Chapter 13

* * *

It seems that my winnings turned out to be a problem for the Runner in the gang. That's exactly what I didn't want, this kind of twist. I was just beginning to wonder how I could approach Deckart with an offer to play in a pair and get my own team together! And if he blamed me for his downfall, I don't think he would.

"Who agrees with Meck?" Rick asks.

In addition to the biker who saved me from the street gang, Anton and the Goon with the eagle nose raised their hands.

"Lance?!" The Runner's surprise was genuine, and he didn't seem to be expecting such a gesture at all.

"I told you that you need to grow up... You're too much into impulsive actions and decisions," the biker standing next to me calmly withstood his gaze.

"Go off, Com." Rick's face turns purple. "How I discard the Face is my own business!!!"

'Discard the Faсe' - what does it mean? I've never heard such an expression.

"I agree, your... Personal..." Lance approached Deckart and, hovering over him like a rock, continued. "But weren't you the one who was tearing up his shirt and saying, 'If I ever see that Nemo again, I'll tear him to shreds. I'll shoot his balls off with the least powerful gun I've got!' It's your words, isn't it? Your... And you met him. And did you tear him up?"

"I agree," Descart suddenly calmed down. It happens all at once, he was angry a second ago, and now he looks like a peaceful captain, his ship swaying gently on the waves. I was wrong. I put that loss down to my opponent's luck. And that show didn't convince me, I felt as if the presenter was fitting the decision to his advantageous answer. But this guy," he points to me, "turned out to be good as Tartarus!"

"Don't make excuses," Anton interrupts him. "You lost to the civilian! And you lost in what you considered yourself to be the best."

"I lost... Yeah..." Rick seems a little too calm for this situation, I guess. "How about you show me how much better you can do than me? You played in the BAA, too. I remember it wasn't long, six days, but you know how to press the keys. So go ahead, show us all how to "beat civilians"?"

"No, I'm not good at it," Anton declines the offer. "I can do it in a real shooting gallery, in the ring, or on an obstacle course..."

"And if you're not alone?" Deckart grinned. "Let the three of you, An, Meck, Lance, altogether against one Utis." Oh! He remembered my name, all right, but his suggestion... Couldn't he have asked me first? "When the comps were set up, we first wanted to make a team and tear everyone apart, but then you drifted off the subject." My ears are turning to radar, did he say "team"?

"I'm in," Lance raises his hand.

It seems to me that Anton and Meck are not thrilled with the idea, but after the challenge of the Runner was accepted by one of the voiced trio, they can no longer refuse without losing face.

"The three of us..." Meck stretched, apparently trying to take a pause. "Okay. How are you, An?"

"Why not, I was good at it," Anton answered, kneading his palms.

"Do you agree?" Well, thanks for at least Daas asking my opinion!

My ego is screaming "screw them," and my mind is telling me that there might not be a better chance to win at least some semblance of trust from the Runner. And I don't mind playing one more game. Only on my terms.

"Why not? I could try it against three at once." If they really haven't played for more than a week, then no matter what kind of Faces they have, they don't have much to go on. "But I have a condition." No one shut me up and didn't say something like "and you weren't asked," it's good. "Let's play on a normal map and fill the teams with bots to full size."

For a few seconds, all three of my future adversaries were silent, apparently trying to find the catch in this sentence.

"Well, all right," Lance answers for everyone. "Bots are bots, but we choose the map."

"No problem," I waved it off, it really wasn't that important.

"So!" Daas immediately perks up. "Who's not participating, how about sweepstakes?"

I think I'm starting to get used to my boss, at least this offer of his is not a surprise to me at all.

I didn't want to follow the commotion and listen to the stakes. I went back to the computer and tucked my headset in tightly. Despite the fact that they were, according to Rick, new to the game, it could happen that they would be capable of a few surprises. So it's advisable to minimize that possibility. And gaming bots can help me with that.

In the latest update, the developers added a new gradation of bots to the game. The announcement said that these programs are capable of giving even the most experienced player a hard time. As is always the case when it comes to artificial intelligence in games, these promises remained promises. Programs were taught how to shoot perfectly, fine-tuned their interaction with each other, more or less competently taught how to navigate maps, as well as increased their armor and life indicators. But still, the maximum the developers were able to achieve was to make life difficult for newcomers. Because even the most complex and "perfect" bot could only create difficulties for players of the initial Silver League level.

However, I don't think these guys have reached even this level of play in less than a week. There may be no need to interfere, the bots would shoot them themselves.

Hmmm... That's an idea. For the first half of the game, I won't touch any of my opponents but will concentrate on killing bots, leaving this trio to be torn down by the programs. That would be enough of a demonstration to restore the reputation of the Runner.

Actually, I'm being overly picky, the developers of Battle Arena Avalon have created some great bots. The highest rank of these programs is a worthy opponent for most. Many people like to fight against them, especially those for whom the game is a rest, who do not care about leagues and statistics, and who just have fun after work or study. It's like with strategy games, according to statistics, no more than seven percent of those who bought the game pass it on maximum difficulty. And so it is here, the vast majority of those registered in the BAA has never gone above the Bronze League and do not even plan to climb through the ranks. So these bots do a good job of entertaining.

I'll have fun, too.

With my side-eye, I see Lance, Meck, and Anton gathered together and discussing something. Why "something," though, I'm sure they're working out a plan for the game. What would I do in their shoes? I would act together, rather than disperse forces. Three people always cover each other's backs better than computer dummies do. Besides, they'd seen me and Rick duel, so they'd try to calculate what I'd do.

Mines are not so scary for them, you can always give an order to the bots to "Go" and in the worst case remove the minefield, sacrificing one game puppet. Sniper is more dangerous for them, but then again, if there are three of them, then they have every chance to rush me. Well, I manage to kill one or two, but the third will finish me off. True, this does not take into account the bots, which can cover my positions, and such an attack will choke. I think what they fear most is something similar to the last fight, namely my coming quickly to their rear and shooting them, like in a shooting gallery. Pity, I've never seen them in the game and it's hard for me to imagine how they think and what decisions they are used to...

Stop...

Stop jumping around with these unnecessary thoughts. You can't calculate the actions of people you don't know, and you can't calculate the actions of people you don't know in a situation you or they haven't been in. It's a path that leads to a dead end. You have to concentrate on developing your strategy, preferably the most flexible one that can plastically change depending on your opponent's actions. I need to play not from the unknown weaknesses of my opponent, but my strengths.

First, it is necessary to determine my class for this match. This choice determines the tactics. After some thought, I decided on my favorite sniper with a railgun, because only this weapon is guaranteed to destroy bots reinforced with additional armor with a single hit. In addition, the rail can shoot through the whole map, and the programs, in contrast to humans, are very predictable, which with some degree of luck will allow me to reduce their number in the first seconds with a shot from the resp to the resp. Although here it depends on the map we're going to play. And most importantly, it's still my favorite class and I play it best.

The trinity of my opponents had finished their meeting and was seated. The main thing now was to keep my mind occupied with thinking about what they had agreed on. Everything depends on me, not on them. Otherwise, what kind of Pro candidate am I?

So, here are three invitations to "friends" from:

Falling Kickass.

Deitar12

Kerenaik3

I wonder which one is which? It's hard to guess, the nicknames are too uninformative.

We offer the Market District map and standard win conditions, comes a message from the Falling Kickass.

Apparently, Lance plays under this nickname. Since he's usually the leader of the team, I have little doubt that this big man is the leader of the Goons. It's not just his age - he seems to be the only biker in his thirties - and the fact that Rick called him "com," apparently short for "commander," but, rather, this conviction is created by the way the other Goons look at him. One could sense genuine respect for this man in their gaze. In addition, from the first glance at him, you can see that he can kickass for sure, though it's unclear why he's "Falling".

I'm going the wrong way again...

Market District. - is one of the slowest maps in the game. It has the pseudo-symmetry so beloved of BAA developers. Both teams start the game in three-story buildings, and between the respawns there are numerous private shops, rows of stalls, stores, cafes, and open stalls. Usually, battles in this arena go to a time limit, it is very convenient to defend here and difficult to attack, since many of the buildings are shot through. A favorite map of heavy infantry, and that's saying a lot. There are no key points, the occupation of which gives a global advantage. For snipers, however, everything is not so clear-cut here. On the one hand, there are excellent positions in the three floors buildings, and there are many of them. On the other hand, in the clutter of market rows that occupy the rest of the map, snipers can not turn around, there are skirmishes at knife range. However, I know how to get around this disadvantage.

Another message from the Goons, alerting me that they are ready for battle.

I choose a map and send invitations, including observers, which are now four, apparently, Daas organized a "broadcast" on behalf of each player, and set bots maximum gradation.

Well, it's time to find out if I'm as good as I think I am.

Fight!

So, I start on the south side. I look around. There are four bots: two Storm Troopers, a Heavy Infantryman, and a Medic. The fact that the healer is near is good, he is a key link in my strategy, if he appeared at another point, would have had to waste time looking for it. Of course, by doing so I leave the Heavy Infantry without support, but in this case, it does not matter.

Having allocated the medic bot, I give him the order "Follow me". Now his program will follow me, cover me, and heal me, although I do not need this treatment. I need it for something else.

I take my time going up to the second floor.

Bots are not human, they can only do what their algorithm tells them to do. Their reactions are an "if-then" script. Not only are they incapable of thinking, but they are also incapable of going beyond what the programmer who created them wrote.

My bet in this fight is on the limitations of these algorithms. Like right now, if a trio of players has respawned at the east end of their base building, my shot will be a miss. I'm already on the second floor, and the railgun is looking out the broken window-exactly across from me on the enemy base one of the best sniper points. The sniper bot will undoubtedly occupy it if there are no co-combatants nearby. If they are near him, he will go below to cover them. And I will miss it.

Of course, I can't see anyone in the dark gaps in the windows of the enemy base, even at maximum magnification. But I'm used to shooting blind...

Shoot.

First blood!

So I found out that the three players are on the west side. And that knowledge is much more important than the first frag in the ninth second of combat.

Great. Such a disposition is perfect. It will allow me to reduce the enemy team's bot population on my flag without running around. If I were alone, I'd jump right out the window, but a bot following me, like a dog on an invisible leash, might behave inappropriately in that case. So I just go down and run to the side exit. From here the road leads to a peculiar paradise for a heavy infantryman, whose machine gun shoots through twenty tents in a row. Visibility here is minimal: to the nearest wall, stretched cloth, or billboard. Not at all a good place for a sniper, or rather for a lone sniper.

Looping through the narrow passages, I run into the conditional enemy half of the map. Since on this flank the bots are deprived of sniper support, they will go on the defensive. That is, the only thing I have to fear is the enemy gamekeeper sorties. But the bots are bad at using the invisibility ability, and constantly apply it inappropriately, so I'm not too worried.

In the meantime, a sluggish firefight broke out on the western flank, but since the death count hadn't changed, I didn't have to worry about it yet. Though if the Goons group were to break through now, my plan would be a bust. It would be unpleasant, but not critical, and I could handle it. I should be able to...

Keeping a constant eye on the map, I finally reached the right spot. It was a ruined public toilet building, different from the other buildings in the vicinity in that it was not made of plywood or cloth, but of plain brick. Even though the ruins were barely chest-high, it was the strongest defense in the immediate area.

Crouched at the corner of the public restroom, pointed the barrel of the railgun in the direction of the enemy base, and ordered the medical bot to launch the bio scanner. The mini-map immediately showed several red dots. A little to the right... Aha! Here are the silhouettes of the enemy: Heavy infantry and Engineer, deployed at firing point and ready to open fire right through all these stalls and tents, thus making a natural gap in the market ranks, if they hear any noise or notice the enemy. Such a glare would only last three seconds, so I'd better hurry, but it would be a waste to use such an opportunity just to kill one of them.

I move two steps to the right...

Silhouette overlaying...

Click...

The tracer of my shot, like a knife of butter, pierces the numerous but flimsy obstacles in its path pass exactly through the head of the tractor, penetrates it, and rests in the chest of the engineer.

My kill count immediately spun by two points.

Immediately I roll backward, under the cover of the masonry. Just in time! A fierce firefight erupts on my flank, in which I have nothing to do yet. In an attempt to destroy me, the two enemy Stormtroopers give away their location and thereby expose themselves to fire from my team's Heavy, which has been following at some distance from me the whole time. In addition, he is supported by our stormtrooper as well. Five seconds later it's over, and my team leads by a score of five to zero.

Meanwhile, in the western direction, positional exchanges of fire gradually turned into a full-fledged clash. I hear mine blasts and the resounding boom of grenade launchers. I send all the bots except the medic, who remains "attached" to me, off my flank to help the western group. I move even farther east, to go deeper into the enemy's rear.

By the time I get to the position I have chosen for myself, the score is seven to two. Well, it's almost perfect! It remains to be seen what these three players are like - Lance, Anton, and Meck. Can they handle the six bots piled on top of them? I don't think they can. After all, they have too little game experience to emerge victorious from such a confrontation. But I wonder how long they can hold out under these conditions. I could rush to help my team and make it a blowout, but that's not what I'm interested in. I'm eager to see how much it helps that they are frequent visitors under the Arch.

I don't believe in the fairy tales and stories that are attributed to the bearers of even the coolest Faces, to their supernatural powers. Just because Rick is blessed with Aeneas does not make him a past hero himself. No matter how much time Deckart spent on pilgrimage, he cannot become what Aeneas was. Yes, undoubtedly, Faces influence people and make them stronger, faster, and sometimes even wiser. They can help bring out a person's potential, their strong traits, and compensate for their weaknesses. Although I have heard stories in which it was the other way around. A lot of movies have been made about those who have been blessed by the Faces of Legends, and in all of these films, the main characters have been shown to be superhuman. But this is just a movie that has little to do with reality.

Yes, with a high degree of affiliation with the Face, a person can go beyond the boundaries of what is possible. But not much, not more than half a step. Even those who have been blessed with Hercules will not lift a multi-ton truck, though if they train, they will undoubtedly become world champions in weightlifting and set a world record. Or the person blessed with the Eurytus Face can take the Olympics in any type of shooting if he does his best, but even in this case the person inscribed will not be able to control the flight of arrows the way Eurytus could. And even the one whom the godlike Achilles himself chooses, of course, will not get his invulnerability in our reality and will not be able to stop a bullet with his chest...

Alas, I preferred to sleep through my theology classes in both high school and university, which I regret a little now. I don't know much, and the Faces have never been as interesting to me as many of my peers, but I'm sure a man remains a man, no matter which Face he chooses.

The same Deckart shows phenomenal results in the game, but it all fits together. The quest to the Arch has developed his reactions, flair, and strength, and perhaps passed on some of Aeneas' warrior experience. Probably even developed Rick's natural abilities, enhancing them, but no more. He did not become a superhuman, despite the legendary Face, which only confirms my point.

I'm really curious, which is why I don't interfere with the growing intensity of the fight. From my position, I could have interfered and ended the game long ago, but I didn't.

All three of my opponents had chosen the Stormtrooper class, apparently determined to exploit their greatest asset: their phenomenal reaction time. Will they be able to use their reflexes alone to destroy the game's most sophisticated bots, which would give even me a head start in shooting accuracy?

Meanwhile, the bots, having lost two, took Kerenaik3 with them and forced the remaining bikers to retreat into the multi-floor building. In essence, the fight was over, or rather, it was already clear who would win, but the Goons would not give up.

After a short pause, the bots went on the attack. For me, however, my current position became useless, and I started shifting through the attic toward the gunfire. The medic, whom I never let go of me, followed me. I could still use him.

The ceiling beams made it easily to the west wing of the building. Just in time! Of the Goons, only Kickass remains in play, trapped on the second floor in a large office and besieged by two bots. I have a fleeting desire to turn around in my chair and yell at him to give up, but that would be quite childish, and I restrain that impulse.

It's time to call it a day, though. I went down to the second floor and, taking my position in the corridor, pointed my weapon at the door of that office, behind which the last enemy remained. Order the medic to scan... Okay. If I change point now, I'm quite capable of killing him through the door. But I don't need to, so I give the command to the bots to attack, still leaving only the medic behind me. As the saying goes, "A man who is spared is spared".

But no sooner do my bots begin their assault than the door swings open and a smoke grenade flies in. Unexpectedly! Kickass decides not to sit idly by, but to attack himself! A few rounds tear through the smoke screen, and I realize that my bots are destroyed.

Wow!!

He shot at the sound and hit both times.

A vague silhouette of the enemy in the crosshairs.

Enough games...

The click of my mouse happens at the same time as a flurry of shots that hit me in the face from the dense smoke.

Two system messages arrive at the same time.

You dead!

Victory!

The total score of the game is nine to ten. The only survivor of this game was the medic bot, who spent the entire game following me and not participating in the firefights.

Wow... I got shot...

Kronos! Why did I take such a risk? I was exposed like a bronze guy, why did I have to go into that corridor at a distance of five meters? I could have shot them all a long time ago, but no, my curiosity got the better of me. And that almost led to my defeat. That would have been embarrassing! But this way I could pretend that it was all part of the plan and that my death was a calculation, so my opponents wouldn't feel so humiliated by the results of the battle.

But I got the main answer nonetheless. These guys are at the solid Silver level. Unbelievable, if you know that they play very little. And if you remember it's been a long time since they play BAA. Kickass might as well be pulling for Gold. I feel like I'm just mediocre, it took me over six months of playing practice to get to the Gold League. But they did it in six days. True, I was a high school kid at the time, but it's still a weak excuse because they're bikers...

I took off my headset, got up from my chair, and bowed lightly to the three opponents. They managed to surprise me, and my bow is a sign of respect, not mockery; I hope they get it right.

"Look at that," Meck jumps up from his chair. "He's smirking! I'm going to fix his face!"

"Calm down," Lance stops him, putting his heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Nah... Did you see, he was playing with us like a cat with fish in a fishbowl!" Meck's really pissed off. "He could have finished the fight a long time ago, but he decided to mock!"

"Calm down, Meck, he wasn't mocking, he was watching," Rick approached the furious biker as well. "Isn't that right?" Deckart asked me.

"Yes," I could have lied, but I decided to tell the truth.

"What do you think of the guys?" Runner asked me curiously as he approached me.

"Kerenaic and Deitar - Silver." Only now, when I said the names aloud, I realized that they were the names of Roman legions, and the numbers three and thirteen were the letters of the units in question. "Kickass, perhaps Gold."

Before Rick has time to respond, a burst of noise breaks out:

"Don't tell me to calm down!" He pulled himself out from under Lance's arm, and then he stood up sharply and walked in my direction. The unpleasant memory immediately made my jaw ache. "Listen to me, kid." Even though this biker is half a head shorter than me, I know he could easily roll me into a sheep's horn. "I don't like being taken lightly."

Kronos! Apparently, his nickname was Kerenaik, and he died first, and then watched the match as a spectator. That is, he saw my position and the fact that I could have easily shot everyone but did not do it. And his interpretation of what he saw is not to my liking.

I want to hide from this anger behind the Runner, but after overpowering myself and noting that Daas is standing only a few steps away, I meet Meсk's gaze squarely.

"I don't care what you like or don't like." Ugh! My voice didn't tremble as I feared but sounded firm.

"Ha! You have some balls," Meck smirked, taking a step back. "All right..." he waved me off. "It's a pity you're a Civil, or I'd like to see how you hold a real punch..."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Is that it?" Rick shrugs him off, then raises his voice. "Does anyone else have a beef with me for losing to this guy?"

No one raised their hand and spoke out in response to this question.

"So, the case is close," Runner nodded.

Five seconds of complete silence, and then my boss claps his hands and yells.

"Who bets against Utis? Come and get your slaps."

Immediately the commotion begins, someone hides under the tables, they are dragged out with laughter and led to Daas, someone jokingly tries to escape, but also unsuccessfully. I'm perplexed as I look at the uproar, my image of harsh bikers doesn't quite fit with what my eyes are seeing right now. The scene looks more like a normal student hangout than a gathering of one of the city's most violent gangs.

"Why did you want to meet me?" This direct question from the Runner's mouth stumped me, and I wasn't prepared for it.

"Watch you play."

"Well... Did you watch it?" I think he's still offended by his loss. "And?"

"Maybe we could play together sometime?" I answer a question with a question.

"What's the sense in that?" Rick shrugs. "There's not much difference between playing solo and playing as a couple. No... It'll be more fun, but..." Deckart rubbed his cheekbone with his thumb thoughtfully. "It's still not a complete team."

"And yet we would complement each other nicely," I keep my hands up and try to convince him. "My knowledge of the game and my experience as a sniper and your speed and reaction as the assault would be a breakthrough. It would have been fun."

"Just to have fun? That's something I can easily do by myself." The conversation goes to a standstill, which I don't like at all.

"I could give you a boost in tactics, understanding of timings, and map knowledge."

"For what purpose?" I was just gaining air for an answer when he continued. "I like the BAA, I like to play it. But right now it's just recreation and entertainment. We have a lot of free time here, so I take it up with this game..."

"So I was imagining things." It's a pity, apparently, that all my plans are going to Tartarus.

"What did it seem?"

"That you don't just want to play, but you want to win, just like me." I could tell by the look on his face that he understood me. My "win," of course, didn't refer to the usual, random duels, but much more than that.

"Do you dream of becoming a champion?"

"My dream is to play on a championship team."

"It's funny..." He looks at my hand as he says this. "To hear that from someone who would never be on a team like that."

Now that was close to hurting me for real.

"Whoever wants to - is looking for opportunities, whoever does not want to - is looking for reasons," I quote Socrates in response. "I will find my opportunity. - It costs me a lot of effort to say it calmly."

"Stubborn, isn't you?" Why is he continuing this conversation if he's already rejected my offer? "Well... If you had a team, I'd probably join you. When you do, reserve a place for me," he nods, signaling the end of the conversation.

Except I don't want to end it on such a note.

"Lance, Meck, Anton - they play quite well for newbies." They have a lot of potentials. And you mentioned that you wanted to make a team. Why didn't it work out?

"I don't see any Goon signs on you," Rick looked me over from head to toe. "To explain anything to you..."

"Will my request not be enough?" Suddenly Ten Daas sneaks up on us. "Explain to the boy, Rick." Apparently, he heard our conversation perfectly.

Despite the fact that there is no distinguishing insignia on my boss either, Descart responds.

"Not a great secret, though. We played for a while, shot around, and then the guys got bored. And it wasn't just Meck, An, and Com, but almost everyone played. They were all on fire for a week when they put the computers up, and then somehow everything fell silent."

"Speak frankly," Lance comes up to our group. "Everything fell apart when we registered a team and applied for some little online tournament, and we lose ten to zero there. You were talking about how we were all ugly-ass mothers with asscheeks for shoulders. Is that what happened?"

"It was," nods the Runner. "So if it's true, and you were playing like epileptics in straitjackets, what am I supposed to do, keep quiet?" Descart gets all hot and bothered.

"Well..." He winked at me, the one whose nickname was Falling Kickass. "See... He's still butthurt, and it's been over a month."

"And who trained you for that tournament?" I ask my question.

"Trained?" Rick's voice was puzzled. "What the heck for? We were supposed to tear everything up easily, it was the level of junior high school, and not a single team even from the top hundred countries was not on it!"

Moms... If to remember that they started playing together, then it turns out that all of them, including Runner, had less than a week of experience at that time. And with this kind of experience, they started to play online tournaments? Yes, in the most run-of-the-mill private tournaments with a prize fund of a couple of hundred francs the players are not lower than Gold, or even Platinum. Well, these guys have a lot of egos, that's for sure.

"Let me get this straight... You've been playing BAA for a week and you're going to an online tournament without taking any time to prepare?" They're standing there, they don't understand. "And when you do your own business, do you also do it without a plan and preparation?"

"You're..." Descart twiddled his thumb at his temple. "Don't confuse the shit with the finger. A game is a game, entertainment... And business is business."

I almost don't hear him. It gets to me what has been saying recently, namely, that almost all bikers have played in the Battle Arena of Avalon. And if every one of them has at least a quarter of the potential of a Runner, then theoretically you could assemble a team stronger than the university team from the people in this room! Theoretically... Except that the weakest element in such a team would be me.

But now I understand the negativity the bikers showed at the table while watching "The Arena Game." After losing and being laughed at by Rick, the guys took their frustration out on the game itself.

I wish I could get them interested, get their interest in the game back... What a team we'd make! Not a team, but a fairy tale! But how can you motivate adults for whom the BAA is just one of many entertainments?

"I'll bet you a couple thousand if you let me train you, your team could make the finals of the canton qualifiers in a month." I'm diving in with a head. Apparently, bikers are gambling people, so maybe I can get them hooked like that.

There was already a decent group gathered around me, in addition to Rick, Lance, Meck, Daas, Anton, and five other Goons came up.

"A couple of thousand?" One of the bikers I don't know exclaimed. "The guy is serious!" This exclamation makes the others chuckle. "I don't know what I'm going to do with that much money."

This negativity and laughter are understandable, it really is a ridiculous amount for serious people, an illegal janitor earns more per month. But I, alas, have no more money to spare.

"The prize money for reaching the finals of the Canton was another twenty thousand, and in the Capital Region, it was all forty." This already aroused some semblance of interest. Not everyone in the crowd, but a couple of bikers couldn't hide their interest, albeit slight. "And this is not the maximum, in a year, or even earlier, I would undertake to prepare you to the level of the World Cup. Last year the prize money for the final stage of the Cup was eighty-five million francs..."

"How much?" Anton asks in a husky voice.

"Eighty-five million," I repeat, it's not hard for me. "Of course, this is the total prize fund, and the winner gets about half of it. And to win the Cup after a year of training is unrealistic, but if you get at least to the quarterfinals, which is theoretically achievable, with the potential that Rick, Lance, Meck, and An showed. And that's a million."

"Oh, storyteller! Ten, who have you brought to us? To be paid that kind of money for some game!!!" Meck obviously doesn't believe it.

"That's easy to check," the boss declares and pulls out a smartphone from one of his many pockets. "Now... Search..." Daas' fingers quickly touch the touch screen. "Yep, here we go..."

Everyone in the room, craning their necks, is trying to see the result displayed on my boss's smartphone.

"Tartarus... It's true..." Anton expresses his general opinion. "What's with the stadium and the crowds?"

"The final round of the World Cup was held at the Stade Olympique in New Bordeaux, with an audience of eighteen thousand," Daas was apparently quoted as saying.

"What is the world coming to?" Meck grasps his head theatrically. "So many people came to see other people play!"

"The television audience for the live broadcast of the final was twelve million," the boss finished with another quote.

"Kronus..." whispers a distraught Meck.

The faces of the other bikers also expressed an extreme degree of surprise. I remember when my older sister once again began to reproach me for my games, I showed her the World Cup page. Even though the prize money was much smaller then, her shock was very similar to what I see now.

"Where that kind of money is made, there's no room for amateurs," Descart brings everyone back to earth. "Neither I nor Utis is anywhere near as good as the pros who play in tournaments like this," he said, glancing around the crowd. "And I'd rather not say anything about the others' skills."

It seems that losing our peculiar duel was more damaging to his self-esteem than I first thought. However, he has a point; his understanding of the game is at the level of the Silver League at best. But there's a big mistake in what he says; he doesn't consider his developmental potential. And that potential is such that I don't see its ceiling at all! He just needs to start taking the game a little more seriously, rather than pulling battles on reflexes and warrior instincts alone. And if the others are not much inferior to him, then...

Kronos! I want to play on a team like that! If I have to become a playing coach to do it, I'm ready. Of course, I'll have to tighten up my game theory and watch hundreds or even thousands of games. Analyze trends and game metrics in a much deeper way than I'm used to doing before, but I feel like I can do it. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I'm this close to fulfilling my dream of "playing with the best against the best!"

"You won't know unless you try," I shrugged in response to the Runner's words, trying not to show excitement.

"You don't have to try, you have to work like oxen in a mill," Descart said. "And even then without the slightest guarantee of success. Because I'm sure there are five of those "smart guys" per class at any school who say, "Let's get a team together and win the Cup," he says in a squeaky voice.

"And did I understand correctly that these prizes, they're taxed and all," said a stocky Goon, one of the men who came into the restaurant. "Is it legal dough?"

"Uh..." A strange question and yet easy to answer. "Yes, of course, everything is legal."

After my obvious answer, many gazes converged on Descart.

"I'd give it a shot..." the stocky man's thoughtful whisper broke the silence. "I have nowhere else to spend my free time, I can't be out drinking, shooting at the shooting range, or riding bikes all the time. And the things that are worth doing appear less and less often."

"I see you have a lot of free time! Maybe you should increase your physical activity. I'm going to run around for a couple of hours... I can do that," Rick grumbled.

"Yeah... Screw you..." The goon never introduced himself to me, waving his palm somewhere far away. "We have an agreement, three hours of physical training a day, we all signed up for it. If you want more time on the exercisers, you put it to a vote."

Judging by the smirks on the faces of the others, no one would agree to such an increase in workload.

"Okay," Lance said, interrupting the ready-to-start altercation. "It's not an issue that should be discussed right now..." His glance at me spoke eloquently of "not in front of outsiders".

"And I'm not going anywhere with someone whose Face I don't know," Anton looks at me like I'm nothing. "He can play as good as he wants... But a team, any team, even if it's a game team first of all is trust. I will not trust to cover my even virtual back to civilian. All the more so, there are times when some issues can't be solved by normal guys, except for a scuffle, but if you just poke him once, then just call for intensive care..."

Apparently, they have a flourishing democracy here in all its pristine beauty, whoever is left on his feet after the dispute, is right. Just like Socrates' disciples. And here I am certainly not their competitor. Will it all come crashing down when I'm so close?!

"I agree," Anton nods at Meck. "To be trained by a civil... Don't... Well, screw this idea..."

No!!! No! God damn it! Is it really because of such a small thing...

"And if I go through the Arch? What then?" Oh, ThreeFaced, where am I going, what am I saying?!

I'm not going to do that, it's too dangerous. Those words of Sensei that everyone who wants to achieve something has been on a pilgrimage did not convince me at all. But if I wasn't going to, why did I say so? Out of inner resentment at a dream that was floating away from under my very nose?

"Stop pressuring my employee," Daas interjected when he heard me say it. "Don't you see, the guy's got a passion for the game. He'll climb Jomolungma if that's what it takes to play..." and then he adds quietly: "He'll break his neck, but as an employee, he's good enough for now..." Yes, who's going to buy him good seafood every morning, and who's going to buy it secretly from Illya but me?

"You go first," Meck curved his lips. "And then... Maybe... We'll get back to this conversation."

"That's it! Ten said enough is enough," Descart sided with my boss. "Let's not provoke Utis. We'll discuss the game and tournaments today if you like. You know I'm in favor of anything but a hunger strike."

"Okay," Daas stretched, putting his palms on the back of his head. "It's fun to be with you guys, but we have work to do." I glanced at my watch, and it read half past twelve. Wow, the time flew by. "Come on, Utis."

After saying goodbye to everyone, we left. It's a bit of a shame that while everyone parted with Daas by shaking his hand, only two nodded at me, Rick and Lance, and the others ignored my farewell bow.

When we got out into the fresh air, the boss clapped me on the shoulder.

"Well done. You handled yourself well."

That praise is nice, of course, but I think he's embellishing too much.

"And don't be offended by the boys," Daas sighed heavily. "They have their reasons for being and behaving the way they do. Maybe if you stay with us long enough, you'll figure it out yourself."

"Yes... I'm fine," I answered him neutrally, immersed in my thoughts.

"Well, that's fine."

As we approach the secret hole in the wall, the boss turns around and puts his index finger on my chest.

"Uh," he clearly wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last second. "Anyway... You're a smart guy, yeah..."

After saying this, he disappears into the darkness of the unlit back room. I stand there in mute admiration for a second.

Ten Daas is truly incredible! He didn't get all intimidating: "You know you have to keep quiet, about everything you've seen, otherwise..." Or something along those lines. He just said: "You're a smart guy." Kind of complimented and warned at the same time. A very, very tactful warning. Now I easily believe that he could be an underground billionaire. And the fact that he lives as he does, so there may be many reasons unknown to me.

I couldn't find my way through the day's work. I was either melancholy or thirsty for action. The strange hangar, meeting Rick, a few fights in the BAA, and then a very difficult conversation with the Goons - it had been an eventful morning.

To think, I played with Aeneas and won!!!

No, of course, I realize Descart is not Aeneas at all, but a man chosen by his Face, but still, even lunch with the president of the country isn't half as cool!

The second strongest hero of Troy, second in military prowess only to the brilliant Hector, fought against the strongest fighters of Elladas for more than ten years and survived the massacre the Achaeans caused after the capture of Troy. Not only survived, but saved a huge number of the city's civilian population, and then led them away, repulsing the many attacks of the pursuers. And having traveled thousands of miles and accomplished many feats along the way, he founded the settlement that would later become the Eternal City. That's who Aeneas is, and I played with the one who was blessed with his Face. By the way, it is the fact that, in fact, Aeneas can be called a runner from Troy, whose path was completed on the Apennine Peninsula, which is shaped like a boot, that led me to unravel his Face.

I understand that even though, according to the mythology of Rome and Virgil's famous poem, in which Aeneas is represented as a demigod equal to Hercules, he was still not a demigod. So there may be two or three more people who are blessed with this Face. But still, the chance of such an encounter is immensely small and negligible.

Fantastic!

And my game? If we put aside unnecessary modesty, I was good, I played with inspiration, and even the injury did not interfere. Or rather, I factored it into my game plans and didn't expect to win on reaction. I can do it when I really want to! So all is not lost for me, it's too early to put a stone on me as a player who can become a pro.

But when I remembered how the bikers looked at me like I was nothing, my good mood immediately evaporated. And let's face it, Lance, Meck, Anton, and probably the other Goons are more talented than I am as players. That hurts a little bit. However, it may well be that they are frequent guests under the Arch, and their play is largely the result of a deep fusion with the Faces. I wish I had taken more of an interest in the Faces and Pilgrimage, and now I can only speculate. I must find time to go to the Temple and talk to the priests, and maybe I can get some answers from them.

But neither thoughts of the Face of the Runner, nor thoughts of the Goon's strange shelter, nor memories of the fights I had fought, were the basis of what I had been thinking about all day. Most of the time my head was busy looking for approaches to the bikers. Find out how to convince them to form a team and start training. And not just train, but train with me. Because if the Goons did everything themselves, I would be left behind on the ship that was going to the port of my dreams. That last point was the main difficulty.

I had to somehow become one of them without joining a gang because that went against everything I stood for in life. I didn't see myself as a gangster, and I didn't want to be one. I am a very down-to-earth person, I don't understand or accept gangster romance. My plans for life are simple: live a normal life, have a family, find a job to my liking and play in the BAA. Not just play, but at the highest level possible. Yes, of course, I realize that the last point on my list is out of line with the rest, it's hard to combine it with both family and work, but I can't do anything about it. My desires are not just a list, but a whole, complete image; cut out one detail and it crumbles like a house of cards.

The more I thought about it, the more I stumbled, like an off-road vehicle in untenable mud. Any possible approaches were blocked by the Goon's attitude toward me as someone who had not passed the Arch. But even if I dared to do such an act, to make the pilgrimage, even that would not guarantee anything. It gives a chance of success, but no more. They might still refuse me. Yes, I've got some bikers interested, but how long will their interest last, and how willing will they really be to devote a huge amount of time to game training? And will a full-fledged team even get together? Because, if I understand their sentiments correctly, they will play exclusively with their lineup and won't accept anyone from outside. With the possible exception of me, because I was sponsored by Daas, whose role among the bikers is a complete mystery to me. That's if I still decide to make the Pilgrimage.

That is, if even eight of them decide to play, it will not be enough for a full team. And even ten is not enough, we need substitutes and the depth of the squad for different tactics. Maybe it's not worth even trying? I still have a good chance to save some money, heal my hand, and try to make it to an established professional team. Or, if I'm lucky, go back to university.

It's not so smooth with this return, though. After that call from Sensei, I don't really want to train under him. No, I understand him, but he's still a student and only five years older than me. It's easy to understand that his snap is understandable. But the fact that he had jumped to conclusions and made up his mind all at once, without even asking me for details... I had a much better opinion of him before that call. And now I do not even know if I can trust him and obey him without question. All the time I kept in mind that if I stumbled, he would not only not cover me, but he would even be able to push the faller.

At the end of the workday, I thought that I would never be able to sleep, I would lie awake and be tormented by my own thoughts. But it turned out quite the opposite, when I went upstairs, I felt so tired that I collapsed on the bed without even undressing.

The alarm clock on my smartphone sounded like the horn of Artemis, shattering my sleep into small, unrememberable fragments. After I took a shower, I was surprised to realize that I'd almost had a good night's sleep. Apparently, my body is much more malleable than I used to think, and began to adjust to the new schedule. Although the thought of a morning run made not only my legs ache but even my teeth.

When I came back from the market, I just sat on a chair for five minutes, unable even to walk to the washbasin. Today I tried to run the entire distance, albeit slowly, without walking. Alas, I overestimated my strength and never reached this intermediate goal.

It was a good thing that the boss, seeing my condition, was busy preparing the food himself, not burdening me with it, or else it would have been hard for me to just stand at the counter and slice the fish. By the way, it seems to me that in the last few days, since we started running together, the boss's attitude toward me has changed a little, becoming more open. If previously I felt an insurmountable wall between us, now that feeling is gone. No, of course, it wasn't friendship; he just stopped treating me like a random stranger.

"It's not healthy to rest too much." Now, whenever I think well of Daas, he finds me a job. "Get a knife and clean the fish."

I was automatically doing the assigned work and again plunged into reflections on the topics I had not thought of the day before. The longer I thought, the more I was inclined to the idea that I should go to the Temple and talk to the priests. But it was not sure that it would help me, too, because the priests of the Three Faced tried never to speak about anything, in particular, preferring the vaguest formulations as much as possible.

It was always the case, in my experience, that I had more questions than answers after my dialogues with the priests, even though I had little experience with them. But who else could I talk to about the subject I was interested in? My father? I don't think that's a good idea; the subject of pilgrimages has never come up in our house. Though I do know that my father was on the Arch when Dana, my older sister, was seriously ill. I was six years old at the time, and I don't remember it very well. My father never talked about it with us. The most immediate solution was to write to Young and ask to see him. It seemed logical since Sensei was the one who had brought up the subject recently. But after his last phone call, I didn't even want to hear his voice.

"Did you clean it up? Then what's up, why do you freeze like a smartphone on overheat? Give it to me..." I give the boss the cleaned fish, only now noticing that I'd been holding it for two minutes.

Why not... the thought flashed in my head as I watched Daas dip the fish carcass into the boiling oil.

"Boss? What I can't figure out is, how does the Face help the Runner in the game?" If the boss doesn't want to answer, he'll just pretend, as usual, that he doesn't hear the question. "I mean, I get that Rick is very fast...but reaction alone isn't enough to play at that level. And physical strength, the ability to wield a sword or a spear in the BAA is no help."

"Ahem!" He obviously wasn't expecting me to have this conversation, and now he's gathering his thoughts. "What do you know about Faces in general?"

"Same as everyone else."

"That is, in fact, nothing," Daas grinned. "Just general words that seem to explain everything. But in fact, when you think about it, you realize that it doesn't explain anything."

"That's about right," I nod.

"Everyone knows that the Face affects the person it has shone upon. But what are the boundaries of this influence?" This is a subject I am very interested in! "If you ask the priests, they will only smile and say that only you alone can answer this question. Only you define those limits, they will say. And they won't lie a bit, but will their revelation help you? That's right, not a bit..."

Having said that, Daas went back to cooking. Was that an answer to my question? Then I must be too stupid to understand it. Maybe my boss once wore an azure tunic (garb of the priesthood). Because his answer didn't clarify anything, either, leaving me with nothing but questions.

"So..." It was more than a minute before Daas spoke again. "The priests aren't so wrong... Man's relationship with the divine is a purely personal one, one in which the knowledge of outsiders is not only unhelpful but rather a hindrance. But as far as I'm concerned, they're overreaching. How much easier it would be for so many people if they explained at least the basics in an accessible way. How many mistakes and broken lives could have been avoided... However, there is a nuance: what is obvious to me, for example, may not help you, for example," he continued, turning the fish fillet over again.

"That's the way it always is, questions of Faith are the easiest way to fry one's brains! Habitual logic, especially the postulates of cause and effect, stops working when the questions involve Faith. Is that what the Face is? No, don't answer that, I'm not talking about the Spirit of the Hero that shines upon a person. I mean more generally. Where does the Face come from? Hades and the other realms of the dead no longer exist, so what happens to a person's soul after they die is now unknown to anyone but the Three Faced. Do the souls of Heroes sit somewhere in divine chambers and ponder, "Who should I choose for my blessing?" "Oh, sheer nonsense..." The wooden spatula falters over the sauté pot. "Or is it not nonsense?"

I try to follow Daas's thoughts, but I can't get the gist of it.

"I'm getting a little carried away," the boss turns to me, falling out of another thoughtful session. "Let me just tell you how I see it. If it helps you, it helps you, if not, you can find someone else whose answers will suit you." I nod.

"Passing through the Arch, the spirit of man is transported into the divine plane of existence, as the priests say. Notice the caveat - not a person, but a person's spirit? That's right, physically our bodies remain in our reality as long as the spirit is beyond the Threshold. That is, I understand the process of acquiring the Face as follows... I will present the spirit as a kind of informational matrix. And when a person passes the Arch, this matrix is compared to the Heroes' matrixes available in the memory of the Arch. Yes, any priest will tell you that it is heresy to compare the Arc to a database server. But it's really easier for me to think that way, especially since it's only my allegory. I don't insist that my comparison is correct, it suits me, nothing more..." He glanced at me and continued.

"And the more coincidences in the matrixes, the higher is the chance of finding the Face. There are exceptions to this because many Heroes became Heroes not because of the totality of their deeds, decisions, or personality, but for reasons beyond their control. But I'm not talking about those exceptions now, just something to keep in mind. So... At the moment of acquiring the Face, the matrixes of the person and the Hero merge for the time of the Trial, and this is called Fusion. As you understand, there is no complete coincidence between the souls. This is the reason why everything happens. Leaving the Arch and returning to reality, a person's spirit remembers someone else's matrix. The post effect is peculiar... A living soul is a changeable substance, our spirit changes constantly from thoughts, deeds, desires... This process of change is called life. After the Fusion, the spirit begins to reach for the Face, to fill the mismatched or empty cells of its matrix following the Face. This effect continues after the Pilgrimage... Take you, for example." Daas tosses the knife in his palm.

"It would take you at least six months of very intense training to get fit. But if you pass the Arch, your spirit will also remember such a component of Face as the bodily form of the Hero. If you go on living your life: lying in bed, sitting at the computer, nothing will change for you. But if you start exercising after the Arch, the effect will be astonishing. Your spirit will try to eliminate the discrepancy between the inner and the outer. Depending on who you're Face it will take from a couple of weeks to a month... You'll eat at three throats in the meantime, of course, but that's not important," Daas grinned.

"Gradually, this effect fades. In general, there are very few Faces that have an irreversible effect on a person after a single Pilgrimage. But the more often one passes through the Arch, the more one's spirit adjusts to the Face. Therein lies the main danger..."

"Your matrix can be filled with things that were not peculiar to you. Let's take a neutral example, a person has a calm attitude to cats, but the hero of his Face could not tolerate these cats. And gradually even such detail will become an integral part of one's personality, and one will also begin to hate these animals. In the same way, the person will also adopt the traits of the Hero, not only his skills and abilities but also his character. And, as you remember at least from school, the character of most Heroes is far from a gift... And the thing that scares people the most. At a high level of Fusion, your soul will seek to replicate the fate of a Hero. Not some higher power out there, there is no predestination in our world anymore. Your spirit will lead you down the beaten path..." Daas finished with the fish and began to eat the vegetables.

"This is my personal theory. Is it clear yet?"

"Yeah." I actually have a lot of questions, but I don't want to distract him.

"Now that the terms are settled, we can return to your question about the Runner and his successes. I don't think it's a secret if I tell you that Rick is a frequent visitor beyond the Threshold." It's obvious to me, so for the umpteenth time this morning, I just nod.

"Most of the Heroes were experienced fighters. Aeneas, even more so, had fought many fights and battles to his credit. This spiritual experience is what helps Rick. Not only is he fast, he able to feel the battle, live the battle, and intuitively make the right decisions with the minimum of data. And not only Descart, by the way, but you could also notice this trait in Meck, Anton, and even more so in Lance... No, I'm not saying that their Faces are just as legendary, no. But that they were blessed with the Faces of experienced warriors is obvious. Besides, Aeneas was a decent archer too, not like Eurysius or Odysseus, but better than many and many. Call it a skill of precision, if you are more comfortable thinking in such terms."

"Though the real strength of Descartes Face is not in the war. If that asshole gets his head around it, he'll make a phenomenal organizer and manager... But he's a pain in the ass... If he could turn Aeneas' spiritual experience into business... Get the proper education... All the top corporations in the world would be lining up to offer him the right to be a manager. Not now, of course, but when he grows up and gains experience... But Rick is an antiglobalist! He's not interested, you see... Burying such talent..."

"As you understand from my extensive preface, you shouldn't think that Rick went through the Arch and became badass. The fact that he was blessed with Aeneas does not mean that he "won the spiritual lottery," it means that his matrix largely coincided with that of Hero. That is, even before Descart first crossed the Threshold, he already possessed the potential that allowed his matrix to accumulate enough coincidences to be consecrated just by Aeneas." With a slightly awkward motion, Daas tossed the vegetables in the pan, stirring them.

"That's something like this. Did I answer your question?"

I have a lot to think about, to digest what the boss said. But at the same time, realizing that Daas might not have another attack of this kind of talkativeness, I ask one more question.

"And what is "discard the Face" mean?"

"Noticed that remark of Rick's, so... " With his head bowed, Daas notes.

"It's a little secret, though. On the contrary, if more people knew about this possibility, the world would be a much better place... Except that the priests are against the dissemination of this information, not the Three Faced, but the priests. They believe that the Faces are a gift from the Three Faced, and to oppose them is to go against His will..." He poured water into a small pot and put it on the stove.

"The soul is alive, it evolves every new day, waking up, you're not exactly the same person you were yesterday. Every new second you are a little different than you were a second ago. And if a person doesn't want more Fusion, much less a repeat of Face's fate, he can begin to act in ways that are not peculiar to the Hero of his Face. The hero couldn't stand to cook?" A stab of the knife and the onion scattered across the kitchen.

"Learn how to do this!" The second bulb will repeat the fate of the first.

"Tartar vegetables!" A third one he finally manages to cut into thin rings. "And if you manage to love something that your Face couldn't stand, the effect will be wonderful. No, you can't reverse the Fusion in this way, but you can slow it down, almost to a standstill... If your Face is rational, go wild, act impulsively... However, if you're lucky enough to be struck by Nestor's Face (This refers to the king of Pylos, son of Neleus and Chloris.), then you don't need the discard. Is it bad to repeat the fate of a smart, strong, lucky son of a bitch who lived a hundred and fifty years and quietly left when he got tired of living? And the fact that the son died in the war, he had those sons... And when you live so long, you still have to bury your children and, most likely, even great-grandchildren..."

I wonder what Face Daas has? Certainly not Nestor, too much anger in his voice when he mentions that name. Shall I ask him straight out? But then I realize he won't answer. One thing is clear: to cook his hero Face just hated!

* * *