Chapter 4

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The sound of the alarm clock's melody snapped me out of my restless sleep for which I was even grateful. I dreamt the same episode again all night, the last fragment of the battle with the leader of the sabeks. Finding my smartphone in the dark and turning off the alarm clock, I thought for a few seconds about why I was so uncomfortable and what I was doing in the chair. Then, I remembered how yesterday's day ended. I could see Jiro peacefully asleep on my bed in the half-darkness of the morning. The bartender was in the same position he'd fallen asleep in; he hadn't seemed to move once all night.

What should I do with him? I washed my face and tried to shake him, but to no avail. He was not reacting to any of my pushes and tickling. It seemed like he had drunk the dose of sleeping pills, not a hundred and fifty grams of tequila. But that was clearly not the case. There were no sleeping pills in the tequila, and I drank from the same bottle as him, and yet I woke up quite normally.

There wasn't much time left before Lance's appointment. I could have used radical methods, pouring a pitcher of cold water on the bartender, for example. But after thinking about it, I decided that screw it, and let him sleep. I had nothing to steal, except the computer, and I don't think Jiro would steal anything. So I tore a page from my notebook and left him a note, asking him to make the bed when he woke up and, after locking the doors, to take the keys downstairs and put them in the bar drawer.

Because of the time I wasted trying to wake up Jiro, I didn't have time to take a shower. On the other hand, I was probably going for a run, so it wasn't a big deal. I would sweat and have to wash again anyway. I changed into my tracksuit and sneakers shut the door behind me and went downstairs.

The street greeted me with a pleasant coolness and almost complete calm. The weather widget showed plus ten, but it seemed much warmer to me. The city seemed stopped at that dawn hour, not a single passerby, not a single car on the road. Had I gone out early? A glance at my watch, no, that's right. So where's... But before I could finish my thought, I heard from behind me.

"Run first, talk later."

I'm sick of them all, sneaking up on me like that! What a trend, Daas, Illea, and now Lance!

"Good morning." Turning on my heels, I greeted the Goon commander, trying not to show my irritation.

"Yeah." The man brushed it off. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and was somewhere else. "Try to keep up..."

After saying that, Lance strode off toward the waterfront. Cursing to myself, I followed him. Despite the fact that I still felt terrible, it was easy for me to run. Staying behind the biker at first was not the least bit difficult, but as soon as we reached the riverbank, the biker began to speed up. After about five minutes of this gradual increase in pace, I realized what he meant by "try to keep up".

It was as if Lance was hovering over the sidewalk, barely touching the ground with his feet. I was finding it harder and harder to keep up with his pace with each passing second. I gritted my teeth and tried to keep up. Goon sped up again, and so did I. Then another acceleration, but I decided not to give up so easily today! It continued on and on until there was nothing left but running...

Long gone were all thoughts from my head, leaving only my breathing and rhythm. Then that was gone, too, leaving behind only the deafening pulse that pounded in my ears. Then there was none of that, only the gnashing of teeth, and a vague shadow ahead to catch up with. And then I realized that is... At all. That I could no longer... And no amount of willpower or the desire not to lose face would help, my legs had simply given up. I fell to my knees, barely had time to put my palms forward, as I was bent in half and vomited. And then I vomited again.

There was a shortage of air, the air was cutting into my side and my eyes were blurry as if I were watching a stereo movie without special glasses. Kronos! Why hadn't I stopped sooner, why had I run and run, even when I ran out of strength?

"Forty-three minutes..." I heard a voice above me. "Better than I thought, but worse than it could be." Said Lance.

I focused my gaze on the biker, and I could barely contain myself from a profanity-laced tirade. Lance was standing over me in a relaxed pose breathing evenly and didn't seem to break a sweat. I almost hated him at that moment.

Once upon a time, in the time of the myths, Odysseus had won the running competition defeating many of the athletes of Elláda. Now I regretted that my affinity to Face was so slight; otherwise, Lance wouldn't have been able to drive me to a complete loss of strength. And his Face would not have helped even though he was not the last runner either and could probably run the city in a circle but I would not have yielded to him. But these thoughts were just an echo of my anger, both at the biker and at myself. That's what it takes to show off when you overestimate your strength. I knelt with my hands on the dirty paving stone and puked up the remains of last night's dinner.

"Sit on the parapet." With these words, the Goon helped me up and sat me down. "Sit here; I'll be back in five minutes."

With these words and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Lance walked quickly away to the abandoned warehouses.

Even sitting up was painful for me, as the pain in my side prevented me from straightening up. As far as I remember, this kind of pain is a sign of a lack of oxygen in the blood, if I'm not mistaken. Deep breathing helped a little, the pain was less and I was able to stand up on my own.

About three minutes after Lance left, I noticed that I felt quite normal. It was unusual since it had taken me several times longer to recover from overexertion like that before. Apparently, this was an echo of what Daas had told me, the influence of Face's spiritual matrix.

My observation of my own condition was interrupted by an approaching roar. I turned at the noise and saw a motorcycle ride out from behind the piles of debris on the embankment. Unlike all the other Goons, Lance preferred to ride a classic chopper with an extended front fork rather than specially modified predatory insect-like street bikes. Like all bikers, their leader also ignored the rules of vehicle use, and instead of the obligatory helmet, his head was adorned with a black bandana with the gang symbol.

I must admit that Lance was a virtuoso at driving such a heavy and long vehicle easily avoiding metal bars, splinters of concrete blocks, and other construction debris.

"Have a seat." When he stopped next to me, the biker slammed his palm on the seat behind him.

He didn't offer me a helmet and it was stupid to ask. So without saying anything, I just sat down in the seat offered.

"A little behind you two braces grab onto them. I warn you, you're not a young maiden to hold on to me, so don't even think..."

I opened my mouth to protest and immediately closed it, realizing that he must be joking. The staples were right where he said they would be, and even holding on to them was comfortable enough.

"Have you settled in?"- Without turning around, the goon asked.

"Yes."

Immediately the bike roared with a powerful engine, the rear wheel shrieked in a twist, and we took off like a stone launched from a sling.

It was a very memorable ride. If someone else was driving the bike, I probably would have preferred to jump off at full speed just to get it over with. Lance seemed to completely ignore such an important part of the vehicle as the brake. He didn't slow down to avoid obstacles, and he accelerated into turns, which often caused the bike to skid and I was bouncing on the seat like a fish in a fishbowl on a kiddie ride. It was really scary... But somehow, despite that fear, I felt completely safe. Somehow I knew in my gut that we were not going to crash.

Just when I thought we were about to turn onto the roundabout, Lance jerked the wheel and the bike turned onto the grounds of a former cannery, starting to loop between the abandoned buildings. If my vestibular apparatus was correct, we were headed toward the Goon's base, but by some strange route keeping the general direction, but clearly avoiding straight and easy routes.

After about ten minutes of this crazy drive, I caught myself feeling like I was enjoying this crazy ride! I even wanted to pat Lance on the shoulder and ask to drive myself. The only thing that stopped me was that I don't know the road, and I've only driven a motorcycle a couple of times in my life. And even then, to tell you the truth, it wouldn't be a bike at all, it would just be an ordinary scooter.

"Get down!" Shouting over the roar of the engine and the screeching of the wheels, Lance yelled without turning around.

I immediately followed his advice, bending down so that my head rested against the Goon's back. And just in time! Another turn and we flew into some huge, dark hangar. Its entrance gate once opens upward, but is now frozen in a half-open position.

Unlike many of the other dilapidated buildings in the old port complex, this hangar was in good condition, at least the walls were intact. But because of this, and the fact that the lights had not worked for a long time, the place was in total darkness. It was pitch black! Nevertheless, the Goon did not slow down, and our motorcycle continued without slowing down, in total darkness.

Before I could get frightened, the bike kicked its nose so that I was thrown against Lance. At first, I didn't even realize what had happened, just clutched harder at the brackets. Then I realized we were going downhill. We were driving in complete darkness, Lance hadn't even turned on his headlights, but he'd slowed down a bit. Plus, he obviously either saw where he was going or was so familiar with the route that he didn't need to see where he was going to get there. From time to time the bike wiggled a little, avoiding invisible obstacles. Good thing that this movement lasted not long, about three minutes, or I'm not sure that I would have survived more. Because it was really scary, riding a chopper in complete darkness, somewhere underground!

Just as I was about to yell, "Stop it," the bike braked sharply.

"Almost there," Lance said, and reached out with his left hand to click something. The floor beneath the bike trembled and, with an eerie creak, dragged us up.

Kronos! Is that an elevator? It turned out to be. After half a minute of leisurely motion, the elevator platform took us to a huge room. It was well-lit, and when I looked around I realized that we were in an abandoned, or rather unfinished, multi-story underground parking lot of enormous size. I had only seen such parking lots under giant out-of-town supermarkets.

"One more minute and we're there." Said Lance, cranking the throttle again.

After climbing two levels, we turned down a corridor, and the floor sloped upward, leading us to a room I was already familiar with. That's right, I'd been here before. This was where Daas had led me when he'd introduced me to Rick. The base of the Goons, or rather their garage, where the gang's bikes were parked.

"You were doing pretty good." Lance turned to me as he kicked back the footstool. "No yelling or screaming, good for you. Get down, come on..."

Was this some kind of very specific test? It was hard not to say everything I was thinking about, but I held back, even though it was hard. Silently leaving the bike and watching the Goon commander park his mechanical beast, I tried to understand what he was thinking about. But there was only a hum in his head from the ride he had just completed.

After putting the bike in its proper place, Lance came up to me and asked:

"Shall we talk first and then eat? Or shall we eat first?"

"Thank you, I'm not hungry." I grinned bitterly in response to his question.

I vomited after my run and my stomach is probably empty, but I don't want to eat at all, that's for sure!

"Let's go, then." And with a wave of the hand, the biker headed toward the interior of the base.

As we walked, we didn't meet any Goons. Even in the gym and the canteen, where we were staying, there was not a single soul.

"Tea and sugar are on this shelf." Lance pointed to the racks, the kitchen unit. "The coffee machine is here. The juices are in the refrigerator." Goon accompanied his words with pointing gestures. "Use it..."

I thought for a while and brewed myself some strong black tea without sugar, to calm my stomach. The biker, meanwhile, made espresso in the coffee machine.

"Where is everybody?" Breaking the lingering silence, I asked, stirring the tea.

"Most of us are midnight people and don't get up before nine. And Rick's probably not even back from his night out yet." Lance shrugged. "There are exceptions, but at this time, those who are already awake are either reading or jogging... Have a seat." He pointed to the table closest to us.

As soon as we sat down and took our first sip, Lance set the cup down and crunched his knuckles, and said:

"I don't like intrigue and innuendo... So I'm going to be straightforward. Besides, as you've already guessed, I know your face, of course. I was ready to say my own in response, but Ten asked me not to." He shrugged, and it was clear to me that he didn't like the request, but he would do it. "I would not say that I have warm feelings for Odysseus..." I could tell by the look on his face that this was true, but knowing his Face, I could hardly reproach him for it. "But the fact that you were chosen by this Face made me look differently at what you said before..." He paused, taking a leisurely sip of coffee. "I mean the games and the team and the prize money. About what you call cybersports." My ears turned into highly sensitive locators, picking up the slightest intonation in his voice.

"When I started looking for and picking up guys who had snapped, the idea of them releasing their stress in a street showdown seemed to make a lot of sense to me... And I must say, it does work. Except that it doesn't help much in terms of real rehabilitation. Yes, guys easily accept the established rules, but they also get hung up on them. And it was never part of my plan to turn them into street fighters." He sighed heavily when he said those words. "Besides, a lot of us are very tight financially." My eyebrows went up in surprise, which is something you can't say when you look around the place.

"My funds ran out in the first year of the project, and Ten's help... Without it, of course, everything would have collapsed long ago, but we have a contract with him... He provides the room, food, and legal cover, but we have to do everything else ourselves. However, this is something that I fully support him. Freebies, in any form, very quickly corrupt, turning people into animals... Well, I digress... Getting back to our topic... Before you say it, given the mentality of my guys, petty robbery, roofing, as well as not quite legal force actions for hire, that's the only thing I could get the guys into. But it's all black money... And one of the purposes of the rehabilitation I had in mind was not only to put the guys' brains back in order after the breakdown but also..." He clicked his tongue as if hesitating whether or not to speak further. He glared at me for about fifteen seconds, and then he continued.

"I wish that when they left the gang, they had the initial capital to start a new life in peace. Not to become outcasts again, this time financially. This requires money that is clean and can pass any kind of scrutiny. Money is honestly earned by them. Honestly, not what we're doing now... Rick and I even came up with the idea of playing on insider information, and making money on bets. But you know how that turned out in the end, a lot of guys lost all their money on that gamble. And to tell you the truth, the guys have been really into street life in the last few months. Especially the four you know..." I know who he's talking about, and I nod.

"I need an alternative to the street. Besides, we long ago earned enough respect for ourselves that a constant presence and demonstration of strength were no longer necessary to maintain control over the territory. The guys have some free time that can't be taken up with just training, and I don't like the way they spend it. But I can't force them, we're all voluntary. It's an immutable principle of our community. So, I need you and your game... As payment, I will help you overcome the crisis of the first two weeks and will personally coach you. I have nothing more to offer as payment." After finishing his coffee, he put the cup down and asked. "A sufficient level of frankness?"

"Would the guys agree?"

"I've already talked to everyone. Together with you and me, there are exactly ten... Although in serious competitions with trips abroad and playing in halls full of people, especially reporters, it's better not to count on me... My reputation is such that it is better for me not to show my face to the cameras."

"Most of the tournaments are online." That's already a lot more than I bargained for when I woke up this morning, so I reject that objection. "It's all anonymous out there, except for the bank account." I smile when I say those words. "And the qualifiers for the big championships... When it comes down to it, then we'll think about it."

"Is that consent?"

"Yes."

"If you slack off on training, I'll rip up the agreement."

"Gotcha."

"And you'll have to go through the Arch again..." I shuddered at those words. "It's out of the question... If you don't, everything I give you won't solidify, and I don't like working in vain." Noticing my reaction, he clarified. "Not now, of course... The next new moon."

"I agree." How hard that word was for me! But the dream overcame the fear, and I said what I said.

And we shook hands...

"Then let's get started." Said Lance, rising from the table. "Wash the mug out you and let's go."

After rinsing the cup and putting it back, I followed the commander. To my surprise, we didn't go to the gym, but bypassed it and went into another room I hadn't seen before. It was a fairly well-equipped medical room, with no state-of-the-art equipment, but it was just as well furnished as the one at my university, except that it was much smaller.

"Get undressed." The goon ordered, throwing off his sports jacket.

"Completely?" It came out of my mouth involuntarily, and as soon as I said it, I realized that the question sounded stupid.

"Up to the underwear..." So I followed his words. "Take off your socks, too... Lie down on the couch." While I undressed, he washed his hands and laid out a snow-white sheet. "Lie down on your stomach..."

At first, I thought Lance was going to give me a massage. But later it turned out that it was more like a kind of medical examination. The biker groped me all over, focusing on my muscles. Then he began to twist my arms, as he explained, to check my joints. It was quite a painful procedure, but I endured it without making a sound. The head of the Goons clearly knew what he was doing, so it would have been foolish to interfere with his actions.

"Hmmm..." After about ten minutes, Lance stepped off the couch. "You're a wimp, aren't you..." He shook his head. "But other than that you're all right. How could you let yourself go so badly? But don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question... Get dressed, let's go to the gym."

Even though the biker's words offended me a little, I knew he was telling the absolute truth.

The gym was still empty, but it was still very early in the morning, so there was nothing unusual about that.

"So..." Lance pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and opened an application. "First we need to see what we have to deal with, in more detail... Let's start with push-ups." He pointed to a vacant patch of floor in the corner of the room. "Do as many push-ups as you can."

No sooner had I done one push-up than I heard an indignant cry above me.

"Gaia!!! Who taught you how to do push-ups?!" Before I could say no one taught me, Lance continued. "How do you put your hands? Keep your arms wide, wider! And get your ass out of the way. Why do you make it so far back? The body should be as straight as a string, not bumpy with your ass... Stop doing push-ups. Get in the right position and freeze. Yeah, that's it. Stay like that as long as you can, and I'll time you."

What could be easier, standing still without the need for push-ups? But after about thirty seconds, my hands began to shake. Then my abdominal muscles ached, and then my calves began to tingle.

"This is an exercise for static muscle tension, called the "upper plank". It develops in the beginning no worse or even better than push-ups with weights if your case is as bad as yours," Lance explained it to me, but I was not interested in these lectures, my hands began to shake, and my abs felt as if they were rubbed with a fine grater.

Honestly, I held on as long as I could, and even more, dropping to the cool floor only when I had no strength left, not only physically, but also willfully. And I was so surprised when the biker said.

"Two minutes and seven seconds." He clicked his tongue.

What?! How could it be two minutes? I thought it had been at least a quarter of an hour!

"Okay... That's clear." Lance's voice is clearly not happy. "Let's go to the bar now."

I approached this simple contraption with a degree of apprehension; the fall at the university and the injury that followed were still fresh in my mind. Noticing my uncertainty, Lance encouraged me.

"I'm not your lame-ass gym teacher from uni, don't worry, I'll back you up." And he stood next to me so that in case of force majeure he could pick me up.

After this encouragement, I jumped up and grabbed the bar. A little pissed off at my failure in the previous test I tried my best on this one. But all my efforts clearly did not impress Lance since I did not manage to lift my chin above the bar more than three times. This time, however, the biker did not comment on my result but just moved me to another machine, and before that, he entered something into his smartphone.

In half an hour Lance guided me through all the equipment in the gym, and at none of them was I satisfied with what I had managed to show. He was darker than a downpouring cloud and only shook his head, apparently scolding himself for being too cheap in our agreement.

After completing a round of the hall, the goon took me to the kitchen, where he prepared some kind of a sugary drink in a blender and handed it to me.

"Drink, it will restore your strength. Sit down." We sat down at the table, and I felt really tired in such a short time. "As you realized, what you've shown me today is the deepest bottom I've ever seen. Indeed, I've previously trained with those who've had at least basic military training or with guys who've walked the Arch too often. So my personal sampling is probably overstated. Don't make such a sour face, though, but now I know where to start. In addition, you've obviously never worked anywhere before, and crooked coaches, which we mostly deal with young people, did not spoil anything. And it's always more difficult to retrain than to teach from the very beginning. All in all, it's bad, of course, but not as bad as it could be... Besides, your Face is not to be written off... Yes, Odysseus wasn't a phenomenal power compared to the other legendary Heroes, but unlike many, he was advanced in everything and that can certainly be played with in your training." He put his smartphone on the table and turned it toward me.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Download this app. It's pretty handy for tracking your progress." Since the jacket with my phone was hanging on the back of my chair, I immediately downloaded the program suggested by the biker. "Okay, sign up, tell me your login and I'll send you my notes." After doing all the necessary steps, I turned my smartphone to Lance, so that he could copy my login. "Great, I'll send you all the results tonight." Noticing that I had finished the drink he had prepared, Lance got up from the table. "Today's not a hard day's work. I'll just show you how to work out, and we'll do a few test runs on each of the machines." That made me happy. "But first, let's go to the infirmary and I'll give you a massage..."

Now I know that Lance's words, "Not a hard day," were a precursor to my personal, miniature Tartarus. After a rather professional massage by the biker, I even felt a slight rush of energy, but it wasn't long enough... Lance chased me like Sisyphus from one machine to another, picking on the slightest detail. The elbow was wrong, the grip was wrong, the legs were turned the wrong way, and a host of other complaints. I used to think that there was nothing difficult about training on machines, but it turned out to be not so simple. Each of them required a special approach and correct execution of exercises down to the smallest detail.

As soon as I was able to do something on one of the machines, Lance immediately chased me to the next one. Then, when my strength was completely gone, he would drag me to the infirmary and warm up my muscles hard as a rock from cramps, and everything would happen again. After each second round, each of which took at least an hour, Lance made me drink his muddy, tastelessly ugly, greasy, protein shake.

I never thought I had so much strength and stamina. Every time I had a massage, it seemed to me that that was it, that was it, I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't even stand up from the couch... But somehow, by some miracle, every time I got up and followed my tormentor back to the gym.

Lance could really seem to work as an extra-class trainer; he saw and noticed absolutely everything, and he could sense my level of fatigue precisely. Now I understand how an army under his Face could fight for so long with such a superior force. Yes, his rank-and-file fighters, if he had them as well as me, were probably not much inferior to the Heroes in terms of their combat training! I know I'm exaggerating, but I don't think by much.

"I'm done..." After another massage session, when I sat down on the couch, I realized that I was not going to get back on my feet. Let them shoot me on the spot, but I can't.

"Don't exaggerate." Lance immediately responded by laying me down again and massaging my back. "After the first Arch, with your Face, your body recovers so quickly that no pharmacology or the latest drugs can match it. Besides, I'm not giving you anything you can't handle. So one more run and then I'll let you sleep."

Maybe in addition to classical massage, he knows some oriental techniques which open up the reserves of the body by applying pressure on various points. I don't know... But the fact is that after five minutes, I still got up and went back to the gym. And then, on the fifth machine, everything was blurred in front of my eyes and I realized that I was losing consciousness. The last thing I remember was Lance's hands picking me up before I hit the floor...

"Get up!"

I seemed to just close my eyes and fall somewhere from exhaustion, and now someone was rubbing my shoulder. Why someone, of course, it was Lance. I was lying in a small, completely empty room with bright wallpaper, on a hard, even uncovered single bed. I opened my eyes for a second to note these details and then closed them again, not wanting to get up.

"I can go get a pitcher of water." He sat down next to me and said in a calm voice. "I'm going to get you up anyway, so you'd better do it yourself..."

I have no doubts that he will raise a dead man, so I open my eyes and try to get through to his mind:

"I'm exhausted, and I only slept for about thirty minutes!"

"What thirty minutes?!" The biker grinned. "It's four in the afternoon!" So I've been out for a little over four hours? "So get up, you need to eat."

My stomach reacted unequivocally to these words, blaring like a marching bugle. Hunger overcame fatigue, and I got to my feet.

All but one of the tables in the dining room were empty; most of the Goons must have had their lunch. Only Lawrence, a skinny guy about two years older than me, who looked a bit like a combat rapier, was sitting in the corner, drinking coffee and reading a book. After exchanging greetings with him, I collapsed into a chair.

"This is for you." Lance handed me a spoon and set it beside me, the familiar plastic container of Illea's cooking. It was the greasy, lumpy mess that tasted surprisingly good.

Grabbing a spoon, I began to grind like a real food processor, absorbing the food with the speed of a vacuum cleaner picking up light dust

"While you're eating, think about this." Said Lance, watching me with a chuckle. "You're not going to have enough free time now to get the team ready... But it's no good wasting days either. Think of something for the boys to start with, without your presence."

When the container showed the bottom, I already had a rough idea of what could be done.

"For starters, let each of those who will play, create a new account and spend in random fights on five games for each profession. At the same time not forget to save the replay and then send me in their opinion the best fight for each of the professions. I would also like you to get a description of all the guys with their weaknesses and strengths, as well as information about their Faces... No, I don't need names and "superfluous" details, rather I am interested in questions about their Face's specialty... However, I think you'll figure out for yourself what you can trust me with and what not. But the more information, the easier it will be for me to analyze the future distribution of roles in the team."

"Copy that." He did not protest, so my demands are not overstated, as I feared when I started talking.

"It would also be good to start studying maps but it's not that easy... Running through maps and noting the details is a waste of time. There are many analytical calculations... However, this is a rush I think this issue will be postponed until I begin to train."

"Hmmm... I could do that." Rubbing his chin, the commander says. "Analyzing upcoming battlefields is my specialty."

"Okay, I'll send you the address of a channel that explains all the maps and the basic strategies for each of them. But it's a 40-hour video, at least." I'm warning him. "If you look at everything in detail."

"Don't worry about my time." The head of the Goons brushes this warning aside. "Anything else?"

"Until I see the replays, it's better not to start anything..." I negatively shook my head. "Well... Yes... I'll send you a training program. It's a kind of test. Let everyone take it." I remember the program in which I measured my reaction and percentage of accuracy."

"It's a deal... Done? Wash the dishes, then let's go into the gym."

"What?! Again?!"

"Not again but once more..." Lance's words fall on me like stones on the shoulders of the first of the liars of Hellas.

It's a good Lance didn't push me to the machines right away, or I don't know how I would have survived them right after eating. He gave me static exercises for the first hour, and only after that, and a new series of massages, he drove me through the circles of Hades again...

The fact that I had to spend the night at the Goon's base told the world how tired I was. Yeah, I couldn't even make it to the bed myself. Lance took me to a familiar room and threw me on the bed like a sack of potatoes. I only remember the sympathetic glances of the bikers we met on our way out of the hall while I was hanging on his shoulder. Now I understand Anton's consternation when Daas suggested replacing Rick with Lance as a coach. They all knew what an atrocity their commander was!

"Good night." Lance stopped at the door for a second and wished me good night.

"Sadist..." I thought I was just thinking it, but judging by the laughter from behind the door, I must have said it out loud.

If someone had told me at that moment that I would feel normal in the morning, I probably would have just wagged my finger at my temple and considered that person inadequate. And it was all the more surprising when I was shaken up by the words: "Wake up!"

I felt pretty good. Of course, all my muscles ached, but it wasn't sharp, but rather a pulling aching, even somewhat pleasant pain.

"Are you alive?" Lance looked awake as usual, even though it was only six in the morning. And I'm sure after he carried me to bed, the commander must have sat down at the computer to study that information portal about the BAA maps.

"Surprisingly, alive..." I did not lie, though I wanted to pretend to be completely exhausted so as not to repeat yesterday's day.

"Is our agreement still work?"

If it hadn't been such an important bet for me in this case, I would have told him to fuck off and forgotten all these attempts to get in good physical shape as a bad dream. I had lived well before without it...

"Work."

"No jogging today and tomorrow." Lance cheered me up because what I really didn't want to do was run in the drizzling rain that drizzled sluggishly behind the narrow, loophole-like skylight.

"Great." I couldn't resist commenting.

"And enough lying around! Breakfast, shower, and straight to the gym!" The good mood from these words evaporated instantly...

This day was much more difficult than the last one, though last night it seemed impossible. And I was quite aware and understood that Lance was not forcing me to do anything very difficult. He did not overload me with exorbitant weights or exceed my maximum on any of the weight machines. On the contrary, I even squatted only with a barbell bar, and I did not squat completely, but only a little, not bending my legs more than at a right angle.

And so on each of the exercises.

And today, Lance was explaining in great detail what we were doing, why we were doing it, and why we were doing it that way. But after about forty minutes of training, I was no longer listening to him. I just couldn't concentrate on his words. As soon as I distracted myself from the technique of this or that task, it was immediately followed by a mistake and a reprimand from the commander. And then I had no strength to listen to anything.

I don't remember that day well at all, it was all a fog, in an endless haze of fatigue... It didn't even help that my trainer-abuser let me sleep for full hours and a half twice that day. But still, how Lance held me all that time, forcing my body to reveal more and more reserves, I can't imagine, there was something remotely mystical about it. No, I understood perfectly; he'd made it clear that it was all about me and just a little bit about his massage. Nevertheless, the fact that I had survived the day was more like some kind of ancient magic. And though I was carried to bed by the head of the Goons just as I had been the previous night, I was proud of myself before I went to bed. Sincerely!..

The next morning Lance made me very happy. After breakfast and one round of machines, he said: "That's it, you're done for the day. It's for the best, though, because it'll help you recover."

"Uh..." That's all I could say in response to that.

"Did you get the days of the week mixed up?" The commander grinned back. "Today you're babysitting at Illea's request. So go to your room, take a shower, get some sleep, get some rest from the exertion, and I'll pick you up tomorrow. The guys did what you said, created new accounts, played for all the professions, and recorded everything. You got the flash drive by the way. And don't forget to bring that training program you mentioned."

"I don't need to, I have the installer on my smartphone." All these workloads have knocked this part right out of my head. "Let me get it for you right now."

Having sent him the file, I also explained what to do and how to do it, as well as what data to remember and send me to the mail. After that, Lance walked me from the base to the familiar hole in the wall and gave me the key to the storeroom, behind which was this secret entrance.

Before saying goodbye, the commander cheered me up.

"Don't worry that you feel like you're not getting anywhere. You're progressing at an incredible rate. Even Rick wasn't like that. But don't get cocky about it, at least Rick was almost a professional swimmer, and you've never lifted anything heavier than a computer mouse. So there's a "low base" factor to consider. Still... It's going even better than I thought it would, so cheer up."

I hadn't been home for two days! The whole 24 hours had been one endless marathon for me. Yes, what can I say, when I saw someone's note on the table, at first I stared at it in a state of confusion. Only twenty seconds later I realized that the bed wasn't made the way I usually make it. When I noticed this detail, I immediately remembered that I had been drinking tequila with Jiro forever ago, or rather two days before, and he had passed out and stayed the night at my place. Kronos, how long ago it seems!!! The note from the bartender thanked me for not kicking him out at night drunk on the street. What a joker, I tried, only I couldn't move such a body.

I took a shower and lounged in bed for a while. The chief's nephew would not be here until one o'clock in the afternoon, which meant that I could sleep in peace. And considering that the clock was only half past eight in the morning, I could even get some sleep!

Sleeping in my bed was great, and I couldn't say that I was fully rested, but I was in a great mood when I woke up. Even the lingering pain in my legs as I made my way down the stairs to the restaurant hall didn't ruin it.

Illea, Jiro, and Aloya were on duty in the hall today. After saying hello to everyone and listening to a couple of jokes from the bartender about my lopsided gait, I could barely keep myself from answering him in the same style and walking over his recent blackout. However, it wasn't abstract humanity that stopped me from making such jokes, but banal, general fatigue; I was just too lazy to argue with him because I knew that if I just started arguing with Jiro, it would last a long time.

Today I realized that I love Rati! Why did I treat him like a sticky leaf before? He's a normal, sane, reasonable kid! Working out and sitting with him is not torture as it seemed before, but the most natural relaxation... Especially if you compare it to Lance's training. So, the boy mutters something on his wave, so he tries to cheat and get something done in his homework, so what? The usual behavior of a boy his age. I was exactly the same. Yes. Is it hard to notice all his tricks, and most importantly correct the kid? When are you sitting on a comfortable couch relaxed with your feet stretched out? It's a vacation, not a job! Even playing with him, it's not a big deal, you know, you can just poke your finger on the touch screen. It's not like squatting with a barbell...

It is right to say, "Everything is learned by comparison," and today I realized this once again. What had previously been an unpleasant duty for me was now perceived very differently. In addition, Illea was still trying to feed me something tasty, which was also good for my mood. Even the constant pain in all my muscles and the fact that even to lift my cup of tea I had to hold it with two hands did not spoil my mood at all.

There was one detail that annoyed me a lot, though. The Goons had a full complement of Legionnaires on duty in the restaurant today. And if before, when I'd sat with Rati, Aloya had always circled my table, not because of my attractiveness, but because of her good attitude toward the chief's nephew, but I still enjoyed it, then today she was hardly ever around. The girl preferred to stay close to the table of bikers, often laughing with Meck's jokes, even the dullest and, as for me, not funny at all. It was a bad sign for me that this detail of her behavior was an indication that my chances for her favor were melting like the first snow in the direct sunlight.

Meck wasted no time while I was away, and was actively hitting on my pretty waitress. And, unfortunately for me, he was succeeding, judging by the girl's behavior. I noticed Aloya laughing with a laugh, and I realized that I should have acted sooner... I had almost a month, and instead of actively doing something I was just stupid and threw admiring glances at her. Besides, I would be seldom present in the gym for almost two weeks, busy with Lance's training, and Meck would certainly not let his chance loose. And during that time, my chances of winning the girl would be nothing. And I realize that I am a fool, but still, I catch myself being angry at Meck because he is such an asshole. He knows that I like her. And at Aloya, for choosing the biker over me. Stupid anger, irrational, but it was no less hurtful.

Amid this irritation, I wondered what nasty things I could do to Meck or what I could do to break up this possible couple. Realistic combinations like that popped into my mind, feasible combinations.

I found myself thinking seriously about one way to screw up Meck, and I shuddered with a bad feeling. I'd often thought of revenge on someone before, but I didn't think of anyone who did. But this was different. I was really making a working plan of a frame-up, and the worst thing was that I did not feel any moral scruples about carrying it out. What was wrong with me? Had I changed so much these days, or was it Face's influence? Who knows who, but Odysseus certainly wouldn't reflect on eliminating a rival by any means. Was I really becoming more like him than me? The thought made my back feel cold and sweaty.

I don't want...

I don't want to accept the morality of Ulysses.

I'm not Him!

I am Utis Irzec, not Odysseus.

That's it.

The fact that Aloya chose Meck was my fault. Yeah, what am I thinking?! I didn't even try to do anything to win the girl over. Why should I blame Meck? That he, unlike me, didn't sit idly by just seeing the girl off with admiring glances? So what was there to get back at him for?

For crossing my path...

What a silly idea. If you take revenge on everyone because you're picking your finger in your nose while someone else is acting, that's just silly. Odysseus, for example, when Icarius rejected his betrothal didn't take it but won the contest and got Penelope's hand.

Besides, revenge is a serious matter, and not every cause is suitable. If I loved Aloya with all my heart, that would be one thing, but what I feel for this girl is definitely not love. I like her. Very much! Her figure haunts me at night, but in these dreams, there is little romance in them, to tell the truth.

Besides, of course, Meck is not my friend. But he's not my enemy, either. He fought with me shoulder to shoulder behind the Arch. He got me out of that "Jeans" mess. And for all his insolence, he's a pretty normal guy. He's got a few quirks, that's why he's in the Goons, but other than that, he's not a bad man. And he genuinely likes Aloya...

Tartarus!

Don't give a damn about anything...

I will not avenge or break them up. There's nothing to blame others for your mistakes!

That's the right point...

Why do I feel so bad when I hear her laughing at the other table?

This melancholy was helped by none other than Rati. The boy had managed to beat me in one of the games, so I had to pull myself together and kick his little ass. Which turned out to be not so easy, as the kid was showing class for his age in this arcade. This essentially idiotic confrontation with an underage schoolboy was somehow fun enough to distract me from the hard thinking...

At eight p.m. Illea's nephew was picked up, and my day's work was done for the day. I said goodbye to everyone and went up to my room. It was strange. I didn't do anything difficult today, but as soon as I fell on the bed. I felt incredibly tired. I wanted to close my eyes and fall asleep even though it was so childish. After lying motionless for about ten minutes I was able to pull myself together and leave the inviting bed and sit down at the computer. I didn't want to just fall asleep, but I had other things to do this evening.

I inserted Lance's flash drive into my computer and downloaded the replay files from it, which were uploaded by the Goons. The flash drive also contained a text file marked "for Utis". When I opened it, I saw a commander's summary of the bikers' characteristics. Everything was as I had asked: aptitudes, Face's profession, a brief description of characters, just a couple of lines about each of those who were going to play. I decided not to read it yet, but to look through the replays first, try to figure out the names of bikers and their predispositions myself, and then check the information from Lance.

By the way, there were only nine folders on the flash drive with recorded games, each dedicated to one of the players. Nine... This means that the commander himself took the time to play and record. Since all of the folders, and the replays in them, were named according to the new nicknames, I didn't know whose particular record I was going to watch. This aspect made watching more interesting.

The first cursory review took me over an hour and a half. Nine players, six video clips from each, each battle an average of a couple of minutes, plus time to load the replays. After watching everything, I leaned back in my chair and cursed softly...

After playing against Rick, Lance, Mek, and An, I assumed for some reason that the level of the other Goons in the game would be about the same. Alas, it wasn't like that at all. However, it's not surprising, not all bikers have played BAA before. From the notes, I could tell that half of the Goons, four out of nine to be exact, had never played an online shooter before. Praise Three-Face, apparently, everyone had played the usual single-player shooter, and no one had any problems, at least with the controls.

However, as Lance said, it's harder to retrain than to teach from scratch, so we'll consider the inexperience of almost half of the future team a virtual plus at this stage. Besides, if you subtract me and the commander from the team roster, then we'll have a relatively experienced player assigned to each rookie and paired assignments for training. Hmmm... Ah, not a bad idea! Of course, we need to think about these pairs very seriously, and better to do such a division after I consult with Lance on this subject. Not to use his experience in such a matter would be a foolish waste.

After the first round of screenings, only two players could be accurately identified. Rick and Lance. Their playing experience and skills were head and shoulders above the others. And Runner was as superior to Kickass as Kickass was to the others. And after reviewing Lance's games, I realized that I shouldn't count on him at a serious level. No, it wasn't about his abilities; they were quite champion-like. It was that he wasn't interested in playing. Of course, you can become a strong professional in a field that you don't have a heart for. But it's almost impossible to get to the top with that attitude. However, I'm getting ahead of myself; even without motivation, with proper training, he's capable of playing at the level of the final qualifiers for internationals. But, it's really not a matter of the near future at all.

Rick, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of his Commander. He was literally on fire for the game. He was just as passionate about it as I was. I could feel it in everything he did. And that was a big problem. I'd learned to deal with my impulses a long time ago, but Rick was always going along with them, always choosing a more effective rather than efficient move. He would be hard to fit into a team effort. Players like that always prefer to play from themselves rather than the overall strategy. Truth is I have a great trump card against his behavior, I'm just going to set Lance on him. Who, but he's sure to be able to correct him, even on the virtual field of battle. By the way, is it a coincidence that Rick is now subordinate to Lance, just as his Face was once subordinate to the orders of Face the Goon's commander? Or was it not a coincidence, but the echoes of a shared destiny, of a man and his Face? I would have to ask him about such a detail, but not to show my knowledge of Lance Face. But it's not urgent..

The fifth of the Goons who was already familiar with the gameplay, in my opinion, was Hotey. His abrupt manner of play was very similar to what I witnessed on the Pilgrimage.

As for those four who have not played before, I have not yet been able to draw any serious conclusions from the replays I have watched. But I was pleased that the guys clearly started the game as some kind of work, something compulsory and not very interesting, but their last game already said that the game has caught them. However, this is rather normal, as all the Goons are young guys, and a well-made game had every chance to please them. To judge which class suited them best, you'd have to ask them to do another full round of notes for each of the game's professions.

Although it seems to me that one can already be signed up as a sharpshooter. Because the guy's skills for this class are clearly well above average. A steady hand, the ability to wait, and good intuition, all this is a huge plus for a sniper, and the fact that the reaction fails, so it's more from a lack of understanding of what should be done on the game weapon. Opened Lance's file I read what he wrote about the man and was surprised. As it turned out, this Goon's Face was a military doctor. The more surprising to me was that on the game medic, this guy played really badly.

Hmmm... And maybe nothing is surprising about it. All the same medic in BAA, or rather his actions differ from reality very, very much, and rather experience the real use of medical skills here not only does not help in learning this class, and can even hinder this. But for the game sniper, his habits, on the contrary, give good pluses. I will have to give him an additional task, spend not five but ten games for the sniper class, ask him to record all the replays, and then study them more closely. With the remaining three, no predisposition could be detected yet. Well, it's not that much of a rush, as they say, time is patient.

In all seriousness, I needed to go over all the replays again to see what details I might have missed the first time around. But the time was already late, and tomorrow I would again have to go through the torture called training with Lance. So I had to postpone all game activities and go to bed. However, my body was only grateful for that.

The next morning met me with a cool breeze, and the good thing was that the rain that had been drizzling for the last few days had stopped, so it wasn't the most excruciating run. Lance was deep and thoughtful today, and, besides the usual greeting, he didn't say a word during the entire run. Only during breakfast did he ask about my conclusions about the replays he had seen. Without holding back anything from him, I told him all my thoughts, not silent about what I thought of his potential. I thought he would argue, but no, he just nodded at my words, basically confirming them completely.

And then there was no time to talk because the workout in the gym began. After the first run through all the machines, I thought today would be easier since I was no longer as tired as before. But these hopes for a better fate were not to come true because the commander correctly assessed my condition and immediately increased the load so that I screamed as much as before. As a result, by noon I was already staggering from fatigue so much that my legs could not hold me, and Lance took me to what was already becoming a familiar, empty room at the Goon's base. It was good that the bikers who had witnessed Lance drag me along didn't sneer at that but rather accompanied me with sympathetic glances; the guys obviously knew what it was like to train under their leader.

What has really surprised me lately is how I manage to get back on my feet and practice again. Usually, I'm not so stubborn when it comes to my favorite games, but here... And I don't have the energy or the desire either, but no, time after time, clenching my teeth, I follow the commander and work up a sweat. The only thing that keeps me from breaking down and sending it all to Tartarus is my agreement with Lance and the knowledge that if I break down, I won't even dream of having a team. I'm not sure what I'm going to do if I break because that kind of loss of face will be detrimental to my relationship with the Goons, which is just starting to take shape.

On that day, in addition to the usual exercises, the commander began to teach me some kind of oriental gymnastics. I don't know what it is called, but it didn't occur to me to ask. I had thought before that such exercises were relaxing, but apparently not all of them. It was from the category of very painful. Yes, yes, that's right! I had to twist my joints in some specific way, as well as a freeze in such static poses, which were obviously invented by some aliens because they were clearly not intended for the human body, as it seemed to me. My body protested, but Lance was adamant, and when I couldn't do it, he did it himself, twisting my arm into what he claimed was the right position, or thrusting his whole body at me, unhappy with my stretching. After such abuse, I even returned to the machines with joy. How my whole body ached this evening before I went to bed, it had never been like this in my life!

For the next twenty-four hours, I held on to the mere thought that tomorrow I would be on duty at the restaurant as a babysitter. Oh! How I dreamed of this job! Only those dreams and bloody lips helped me get through the endless hours.

And when I woke up thinking there would be no torment today, Lance stunned me with the news.

"There's some kind of all-day field trip at Rati's school today. Illea called and said you weren't needed today..." A sort of bloodthirsty smile lit up his face. "Get dressed for a run, and then I'll show you some new warm-up routines!"

I used to think that people who howl like wolves were only seen in cartoons and movies, but no, the howl that burst from my throat after this news was just that.

"Don't worry so much!" Lance patted me on the shoulder. "Today will be an easy day, almost all gymnastics, with a minimal load!"

Is he mocking me?! He didn't seem to be, his face was full of sympathy, not sneer. I didn't get out of bed, so I banged my head against the wall. Gymnastics! That torture gymnastics of his! Just that!!! Yeah...

"Do you give up?" The commander sat down next to the bed and tilted his head, trying to catch my gaze.

"No way..." I gritted my teeth, cursing myself for these words, knowing perfectly well that this answer would bring more anguish.

"Then get dressed and let's go for a run..."

Toward noon, after another massage, something broke inside me...

No, that's the wrong definition.

Cracked...?

That's not the right word either.

It was just that somewhere inside, in my head, where my mind resides, someone had turned off the lights. The world around me began to shrink into a single point, simultaneously sinking into a colorless fog that stole all the colors. No, I didn't lose consciousness, I didn't lose my mind, I just didn't care anymore.

About anything...

Completely

I was perfectly aware of everything and retained my ability to think, but soaping seemed to me now to be a completely unnecessary activity. What for? There's a voice that tells me what to do, and it's so easy... Just obey it... Easy...

The pain in my muscles and joints that had been haunting me for the last few days, oh no, it wasn't gone, but the general indifference had touched it as well. And that made it even easier...

* * *