"Wait! I'll take care of it!" Michael interjected, hastily blocking Grace's path to the Risk Management Manager's office. "I've already consulted with the Department Manager and the Director about this. They are committed to providing me with whatever support I need for my growth. If this is their approach, then I'm prepared to confront it head-on."
"Enduring repeated beatings, especially from someone with a history of psychopathy, who, for lack of a better term, is now a licensed psychopath, is hardly the ideal path to achieving a First Level Metamorphosis…" Grace paused abruptly, assessing Michael's reaction. "But wait... I think I grasp their intention. I may not like it, but if I'm interpreting it correctly, I can't outright dismiss it."
"What do you mean?" Michael inquired.
Grace shook her head. "It's not worth discussing. Forget I mentioned it. Since you've agreed with Department Manager Tamara and the Director, I won't interfere. However, as your Partner, I must emphasize that there are alternatives, even under time constraints. So, don't hesitate to reconsider and explore other options."
"Is that all?" Michael pressed.
"The decision ultimately rests with you," Grace replied. "The ball is in your court."
Michael double-checked the message on his screen. "I'll take the break you requested, until it's time to go. Will you join me?"
Grace let out a resigned sigh. "What else have I got to do, live my life?"
…
At 11:55, on the 33rd Floor, Training Ground, Michael and Grace stood near the Arena, awaiting Matteo's arrival. This time, Matteo appeared alone. Silence hung heavy in the air as Matteo approached the control console, adjusted the settings, exchanged a glance with Michael, and then leaped onto a red cloud. Grace flashed Michael a thumbs-up. With a steadying breath, he closed his eyes and vaulted above the ropes, disappearing into a swirling blue cloud.
The Training Ground was always bustling with activity, with some Agents practicing for hours or even days. Several perplexed Agents noticed the return of the duo from earlier, joining Grace near the Arena. However, this time, Matteo had set the fight to "private", so there was no projection visible above.
…
The stage was set, mirroring their earlier 9:00 bout. Without delay, Matteo declared his weapon choice. "Hook Line," he said calmly.
He slowly withdrew his hands, breaking the skin contact at the tips of his fingers to extend his Magickal strands. "Aren't you joining me?" Matteo asked Michael with nonchalance.
'I can't afford a repeat of the first fight,' Michael thought, resisting the urge to rush in as he had before. The fresh memory of surrendering still stung, and now he approached the situation with extra caution, partly due to the fear of being slowly choked to death. 'My stats haven't fully recovered, String is bitching, and the Grace Period seems unreliable in certain situations... perhaps it's for the best.'
He instinctively clenched his hands into fists, realizing he had no idea how to fight open-handed. Nevertheless, his Magick surged through his body, especially his arms. 'This is what I should have done from the start! My body is growing stronger, particularly my Physique. I don't sense exaggerated changes that could be attributed to excessive use of Psyche.'
"Are you afraid?" Matteo's voice echoed, clearly amplified with Magick and tinged with mockery.
"Dammit!" Michael gritted his teeth, his eyes darting between the right and left hands of the other man, tracing the strands. A straining pain made his heart skip a beat. 'Have I reached the maximum strengthening of my body?' He wanted to open the Status Window, but feared Matteo would launch the first attack if he realized he was distracted.
"Go!" Michael urged himself and lunged forward.
"Fast indeed," Matteo noted of Michael. He waved his arms, and his strands expanded outwards, splitting into rows upon rows of thinner strands.
A massive wall of strands obstructed Michael, evoking memories of a specific movie where an AI diced a bunch of soldiers with a laser trap. He doubted he would end up in meaty pieces if he tried to cross them. Three things gave him a measure of confidence: the belief that the Bureau wanted him alive, his previous survival of physical contact with Matteo's strands, and David's assurance that until the Grace Period was over, nobody would make a genuine attempt on his life.
With a slashing motion, Michael tore through the bottom strands, propelling himself toward Matteo, who was three meters ahead – a distance easily covered with a single kick on the stage that sent him airborne.
"Only beasts and prey don't consider several moves ahead," Matteo commented.
Michael was about to land on him when he felt a tug from his legs and waist, strands catching and hurling him backward. The impact against the stage sent shivers across his body. 'Would I have passed through it if it were a regular floor?' he wondered. Disoriented, he grabbed the strands around him and ripped them apart. 'As long as I tear them in time, he won't be able to harm me. But he's right; like an idiot, I charged without thinking beyond the last lesson I've learned.'
Nevertheless, brazenly charging toward his opponent seemed the only viable option when his only advantage lay in Magick Ions. On the bright side, the success of his quick escape diminished his apprehension. So, once more, he went for Matteo!
The wall of strands repaired itself by the time Michael was ready to rip it again. 'Don't let it catch me!' Concentrating his Magick to alternate between amplifying body parts was difficult, yet he managed it, inching closer to Matteo with renewed determination.
"It's showing in those blue eyes of yours, not a beast nor a prey-" Matteo began.
One meter.
Michael hastened, faster and stronger, mindful of how to strike. He aimed a powerful punch at Matteo's abdomen.
Layers of strands covered Matteo as the fist landed, absorbing the majority of the blow. It was an imperfect defense that launched him across the stage, worse than the two times he had done the same to Michael, sending him flying thirty-five meters away.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"I guess you can call it resolve," Michael chimed in. His left fist burned, partly from the excess of Magick, partly from the force of impact. He could feel the heat all the way up to his shoulder. It was painful, but... 'Oh, do you like me now?' he sent gleefully to the rapturous String.
Matteo rose to his feet, all his strands gone. He adjusted his tattered shirt, wiped the line of blood that dirtied his lips, and forced a bloody cough to clear his throat. Meanwhile, Michael patiently waited for him to gather himself, refraining from kicking the man while he was down.
"Resolve?" Matteo echoed, his tone carrying a note of disapproval. "You've developed faith in yourself because you've set a resolve. But resolve is not a Path," he continued. "It's not even a direction. It is merely a temporary mood swing that prompts action, whether smart or folly. What does it say about a person who can't accomplish their goal without relying on resolve?"
'Is he teaching or berating me?' Michael frowned, caught off guard by Matteo's unexpected depth. He had anticipated Matteo to be nothing more than Department Manager Tamara and Director Strange's iron rod.
"That they are hesitant!" Matteo answered his own question. "You're hesitant, yet you accepted my challenge. So why do you also need resolve? Why do you permit procrastination only to rely on it later? Again, there's only one answer."
"You want me to state the obvious?" Michael retorted, not expecting Matteo to counter with a verbal assault. It was both amusing and irritating, considering nothing he had said seemed out of place, especially compared to his now cringeworthy "I guess you can call it resolve." 'I should've kept quiet,' he lamented, though it was too late now.
"Fine! I don't have experience fighting!" Michael admitted.
"A partial response for a shorter answer," Matteo remarked, steadying himself. "Hook Line!"
"Humph!" Michael snorted at the ten incoming strands. 'I can beat them, so I can't let them sway me from the target!'
He charged at the strands, which shifted sideways, aiming for his legs. Michael prepared to break them with his Magick. Matteo was ten meters away!
The strands encircled his legs and hooked onto his ankles, tearing through skin, flesh, and tendons. They didn't tighten but withdrew, leaving Michael to lose his footing and roll uncontrollably.
Matteo revoked his strands and intercepted Michael with a kick to his back. "Do you also lack experience in running?" he taunted.
Michael struggled for a moment before conceding defeat. His feet refused to obey, and even at his best, Matteo had taken it easy on him. At half his best, Matteo was still gentler, and Michael still lost. What was he supposed to do now, and how much more humiliating could Matteo's treatment get?
"You win," Michael admitted, the fight concluded.
"You bet your ass I do!" Matteo responded.
The red cloud engulfed them, signaling the end of the bout.
…
Matteo stepped out of the Arena before the red cloud dissipated, leaving Michael lying there with bleeding injuries.
"Wait!" Grace intercepted Matteo as he made to leave the Training Ground. She glanced at Michael and neither she nor any of the other Agents around hurried to help him. He was conscious and able to ask for assistance. Besides, his Magick was swirling around him, indicating he would recover. "How long do you plan on doing this?"
"We were neighbors, not friends. Instead of meddling in my affairs, why don't you focus on yours?" Matteo retorted sharply.
"I'm his Partner, not his damned nanny. My purpose here isn't to be the one to nurse his wounds after you're done with him!" Grace shot back, her tone firm.
Matteo gestured downward, his back turned to her. "Talk to the higher-ups."
"Tsk!" Grace clicked her tongue disapprovingly and leapt into action, heading towards the Arena. "Resting won't suffice. You need the infirmary."
"Just take me there… please," Michael muttered, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Grace hoisted him up, and he winced from the pain. She remained silent as they waited for the elevator, until his phone suddenly rang.
\\\
Contacts
* HQ Announcement: New Message 1: »
Agent Michael Mir (MM2Y0GP-DCA1-HQRM), you have been challenged for a Discourse. Your opponent, Matteo Salivan (MS-31TPG-40-KS7-HQRM), will be waiting for you at Arena at 18:00, 06.09.2023.
* Subject of Discourse: Residence displacement.
* Conclusion: Winner may pick between residence 11-02-03B and residence 15-14-27A.
«
///
"This mother f-" Grace began, her frustration evident.
"Forget it," Michael interjected, and she reluctantly respected his request.
The elevator arrived, and they entered it.
"Well, you're not all that unlucky. The infirmary is at the Testing Lab."
…
They reached the 35th Floor, home to the Testing Laboratory. A teenage girl idly scrolled on her personal tablet behind the reception desk. Her attention perked up as Grace practically carried Michael inside.
With two quick swipes on the counter, the girl signaled for a stretcher. Anxious, she leaned over the counter, only to grimace at the sight of the blood-soaked white towels wrapped around Michael's ankles.
"No need for the stretcher. Just open the door. I'll take him to the infirmary. Make sure someone is there to accept us urgently," Grace instructed firmly.
The girl nodded, pressing a spot on the counter, and one of the two doors obediently slid open.
"The Bureau employs children?" Michael inquired, surprised.
"Wander for a day and you'll stumble upon family members of Agents who've had to relocate completely to HQ. Don't bother delving into their arrangement; suffice it to say it's akin to a fancy prison, a measure to keep them safe from the outside world. Reflect on it when you understand what lies beyond."
The wide corridor from reception led to treatment rooms for specific injuries, all the way to the rather serene infirmary. Four examination rooms catered to the needs of eight individuals who were waiting even before Grace and Michael arrived.
Among the eight, three were young children under seven, accompanied by one of their parents – a total of six individuals. The remaining two were Agents, one nursing a broken arm, and the other seemingly attending to his partner. Clad in their MMB's attire – suits – they appeared to have just returned from the field.
"I can wait," Michael offered, considering his condition.
"Nonsense, we just need a Vitality Capsule," Grace insisted, barging into the nearest examination room.
"Is it flu season or something?" she remarked, noticing another mother and her five-year-old son inside. "Sorry. What's up, little guy?"
"Excuse me!" The female doctor restrained herself from snapping at Grace while examining the boy.
"His tendons are severed, and he needs to be in the Arena in a couple of hours," Grace explained tersely.
The doctor nodded, understanding the urgency, and reached into a drawer, retrieving a bottle of red-blue capsules.
"Unless you're admitting him now, give us four capsules, and we'll be on our way," Grace demanded firmly.
"Four? I need to know how many Magick Ions-" the doctor started to protest.
"Either admit him and open his file or give us the capsules!" Grace interrupted, her tone unwavering.
"This…" The doctor glared angrily but ultimately surrendered the capsules.
"Thank you."
Grace guided Michael back to the corridor, surrounded by the other eight individuals. She paid no attention to the disapproving stares they received.
"Swallow," Grace instructed, handing Michael the capsules.
"Can't I sit inside?" Michael asked.
"No. It will show. Go on!" Grace urged.
Michael accepted the first capsule. Its effects were immediate and milder compared to David's Health Potions, even tingling his depleted Magick Ions.
"Another," Grace nearly force-fed him the second and third capsules.
Michael felt his body gradually recovering, albeit at a slow pace, but recovering nonetheless.
"The fourth?" he inquired.
"You can't have it. One per a hundred Magick Ions. Besides, I have a feeling you'll need it later…" Grace explained cryptically.
"So that's why…" Michael realized the purpose of being in the corridor. A person's level of Magick Ions was a private matter. Those waiting to be called in could estimate his number by the number of Vitality Capsules he consumed.
"Don't put weight on your feet yet," Grace cautioned.
"I can," Michael discovered, curious about his stats. "When the healing effect ends."
"You can? Right, you're leaning toward Build," Grace remarked.
"Can we find Éliott while we're here, Mom…?" Michael inquired.
"Ha! Ha!" Grace sarcastically laughed.
"Ouch! I'm wounded!" She playfully elbowed Michael's stomach.
"Surface wounds. Another word and I'm dropping you. I gave you three capsules not because you require this many. Again, while it's one per one hundred Magick Ions lost, I doubt you lost over one-fifty. One was ample. Two and three are to accelerate the process and consequently give you a light high."