Masheer made him a hot dog, still smiling in the same way and staying absolutely cool, and wished him something, but Mike was already elsewhere.
He finished off his hot dog on the way back to work, trying not to get any sauce over himself.
He kept on digging through the innards of the damn Xbox until the evening, going through his conversation with Lexie in his mind. Why was it so hard to find the right words? He could talk to Jessie before, couldn’t he? On the other hand... talking to her was like talking to a TV set. She’d never paid much attention to Hagen and mostly kept on prattling herself, giving little thought to whether or not Mike could hear her. She would just go on and on... The only thing she’d wanted him to do was to pay the bills. Oh, there was something else, too: she didn’t want him to be jealous. Jessie kept on telling him, “If you are jealous of me, you don’t love me. And what kind of love can it be without trust?” Mike would agree, still loving her, and trying to hide his jealousy — to no avail.
That’s how he spent the day — lost in gloomy thoughts, with the odd occasional flash of hope that things would change for the better soon, all the while trying to fix the console. He managed to do it eventually. He launched Injustice: Gods Among Us, chose Batman as his character and started fighting Superman.
One of the perks of working as an electronics repairman was that one could theoretically play all day long, claiming this to be necessary for testing the fixed console under heavy load.
“Bye-bye, everyone!” Lexie said as she was leaving.
“Bye, Lexie. See you tomorrow!” answered Wei Ming, the other assistant — a small-framed Chinese guy with a slight accent.
Hagen raised his head, but the girl didn’t even look in his direction. She hung her bag on her shoulder and left, swinging her car keys on her finger.
Hagen put away the Xbox gamepad and started to get ready as well.
Why did things always have to be this way? What if talking to girls was just like mastering new skills? What if the necessary words had to be unlocked — just like Uppercut, Kick, Dodging, and everything else he would learn at the gym while leveling up his skills?
Therefore...
Communicating with women must be the same. One must try to succeed.
The fact that Lexie wasn’t around anymore made him more confident. Hagen grabbed his jacket and dashed out of the shop.
If he could level up by thrusting his fist through the air, why couldn’t he make himself understood to Lexa by filling the same air with the right words?
One just had to try hard enough.
* * *
HAGEN SECRETLY HOPED he’d be late and Lexie would have already gone by then. Yet there she was in the parking lot, opening the door of her old beige Toyota. Hagen tried to keep himself from thinking and came up to her.
“Lexie, hold on a moment. You didn’t get me right.”
Lexie opened the car, giving him a weary look. “I got everything just right, Mike. You have mistaken my excessive kindness for a romantic interest, like the total loser you are.”
“But I thought...”
“Get lost, Mike. Or I’ll think you’re stalking me.”
Each of Lexie’s words made Mike’s head shrink ever deeper into his shoulders. He didn’t even have it in him to turn around and run away, the way he’d done in his childhood when all the other children would gather and start pelting him with sand or soda cans.
Then he heard an engine roar behind him. A huge pick-up truck decorated with naked women and burning flames stopped right in front of Lexie’s car. The door opened. Goretsky left the driver seat and approached Lexie with a swagger.
“I’ve been waiting for you so long, baby,” he shut the door of his car and blocked her way with his arm. “How about taking that glorious body of yours out with the coolest guy in the neighborhood?”
“Mr. Goretsky, I’m really tired. Why don’t we do it some other day?”
Hagen’s jaw dropped to the floor. Goretsky was saying the very same thing that Mike had once said to Sheila. The effect, though, was different. Hagen started to back off, one step after another. The last thing he wanted was for this thug to switch his attention to him...
Lexie tried to get into the car and sweep Goretsky’s arm aside. But he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him.
“Don’t pretend you’re a virgin, you bitch. I know all about the likes of you. You like bad guys.”
“Let me go!”
Goretsky placed his hand on Lexie’s crotch. “I’m the baddest guy of them all. And you’re already moist down there, you bitch.”
“Take your hands off of me!”
“Oh, resist all you can, baby. Isn’t that what turns you on?”
Hagen almost backed away from Lexie’s car completely. Suddenly, it felt like a red filter was applied to his vision.
Righteous Anger
You’ve come across an injustice and are experiencing a fit of Fury!
+3 to all main characteristics
+100% to Vigor
+50% to Confidence
+75% to Willpower
+75% to Spirit
-50% off Self-Control
The effect will remain active until justice is restored and while you’re convinced of the righteousness of your cause
Accept?
“Yea-a-a-a-ah!” Hagen cried out loud, clenching his fists.
Lexie and Goretsky both froze.
“Did your mouth just fart something, you little shit?” Goretsky’s voice sounded mocking, but there were notes of bafflement there, too.
That was when Hagen realized that the gorilla hadn’t even noticed him as he’d stepped out of his tacky pickup truck. As though Hagen didn’t even exist.
This pissed him off a lot.
Hagen had felt anger before, of course, but up to then he could only express it mentally. In his dreams he had already beaten up all the people who’d ever mistreated him, starting with ginger Danny, who would regularly smear his boogers over the sandwiches Mike’s mother had packed into his lunch box with such care every morning, and ending with the dickhead who’d doused his Xbox in beer that morning.
It was the first time ever that Hagen realized that all his accumulated hatred could be pumped into his fists, and his fists could then be applied to the jaw of whoever treated him wrong.
The red mist before his eyes became thicker. Hagen took a fighting stance, imagining himself to be on an octagonal boxing ring. He crooked his finger at Goretsky, beckoning him to come closer — just like that character from UFC 2.
Goretsky took his hands off Lexie. “Are you drunk, buttface?”
Mike “Crybaby” Hagen crooked his finger at Greg “Moose” Goretsky again.
The man waddled over to Mike. “You little bastard. I’ll stick that finger of yours right up your ass.”
“Mike, he’ll kill you! I’m calling the police!” panicking, Lexie started to rummage through her handbag for her phone.
“Better call the ambulance,” Mike responded.
“Yeah, buttface! They have a body bag waiting just for you.”
Goretsky was completely confident of his superiority. He approached Hagen and tried to punch him in the side, assuming “buttface” would immediately double down, but Hagen dodged easily, outmaneuvering Goretsky.
Lexie put her phone down in bewilderment. She didn’t call 911 yet.
Goretsky turned his bulky body around, just to have Hagen’s fist meet his face. The last thing the Moose saw was the evening sky and a piece of a billboard... then he landed on the trunk of Lexie’s car, making a noise like an overturned garbage can as he did so.
Damage dealt: 14,400 (Punch)
The Righteous Anger had boosted Mike’s stats, so his blow dealt a lot more damage than he’d originally expected. Goretsky couldn’t utter a single word. He stayed lying on his back as if paralyzed, his eyes bulging.
Congratulations! You’ve defeated your opponent in a fair fight!
XP points
received: 1
XP points received on the current level (3): 1/3
Hagen ignored the system message. He stopped noticing anything but the opponent he had just defeated. A gormless mug with glassy eyes, a trickle of blood coming out of his smashed nose. All of those symbolized revenge for years of humiliation. To Mike, Goretsky’s face represented everyone — ginger Danny; the trucker that Jessie had run away with; the doctor who’d refused to treat his Mom with a mien of insincere compassion on his face; the bank manager who’d refused him his mortgage loan; and myriads of other faces — all those who’d humiliated, ridiculed and beaten up Hagen throughout his life.
Hagen struck back at once! His enemy was defeated at last. At last...
Mike felt delicate female fingers shaking him by the shoulders. The pulsation of blood in his ears let through Lexie’s voice.
“Mike! Mike! Stop it! Oh, please, Mike!
The red mist went away. Mike found himself sitting atop Goretsky. The bigger man’s face was a mess of blood. There were drops of red on the fender of Lexie’s beige Toyota. Hagen rose, frightened.
“Did I... Did I... Is he... dead?”
Lexie crouched and took Goretsky’s pulse. Then she rose again. “He’s alive. It takes some effort to kill a brute like him.”
“We’ll have to call an ambulance...”
“I already have,” the girl opened her car door. “Let’s scram.”
“B-b-but... he... Aren’t we supposed to wait for them?”
Lexie gave Hagen a measuring look. “Dude, you’re full of surprises. One moment you’re a geeky little worm, the next, a cold-blooded fighter; then you’re back to the worm stage again. I’d rather you chose one or another.”
Hagen nodded. Then he dragged Goretsky to the curb. He placed him gently on the grass right next to the parking sign. The Moose came to his senses. He tried to mumble something through bubbles of blood.
“Goodbye, Mr. Goretsky... Sorry about that...”
Hagen retreated with all due speed and sat down on the front seat of the Toyota.
As they were leaving the parking lot, the ambulance was already arriving, flashing red and blue lights, its siren loud enough for all the neighborhood to hear.
* * *
HAGEN WATCHED the ambulance go by, then reclined on his seat.
Lexie turned down the music. “Whereabouts are you headed?”
Hagen gave her the address of Ochoa’s boxing gym. Lexie nodded and turned into the street he had named.
“Well, Mikey, how about telling me about what’s just happened?” she asked. “Were you always able to fight like that?”
“I’d really wanted to all my life, but I’ve only started learning recently.”
Hagen was surprised by the fact that he was no longer stuttering when he talked to Lexie. Could the buff still be active? Was that where his confidence and nonchalance came from?
Mike lowered the sun visor and looked at himself in the mirror. He flattened down his hair. Then he noticed that he had drops of blood on his face.
“The tissues are in the glove compartment,” Lexie said.
Hagen started to wipe his cheeks.
“To say you surprise me would be a huge understatement,” Lexie continued. “How could anyone knock out a bull moose like that with a single punch? He’s so much taller than you! I saw you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face.”
Hagen chuckled. “It’s not a question of height; it’s a question of skill.”
“One thing’s for sure — we won’t see Goretsky’s shadow on the door of our shop for a while!”
Hagen continued to feel his Confidence bolstered for the rest of their trip. He had no problem with talking and didn’t have to hide his eyes. He really wished the buff could be permanent.
“There we are,” Lexie leaned over the wheel to read the sign over the door of the boxing gym. “So this is your usual haunt, isn’t it? You’re a mystery wrapped in an enigma, Mike Hagen.”
“Yeah, I surprise myself sometimes. Incidentally, about that offer...”
“Oh, it was an offer, after all?” she smiled. “Sounded like incomprehensible mumbling to me.”
Hagen cleared his throat. “How about hanging out together after we finish work?”
Lexie shrugged. “Why not? But I wouldn’t want to go to any random place. Try to come up with something fun. Keep on surprising me. I... I rather enjoyed you doing that.”
As Hagen was getting out of the car, she said,
“Another thing: thanks for your help.”
Mike already knew: the best answer to her thanks would be to shut up and give her a smile of encouragement.
Chapter 4. The Right Answer
Roman: Well, if you need some down time go hang out at the apartment and watch some American TV. It is much better than the shit we got back in the Old Country.
Niko: Most of the shit on TV in the Old Country was from America, don’t you remember, Roman?
Roman: Then watch the TV here and get nostalgic, I don’t know.
GTA IV
THE FIGHT WITH Juan Guerrero didn’t go unnoticed — a match between one of the local boys and a wimpy gringo had been seen by everyone present, and Hagen’s victory was all the more surprising. The young man finally got noticed. Even as he was in the locker room, a few guys he’d never seen before came over to introduce themselves. Other fighters also tried to scrutinize Hagen, but without saying anything — his puny body was the last thing they’d associate with a victory like that.
Mike could feel their disbelief and skepticism perfectly well. It appeared that everybody opined his victory had been nothing but an unlikely stroke of luck. But he concurred with them.
He changed into his old training gear, paying no attention to any hostile attention. The pants were too short, and his jacket had a hole underneath the arm — it had been patched by his Mom. But, right then, he didn’t care. How one dressed was unimportant. It was all about what one did wearing those clothes. And what Hagen intended was to become stronger.
He started with a warm-up even though he believed that the fight with Goretsky was a warm-up all in itself and he hadn’t had the opportunity to chill down yet. Then he tried the skipping rope but he lacked the agility, so he kept getting tripped up by it. The others would laugh but Hagen kept a calm expression. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
After a few exercises, old Ochoa approached him wearing hook and jab pads. “We have to work on your arms’ endurance. What I noticed yesterday was that you tend to lower them too quickly. If your opponent keeps evading your punches, they can just wear you out.”
“It’s hard to dodge one of my punches,” Hagen replied, recollecting the glassy eyes of the knocked-out Moose. “And I won’t need more than one.”
The very next moment, the hook and jab pad struck him in the forehead rather painfully.
Damage received: 93 (Pad Jab)
Current HP: 8907
“Don’t get too cocky just because you got lucky yesterday, lad,” Ochoa said calmly. “Juan had underestimated you, so he ended up missing your punch. You were lucky to have knocked him out. But boxing isn’t a casino. Either you train and throw everything else out of your head and win, or...” the old man grinned. “Or you consider yourself invincible and they show you where you belong real quick. So, what do you really want?”
“To train.”
“And what for exactly?”
“So that my victories wouldn’t be random.”
“Hm... Well, that’s the right answer, son. Let’s get to it, then!”
As he took his stance, Hagen thought about Lexie. Immediately the hook and jab pad hit him in the forehead again.
“And wipe that silly dreamy look off your face, lad! Concentrate!”
Ochoa frowned. Mike shook his head, trying to shake off all the unnecessary thoughts. He punched the pads listening to his coach talking to him monotonously,
“The first thing to do to keep your arms less tired is to learn
to relax. You don’t relax at all. Once you get into the ring, you get so tense it feels like you’re afraid of your opponent so much as looking at you. Let me tell you right away: once the match begins, he won’t just look at you. He’ll punch you, too. It will hurt, and he’ll know just where to direct the punch. It goes without saying that you must be ready, but it doesn’t mean you have to strain your every nerve and freeze. Don’t hold your arms in a single position.”
Hagen tried to relax but his punches instantly became less powerful.
“Look what you’re doing now,” Ochoa continued. “You keep your elbows far apart, holding your fists close to your face. I bet they’re clenched as hard as can be. This exhausts you quickly. If you carry on like that, you’ll be completely pooped by Round 2. And the only reason will be that you failed to give yourself enough rest.”
Hagen kept punching the pads, relaxing and flexing his arms alternatively. Ochoa said they should be able to “breathe.” What could “breathe” possibly mean? Ochoa didn’t give any explanations. He would just criticize, and, on a few occasions, he managed to utter a few praises.
Once the old man got tired, he took off the pads and pointed towards a punch bag. “Get on with it. Remember: what you have to learn isn’t to knock your opponent out at the first opportunity but prepare for your opponent to hold out longer than you. If you get exhausted before you throw your best punch, you’ll lose.”
So Hagen kept on punching. He would relax his muscles and try to let them “breathe” without realizing what it meant. Eventually, however, he noticed that he could throw a strong punch with his arms completely relaxed. It would happen rarely at first, but then he started to get the hang of it.
“More anger! And more anger still!” the old man repeated over and over again. “How many rounds do you think a match takes? Three? That’s bullshit! They only seem like three. You need two hundred or five hundred more to get to those three. And as much afterwards. Boxing — just like any other martial art — has no tolerance for weakness! The more aggressive and the stronger you are, the more likely you are to become a champion!”
Level Up- The Knockout Page 4
