a wad of crumpled dollar bills out of his back pocket. “Would this be enough for the first month, Mr. Ochoa?”
The old man got serious. He counted the money and nodded. “This will be enough for three months. And if you help me with cleaning the gym every evening, you can train for half a year,” Ochoa offered him his hand. “Welcome to my boxing gym, kid... Eh, what’s your name, then?”
“Mikey,” said the young man as he shook the Mexican’s hand. “But you can call me Hagen, if you like.”
“So, it’s Little Mikey, then? All right. When would you like to get started? If you think that-”
“Could I start right now?” Hagen interrupted him.
The old man chuckled. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now,” the hobbit repeated.
Ochoa scrutinized Mike from head to toe, gave a whistle, then swept his hand theatrically around the empty gym. “The gym is all yours, young man! The locker room is that way.”
Hagen may have imagined it, but it seemed like there was something respectful in the way the old man addressed him. That was the first time in his life someone’s ever spoken to him that way, and he liked it.
Five minutes later, having changed, Hagen started throwing punches at the punch bag with enormous enthusiasm. The huge aloha shorts that hung below his knees revealed legs so thin one could circle one’s fingers around them. The oversize tee sleeves reached all the way down to his elbows, and his clumsy punches couldn’t move the bag an inch. Nothing but the sullen look in his fierce blue eyes could convince anyone that puny Little Mickey was really meaning it.
So, by the end of the day, Ochoa took pity of the lad and started to teach him how to punch for real.
* * *
BY THE END of the second week at the gym, Hagen’s physical and mental condition had improved considerably. As it had turned out, his Premium account came with a triple leveling booster to all skills and stats. Mike found out about it in the Help section. The virtual assistant was miles ahead of Siri. It had no problems with recognizing voice commands, and responded immediately. This is how Hagen found out that whenever a battle skill reached a level divisible by ten, he would get an extra skill. Punch, for example, would give him a 50% chance of canceling any of his opponent’s blocks at Level 10. By level 30, this would be guaranteed.
At any rate, Hagen saw it for himself by the end of the first week of training, when his only skill finally reached Level 10.
Apart from the boxing ring and the boxing bag, Ochoa’s gym turned out to have barbells and dumbbells. That’s what the old man made him use on the second day, teaching him a few exercises that would develop different muscle groups. Aided by an intense workout routine with weights, this training made his Strength grow much faster and gave him an enormous appetite.
Hagen consumed huge amounts of meat, chicken, and fish; then it dawned on him that he could just buy an enormous jar of powdered protein. He’d been drinking at least three protein shakes every day since, not to mention eating regular food. Training made him hungry all the time, even at night — he would wake up and make himself a shake which he’d gulp down and fall asleep again.
In two weeks, he gained a couple of pounds and even managed to grow taller, for whatever reason.
By the end of his leave, his stats were as follows:
Mike “Crybaby” Hagen
Age: 29
Level: 1
HP: 9000
Battles/victories: 0/0
Weight: 135 lbs
Height: 5’ 3”
Main stats:
Strength: 5
Agility: 4
Stamina: 9
Hagen managed to level up all his stats and put on eleven pounds. He became stronger, and the beefed-up Stamina increased his chances to survive, giving him more time to throw a game-changing punch. The only stat that grew very slowly was Agility.
He didn’t discover any new moves, so he decided to focus on leveling up Punch, the only skill in his arsenal. No matter how his opponent would dodge, Hagen’s higher level would eventually let him throw lightning-fast punches no one could possibly escape.
Punch: Level 16
Damage: 8000
+50% to the probability of ignoring any block
You have to use the skill more often to level it up
This amazing ability to do damage was a direct result of his increased Strength. At Level 1, Hagen would only manage to deal 1600 points of damage (a hundred points for every level of the skill). But those 1600 points became multiplied by five, and eight thousand points were already something. He could knock himself out in a punch or two, regardless of his leveled-up Stamina. As for his older self — the one that didn’t have the interface — he could swat it like a fly.
On the last day of his leave, Hagen approached the owner of the gym. “My time off is about to end, Mr. Ochoa. I have to go back to work. As soon as I finish in the evening, I’ll be right here.”
The old man shrugged. “You can come whenever you want, kid.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ochoa! I’m done for today...”
“Hold on a second, kid,” Guillermo interrupted him, pointing to the corner of the gym where a Latino guy with a nondescript face was shadowboxing. “How about a match with Juan? He’s a newbie, too, although he’s been here for over half a year. But he doesn’t do it the way you do. He comes around three times a week, and sometimes skips his training altogether. Everybody else I have here is tough as nails, and I can’t find him a proper partner for the life of me.”
“We can try,” said Hagen, shrugging.
He took a closer look at Juan and saw the following:
Juan Manuel Guerrero
Age: 26
Level: 3
HP: 13000
Battles/victories: 7/5
Weight: 172 lbs
Height: 6’
“All right. Wait,” Ochoa said and went toward Mike’s sparring-partner-to-be.
“This guy won’t be easy meat,” thought Hagen to himself as he saw Juan Guerrero looking in his direction. Guerrero was strong, with long arms, and half as many HP as Hagen. But one had to start somewhere, after all. He couldn’t just beat up old ladies in the street to level up, could he?
Once the ongoing bout was over, Ochoa told the sparring partners to leave the boxing ring and invited Guerrero and Hagen to take their place. They bumped their boxing gloves together. Guerrero nodded, and Hagen returned the nod.
“Ready? Fight!” Ochoa gave the command.
The training fight began.
Guerrero was circling around Hagen, trying to get on his left side but keeping his distance. Should he move closer? He might get hit. Should he wait for his opponent to attack? In that case, would it be possible to block or dodge the punch?
Hagen kept on circling and trying to stay face to face with his opponent who kept running around. He waited for his chance. A chance to deal a blow that might be his only opportunity in this fight.
“Come on!” shouted Ochoa, trying to motivate the fighters. “Fight! Get on
with it!”
Hagen’s opponent started to attack. He moved his body around a lot to confuse the other fighter. But then came the moment when Hagen realized he had to strike. He intuitively threw a punch at the face of the attacker without even realizing what he was doing, trying to block Guerrero’s punch with his left hand at the same time. He nearly felt the other man’s boxing glove touch his, but then the contact was lost.
Damage dealt: 8,000 (Punch)
Your opponent’s block has been overridden
Later, Mike would see the next scene in his dreams in slo-mo for a couple of nights in a row. There’s him throwing the punch; there’s the fist that goes right through the poorly-executed counter-punch block and then proceeds to hit Guerrero right on the jawbone. His opponent’s head comes upwards first, inertia making a trail of sweat drops in the air, and then the other man’s feet leaves the floor as well.
That was how Hagen found out that if his strike dealt more damage than 50% of his opponent’s HP, a knockout was guaranteed. That’s exactly what happened to Guerrero. He was knocked out all right.
Hagen himself felt a rush of unbelievable pleasure. This was better than any orgasm. That was how the System reacted to his first level-up.
Hagen was standing inside a column of light invisible to anyone but himself. He didn’t hear what Ochoa was saying. However, he could clearly see the following system message:
Congratulations! You’ve defeated your opponent in a fair fight!
Defeating an opponent whose level is higher than yours doubles the XP received!
You’ve received +2 to your level!
Current level: 3
New system points of main characteristics available: 2
New system points of combat skills available: 2
As he went to bed that night, Hagen consulted with the virtual assistant and distributed the system points between Strength and Agility. First he wanted to dump both into Strength, but it turned out that leveling up a stat by more than one point at once would be lethally dangerous. The system gave an absolutely clear warning about that.
Warning! We’ve detected an abnormal increase of your Strength characteristic: +1 pt.
Your body will be restructured in keeping with the new reading (6) to comply with your new metabolism and chronotropy values.
Changes required: accelerated growth of muscle tissue, sinews and ligaments.
There was also a lot of stuff about raising the levels of intramuscular phosphocreatine, glycogen, the internal mechanisms, intramuscular coordination, and so on. However, there was a very clear warning in bold at the very bottom:
Warning!
The restructuring of your body functions requires a considerable amount of nutrients. In order to avoid danger to your life, you’re strongly encouraged to consume a minimum of 10 oz. animal protein, 3 lbs. of carbohydrates and 3 oz. of animal fats. A shortage of nutrients may result in body function failure.
Warning!
Artificial characteristic boosting of more that 1 pt. at a time is strictly forbidden! Severe danger of fatality!
A similar system message and warning followed when he added an extra point to Agility:
Warning! We’ve detected an abnormal increase of your Agility characteristic: +1 pt.
Your body will be restructured in keeping with the new reading (5) to comply with your new motoric and coordination values.
Changes required: the restructuring of your central nervous system and the increase in elasticity of your muscle tissue, sinews, ligaments and joints.
The warning of a possible fatality followed this, too — as well as advice to eat as much protein, fat, and carbohydrates as possible, accompanied by proper hydration.
So Hagen consumed an enormous amount of fried chicken and a few pizzas over the next two hours, washing them down with plenty of soda and water.
As he was eating, he suddenly realized he was no longer frightened of fighting Mr. Goretsky. As his Strength stat had grown, he could deal 9,600 points of damage which was more than enough to knock out the Moose, the required amount being 50% of the latter’s HP.
Then he fell asleep, smiling all the way to the Land of Nod. Tomorrow would be the next day — the first day of the rest of his life.
He would keep on training and leveling up, and eventually take part in an MMA competition, and then... Who knows? Perhaps, one day he might hold his champion’s belt proudly above his head.
But that would take time. And as for tomorrow...
Hagen smiled again. Tomorrow he’d finally ask Lexie to hang out with him.
Chapter 3. Goodbye, Mr. Goretsky
“The assassin has overcome my final defense, and now he’s come to murder me in the end, what separates a man from a slave? Money? Power? No. A man chooses. A slave obeys.”
Bioshock
HAGEN SPENT all the “tomorrow” in question at his desk trying to fix some young guy’s Xbox. Someone had spilled beer all over it but it took him a while to find out just which parts were defective. All his thoughts were focused on the promise he’d given to himself — namely, to ask Lexie out; yet Mike would panic every time she’d pass him by.
How could he possibly break the ice? Hi there, fancy going out with me? Or, perhaps, Hey, baby, what are your plans for this evening? None seemed right to him. Baby would probably result in Lexa killing him — or burning him through with that murderously derisive look girls adopt when they look at complete losers. Should that happen, any prospect of a date would become a definite non-option.
However, the girl seemed to have noticed his interest. Hagen could sense her throwing glances at him. He didn’t return them though, trying to hide behind the console instead. He realized perfectly well that he wouldn’t be able to answer Lexa if she’d asked him a work-related question. Yesterday’s confidence had evaporated without a trace. His tongue felt glued to his mouth. Hagen kept on drinking cola — he was on his fifth can — but nothing seemed to help. The very idea he might be ridiculed and humiliated by a rejection made him feel he was dying inside, and he kept reliving that experience.
Mike read it once in some men’s magazine that it was the natural reaction all men had to being rejected, and the reason why many of them feared to approach pretty girls, but this scientific observation did nothing to soothe his feelings.
He called up the interface a couple of times so as to get more confident, admiring his achievements. Then he would close it instantly. What kind of achievements were those, anyway? He was nowhere near the same league as Demetrious “Mighty Mouse” Johnson. Or Dominick Cruz, or... the list could go on and on. All of them were way better than Crybaby Hagen.
Browsing through his stats gave him some comfort, but whenever Lexie would appear in one of the aisles, Hagen would try to shrink his head into his shoulders, afraid of starting a conversation with her.
That’s how he spent the first part of the day. When lunch break came, he finally managed to crawl from behind his desk and rushed straight toward the restroom. He spent all of the break boxing with his reflection in the mirror. The skill didn’t progress as quickly as it did in the gym, but he could still feel it. The progress bar eventually grew. Mike, who was feeling hot and sweaty, would exhale loudly every time he threw a punch.
He almost managed to get his Punch skill to the next level when someone knocked on the door. It was Lexie.
Hagen tried to slip out of the room, trying to avoid looking the girl in the eye. His DigiMart tee was stuck to his back, and his breathing was heavy as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
“What’s the matter with you? Were you...” Lexie grinned as she watched the young man shake his head desperately. “Uh-huh. Well, it’s none of my business, but...”
“Lexie...”
“Yeah?”
“This evening... you... and me. Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Well, like... How about going out for a dinner together?”
Lexa laughed out loud.
Lexie almost repeated the tattooed Sheila’s response word for word. Mike’s mind raced, trying to come up with a response that would save his face, but the young woman already proceeded to enter one of the cabins. She locked the door loudly, and even checked whether it was locked properly to boot, as if she expected a sweaty and blabbering Mike to follow her.
He was so upset he forgot everything about food. He got a system message about a debuff called Slight Hunger, which lowered his overall satisfaction and metabolism, but he just brushed it off.
He sat despondent at his workplace, not knowing whether he could do anything about the situation, and, most importantly, whether he should try to in the first place. Then he managed to pull himself together and decided that he had to put some nutrients into his body if he ever wanted to become strong.
He only had ten minutes left until the end of his break. He had to go to the Tasty Dog joint that was just across the road. Its owners sold hot dogs that contained thin brown sprigs looking suspiciously like cockroach legs. Everybody was aware of that, and most people kept well away. The owners primarily used the joint as a front for pushing smack. However, the ever-present junkies that crowded at the entrance would devour hot dogs, their odd cockroach legs filling notwithstanding.
“Hey, Masheer,” Hagen nodded to a guy at the stall that he knew, giving him the money. “I’d like a hot dog, please.”
“As usual, Mike?” The vendor’s face was cracked by what he considered a polite smile. “Would you like more parsley?”
“Uh... Yeah,” Hagen agreed. “And go heavy on the ketchup and the mayo.”
Level Up- The Knockout Page 3
