Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  My father had always tried to impress upon me the importance of looking before you leap. And once you’d made up your mind, you just had to go for it. With my impulsive tendencies, explosive character and inability to think ahead, I was his exact opposite. He would have spent another couple of years checking all available scenarios; and once he’d decided on a potential mate, he’d spend another two or three years checking out whether she was right for him. According to my parents, they’d been friends for already three years before they finally started dating. The dating stage lasted another year until finally my Dad had proposed to her.

  Well, I was nothing like my father in this respect. Until today, nothing in Vicky had made me feel uncomfortable. She’d appeared to be a good and faithful friend, a trustworthy ally, a consummate lover and an excellent housekeeper. Also, she’d promised me to be a good wife.

  All of this was indeed true — and until now, it still outweighed the vague yet undefined feeling that something wasn’t quite right in our relationship.

  I sat in the car and turned on the radio. Without really listening to the DJ’s happy chattering, I tried to work out what had just happened at her parents’.

  Had all this taken place a couple of months ago when I still hadn’t had this weird game interface in my head, I would have acted differently. I would have exaggerated my achievements, unhesitant to sugarcoat my questionable accomplishments in order to endear myself to her parents, and would have undoubtedly stooped to blatantly lying to them if the situation had required it.

  In those days, I used to do a lot of things differently. After that first night we’d spent together, I probably wouldn’t have invited her to the movies at all.

  Now that I had this crazy software in my head, I seemed to be doing things that I’d always wanted to do but never had.

  Being honest, correct and sympathetic is only easy in our dreams. That’s how we like to view ourselves and that’s exactly how we try to justify some of our more than questionable actions. We tell lies in order “not to rock the boat”; we half-heartedly apologize as we unflinchingly deny help not only to strangers but also to the people that we hold dear. Gradually, the borders of the lie we live in begin to expand as we become brazen with impunity — or just fear to face the truth. We live with spouses we don’t love, we go to a job that we hate, we flatter our idiot boss; and then we even have the temerity to “love” ourselves the way we are.

  But the main object of our lie is inevitably ourselves. We lie to ourselves in little and large ways. We promise ourselves to do tomorrow what we didn’t feel like doing today. We assure ourselves we’ll start a new life but we never do. We quit smoking, then start up again. We stop drinking, then reach for a new bottle because there’s always an occasion. We decide to start working out and read useful books — but instead, we glue ourselves to the couch leafing through cheap novels, the names of their heroes easily forgotten and replaced by those from yet another fantasy world. We decide to briefly check our social media feed, then spend hours scrolling through it in anticipation of those tiny micro doses of happiness hormones, a.k.a. new likes and comments.

  This is our right, isn’t it? We all study and work hard; some of us have a house to keep. We do get tired. We need some rest, after all. Everybody does it. Come to think of it, we’re doing fine, aren’t we?

  But still, this hamster wheel conceals an oppressive feeling of self-deceit. We admit it during our rare moments of lucidity when we make new to-do lists, read motivational articles, count calories, pack our gym bag, upload a Top 100 list of the best books of all time fully intending to read them all; we quit smoking, find a new job and start taking new courses and seminars. Then we report it all on social media, replacing the beautiful expectation of a new successful life with more microscopic injections of happiness derived from the more likes we receive for our post about us starting a new life.

  I of all people knew the ugly truth about all these great unfulfilled plans and new starry-eyed beginnings which are doomed to fail.

  I'd needed an appraisal from an impartial piece of alien software in order to see myself for what I truly was, not the imaginary Phil I’d believed myself to be. As they said in the movie, “You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have absolutely been found wanting.”

  Which meant that today’s bout of idiotic honesty with Vicky’s parents was rooted in my recent interface experience. Who knows? Had I read the system quest message straight away, I might indeed have reverted to being devious and telling lies to them. At least I wouldn’t have opened up so much in front of strangers. But now the cat was out of the bag.

  The strangest thing was, I knew perfectly well I wouldn’t have lied to them. Sooner or later, the truth would out anyway, and I didn’t want to start a family with lies, half-truths and exaggerations. Honesty was indeed the best policy, even with oneself.

  When I’d heard Natasha scream, my first thought was that it could be some incredible new development courtesy of the program. I’d thought I’d recognized Vicky’s voice, imagining her to have been attacked by some hooligans and hoping to use my newly-acquired fighting skills to defend her. Her father would see it and change his opinion of me; he’d shake my hand, invite me back into the house and we’d sit and watch the soccer game all together.

  I smiled at my own naïveté and my belief in fairy stories.

  The yard appeared deserted. Friday night was here but the sun was still high in the sky. Tonight was the longest day of the year. At least it definitely felt that way to me. The groundhog days I’d been living just lately — jogging, training, reading, leveling up, a quick dinner and a bit of downtime with Vicky, then it was back to bed — went so quickly I didn’t even see the passing of them. It seemed that I’d get out of bed, and then it was time to go back to sleep again.

  But today felt long, stretching like treacle and seemingly having no end.

  I glanced at my watch. I’d been waiting already for half an hour. I got out of the car, locked it and decided to go see Vicky and find out if everything was all right.

  Halfway there, I saw her coming toward me. Her head hung low. She walked quickly, stooping. I could see she was in a bad mood.

  “Vick? Are you okay?”

  She looked up at me and nodded, then turned toward the car. I followed her in silence.

  As we drove back, she didn’t say a word. To all my questions and attempts to strike up a conversation she replied with a curt “yes” or “no”. I wanted to leave her alone but decided to give it one last try.

  “Listen,” I said, “what’s all this about you being a deputy director at some factory? Did your dad mean Ultrapak?”

  “Why do you ask? Have you got a problem with that?”

  “It’s just that all his accusations were based on this little untruth, that’s all.”

  “Were they really? And I thought that he was talking about you being a useless unemployed loser. I don’t think it had anything to do with my job.”

  It hurt to hear this from somebody you loved. Still, I suppressed the bout of anger. All she’d done was say it loud and clear, whatever I might have thought about it.

  “I just asked,” I said. “Do you really think I’m a loser?”

  “I don’t think anything! Just leave me alone!” she tugged on the steering wheel to overtake a car. I said nothing until she’d finished the maneuver.

  She tensed up, white-knuckling the wheel. I could sense her unwillingness to talk. I could see in her profile that she was afraid. Her Fear was at 14%: not much but still. Was it the fear of an inexperienced driver on the road? Or was it the fear of our potential confrontation?

  “Okay, let’s not talk about me,” I tried again. “Why are your parents so sure-”

  “Shut up. Please. The more you speak, the worse you make it.”

  “Vicky, if we can’t clear the air in moments like these, how can we live together?”

  “What do you want to hear?” she asked listlessly, lean
ing back in her seat.

  I remembered what her father had said about her having made a career. She’d bought a car and an apartment. I also thought about Natalia’s accusations.

  Then I remembered what Vicky had told me about herself: “It’s been three years I’ve been working for Ultrapak,” she’d said. “I started as office manager. Than they transferred me to HR.”

  No matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, something just didn't sum up. How can an office manager buy an apartment in just three years? Seeing as her father had made a point of telling me that she’d done it all on her own. Especially because before that, she could barely make ends meet.

  “Are you telling lies to your parents because of the apartment?” I asked, putting all of my suspicions into one sentence.

  “I didn’t lie to them,” she replied. “For them, an HR manager is a big shot because she decides whom to hire.”

  “An HR manager? Your father told me you were a deputy director.”

  “So what if I did tell them that?” she snapped, furious. “What’s that got to do with you? Does it hurt anyone? And they feel great that their daughter has made it! All my childhood they were pushing me around. All my younger years they were shitty with me. And now they’re proud of me. Is that enough for you? That’s nobody’s business! Least of all yours!”

  Your Reputation with Victoria Koval has decreased!

  Current psychological Reputation: Indifference 25/30

  Current emotional Reputation: Love 1/1:

  How was it possible? How could a person be indifferent to someone she loved? What kind of love was that?

  For the first time I doubted the adequacy of the program’s rating system. What could a heartless artificial intellect possibly know about the explosive cocktail of human feelings if it had to rely on the data downloaded from the universal infospace? What kind of oversimplification was that? Or could it just be that my Insight skill wasn’t yet up to scratch?

  I left her alone, not having enough courage to ask her about the source of her managerial income which was apparently enough to buy her an apartment. An oppressive silence hung in the car. I finally fell asleep to the rustling of the tires on the tarmac.

  I was shaken awake. “Get out. We’ve arrived.”

  I climbed out of the car and stopped, waiting for her to follow me. Instead, Vicky rolled down the window. “I’m going to my place,” she snapped, then sharply pulled away, leaving me in the yard.

  I stood there a long time, not having the power to decide whether I could take such behavior. What was I supposed to do now? Should I try to make up with her straight away? Or should I give her some space?

  My heart was heavy. I felt like shit.

  The program was going crazy, creating and deleting new tasks:

  Make up with Vicky

  Get Vicky back

  Go to Vicky’s

  Speak to Vicky

  Sort it out with Vicky

  Split up with Vicky

  In the end, all the tasks mentioning her name disappeared, leaving only the one about me raising the money for the office rent.

  I got home and cooked myself a simple dinner, all the while thinking I’d jumped the gun after all. I’d had my fill of emotions and relationships for this particular stage of my life. Regardless of whether Vicky and I made up or split up, my efforts in this respect would take way too much time and energy. Her style of bringing me close, then pushing me away was pure manipulation. And it wasn’t going to work with me anymore.

  For the second time this month — the first being her ungrounded bout of jealousy over Marina — I decided to take a break and see how things panned out. She could always come back to me if she wanted to. And if she didn’t, her priorities would be clear.

  The program disrupted my train of thought, rewarding me with 2000 XP for a socially meaningful action. What could that be for? I scrolled through crime reports. As I methodically looked through the local news on our city portal, I stumbled across a message reporting the finding of the six-year-old Joseph Kogan. The identity of his abductor hadn’t been disclosed “in the interests of the investigation”.

  Still, something in it had awoken a vague memory of my earlier nightmare about the pedophile official.

  I spent the whole night writing up the concept of my agency.

  I envisioned vending as our main source of income at the initial stage. Yes, exactly the same as I’d formerly done at Ultrapak. I might not have my own warehouses or logistics but I did possess what was valued the most in this world: information. By varying search filters, I could work out who needed something and what kind of price they were prepared to pay for it; I could also see who had this particular thing up for sale.

  This was basic commerce, the kind that Vicky’s father had described as a “peanut salesman”. It also included broker’s services, matching large suppliers up with equally large buyers.

  The social purpose of my business was going to remain the same: a recruitment agency. Although I wasn’t going to make millions doing it, it could kill three birds with one stone: it would provide me with some initial income and allow me to accrue some XP, but most importantly, I — or my agency, rather — would make a name and a reputation from it.

  And after that, we could start tackling bigger business, like the recruitment of top management for leading brands. The most valuable resource of any company is its workforce. What was it Comrade Stalin (may he rot in hell) once said? “Workforce is key” — in my case, this couldn’t have been truer.

  And once I had a name, money would follow. Then I might start thinking about opening a sports department. But I could only do that if I could somehow extend my license for the program. I could start talent scouting in soccer, ice hockey, tennis, boxing and other sports. I could also work with socially vulnerable kids from disadvantaged or single-parent families and orphanages. I could match them with understanding coaches or sports schools which would be beneficial to them.

  And this approach could work in other areas, too! How many talented artists, writers, singers, dancers or actors were wallowing in obscurity? Very few could make it big.

  And then there were medical diagnostics, missing persons’ search, bounty hunting, the tracing of dangerous criminals, a detective agency... Lots of things to do — but I couldn’t possibly pull them all off alone.

  And what if I could use the initial agency only as a starting point? That way I could accumulate some funds and gather a team of the best minds in the most promising scientific fields. And then...

  I stopped myself from daydreaming. No good trying to plan too far ahead. Still, I made a mental list of things worth looking into: augmented reality, the Universal Infospace, biotechnologies, blockchain technologies, wetware... I could create an international company, choose a few of the most promising fields, then find some good investors (which was piece of cake with my interface).

  All the prospects took my breath away.

  All I needed was time. The countdown till the end of my license was ticking.

  Dammit! What had I wasted all this precious time on? On building, then successfully ruining my relationship with Vicky? Or on running around like a headless chicken selling packaging materials to all and sundry? On boxing? Or spending hours jogging around the stadium like a donkey on a millstone? Or on leveling up Cooking and Agriculture?

  The realization of my own stupidity was sobering.

  In three days’ time, Optimization would have run its course which would bring my Learning Skills level to 7. I had 5 available skill points I’d saved during the last five level ups and I fully intended to invest them into Learning Skills too. That would bring it to level 12, giving me +450% to skill development rate. Add to this the 50% bonus to the development of primary skills and that would bring it to five hundred. If we multiplied it by the stat booster’s effects which tripled your XP gained from skill use, that would give us 1500%. That meant that I’d be able to develop any skill fifteen times faster than an ordin
ary person.

  I might try to choose some totally undeveloped skill like soccer, shooting or a foreign language and level it up for a couple of days just to see how fast it would go. And if it worked...

  My lips stretched into a smile at the thought. This might end up being the craziest leveling stretch both in my gaming experience as well as in real life.

  And I still had the activation of Heroic skills to look forward to.

  On top of all that, I was waiting for more new offerings from the system like a kid on Christmas Eve. What else would I learn about the Universal Infospace once I’d reached the next level of Insight?

  The mere thought of all those goodies, so dear to the heart of any gamer, calmed and reassured me in anticipation of the new day — and possibly, also a new life — without Vicky. I relegated the memory of my failed visit to her parents to the trash can of my memory, complete with her father’s illogical and unfair attacks as well as the strange behavior of Vicky herself.

  Regardless of how much I loved her.

  Chapter Four. The Right Things Aren’t Always the Best

  Making a decision was only the beginning of things.

  Paulo Coelho. The Alchemist

  THE NEXT DAY, I awoke at 10 a.m. Recently, I’d only needed six hours of sleep even though at the time of my gaming raids nine hours hadn’t been enough. In those days, I’d had no incentive to get out of bed. On the contrary: once I’d awoken and had breakfast with Yanna, I would go back to bed and lose myself in colorful, perfectly logical dreams. Back then, I would have never said no to a few extra hours of sleep.

  But not now. Whether it was due to my working out, my steady schedule or my improved recovery rate courtesy of the booster — but all in all, these days I jumped to my feet the moment I awoke. Which gave me an additional three hours to my daytime, allowing me to accomplish so much more. And today, I’d only slept a little more than four hours.