Level Up- The Knockout

by Dan Sugralinov

  One of the zealots touched Ian’s shoulder and pointed towards Hagen.

  “Ah, so there’s my little sinner,” Ian said. “Have you accepted the fact that you’ll be punished for all your trespasses?”

  “Sure, but can you explain why a saint would even deign to visit this, uh, den of iniquity?”

  The waiter came back, placing buckets of chicken wings in front of the fanatics. Ian grabbed one and took a bite.

  “I just want to try these fried wings and see what all the fuss is about.”

  “Enjoy yourself, sir,” Hagen nodded, seeing that the cult members weren’t planning to make any trouble—they just sat there eating, washing the wings down with beer just like everybody else.

  “You enjoy yourself, too. The Lord punishes some of us while we’re alive. And he seemed to have punished you before you’d even been born, little reprobate. Ha!”

  The zealots hastened to support their leader by laughing along sycophantically. Feeling embarrassed, Hagen moved on.

  What’s with them and my height? he thought. They’re in for some surprise when I recuperate and invest all the points I have into Strength. I’ll be as tall as anyone then.

  And why not? This would be the optimal way of using the accumulated XP.

  A waiter broke his reverie. “Mike, we have a problem at Chuck’s! It’s urgent!”

  Hagen no longer limped when he walked, but running still took a toll on his leg. He followed the waiter as fast as he could. He could already hear a heated exchange between a male and a female from the passageway that connected the two bars.

  “I told you...”

  “Let me go!”

  An empty space had formed in front of the door leading to Chuck’s office. A guy with stubble, clad in a leather jacket, was pulling a girl by her arm; she resisted.

  She was a real beauty; her high heels scratched the floor. The girl was clearly planning to apply for a stripper’s position. Her purse slipped off her shoulder. Her mobile phone, makeup, and other trinkets were strewn all across the floor.

  “I told you already! Let me go, you bastard!”

  “I won’t let you do it!” The guy with the stubble was a loud one for sure.

  There were many smells inside the bar but Hagen could distinctly feel the booze on the guy’s breath.

  He approached the couple. “I’m sorry, sir, but what exactly is going on here?”

  The guy ignored the question.

  Same old, same old...

  The girl threw a glance at Hagen without realizing she was looking at the head of security. She turned back to face the guy. “I am under no obligation to explain my actions to you.”

  The guy with the stubble waved his hand in front of her face, demonstrating his wedding band. “You are my wife. And you will do as you’re told.”

  “Screw you! I’m not your property!”

  “You’re an immoral bitch!”

  “Your stale views on morality don’t interest me one bit!”

  The young couple appeared to have gone through similar exchanges before.

  “Gentleman, lady... Please calm down,” Hagen said tremulously, thinking it was high time for him to work on his speech. Did that mean he’d have to start reading, after all?

  The guy grabbed the girl once again. She slipped, and her heel broke with a loud cracking sound.

  “Look at what you’ve done! Get your hands off me!”

  “Don’t resist me. You’ll regret it.”

  Hagen cleared his throat and said loudly, “Sir, the young lady has asked you not to touch her.”

  “Mind your own business, kid,” the guy with the stubble retorted.

  Kid? Furious, Mike studied the guy’s stats.

  Terrence Ward

  Age: 24

  Level 4

  HP: 15,000

  Battles/victories: 23/17

  Weight: 209 lbs

  Height: 5’ 9”

  Current status: Realtor

  Reputation: Animosity (8/10)

  Resistance to your Charisma: high (8/10)

  The guy was younger than Hagen! What the hell?

  Terrence dragged the girl toward the exit. “I won’t allow you to shake your tits in front of these...” he turned back to look at Hagen. “These freaks and perverts.”

  “Let me go!”

  Hagen followed them. “I am warning you for the last time.”

  “The last?” Terrence grinned. “So there was a first? Sorry, didn’t hear you. You should really stand on a stool when you say something. Can’t hear you from down there.”

  At that very moment, the girl managed to hit her husband with her purse. The metal buckle gave him a gash over his eyebrow.

  He looked surprised. “You bitch! It’s time to beat some sense into you!”

  He swung his arm to slap her, but Hagen blocked it. He didn’t manage to do anything else, though, distracted by the blinking message.

  Peace and Order

  Restore peace and order at Chuck Morrison’s bar to unlock new achievements.

  Terrence pulled his arm away from the hold. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “I just want to maintain peace and order, sir.”

  Instead of replying, Terrence took another swing, exhaling sharply.

  His fist hit nothing but thin air. It had taken Hagen half a second to duck and emerge behind the guy, who swung around to get the impetuous shorty. Instead, he gasped, waving his arms as if trying to lament the unfairness of this disorderly world, and then slid to the floor, almost in slow motion, with his back against the wall. One might have thought Terrence had decided to rest for a while.

  None of the observers had noticed Hagen giving him a quick jab in the chin.

  Damage dealt: 12,600 points (Punch)

  Congratulations! You’ve defeated an opponent in a fair fight!

  XP points received: 1

  Peace and Order: quest completed!

  Ability points received: 1

  You’ve received a new level!

  Current level: 7

  Another pillar of light and ecstasy. Hagen had almost become used to the effect, but it felt that with each new level the pillar got higher and the ecstasy lasted longer—as if the interface was increasing the dose to compensate for the habit.

  The pillar started to flicker and was gone.

  “What have you done, you idiot?”

  Damage received: 3

  Damage received: 12

  Damage received: 7

  He found himself under a barrage of blows, although none of them were particularly strong, as the girl was hitting him on the head with her purse.

  “There! Suck it, freak!”

  She dropped the purse and sat down next to her husband, taking his head in her hands and covering his face with kisses. “Terry! Terry, are you alive? Talk to me! Are you OK?”

  Her husband staggered to his feet. He stared blindly at Mike, then said, wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve,

  “Sorry about the mess. Please don’t call the cops.”

  “We won’t. And, like... Come again,” Hagen said.

  Mike collected the personal items dropped by the girl and escorted the couple to the exit, rubbing the back of his head. When he returned, the patrons had already been at their tables, chuckling at what they’d just seen.

  But he saw someone at the bar. It was April.

  For some reason, Hagen wasn’t surprised to see her.

  She grinned. “Women, eh? You’ll never know what they need, and even if you find out, you’ll never know why.”

  * * *

  BARBIE... No, for some reason, Hagen no longer felt like calling her that.

  April’s outfit was much less revealing than previously—a regular gray T-shirt and faded jeans. Her long fair hair was covered by a baseball cap with the ubiquitous AthleticSmart logo that was beginning to get on his nerves. She must have worked as one of their models, too.

  “How’s Sylas doing?” Mike asked.
>
  “Healing, wallowing in his pain, meditating... I don’t know. We no longer live together.”

  Hagen approached the bar and sat down next to April. “That’s a pity. You looked like a perfect couple.”

  April made a dismissive gesture. “Everybody’s saying that. I’m already sick of hearing it. We were a horrible couple, in fact. Sylas is a narcissistic baboon. As for me... I’m not your average girl, either. I have a high opinion of myself. We must have been too good for each other. I don’t know if he’d ever loved me, but I have definitely learned to hate him.”

  Hagen looked at April and checked himself. “Hey, but what exactly are you doing here? Are you planning to work as a dancer?”

  The girl looked surprised. “Come again? What on earth gave you that idea? I just came to thank you. The fight with Sylas wasn’t easy on you.”

  “But we were going to fight, anyway. Why thank me?”

  April laughed. “No idea. I had nothing else to do so I decided to pay you a visit. You looked out of sorts after the fight. Kept calling me Barbie, for some reason...”

  Mike laughed. “Did I? I don’t remember. Sylas had gotten my brain all shaken up.”

  Even though Hagen felt a little agitated, it was much easier to come to terms with the feeling with April, as compared to Lexie, for example.

  Chuck’s office door opened as he saw the last of the applicants out. He looked at April. “Are you a dancer, too, miss?”

  “Say what? Of course I’m not! I just don’t understand why everybody’s asking me that.”

  “Sorry, miss. In that case, welcome to Chuck’s Bar. We also have a new premises where we shall shortly begin the opening ceremony for Chuck’s Bar Mark II. Discounts on drinks and our specialty, fried chicken wings, are valid all day until 7 PM. Chuck’s Bar! Be my guest!”

  Morrison delivered his pitch, stroked his mustache, gave Hagen a wink and departed.

  Mike carried on talking to the girl. He found out she was indeed modeling for AthleticSmart. She and Sylas had become the company’s poster girl and poster boy, respectively. Her father was in the military, currently taking part in some joint operation in Israel. Her mother was the head of advertising working for a local cosmetics company. April was a cheerleader in school (Hagen wasn’t surprised at all). She didn’t apply for college yet, but was thinking of joining the military like her dad. But she still needed to make up her mind, and it may have been too late—she’d turn 22 soon. April also loved karaoke and movies—two years ago she’d even got a bit part as an Estonian spy in an action B-movie. However, her movie career had ended once the director had gotten too free with his hands—she’d had to break his nose.

  The more April talked about herself, the more sullen Hagen got. What could he tell about himself? He’d be thirty soon, but his only achievements were recent. If you could call a bouncer’s career at a strip joint an achievement in the first place, that is. Hardly the most direct way of living his dream.

  On the other hand, he did have a dream. Nothing vague or impossible—the way would be tough, but it was still real.

  “I’m planning to take part in amateur UFC fights and eventually make my way to the professional league.”

  “Hm, aren’t you too old for that?” April burst out. “Oops, sorry, didn’t intend to be mean...”

  “I may not be a spring chicken, but I’ll still do everything to participate—and to win.”

  April placed her palm over his. “I have faith in you. You’re gonna make it.”

  Hagen felt his face go red as she touched him. He adjusted his sunglasses in an embarrassed way and cleared his throat. “Why don’t we take a look at Mr. Morrison having a go at the piñata?”

  Mark II was getting really lively. The lights were dimmed, and multicolored lights covered the bodies of the strippers, still clothed and dancing slowly around poles. The patrons kept ordering—the tables started to get filled with bottles, shots, and beer mugs.

  The spectators gathered in the center of the main room around the piñata. Wei Ming and the chef were present, too.

  “Really?” April chuckled. “A piñata in the shape of a naked woman? That’s, like, ultra-sexist. On the other hand... What would you expect to see in a strip joint?”

  Hagen and April squeezed through the crowd and took their places next to Wei Ming. Morrison had already changed into a spotless white suit which made him look like a nineteenth-century plantation owner from one of Mark Twain’s books. His partner (a tall and thin old man in his eighties) produced two baseball bats. One of the strippers stepped down from the stage and blindfolded both of them.

  The old men picked up the bats and started to swing them around once the word was given.

  The audience cheered, telling them where to hit. Hagen even got scared that they might injure each other. However, the piñata soon became disfigured and finally popped open in a shower of glitter, candy, coins, and free meal coupons. A few patrons started to pick them up, but the majority just congratulated the partners and went on celebrating.

  More strippers came out onto the stage. The music got louder, and the dancing, lewder. Hagen didn’t know where to look. He would really like to have seen the girls undress. He’d never seen anything like that before ( videos didn’t count). But he felt too embarrassed to so much as look in that direction with April right next to him.

  As for the girl, she paid no attention to Hagen’s anguish. She was watching the dances, sipping on her mocktail and commenting,

  “This one moves well. And that one is obviously too sloppy. The brunette over there seems a little prudish...”

  Wei Ming approached them. “I’m done with the cooking, boss! Ready to get back to my bouncer’s duties! Can I begin?”

  Then he noticed April. “Another dancer? New here?”

  April laughed. Hagen chuckled too, unable to hold it back.

  Wei Ming looked puzzled. “Hey, what did I say?”

  “Nothing we haven’t heard before.”

  Once April finished laughing, she tried to take a sip of her cocktail. However, one of the patrons pushed her elbow as he tried to pass by, slurred a drunken apology and ran off.

  “Well, there we go.” April said. “This is a sign for me to go home. It’s getting noisy and full of drunks. And I can’t stand drunks.”

  She stretched, the tight T-shirt emphasizing her breasts rather fetchingly. Then she took off the baseball cap and arranged her hair. Now she was more like the beauty everybody would stare at.

  Wei Ming stared, too. Then he shook his head, apparently remembering his girlfriend, and walked away.

  “I’ll see you off,” Hagen said, pushing through the crowd just like a professional bouncer.

  “I’ve parked my car over there,” April said, pointing toward what seemed to be the end of the block.

  “A bit far.”

  “The parking lot was packed.”

  Hagen accompanied April to her car.

  * * *

  “IT’S A WEIRD PLACE,” April confessed en route.

  “Why is that?”

  “This Mr. Morrison doesn’t look anything like a strip club owner. And his partner looks even less like one. They’re like two genial grandfathers—one looks like Colonel Sanders, and the other like a Santa from a mall with a mustache instead of a beard.”

  Hagen recollected the fact that he’d never been perceived the way he’d wanted to be. “How do you know what strip club owners look like? Judging people by the way they look is always risky.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t want to visit again. Once is quite enough. Not my kind of place. And why is everyone so wild about those wings? They’re fried, greasy, and spicy. Bad for you all around. It was disgusting to watch people gorge themselves on that stuff. Then they’ll complain about unsettled stomachs and extra weight.”

  “That’s not really fair, though.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know you that well, Mike, but I am convinced this bar isn’t for you. You won’t b
ecome a professional fighter here. You’ll just get into more trouble.”

  “Yeah, but Mr. Morrison is a great person, and he caters to those who like his chicken wings. If they’re not your thing, no one’s making you eat them.”

  April turned around to respond, but a gruff voice interrupted her.

  “Stop right there.”

  A group of four suddenly appeared from the shadows. The streetlight didn’t reveal much, but their faces were doubtlessly hostile.

  Hagen’s heart skipped a beat, and then started pounding. Questions such as “Who are you?” or “What do you want?” were extraneous—the hem of a lilac gown that could be seen from underneath the jacket of one of the men said it all.

  Mike tensed apprehensively, while April scrutinized the strangers. The four men surrounded them without saying a word. There’d be nowhere to run, anyway—one direction was blocked by a jeep with horns mounted on the roof, parked right across the sidewalk in blatant disregard of the rules, and the other side was controlled by two thugs.

  What should they do now? Shout for help? That tactic could be used as a last resort, but they were too far away from the bar—no one would be likely to hear them.

  St. Ian’s zealots must have decided God needed some help with punishing the sinners

  April had no idea who they were, so she asked,

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing from you,” said the leader.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” the second fanatic chimed in. “Are you one of those hideous strippers from the bar? You belong in Satan’s lap.”

  “Are you all reading your scripts from the same book? I’m not a stripper!”

  Hagen browsed their adversaries’ stats. The only dangerous ones were the two that had been doing all the talking.