Chapter 6

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This time for training purposes commander took me outside, or more precisely, into one of the abandoned warehouses. I felt like a character in a post-apocalyptic movie. The crooked hulks of the warehouses and the rusty fences completely blocked my view, and I couldn't see the rest of the city, which gave me such a feeling. And against this backdrop of a landscape full of destruction, I was tormented by Lance. Stands, transitions, short kata, and various complexes.

All of this merged into an endless series of repetitions, honing movements, and precision, all against the backdrop of meditative practices. It was, in some ways, even more difficult than lifting weights or weight training. Yes, physically, I was much less tired from this kind of training, but in other respects, it was much more difficult than a class in the gym. Everything was relatively simple there, to master a machine and to repeat the same movements until the coach said enough. It was different. The slightest mistake in a stand or movement and you start over after hearing what a clumsy nerd you are, unable to reproduce perfectly basic things. I was able to get into the state of the shadow satori, but I was not able to get into the state of the shadow satori because I was not able to get into the state of the shadow satori. I was able to enter this state without much difficulty, but I could not get out of it on my own. I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night.

In the end, by lunchtime, I was so mentally exhausted that I fell on my bed without energy or thought, instead of calling Descart, and passed out in an anxious and heavy sleep. And then it started all over again, and it was only in the late afternoon that I was rewarded for all this anguish. Lance took me to the shooting range, where he let me shoot as much as I wanted. I never thought I would love guns, but how could I not when they were so beautiful and perfect and obedient...

It was only on the third day of this new rhythm of life that, for the first time, I didn't collapse in the afternoon but felt strong enough to dial Rick's number. Alas, by this time, the Goons had finished studying the "Southern Suburbs" and were now dismantling the model so that Jenro could begin to create a new one. However, the thick notebook in which the bikers recorded their observations and conclusions was also more than interesting. Studying it and listening to Runner's comments, I could hardly restrain myself from rushing to the computer and immediately checking some conclusions. Alas, I wasn't allowed to do that yet... Lance had forbidden me to play, temporarily, of course.

The reason for the ban, he explained, was that we were now developing our instinctive motor skills, which I never understood, and that clicking and playing the game would be detrimental to the process. "That's when your body adjusts and gets used to what's new to it, then play all you want!" - the commander used to say. He also forbade me to have sex, by the way, but I was much less worried about that than I was about being weaned from the game since I had no girlfriend.

Rick and I spent the last two hours of my afternoon resting in heated arguments and discussions. The Runner was eager to start training in the application of new knowledge, while I insisted that it was forbidden. My logic was that we should win at small events with our skills and save the new tactics that were just beginning to form in our heads for more important moments. Because even if we lose the first two or even three online tournaments, it won't hurt us. But the leakage of new gaming techniques in the network can deprive us of a trump ace, which we will undoubtedly need but at a more important time. As a result of the dispute, we did not come to a consensus, postponing the solution to this issue...

This is probably the way monks in Oriental monasteries live, dedicating their lives to learning through meditation and martial arts. More accurately, this is how I imagine their lives to be. A cramped cell, nutritious but almost tasteless food, and from dawn to dusk: training, training, training, under the watchful eye of a mentor who seems ready to mock you indefinitely. For some unknown reason, this life, which at first seemed the embodiment of Hades on earth, gradually even began to please me! In addition, unlike the monks, I spent a few hours a day doing what I liked to do - tactics in the Arena, drawing up a training plan for my team, and, in the evenings, blowing targets to smithereens with gusto.

A week later, Lance took me on a field trip, along with the rest of the Goons. The outing was at a private rifle range. Oh, what a pleasure it was! I shot rifles, regular and sniper rifles, submachine guns, and even a machine gun. I learned how to move with my weapon, get into the right positions, and assess the situation in the field. I literally fell in love with the Rendo 900, a six-millimeter semiautomatic sniper rifle, knocking out such results with it that Meck lost a month's supply of gasoline to Hotey, who was betting on me.

It was a very interesting trip. I felt with all my body the sound of a line from a large-caliber machine gun hitting my arms and the soft kick of a single rifle shot in my shoulder. I realized that with my familiar "Shipka" I could easily kill a target even at a hundred meters. It was a day full of discoveries, and the fact that I had to learn everything new amidst Lance's shouts and scoldings did not make it any less wonderful. No, I was even grateful to him for messing with me. Because I know I wouldn't have learned how to lie down, breathe, understand guns, and count without his instruction. Yes, yes, it was necessary to strain my brain to shoot at a distance of more than two hundred meters.

The air resistance, which depends on the ambient pressure and temperature, corrections for the wind, even the Coriolis force due to the rotation of the Earth, and had to be taken into account if you wanted to hit the target, and that's not all the nuances! But it was interesting! The day flew by like an hour, leaving behind the most pleasant memories.

I think it was because of this trip and the new experiences that I was able to get out of focus for the first time the next day. Lance even jumped for joy, explaining that now I would learn the "material" even faster. Because this kind of self-exit is a kind of trigger, a trait that tells me that my skill is ready to go to the next level...

Commander taught me how to squeeze the world not just on an object but on a person. It was a strange sensation because when the person on whom I was focused began to move, my body automatically, like a puppet, repeated all his movements. And immediately, there was no need for constant explanations, no more childish mistakes of the first repetitions. I entered the focus, Lance did the complex, and when I came out of the meditation, I already understood what to do and how to do it. The head of the Goons was happy and swearing like a cobbler, including his favorite tape, about why talent goes to someone who cannot understand it...

"It doesn't work like that... It took me two years to learn how to do that!" Lance is sitting on a concrete block, a paintball gun crackling in his tightly clenched hand, its handle already covered in a network of cracks. "And here, two and a half weeks, seventeen fucking days, and you dodge a line of twenty balls at ten meters... In an open field..."

Yeah, what can I say? I'm in total shock myself. For five days, he abused me in this way, and at the end of my training, he took a paintball gun and chased me around an abandoned construction site. After that, instead of the shooting range, I had to wash myself all evening and wash my paint-stained clothes. And today, he didn't hit it! Well, he tried, but I dodged it. It was not so difficult, as I guessed, to put into practice all the complexes and exercises he hammered into me all these days. After all, a paintball is not a bullet; it doesn't fly that fast. And this simplicity makes me feel in a state of mild prostration.

"Ahem." Pushing the automatic toy aside, the commander rose to his feet. "I didn't think it would be so soon, but well... I guess it's time to teach you how to fight..."

And he began to roll up his sleeves. This simple gesture gave me a lump in my throat, as I clearly understood that I was about to be beaten, under the guise of teaching, of course.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

What saved me from the beating was the arrival of Rick.

"Lance, why aren't you picking up the phone?" Deckart called out to his commander.

"I turned it off so it wouldn't interfere."

"Let's step aside. We need to talk." Rick waved his hand.

"Three repetitions of the Crouching Tiger with a transition to the Fading Fog." After giving me a job like that, Lance approached Rick.

"We have a problem..." That was the only thing I heard, and then the bikers went on to whisper, and I couldn't make out their words.

After their conversation, a lot of things changed. At the Goon base, I could almost physically feel the tension in the air. But since I wasn't a member of the gang, they didn't tell me what all the fuss was about. I even thought about calling Daas, but then I decided that since Lance wasn't telling me anything, I shouldn't pry.

Then Lance disappeared, and Rick took over my training. And I could see the difference immediately. No, Rick would have been a good coach. Good, but no more. My lessons with him were typical, and apparently understanding this, he did not give me anything new, only reinforced what I had already learned. And in the evenings Descart was also absent, passing me as a baton to Anton, who was a master of Greco-Roman wrestling. With him, I learned, no, not to wrestle, but to fall, to group myself, and most importantly, to understand and feel my opponent. Wrestling was only an external manifestation of what An was giving me. And since in wrestling repeating the actions of the opponent gives nothing, the usual meditative techniques could not be applied, so my training in this field progressed with considerable creaking.

On the fourth night, after Rick and Lance had talked, I was awakened by shouts from the common hallway. When I jumped out the door, I saw the Goons in almost full force. The Commander and Descart looked as if they'd been dragged out of an artillery barrage. Their clothes were torn and burned through in places, and their faces were black with soot, but they didn't look serious. Lance was carrying Phil, but he had bandages over his head. And... I also realized that the Goons weren't all here and that Meсk and Jenro were missing.

"Utis!" Lance grunted when he saw me. "Get back to your place."

"Where's Meck, where's Jan?!" I sensed that their absence was for a reason, a bad feeling...

"They'll live." The head of the bikers brushed me off like an annoying fly. "And now go to your room, get out of the way..."

I couldn't sleep that night, tossing and turning, unable to shake off the bad thoughts. And when Lance didn't come in the morning to call me for a run, my bad feeling only increased. I got dressed and went into the dining room, and it was empty too. It was like the base had died out.

After making coffee, I sat down at the table, wondering what was going on. But before I had time to sink too deeply into these thoughts, I saw a cell phone forgotten by someone on a nearby chair. It was Meck's phone, and I recognized it immediately by the distinctive sticker of the bike flying through the ravine. Of course, the smartphone was on the graphical lock, but I remembered the gestures with which Meck had unlocked his phone, and on the third try, I managed to activate it.

Why did I do that?

What am I looking for?

I don't know...

Well, I wasn't looking for anything...

I just browsed through his notebook, his messages, and his calendar. Mindlessly.

Until I found Meck's correspondence with his ex-girlfriend. Turns out the guy is not as dry and insensitive as he wants to look. And not everyone can have a normal conversation with a girl after they broke up. Their correspondence was quite innocent, with some piquant jokes and quips, but I could see that Meck and this girl were now exclusively on friendly terms. But... If... If I show this correspondence to Aloya, and serve it correctly, say a few words, set the accents, then... A massive rock could be placed on the budding relationship between Meck and the waitress. And then... Then one could show participation and comfort the girl, and it might turn out that way... If I don't mess up anywhere, then...

"Gaia! Damn!" I cursed aloud.

What am I thinking?! Am I that bad?! Lance didn't say: "they're fine" or "nothing serious," he said, "they'll live." The guy's probably fighting for his life right now, and I'm making plans to get his girlfriend away from him. I'm such a jerk. No, stop! It's just thoughts you can think about anything. We are defined by decisions and actions, not fantasies.

After turning off the phone, I carefully put it on the table. Then I got up and went back to my room without finishing my coffee. There I stared blankly at the ceiling for about two hours, banishing any hint of thought. This went on until a visit from the commander awakened me from this prostration.

"Lie down, lie down..." He waved his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He looked quite normal. He changed his clothes and washed his face, with no hints that at night he seemed to have emerged from the kingdom of Hades.

"I wouldn't explain anything to anyone else. But... You'll start digging, not now, but you will. That's your nature. I'd rather tell everything myself, especially since there was nothing secret here..."

As it turned out, Rick brought the news to Lance that the Syndicate had broken the Truce, or rather, its cocksuckers were brazenly hanging around our neighborhood. This was due to the fact that there was a new chemical drug in town. This, of course, did not please the main players in this field. It took a long time to find the supplier... They couldn't find it, but they did find the approximate location of the manufacturing lab. The drugs were coming from our neighborhoods. Of course, Lance immediately informed those concerned that the Goons had nothing to do with it. He was even believed. Only it didn't make any difference. Your territory, you're responsible for everything that happens on it. And if you can't control it, you're "sorry, move out"... All those days bikers were looking for an underground lab. Judging by the quality of the drugs, they were made by a good chemist. They dug and dug and couldn't find it. They searched all the ruins and underbuildings, no results. They checked all the chemistry students living or renting houses nearby - nothing.

They found it accidentally.

Every night, Rick went to youth parties where he felt like a fish in water. He searched for information and rumors. Maybe someone had bought an obviously overpriced car, a fancy computer, or a girl bragging about her new, expensive jewelry. Yesterday at one of these parties, he accidentally dragged Jenro along with him, promising to introduce him to a girl "who's sure to get laid".

It was a place Rick was already familiar with. It was a three-room apartment in one of the high-rises that three agricultural students rented together. They often drank, but they'd been vetted, and their parties weren't fancy enough to stand out, so the trio had long since been expelled. Descartes went to this party to get word of mouth. He found the lab. Or rather, he didn't find it, but Jenro appeared to be able to sense intuitively the tension of structures. He determined that the apartment was not so simple.

This trio of young drug dealers was far from dumb. They lived like everyone else, didn't stand out, didn't embezzle money, distributed their goods only through stashes, and looked for clients in the shadow segment of the network. Also, in addition to the apartment they lived in, they rented, through front men, the apartment below and the one even lower down. By cutting through the ceilings, these students linked all the apartments and the basement of the house into a single network. No one noticed anything. The apartments were rented for a long time. Maybe the guys thought to buy them back later or after finishing their epic to concrete everything back after noticing the traces. Because of the measures they took, no one was able to get to the lab. And maybe no one would have been able to. They hid it too well. And that would lead to a war between the Goons and the Syndicate.

To the students' misfortune, Rick brought Jenro to their party, who, as soon as the music began to play, could tell by the vibrations of the floor that there was something fishy going on. That was the night the Goons went for a cleanup. And everything was fine... How could these guys oppose a well-coordinated assault group under the command of the former Typhoon commander? They couldn't do a damn thing. They were caught quickly, but no one knew that in addition to drugs, the students began making explosives. What they needed it for, they'll never be able to tell. One awkward movement, one vial falling on the floor...

Result?

Three corpses of hapless drug dealers, one half-collapsed entryway, two Goons in the hospital, and another with a concussion lying in his room. Meck has multiple cuts to both legs and massive blood loss, and Jenro has a third-degree burn on his back.

"If you're thinking now about who's ready to go the Arch, add me, too." After listening to Lance's calm story, I interject. We should definitely pray for the boys.

"Neither one nor the other is in any danger." The commander pats me on the shoulder. "But thank you. Anyway... It's six days until the new moon, so you'll combine it anyway."

"That they'll be in the hospital for six days?!" I can hardly contain myself to say it calmly.

"Yes. Maybe this lesson would teach them not to go ahead without orders..." From the look on Lance's face, I could tell this couple had messed up pretty badly. And I believe him, if everything had gone according to the biker chief's plan, no amount of coincidence would have led to this result.

"If so..."

"Utis, you're not one of us. And I don't think you want to be, and you don't need to be... You're quite normal. We'll figure it out, believe me..."

"But, if you need help..."

"I'm not an idiot not to ask when I really have to because of false pride."

"Thank you."

"You can thank me later, but now come on, show me what you learned while I was away!"

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