Chapter 5

* * *

Minutes, hours, and days were no more than numbers on a wall clock. I didn't feel time as I was used to it; it was no longer a river stream but a swamp in which nothing new was happening, and therefore it was a waste of energy to keep track of it. Even the fact that, on the third day of my existence in grayness and fog, Lance told me that Illea's nephew's grandmother had come to stay with him for a few days, which meant that I would have endless training again, did not stir anything in my soul. If I had to, I didn't care.

Then there was another day, followed by the exact same day. Why remember them? They're all the same. Not exactly, of course, each time Lance gives me new tasks and new types of training, but is it a big difference to remember...?

It had been a week since the lights had been turned off in me when the commander, who had been watching me stand on one leg for half an hour with my arms bent at different angles behind my back in a "drinking heron" stance, muttered:

"That's good, of course, but I have to admit, I overdid it." With a wave of his hand, he ordered. "Follow me."

If it says go, it means to go. It's easier than practicing. After walking across the base, we walked down the exit ramp. Then, in complete darkness, we walked about forty paces and found ourselves near a perfectly working elevator.

Elevator?

So what?

"We're going down." Says Lance, closing the wire mesh doors.

Why is he explaining anything? What difference does it make? I remember that I have to endure everything. What difference would it be?

Judging by the button Lance pressed, we plunged three stories down, after which the elevator stopped, and the biker opening a very massive, for some reason rubberized door, pushed me forward.

"There's supposed to be a multi-story underground parking garage." He closed the door behind us and walked to the faintly illuminated LED electrical panel. "We've done a lot of remodeling on this floor."

I just nod. I don't care what he says, but something in the back of my mind tells me that I should at least respond to someone else's words. Lance opened the panel and flicked a few switches, and the light hit my eyes brightly, especially after the recent darkness.

The fact that this room was planned as a parking lot says nothing about that here. Very high ceilings, more than five meters for sure. The walls are gray and covered with cardboard, mesh cages like chicken eggs, for some reason. More precisely, three walls out of four were pasted exactly like that. Left without such a design, the farthest wall from us, from floor to ceiling concrete, littered with gray sacks up to half the height. There are also small, almost toy rails running along it for some reason, and a lot of ropes and wires strung under the ceiling. Along the left wall of the elevator was a row of more than twenty metal lockers, closed with padlocks. The right wall is occupied by sturdy wooden desks, each with many drawers. A massive, waist-high counter divides the room almost in half. A multitude of daylight lamps under the ceiling gives such a powerful illumination that it seems that you could sunbathe in there.

"What do you think of our shooting range?" Lance's big smile must mean something.

I shrug in response.

"Darn..." The Goon waved his hand when he saw the look on my face. Then he sighed heavily and said. "Come on, I'll teach you something."

He opened one of the metal lockers, opened it, and pulled out a black wooden box from a shelf. Then he led me to one of the tables on the opposite wall, set the box on it, and opened it. At the bottom of the box, on dark velvet, was a blued, long-barreled, large-caliber revolver.

"This toy is called Strom's Bison Killer, or unofficially the Hoof. Twelve millimeters, six rounds in the barrel, killing power enough to stop a hippo. It's an early last-century model, long out of production. Extremely picky about lubrication and service, but if this machine is properly maintained..." Lance ran his fingers lovingly over the weapon. "Believe me, you won't be disappointed!"

Spreading a clean cloth on the table, he moved the revolver to it.

"It's easy to disassemble. Watch and memorize." In a few fluid movements, he disassembled the revolver and then reassembled it, with the Hun looking at me, not at the weapon. "Now you."

It is necessary so it is necessary, disassemble, so disassemble, nothing difficult there except the cylinder. It was possible to remove a couple of other parts without a screwdriver.

Listening to the biker's instructions, I got it right the third time. Then I repeated the process both ways a dozen more times.

"Well done." The commander commented on my progress. Then he reassembled the revolver himself and clicked the drum. "Let's go to the bar."

As we approached the counter, the Goon stopped.

"The gun is heavy, and the recoil is decent. Look at me... The stance should be like this." Having said that, Lance assumed the shooting position. He stood half-turned to the targets, the gun clutched in his right hand, and he put it on the palm of his left arm, extended forward, and bent at ninety degrees. His legs are slightly bent like springs, the right slightly behind him, the foot turned almost perpendicular to the direction of shooting.

"Repeat it." He said, handing me the heavy revolver.

After all my tortures with Oriental gymnastics, I had no trouble repeating such a simple pose, and judging by the satisfied nod, I got it right the first time.

"Don't worry. It's not charged." He misinterpreted the look on my face. "Aim at the target and pull the trigger."

Drawing my weapon, convergence...

"Click."

The revolver shudders slightly in the palm of my hand, even though no shot was fired.

"Don't jerk. Press smoothly."

"Click."

"My finger is wrong on the trigger." Lance approached me and took the gun from my hands. "Look... Your finger is like this, it's too deep, and you have to press the trigger with the pad of your finger... Gently and smoothly." He points the gun toward the target and pulls the trigger.

"Click."

The revolver in his hand did not move even a fraction of a millimeter.

"Do it again, but weigh it manually beforehand."

With the pad of my finger, so with the pad of my finger, smoothly so smoothly. It's not hard to cock the firing pin...

"Click."

Still, the barrel shudders a little after the firing pin is struck.

"Already better, but still abrupt! Even smoother. It only seems easy." Standing behind me, Lance says. "But your body's waiting for the shot, even though you know the gun isn't loaded, and you're still twitching like it's going to shoot. You're too tight... One more time!"

"Click."

The barrel bounces again, a little less than before, but still noticeable.

"Bad! Again!"

Relaxing as much as possible, I very, very slowly, and smoothly press the trigger. This should do it...

"BDOOM!!!"

The revolver in my hand twitched as if a thoroughbred horse had kicked me in the palm. There was a ringing in my ears, even something crunching on my neck. My mouth opened involuntarily, but I couldn't make a sound.

It was...

A shot?!

What the Kronos?!

"Aha!" The commander shrieked overjoyed, and sliding toward me, in an elusive motion, he simultaneously took the weapon and hooked my legs.

He did it so sharply that I would have flopped to the floor if my neck hadn't been in the wrestler's grip. Goon squeezed my neck tightly, locked the back of my head in place, and pressed down with all his weight.

"Snap!"

It was a very distinct sound, almost equal in strength to the blow of the striker, except that it came not from the gun but from my neck!

"Yes!" Lance shouted, and his grip immediately loosened.

Very carefully, like a paper doll, he set me down on the concrete floor and shoved an open flask in my hand.

"Drink! Just a little, a few sips."

It was enough for me to take one sip, and my mouth felt like it had been unloaded with pepper. My breath caught, and tears gushed from my eyes. I could vaguely see Lance grinning.

"Pepper tincture, seventy degrees!" He explains and carefully hides the flask somewhere behind his back. Then he flicks his fingers in front of my nose. "So? Are you feeling better?"

"You almost broke my ne..." And then I realize he's asking about something else, so I stop talking.

The world around us has changed...

It's back to being big...

And everywhere, there were colors. Even the gray walls were full of different shades and semitones.

The feelings came back. And the first was far from gratitude...

But anger...

"What that was?!!"

"Yep." The biker pulls away immediately. "I see you're okay."

"Damn Gaia, what the..."

"Hey!" Lance interrupted my scolding. "Easy on the turns! I might take it all back."

This threat made me feel really uncomfortable. I had been some kind of amoeba for a week, a biorobot, without feelings, goals, or thoughts. But without fatigue, worry, or pain...

"Аh... Don't worry so much. Everything was under control."

"What kind of control..." I was not allowed to finish.

"Falling Sword!"

Before I realized it, I jumped up and froze in an unnatural but now so familiar position. My body acted automatically as if Lance's order had passed through my consciousness, being immediately transmitted to my muscles.

"Unfreeze and sit down."

Kronos! What the Tartarus?! But I didn't say it out loud. I just sat down. And as soon as my bottom touched the floor, another shout followed.

"The Swallow's Rise!"

"The Arrow of Artemis is up your ass, not the Rise." I snapped back, extinguishing the reflex urge to jump. Until he explains himself, I'm not moving. "What have you done to me?!!"

"Well, that's easy to explain. And don't look so worried; nothing bad or irreparable has happened to you." Lance caught my gaze, and he clicked his tongue. "Don't worry, I'll explain."

Sitting on the floor beside me, Lance took out the flask again, but this time he didn't offer it to me, just took a sip himself. Then he screwed the lid back on at a leisurely pace and spoke.

"Do you want it in detail or in general?"

"In detail."

"Since you didn't serve, it will be difficult, but I'll try." The commander sighs feignedly. "When a civilian enters the army before he can be taught anything, his habits have to be beaten out at an accelerated pace. There are different names for this in different countries: basic training, boot camp... There are many names, but the essence is the same, to prepare a young lad for service. In general, these places drive young people hard and fast. That through fatigue and, let's put it bluntly, overwork, to turn off critical thinking."

"Dumb them down." I couldn't help myself and put in a word.

"Yes." Lance didn't deny it. "You could say that. But there's nothing wrong with that because a soldier who thinks before he executes an order is a bad soldier. That was a setback... Now about you. In general, such "courses" last from five to nine weeks, I did not have so much time with you and I applied a peculiar methodology ... Don't be so nervous, believe me, you weren't the first person I worked with that way. The massage I gave you wasn't just to get acid out of your muscles and relieve fatigue, it was for something else as well. I won't explain the different points of the body to you, it's a long story, I'll just say that among other things, I carefully moved your third vertebra..." With a wave of his hand, he asked me to be quiet before I opened my mouth to swear.

"It's okay. I've already fixed it for you. Besides, we pumped up your neck, so there won't be any consequences. And when you pass the Arch, there won't be even the slightest possibility of anything bad happening. What was that for? If I do something, I do it well. You wouldn't have made half the progress you're making in the two weeks of our agreement."

"Why are you touching my neck?" I snapped back.

"To cut off blood flow and weaken the flow of oxygen to the brain."

"What?!" These words almost made me jump.

"Gaia!!!" Lance muttered quietly. "How many times do I have to tell you, I know what I'm doing? Or do you doubt it?"

Hmmm, doubting Lance's skills, with his training, his position, and Face? It's really stupid; if he wanted to cripple me, he'd do it at the touch of a finger.

"The weakening of blood flow was small, plus the strain and your body did what evolution has sewn into it. That is, it turned off, or rather weakened, the supply of nutrients and oxygen, from the least important areas in such a situation, that is, from the frontal lobes... But at the same time, low brain activity, such as memory and motor skills, became better due to the narrowing of perception... Once again, everything was under control."

"I remember what you said about overdoing it." So as not to be silent, as if acknowledging his rightness, I say it back.

"Аh! You misunderstood that phrase didn't mean anything negative... No doubt your body reacted rather unusually. You fell into what is known as student satori. That's when training and practice are assimilated by the brain directly, bypassing intelligence. If we had more time and I didn't need you, with a normally functioning brain, keeping you in that state... Ehhhhh." He sighed dreamily. "In three months, you'd have passed the Typhoon standards... The phenomenal speed of assimilation! Where others would need ten to a thousand repetitions to do something correctly, you could do it in two or three! Except that the longer you would be in this state, the harder it would be to get you out of it. It's so easy not to think. Your brain gets used to it very quickly..."

"Well... Thank you..." Listening to Lance, I kept kneading my neck. Nothing hurt, apparently, it was just imagination.

"You're welcome." Gaia, didn't he notice the sarcasm in my thank you? "Since your, let's call it, an altered state of mind was shallow, it was quite easy to get you out of it. A little shock from a sudden shot, plus a tincture that clears the brain better than ammonia, and putting the vertebrae back in place ..." He took out the flask again. "Want some?"

At any other time, I would have refused, but now was not the time. I just needed this kind of medicine.

"Yes."

"Just don't overdo it!"

After taking two sips, I coughed, and then, catching my breath, I said:

"You'd think it was possible to drink a lot of THIS!"

"With a certain amount of habit, you can." Was that a chuckle? "You're having an easy day today." Despite the news I'd heard, that phrase had put me in a pretty good mood. "How about a shoot?"

"I don't know how, I've only shot air rifles before," I confessed.

"Well, it can be fixed, don't worry, I'll teach you." I didn't mind shooting, but when I remembered how the revolver kicked, I shook my head. "No..." Lance, noticing my gaze, clarified. "Not with this rarified thing, of course. I have a more suitable gun..."

"Then I don't mind." What kind of guy refuses an offer like that?!

After picking me up off the floor, Lance put the revolver in a box and put it away in a locker, taking out two pistols.

"Here..." Putting one of them on the table, he stuffed the other behind his belt. "Shipka - eight millimeters, nine rounds in the magazine, weight due to the use of plastic only four hundred and fifty grams, unloaded, of course." In the commander's voice, one could sense that he not only understands weapons but loves them. "Reliable as a Slavic tank. The spread at 25 yards is a centimeter. Recoil's like a flake. Disassembles in two movements, unpretentious in maintenance. The only drawback is it's expensive like it was made of gold. But... Believe me, it's worth every single franc. What are you gonna do, shoot it for fun, or should I teach you how to do it right?"

And after all, I know that the easy day will cease to be such after such an answer, but still, I say.

"If you do something, do it well."

"Ha! So I didn't work for nothing." Oh! Kronos! How easily he accepted that hidden flattery. All I had to do was answer with his favorite phrase. - Then let us begin. Before you shoot, you must understand the weapon. Let's start with how to properly care for it...

The next hour passed in a routine as I assembled and disassembled, rigged the magazine, and learned how to clean the gun. Then it was time to study the right stance. But here everything went smoothly, as it turned out that the "Arrow of Volopas" pose from one set of exercises almost exactly copied the right position, and as a consequence, it was easy for me to master it.

"In fact, there is no consensus as to what is the only correct shooting position." Controlling me like a puppet, Lance told me. "The Jews prefer to squirm around like they're sitting on a potty and keep their position to the front. It looks ridiculous, but you have to admit it's pretty effective. The Yukons shoot from one hand, which seems silly to me, although with a certain talent, it prepares them well for shooting on the move. The others, on the other hand, teach almost the same way, with minimal variations. You, meanwhile, would be fine with the one you used to shoot the Bisonkiller. It is most similar to the position an archer takes to shoot. I think it will be a good help to you..."

Then the idle runs began. The head of the Goons was trying to maintain a proper grip. What could be easier is just take it and shoot. It's not a machine gun, but no. Dozens of little things required attention and automatism. As soon as I began to get a good grip on my weapon, I started pulling the trigger. Idle. No bullets. Lance made sure that after I pulled the trigger, there was not the slightest movement of the barrel.

While practicing, the biker continued, explaining.

"Two eyes open, it's important... Don't squint, I'm telling you! Forget about the muzzle. Forget it at all, as if it didn't exist! All eyes are on the target. It's all that matters. Don't hum. Your hands will correct you. Is there a muzzle on the bow? No! Forget that... Don't put your shoulder down... Pull the trigger when you're ready, don't hold your breath... Don't catch it, I said! Your Face is one of the best shooters in history, you've been there, and your body will adjust itself! Kronos! Don't breathe like you're swimming!"

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This went on for almost an hour, after which, Lance loaded the magazine and handed me a loaded gun.

"Now, with the real ones." He said as he hung up the target and moved it to the far wall. "Go ahead."

"BOOOM!"

The sound of the shot was not at all loud, even quiet, compared to the revolver. And the recoil, I hardly felt it at all.

"Аh! Gaia!!! To whom did I just tell all of this? Why are you shrinking like a stray dog before a kick?!" Immediately the commander yelled at me.

It was true, I was expecting something similar to the aftermath of a shot from a Bisonkiller, and I squirmed before I pulled the trigger.

"Put the target down. Fire everything into the wall. Don't aim, get used to the recoil, the sound, and your reactions. Just shoot..."

Eight shots with a slight delay. Surprisingly, this simple exercise helped, and by the fifth one I wasn't twitching or shrinking inside.

"Ehhhhh..." Lance mouthed, filling a new clip. "If you were older and we'd met eight years ago, you'd be such a specialist..." Thanks to Three-Face, I never really fancied a career in the military. Good thing I was smart enough not to say it out loud. "Everything on the fly, where others waste months, you need an hour... When I remember how long it took me to... Ehhhhh..."

"You didn't have such a good teacher?" I take advantage of the pause, I say.

"Yeah, you can't call a motorized infantry sergeant a good teacher..." Lance paused and looked intently into my sincere, open, and utterly honest eyes. "Do you want me to put in a good word for you at the Grey House?"

The Grey House, the residence of Avalon's foreign intelligence service, a building so popular with movies and conspiracy theorists.

"To make an expert out of you is only to waste the material... But what kind of resident can you be? A couple of hours after, you came out almost groggy, and already slyness comes out of all the cracks! If I hadn't been trained to pick out attempts at manipulation, I would have swallowed... You... What am I... Odysseus, on whom there is no Poseidon..." He waved his hand. "You're lucky I'm easy-going, but I wouldn't advise you to do that to Ten. He'd skin you and kill you in front of the restaurant, it wouldn't be a problem for him. I'll tell you straight up, don't mess with me. It's either straight or not at all with me, all right?!

Kronos! I can't believe I said that so rudely. Who pulled my tongue, and most importantly for no reason. Just like that... After he swallowed the first flattery, I thought I'd "seal the deal"... I did, yeah... Tartarus!

"I didn't do it on purpose, it just happened."

"Forget about that kind of "it just happened" with me!" Interesting, he singled out only himself, remaining silent about the other Goons."

"Done."

"What?"

"I forgot."

"That's good. So, what about the Grey House? Do you want to serve your country?"

"Lance, you're so touchy today. I wonder if I'll send you to the ass, will you start yelling again?"

"Ha-ha-ha! Ooh-ooh-ooh... What a little bastard..." The biker burst out laughing. " You are a butt plug in every barrel and an awl in every hole... But you got to admit, your sense of humor is much better than Rick's. It's more multifaceted, with lots of layers and innuendo." Is he joking or not? Gaia! You can't tell anything definite from his face.

"I have a good teacher in that, too."

"Who is that?"

"Jiro."

"I don't know him much." Lance shrugged it off. "The man's got talent. I'll have to talk to him more."

Now that's interesting. I thought otherwise. I thought the bartender knew all the Goons, but it seems I was wrong.

"Now that we've settled that part, let's get back to baseline. This time on the target."

From Lance's instructions, I realized that the main thing for me is the focus of attention. More precisely, the transfer of that focus to the target. To compress the world into a point. A point in which there is nothing but it. To do this, I had to remember the state I had been in for more than a week.

There is no world...

There is nothing but a point.

And this point is a target.

I don't know how long I stood like that, with my gun down to the floor.

It was probably a long time.

I wasn't aiming. I wasn't trying to feel the weapon. I was just squeezing my perception.

Until the blackness in the center of the target became everything to me.

The body didn't need to order. The hands raised the gun to its original position.

There's nothing around, just a target...

"BOOM!"

I don't care if I hit or not, as there is no sensation that anything matters except a twitching target.

Wait until it calms down and stops swaying.

"BOOM!"

And again the waiting.

"BOOM!"

The target twitched and I knew it was going to go a little to the left now, which meant I didn't have to wait.

"BOOM!"

"BOOM!"

The shots merged into one, they came without a break.

"BOOM!"

The target was wobbling and shaking, but it was so predictable...

"BOOM!"

"BOOM!"

"BOOM!"

"Click."

"Click."

"Stop!"

A sharp shout, coming from somewhere outside, from the big, outside world, distracted my attention, and my consciousness twitched. The world-point shook and expanded again. I was shaken so much that it was only thanks to the biker that I didn't fall.

"Damn Gaia..." Lance whispered after adjusting the target and taking it in his hands. "I'll have to go to the Temple and talk with the priests..."

"About what?" I asked, looking over his shoulder. The whole target was intact except for the torn center. What's that? Did I hit nine tens out of nine?

"Why is it that the greatest freebies in life go to those who don't appreciate them?" I thought for a second that the Goon was going to burst out of some inner, unknown to me, anger. "Don't answer that it was a rhetorical question..."

"Can I do it again?" Kronos!!! I really liked it!!!

"Yeah..." Lance muttered back. "You could, but it would be too easy. What about moving targets?"

"That's great!" I like that idea.

"Will you load the clip yourself while I set up the program?"

"What's so difficult about it?"

I did it in a minute, and the commander did it at the same time.

"Targets will pop up in different places and at different distances. For three seconds each one will be fixed, and then it will disappear. Understand?"

"What's not to understand?" I asked.

"Ah-ah-ah..." Lance slapped his forehead with his palm. "Are you sure you're Sloven?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Then stop answering with questions!" Lance snapped.

"Copy that." What's wrong with him?

"That's good. What are you standing up for? Get back to point!"

Once again, I'm at the stand. Moving targets, ha! If I can catch a piece of paper twitching from a hit, I can do this without too much trouble!

My over-excited mood played a bad joke on me. It took me a long time to get the world back together before I calmed down and detached myself from everything. It was incredibly difficult because I was bursting with adrenaline and the feeling of ephemeral and illusory but so pleasant power.

But I did, and the world obeyed my will and shrank into focus like a vortex.

Before things got unimportant, I nodded to the commander, launching targets.

There is nothing, only a target...

Only a target...

Only a target...

"Ow!!! Utis?! Hey!!!" Slamming his palms in front of my face, Lance brought me back.

"Ah? What?"

"So? Why didn't you shoot?"

"Where?" I didn't understand anything.

"The assignment lasted thirty seconds, and you stood there like a sleepwalker, not even raising your gun."

"Really?"

"No, Gaia! Am I kidding, or what?!

"Uh..." How did it end? I didn't notice a single target.

"Gaia." Lance rolls his eyes. "Tell me, what did you do?"

So I told him about the compressed world...

О! How Lance laughed! He was laughing the same way he'd laughed when I'd told him about his jog with Ten. No, I understood now what had made him laugh, but I couldn't understand why he was laughing now.

"Oooooooo... " Goon wiped away his tears and clapped me on the shoulder. "Oh, you... I can't... World-point. Genius, woo-ha-ha! Apply point meditation to an obscure target?! Huh... Well, you have squeezed the world as you understand it, or rather entered the state of "shadow satori". But it is only applied when the goal is clear, to the point of narrowing the focus of attention. And for this exercise... Heh-heh-heh-heh." He just won't calm down. "What were you narrowing the world on?"

"Well... On the nothing. The targets were supposed to show up and..."

"What and?!" Lance interrupts me. "The shadow satori allows you to merge completely with the subject of the focus, but you didn't choose the focus! You just stared at a meaningless point and saw nothing, neither how the targets appeared nor how they were removed. You just stood there and saw NOTHING. And you couldn't see, at your diving depth... Ehhh... Do you realize how lucky you are?"

"Ah!?"

"People have been practicing for years to master the shadow satori technique. And such a depth of immersion as yours is the level of a master. Many do not even come close to this line for decades... By the way, the main use of this technique is training, not shooting. The memory works like a flash drive during this meditation. You're a student. You should be able to use something like this."

Can it be useful, except for how to read a textbook? I perceive the point of focus as a whole in this state, and reading, I think, in this state is just impossible. Okay, I'll ask him later.

"Can I try again?" That's what I'm more interested in right now.

"You want to stand still again?" He smirks back.

"No, I'll just shoot."

"Well, take your gun and go ahead..."

Oh, how I screwed up... The first time I only managed to hit three targets. The second time, five. But even on the tenth, I couldn't get more than seven. It was impossible to predict the targets. Where and which one would pop up was completely random, it was controlled by a special computer, the program which was set by Lance.

"Ugh, you." The biker snapped and turned off the range. "I didn't get more than five the first time I did it." All of a sudden, no transition. "You should know how much you piss me off!" His voice made my hair stand on end. "You piss me off because you don't know what you're doing. You don't know what you're doing! It's all normal for you... Kronos! The norm... You're annoying and, at the same time..." He jumped up and sat down on the shooting post, immediately pulling out a flask and taking a sip.

"At the same time... You know... Those who know my Face are sure I must be a warlord, a soldier, but... Legends always tell too little, which gives people a completely wrong impression of Heroes. More than anything, my Face loved and felt a calling in another. So did I... No, all the abilities of a warlord and warrior, with me, just..." No, that flask for him was like a pellet for a behemoth, but seventy degrees was still seventy degrees! And after every sentence, he's been drinking. "Whoever told me before that Odysseus was a potential gambler, I would have laughed out loud... Never mind, I know you're not Ulysses, but get used to it. We sometimes call each other by Face and don't take it seriously... So did I... Oh, how my Face was jealous of Nestor. Not because of the number of children, not because of his long life, but because of who he was..."

"A Teacher of Heroes?" A vague recollection of the school curriculum.

"That's right." Lance nods, hiding the flask. "No, I didn't dream of being a schoolteacher." He grinned. "I don't like dealing with kids. That's not what I'm interested in. I bet you've seen Eastern movies where there's always a character like the old mentor... Why are you smiling?" He said it angrily, which only stretched the smile on my face even more. "So Poseidon's with you. Laugh it up, laugh it up... You little bastard..."

"I'm not mocking." I had to close my eyes and concentrate on breathing so I wouldn't laugh like a horse.

How about that! The greatest warrior of Troy, a general from Ares, the terror of the Achaeans, dreams of being a mentor, not a warrior. Oh, Gaia, it makes me laugh! To tears...

"How long have you known?"

I understand what he's asking about.

"It's been a week and a half since I figured it out."

"Clown, why didn't you just say so?"

"Well... Ten's pissed off." I'll tell him.

"His Face, as far as I understand, you also figured it out?"

"Yes, and him too."

"Okay, hiding something from who Odysseus is always seemed to me to be a doomed idea." Lance waves it off. "You want to shoot some more?"

"A lot of training today?"

"So what?"

"Yes, I remembered that I have responsibilities under our agreement, too. And I fell out for more than a week!"

"Don't worry, I've baffled the guys with map study, so no time is wasted."

"It doesn't take that long to study them cursorily. And seriously, they'd better not do it without me."

"Yeah, yeah, everyone is a fool, only you, Odysseus, the smartest... Although..." He thought for a while. "The joke's not funny you really are Odysseus..." He grinned, jumping down from the counter. "Follow me."

After locking the guns in the closet, Lance turned off the lights in the shooting gallery, and we took the elevator up two levels. That is. We did not arrive at the base itself but stopped one floor below. As we approached that floor, I heard some shouting, babbling, cursing, and bickering.

When the commander opened the elevator doors, I was stunned by the picture I saw, so shocked that I must have forgotten how to breathe...

This floor was even larger than the shooting gallery. Judging by the boards and parquet, there was a basketball court but judging by the net stacked against one of the walls it was also suitable for volleyball. Only now, all the sports equipment was piled in a corner, and the entire area of the playground was occupied by paper boxes and cardboard structures, which were not only placed on the floor but were piled on each other and even suspended from the ceiling on ropes.

But my shock was not caused by this external mess and rubble. Oh, no! Not that. It was what I found out which was mimicked by the Goons, who were fussing around the boxes, some with tape measures, some pulling colored strings between the boxes, some cutting holes in the boxes, and some writing directly on the cardboard walls with a marker. All in all, there were seven people in the room, not counting me and Lance.

"Gaia..." I finally exhaled. "If you make a fool pray to the ThreeFaced he'll break his forehead!" I whispered, unable to help myself.

"What?" The head of the Goons interrogates me.

"I said, have you been pecking your brains out by Stymphalian birds?!!"

"What a people visit us!" Rick immediately flew up to me, his eyes lit up.

No, okay, the others, but he must understand the depth of the stupidity going on! These morons have managed to recreate one of the BAA maps out of cardboard and garbage!!! On a scale of about one in twenty, but still...

"Are you idiots?" I'm talking straight up and to the point.

"What?" Descart recoils.

"That's ridiculous, what's in it for you?!"

"Ha! Don't say it!" Rick's smile was so full of some kind of implicit superiority that he could just dismiss it like that. "I thought Lance was overreacting at first, too."

"Ph-ph-ph-ph." I heard from behind me the Commander's contemptuous snort at these words.

"But thanks to Jenro... Come and meet him, by the way."

We kind of..."

"Let's go." Rick grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a short, red-haired, big-haired man. "Jenro, this is Utis, the one who is Odysseus. Utis is Jenro. His Face is Xetibius!" Noticing my utter incomprehension, the Runner slaps his thigh in annoyance. "How can one be so uneducated? Ehhhhh!!! Xetibius [4] was Aristotle's first student, the inventor of the gear." As in a school class, mentoring tone, says Descartes, the latter only grimaced, at these words. "Jenro, I'm sorry, he's a bit of a gambler, and he's been studying badly."

"Yeah, whatever..." Said the guy, holding out his hand to me. "I first heard about my future Face when I was in my first year of architecture."

"So..."

Rick got on fire and began to tell me in a gush. Jenro himself was not going to play but agreed to help Lance with his study of the Arena maps. The commander was not satisfied with what he found in the network and asked Genro to digitize one of the maps and run it through the architectural program, and then make a model on the playground with the material at hand. It took this short guy a couple of days! Either he's a workaholic or he's talented, or I don't understand it! Everything was of course, crude, boxes instead of houses, instead of a concrete fence, stretched fabric, and so on, but... I recognized the "Southern Suburbs" map right away!

"Every little detail!!! You see, Utis, a schematic layout would give nothing, but here..." He dragged me to one of the piles of boxes marking "high-rise number seventeen". "See this thread?" He pointed to a red string extending from one of the holes in the box to the second respawn building. "Estimate, from this window, you can get a straight shot to the exit from "B"! Just because the thread goes through one of the tents, don't mind, I checked, it's a taut fabric, it'll go through in a jiffy!"

"Nonsense, such an accurate model from this garbage is unattainable." I shake my head.

"Ahem..." I turn around and see Jenro shake his head judgingly in response to my words. "You're insulting..."

"Are you telling me that all of this is a real model?!!! Accurate?!" I can't believe it. It just doesn't fit in my brain. And there's, like, fifty different colored threads all over the field!

"Exactly." He pulled me away from Genro with his shoulder, and Lance came over to us. "Why are you so shocked? Get used to it. We have a lot of unique people... If Jenro says the model is accurate, it is as accurate as possible, even if he made it out of manure. But all these threads are, of course, interesting and even somewhat useful, but I needed the imitation for something else. Even observer mode, when you can fly over the playing field and look it all over, doesn't give you that kind of understanding of the map..."

Going to one of the bags by the wall, Lance pulled out a large black bag.

"Here you go. Arrange all the figures, a standard start, where who should be, well, about the tenth second... For example, like last year's international finals."

There were four sets of plastic models from the Battle Arena in the bag: Assault Troopers, Engineers, Medics, Rangers, Snipers, and Jager. And each could change weapons and equipment. This is from the tabletop version of turn-based tactics, but I never took an interest in them. On this map was one of the finals of the Intercontinental League. I remember very well how that battle took place, down to the seconds. After collecting the models, I arranged them as the players of both teams of the finals was positioned.

"There you go." As soon as I was done with this, Lance slipped two rolls of colored duct tape into my hands. "Point out the directions of the players' movements."

Here I had to strain my memory a lot before I started. But I seem to have coped, and if there were mistakes, they were not significant.

"Are you done?" As soon as I straightened up, the commander was next to me, pushing the big stepladder apart. "Climb up... Climb up, I say... You got it. Now watch this."

"And?!" No, I can see everything from above, but what do I need to see?

"Did you see the attackers' mistake?"

"What a mistake, they won the final!" I remember that match. It was beautiful.

"This is the stationary position and crowding on the left flank." He points to the multiple crossing of the blue stripes of duct tape.

"What kind of mistake is that?" I object. "It was the fire superiority in this area and gave the victory! They chose a very convenient place for a Heavy Infantryman with an Engineer. Only direct fire can reach them, and getting into a direct firefight with a machine gun it's fatal." I explain. "Having pinned down the defenders with fire, the attackers took out three Stormtroopers on the same street and ended up winning the game."

"Okay..." The commander takes the five figures in question and puts them in their allotted place. "Twenty-four seconds, am I right?"

"Exactly." He didn't sit idly by, I see. It takes a lot of time to study games like that, and where did he find that time with so much training with me?

"And what would happen if the defenders brought the Engineer out here on the twelfth second?" Lance took one of the defenders' figures and moved it to a balcony carved in cardboard on the "third" floor of the ruined dormitory, the next building to the defense's rep. "And when the defense Jaeger discovers the occupied position, and that's how it was in the game, what happens is..." He takes out a bullet from his pocket and throws it. The bullet flew over the boxes and falls directly on the attack figures, scattering them apart. "Boom..."

"And what makes you think a grenade launcher would even hit on such a trajectory?" I snapped back.

"I checked!" Rick immediately responds. "It's easy to cover. And actually, this balcony is a superposition! Half the map covers, and in those places that are considered protected from canopy fire. One disadvantage of this point, you can't see anything. We have to rely on co-commanders. That's why no one ever gets in there. But if you get the Engineer out here and do some recon..." He clicked his tongue. "A plague and a deluge on the heads of the enemy would be sure!"

"Or you can do it another way." Commander removes the Engineer model and takes the scout and two Stormtroopers. "In this lineup, right, the defenders meet this team?"

"Yes."

"They made the mistake of pulling back right away. They gave up the initiative. They needed to break through here." He placed one figure in a doorway alcove on a shelled street.

"No way. They'll be dead in no time. A machine gun will mow them all down. They won't have time."

"They make it in time. One of the three, a Jager under the skill, at the cost of sacrificing two Assaults." Rick corrects me at the same time.

"What did you check again?"

"Yep!" I think his face is going to crack from smiling so wide.

"So he's got a niche? And what?!"

"Do you see a medic in the breakout five? And the Jaeger's invisibility will refresh just as the attack begins."

I'm beginning to get it.

"That's it!" Noticing my gaze, Rick jumps up. "The attackers are not aware of the presence of the Jager. In this niche, a player is not visible from their point of view... And when attacking..." Runner moves, five figures. "They lose two, a Heavy Infantry and an Engineer. I remind you that jaeger's ability will refresh after the breakthrough." Two toys are thrown out of the field. "It seems that the exchange is not profitable, two Stormtroopers plus Jager, in exchange for Heavy Infantry and an Engineer...

"You don't need to go on..." It is clear to me what will happen next. Without suppression fire, this attack is doomed, and the defense intercepted the initiative. Pressure on the other flank wins the game.

"Without this model, these mistakes are unnoticeable." With a wave of his hand, Lance suggests I come down. "Rick gives you Utis for an hour, and then I'll take him for training."

"Aha!" Runner waved back and clung to me like a tick. "Yeah! Let's all go while we're at it!"

"No, you are cray!" While he's dragging me, I'm speaking out. "There are dozens of maps! You'll get tired!!!"

"Tfeh-eh-eh." Rick waves it off. "We don't need all of them. There are only a dozen tournament ones, two of which are in permanent team ban. That leaves us with ten. Smaller tournaments only rotate six of the most popular maps, and we don't need more than that yet." And he's right. Why didn't I think of it myself? The team is not created to play for the sake of playing but to win prizes, and therefore this approach is appropriate."

"What are those markers on the boxes?"

"In the last patch, they introduced "almost realistic distractibility. " Explains Descart. "Lance divided all the weapons by level of power. The marking on the "walls" is a weapon and a number of shots for penetration. Or not, no matter how hard you try... There's a table of markings on the wall."

"Where did you get this information?" I almost sat down where I was going.

"How from where? Eight players and three days, that combination works wonders when Lance is standing behind you and kicking you."

"Did you shoot every wall in the game with every gun?"

"Not all of them, just this map."

"You are cray!"

"We are prepared." Rick corrects me.

All of this makes me dizzy and feels like I'm going crazy, or the world has gone completely crazy... It doesn't happen that way! There are no such stubborn ones, there's no such thing... Or...

In an hour, I only got a little bit of that. It was so little... I called Lance, and after promising him, I would train like never before, I got another hour which flew by like a second. Deckart had to kick me to the exit, so I didn't want to leave. But where was I going to get away from the Trojan fiend?

Just before the elevator, I caught Jenro and gave him a big hug. He didn't understand the tenderness and gave me a sensitive nudge in the solar plexus. As a result, I climbed to the top in a slightly twisted state but in an excellent mood. I was not offended at all by this blow. I understand that I overdid it with gratitude. But in general, how such a seemingly calm, reasonable, and evidently talented fellow appeared among the Goons, how did he snap, and what did he? But why should I care? I must give up this idle curiosity! I liked the guy. He knew what he was doing and could not just defend his point of view but also explain it in plain language. That's enough. I don't need to stick my nose where it's not asked for. If we get closer, he'll tell me himself...

Sad.

It's a shame that all good things in life tend to come to an end. I realized that as soon as I looked into the eyes of Lance, who was waiting for me.

And I was right.

"Are you sure you're not being held there by force?" That's how Illea answered my call the next morning. I called her right after my jog, followed by my warm-up and breakfast.

"Sure... It's just, there's... Sure the training is exhausting, Lance is squeezing it all out, but there's a shooting gallery here. With real guns! Not pneumatics. And the guys made a model of one of the BAA maps and..."

"Oh, dear..." I think I can see her smiling now. "Please spare me the details. It's enough for me to know that you're definitely fine."

"Sure..."

"And your call..." She sighs pretentiously. How much do you need?"

She's incredible... If she were seven years younger, I wouldn't even look at Aloya with such a woman around! Aloya is more spectacular, and her form awakens such fantasies and desires that it makes me dizzy. But... Illea, she's different, she's... No, I don't have the words to describe the feeling I get when I talk to her. She understands you. She doesn't even seem to need to say anything. She will understand everything...

"Two more weeks, at most until the new moon."

"All right, I'll talk to Ten."

"I understand you need help with Rati sometimes, but.."

"I can handle it." There's not an ounce of judgment in her tone.

"I..."

"I don't need to explain anything, I'm a big girl, and I understand that nothing in life is more important to a man than his toys." I could hear her sigh clearly on the phone. "You never grow up no matter how old you are, you are always the same boy you were when you were playing in the sandbox."

"Was that a hint at me just now?!!" Apparently, the boss is near Illea, for it was his roar I just heard.

"Ten, Utis is asking for a little more time." From the sound of it, the chief put on speakerphone.

"Lance! You worked in anti-terrorism. Bring back the hostage. It's not fitting for you!" Daas yells into the phone. How does he know that the commander is standing right next to me?

"My demands!" Immediately the head of the Goons responded, taking the phone from me. I barely had time to switch to the speaker. "A surfboard, a private beach, and turn on summer already!"

"We don't negotiate with terrorists!" Daas laughs back. "You'd better tell me what you baited him with. I can guess what it means to train with you, can't I? I have plans for the boy, and I could use the methodology you use to get him to do things he doesn't like on his own and with songs like that."

"Actually, I'm standing right here." I'm speaking back.

"Lance, if I have to do it, I have to do it. Even until the new moon... But we'll talk to you later and you'll tell me everything."

"No problem. It's not a secret..."

"Lance, you'll tell him later..." Daas's emphasis on the word "later" was very clear. "And if that's all, I'm as busy as Illea."

So I got an extension of my "vacation" and postponed a future conversation with my boss about my possible future, as well as earned some extra time that I could now devote to the game, or rather to Jenro's creation. All of this is great, of course, but I have to pay the full price!

"Well, since that's settled..." Lance gives me my smartphone. "So here's the plan for today: I'm going to start teaching you a style that improves your coordination and plasticity. After lunch, you have two hours to sleep. You can sleep, you can go to Rick's at that time. And in the evening, you'll practice getting out of your world-point. Your own way out. That's what you've got now... It's no good. And we'll do some shooting if you've got any strength left..."

* * *