Herrera took them to one of the bar stands, helped Lexie get perched comfortably on a tall stool, placing himself nearby. There weren’t enough chairs to go, so Hagen was forced to stand, his chin almost level to the bar.
Gonzalo called the bartender. “What’s everybody having?”
“A daiquiri,” Lexie said.
Hagen opted for beer.
Gonzalo said he’d just go for water, since he would fight later on.
“I’ll be rooting for you,” Lexie said.
“What’s the use of rooting for anyone, eh? Just bet a few bucks. Although if Mike had been fighting, I’d have placed a bet on him. The way he looks, no one would ever believe he is a serious fighter. Sorry, didn’t mean to put you down, bro. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
Hagen took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Bro, if I hadn’t seen you fight Juan, I’d be thinking you’ve just gone chicken.”
Lexie agreed, surprisingly, “Yeah, if I hadn’t seen you knock Goretsky out cold, I’d have suspected cowardice as well. What’s wrong with you?”
Hagen shrugged, trying to avoid looking them in the eye. He couldn’t confess to them everything was wrong with him, could he? To being an actual coward? To his fear so much as to imagine someone’s fist smash his face, breaking his nose, making a bloody pulp of his lips, knocking out his teeth, and so on. He had a very vivid image of his blood upon the ring. He shook his head, hoping for the vision to go away.
Gonzalo glanced at someone over Hagen’s head, then nodded and turned toward Lexie. “That’s it. You’re officially allowed to enter the basement. You’ve passed the check-up.”
“The check-up?” Lexie looked surprised.
“Sure. Do you think anyone can just enter the hall with a fighting ring like that? The security guards at the door are just regular bouncers for the club folk. Whoever wishes to watch a fight has to go through an extra check. After all, the fights are not 100% legal. I mean, betting on the fighters is illegal. That’s what the state law says. But as long as the mayor’s junior gets his share, cops are not really a problem.
Hagen sat there, feeling gloomy. He’d never visited a club like this before. In fact, he’d never visited any clubs at all. It was nothing even remotely resembling Chuck’s Bar where he could order a pint of cheap beer, sit on a chair in the corner and keep drinking it, watching the girls. Over here, all the visitors were someone—and the only regular folks were either fighters or pretty girls. Mingling with film directors, politicians’ children, and fat cats of every sort.
Mike felt like an unentitled non-entity who’d just sneaked into the club. Any time now, Big Guy would appear, drag him by the scruff of his neck and throw him out on his ass.
Lexie and Gonzalo got off their bar stools and headed toward the entrance to the basement covered by a curtain wall. Hagen was a mere shadow accompanying them. He took a big gulp and followed them listlessly, leaving a bunch of bills on the bar to pay for his beer and Lexie’s cocktail.
* * *
THE DOORWAY to the basement was guarded by a guy who could have been the twin of the one guarding the entrance: a pile of muscle well over six foot.
The place wasn’t all that large. Half of it had been occupied by a ring—just like the one in Ochoa’s gym, the standard boxing variety. The ring was surrounded by a low enclosure and about a dozen seats, placed somewhat higher. They screamed “VIP” without any specific notices required. The rest of the audience just stood around as though they were in a zoo. A man in a dinner jacket with a bow tie and a microphone was roaming the ring.
Gonzalo made his way through the audience, taking Lexie right to the enclosure.
Hagen found himself following them. As he noticed the brown spots on the fabric covering the enclosure, he tried to look away.
He had already seen Gonzalo’s arm around Lexie’s waist and him whispering something into her ear. Hagen felt the blood rush to his face. Did he bring the girl into a club just to have someone else hug her? He tried to wedge himself between the two. Lexie shouted in response, while Gonzalo asked him,
“Hey, bro, sorry. So, are you an item, after all? I’d never have thought.”
Lexie hastened to interject, “We are definitely not an item! We just work together.”
Hagen had barely managed to get a word in sideways before Gonzalo pushed him aside and started whispering in Lexie’s ear again. She started to laugh, bending her head back. Her eyes were all aglow.
Hagen had already noticed that system messages would appear automatically over people who’d caused him grief or could potentially become opponents. Just like this time — a system message Hagen hadn’t called for popped up:
Gonzalo “Killa” Herrera
Age: 26
Level: 6
HP: 37,000
Battles/victories: 25/20
Weight: 172 lbs
Height: 6’ 1”
The system seemed to imply that his opponent had been right there in front of him, and that Mike should prepare himself for a fight. But Hagen felt rather reluctant to fight Gonzalo.
The crowd roared, just to make him shudder again. The audience started to gather around the ring, pushing Hagen farther and farther away from Lexie and Gonzalo. Male and female bodies kept on crowding him, but he’d had no chance of returning to his former place. Some old guy with a saintly schoolteacher’s look had already been standing there, shouting something and shaking his fist.
Two fighters entered the ring. Their names had been announced, but Hagen didn’t remember either. The fighters went to their corners, and the announcer nearly ripped the mic, saying, “Let’s fight!” out loud.
There was a gong there, too, adding to the noise. The fighters had just touched gloves in the center of the ring. Both of them assumed battle stances. Hagen had involuntarily become curious as a die-hard fan of UFC matches on the TV. And it was live, and happening right in front of him.
He somehow managed to squeeze himself in between the old man and another member of the audience. Both were taller than him; Hagen felt like he only reached up to their elbows.
The fighters in the ring didn’t rush to fight—rather, they circled around each other, throwing an odd occasional punch to check the other’s defense. The announcer had been fully aware that the fight wouldn’t be much of a show, and kept shouting into the microphone for extra hype. Even Hagen got bored. He glanced toward Gonzalo and Lexie, and his vision got blurry. They were hugging in a very explicit way already. Lexie had been watching the fighters jumping all across the ring, and Gonzalo’s hand reached almost all the way under her dress.
Could Goretsky have been right all along? Could Lexie have been one of those women favoring bad guys? In that case, he’d never be a match for Gonzalo. Hagen may have been better at repairing broken gaming consoles, but that wasn’t a skill popular with girls.
The action in the ring started to get more interesting at last. The fighter in the blue trunks punched his opponent a few times, cornering him. The other one had gone into complete defense, holding his gloves up right in front of him. The crowd roared ecstatically, drowning out the announcer’s words.
Hagen looked at Lexie again. A waiter approached Gonzalo and handed the girl a cocktail, telling him something Mike couldn’t hear. Gonzalo nodded to Lexie and followed the waiter. Hagen started to elbow his wave through the crowd at once, disregarding the displeased audience. It didn’t take him all that long to join the girl.
“Hey, Mikey! And here I am thinking you’d left the joint.”
“I haven’t, Lexie. I’ve been standing right here watching everything.”
“Everything? Just what are you on about?” Lexie frowned in a puzzled way. Then her face lit up. “Thanks, Mikey! I really dig this place, and I’m grateful to you for bringing me here. Gonzalo has promised to reserve one of those VIP seats for me the next time.”
“The next time...” Hagen echoed her morosely.
“But weren’t we—the two of us... Lexie, I’d like to talk to you.”
The girl was no longer listening. She raised her fist and gave a loud yell. Hagen looked toward the ring. The guy in the blue shorts lay on the floor motionless. There was blood running all the way from his nose onto the floor, all covered in filth. The fighter who had been standing in the corner in a defensive stance just recently was jumping, raising his fists in the air, and shouting triumphantly.
The announcer said, “The first fight ends with the first knockout! Something to surprise y’all this evening! And there are more surprises in stock—we guarantee it!”
The announcer left the ring for a break. His voice was replaced by CJ’s new hit blaring from the speakers.
Hagen looked at Lexie for what he had thought to be the last time that night and was just about to make his way out of the club. He was already coming to terms with the decision to quit his job at the shop, never to see her again. Then he stopped as he saw Gonzalo near the exit. The cholo was already dressed as a boxer and throwing punches into the air in preparation for the fight, with the announcer standing nearby.
The familiar red mist clouded Hagen’s vision to make him familiar with a new debuff.
Jealousy Outburst (1 hour)
You are experiencing jealousy toward your object of desire!
Warning! High possibility of spontaneous enragement!
Warning! Your aggro range has just been extended!
–75% to Self-Control
–1 to Agility
+4 to Strength
+ 2 to Stamina
He shook his head in self-loathing. Why did he have to run away again? Why all the fear? Ochoa had told him a boxer cannot afford to be weak, after all. So how come the constant displays of weakness? Wasn’t he given a mysterious augmented reality interface? He might have been the only one on the planet to have one, for chrissakes. Wouldn’t that make him a superhero of some sort?
Hagen clenched his fists, approaching Gonzalo in a confident strut.
His buddy gave him a friendly smile. “Yo, Mikey, bro. Sorry about the thing with the girl. Still, she’d been the one to start it. No grudges, I hope?”
“None at all.”
“Yo, wassup, bro?”
“I want to fight in the ring.”
“Sure, bro. A while later. I’ll add you to the list. The first fight turned out to be absolute shit. That’s the reason they’d asked me to do it earlier.”
“Bro... that wasn’t what I’d meant. I intend to fight you.”
“But, hey, bro...”
The announcer wedged himself between them. “Just what we need! The audience loves surprises. But just one thing, Killa: please don’t knock this weakling out at once. Chase him around the ring for a while. Give them time to enjoy the show.”
Gonzalo turned toward the announcer. “This weakling managed to knock Juan Manuel out cold.”
The announcer scrutinized Hagen with disbelief. “Uh... I just don’t buy it, sorry. But it’s even more grist to the mill this way. So, your name was...? Mike, eh? Get your finger out, Mikey. You gotta run to the locker room. Someone will help you with finding the right gear and fitting your gloves. How do I announce you?”
Hagen stood silent for a second. The nickname given to him by the system was hardly flattering. Then he uttered it indecisively,
“Mike... ‘Crybaby’ Hagen.”
Chapter 7. The Low Kick
A toaster is just a death ray with a smaller power supply!
Fallout New Vegas
HAGEN INSTANTLY REGRETTED his decision. Even the Jealousy debuff that had nearly deprived him of his last vestiges of common sense didn’t affect that.
He was already feeling sorry about this asinine antic as the locker room crew started to rummage through the gear to find him some shorts. That was no easy feat, for they could barely manage to find the smallest size. The same was the case with the groin protector.
Hagen heard a jibe behind his back,
“What does this pipsqueak need balls for, anyway? It’s not like anyone will ever think of fucking him!”
The outburst of laughter made him cringe and go tense.
He’d still been regretting it when he was trying on the gloves—not the boxing variety as used in Ochoa’s gym; these were thinner and fingerless. Hagen had already been aware that those were the sort used in MMA—they made it easier to grapple.
That must have been his biggest regret, in fact. How would he fight with only a single punch move under his belt? What would happen if Gonzalo knew lots of moves? Something like jujitsu or kickboxing, for example? Let alone the fact that he might perform jump kicks like Wei Ming? It wasn’t Ochoa’s gym where everybody would follow rules, after all. What if...
“Your mouthguard,” grumbled one of the crew.
Hagen had placed the mouthguard, wet from soaking, into his mouth, feeling it get in the way of his lips and scraping his gums, none of which was pleasant. The thing was anything but comfortable.
“Is that OK?”
“Not really.”
“Good enough for the likes of you, anyway.”
Someone slapped him on the shoulder. “Ready? The ring is that way! The crowd is already pissed about the break being too long.”
Hagen came out of the locker room, and it felt like falling into a roaring ocean from a cliff. The roar of the crowd merged with CJ’s rapping, turning into a muddled noise. That wasn’t how Mikey had imagined his first fight in the ring. No signature music, no girls in bikinis, and no support team. He had once wished for his signature tune to be Eminem’s Lose Yourself.
A chewed-up slice of lime, stinking of vodka—obviously, fished out of a cocktail for this very purpose—hit him in the eye, hurled by someone in the crowd. It hit him smack in the eye, but Hagen plodded on, rubbing his eyelid.
Gonzalo was already jumping around the ring throwing series of quick punches into the air. The crowd roared approvingly. His tattooed back shone in the spotlights.
As Hagen was approaching the ring, he recollected another piece of Ochoa’s advice. “You can’t box without warming up,” the old man had been telling him. “Mike Tyson—your namesake, by the way—would spend about ten minutes warming up before the match until there was sweat on his face. And he was one of the greats. A mere mortal would get tired already; a true boxer would only be starting.”
Hagen imagined having seven piles of shit kicked out of him in the ring, which would confirm his rank as a mere mortal.
But his common sense had been affected by the debuff. “Screw the warm-up,” Hagen decided. “This is MMA, so I can just skip it. The main thing is to get the bastard in the jaw. The rest doesn’t matter.”
Mike got some help getting into the ring, but he did manage to get caught in the ropes. The crowd laughed. The announcer entered the ring from the other side, speaking into the microphone. He must have been making jokes at Mike’s expense, because the audience kept erupting with laughter. Mike had always been very sensitive to being the butt of a joke even failing to understand the exact reason.
He turned around to catch Lexie’s eye in the crowd. The girl wasn’t smiling—in fact, she looked somewhat worried. So she did care about Hagen, after all. He felt a surge of confidence and squared his shoulders, waving to her. Lexie replied with a slight nod, looking away from him—and right at Gonzalo.
The announcer adjusted his bow tie and came forward. “Another surprise, as promised. The fighter in the left corner is everybody’s favorite—a beginner who nevertheless shows amazing potential. Meet Gonzalo ‘Killa’ Herrrrrrera! This guy’s got a great future.”
The roar of the crowd drowned out the final words of the announcer. Once the noise had died down, Hagen heard something about himself,
“...Right corner... Future uncertain, especially after a fight against Killa! Meet Mike... ‘Crybaby’ Hagen!”
The audience guffawed, throwing pieces of fruit and cubes of ice from their cocktails at the ring.
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The announcer pointed the microphone at Mike. “Won’t you tell us a little about yourself? Why ‘Crybaby’ in the first place?”
“Uh-h-h... I’m not really sure.”
“Well, we’ll find out in a moment! Let’s fight!”
The gong sounded. Mike startled while Gonzalo quickly crossed the ring, pointing his fists at him. Mike jumped back, protecting his head. Images of smashed lips and knocked-out teeth flashed through his mind.
There was another deafening roar of laughter from the crowd.
Hagen went red, pointing his fists forward as well. Gonzalo wasn’t attacking. He was just trying to greet him with a fist bump.
“Hey, bro, are you all right there?” Gonzalo asked, looking preoccupied. “Are you sure you want to continue? Not used to having an audience, are you?”
Hagen nodded and gave Gonzalo a double fist bump. He recollected his fight with Juan. The conditions were surely different back then: there was no one watching but a few fellow boxers from the gym and the old man Ochoa. He decided he should just compose himself. Instead of thinking of being ridiculed by a thousand people, he should focus on his opponent and imagine there was no one else present.
The opponent would probably defeat him. But there was nothing that special about a defeat, was there?
He just kept wishing it wouldn’t hurt too much...
* * *
GONZALO’S first jab in the side of Hagen’s face sobered him up. It was going to hurt, after all. And it would most likely hurt much more. Gonzalo’s first punch wasn’t hard—he was just trying to make Hagen feel more comfortable in the ring.
Damage received: 2150 (Cheekbone Punch)
Hagen assumed a boxer’s stance just as Ochoa had taught him—his body facing the opponent, his right shoulder raised, and his chin resting on it. The left arm was there for defense, and the right, always ready to strike. He almost froze, moving to have his face turned toward Gonzalo.
Level Up- The Knockout Page 7
