by Jinx, Hondo
Experiences
Concierge
Johnny tapped the new option first, and the voice spoke in the first person as it narrated the luminous text. For a one-time charge, I will serve as your store concierge, answering questions and further explaining choices to the best of my ability: 150 Vicarus Credits.
Johnny rubbed his jaw. That was pricey, but his last visit had been super frustrating. It was like calling the 22nd century and getting its automated customer service line. And in some cases, his lack of information had kept him from making purchases.
He stabbed the buy button.
“You have selected Concierge. Say yes to confirm this purchase, no to return to the Experiences menu, or main menu to return to the main menu.”
“Yes.”
“An excellent choice, Mr. Rockledge,” the disembodied voice said, sounding more human. “Please let me know if you have any questions.”
Johnny thought about that for a second and swung for the fences. “What purchase would most benefit me?”
“I am not qualified to answer that question, Mr. Rockledge. Please narrow the scope of your inquiry. I am primarily programmed to provide additional information concerning individual choices.”
“Can you open the Gear choices?”
“Of course, sir.”
A second later, his sexy concierge read the submenu aloud.
Weapons
Clothing
Food, Drink & Herbs
Drugs & Alcohol
Transportation
Residential
Miscellaneous Items & Equipment
Money
Johnny ran through the selections.
Most of the categories included more choices than last time. Some of these things he couldn’t have afforded during his first visit.
Under Transportation, for example, a motorcycle was available for 400 Vicarus credits. Tempting but unnecessary.
The conversion rate of 1 Vicarus credit per Fight Town dollar remained the same. This time, he thought he’d probably use more credits as money. Between his daily routine with Freddie, paying Marvella, helping Millie, and paying his upcoming rent, he needed extra cash.
But first, he would check out his options.
Out of curiosity, he asked for more information concerning the weapons.
“Unless otherwise noted,” the voice said, “all weapons are new versions of high quality.”
“Tell me more,” Johnny said. “For example, what would I get if I bought a shotgun.”
“Unless otherwise noted,” the voice said, “you would receive a Remington 870 12-gauge Wingmaster.”
“Interesting.”
“Would you like to purchase a weapon, sir?”
“No thanks, um, concierge lady.”
“Would you like to assign me a name, sir?”
“Sure,” Johnny said, and for several seconds, he considered names that might match the sexy, sophisticated voice. “Your name is Fiona.”
“Excellent choice, sir. I am Fiona. How may I further assist you?”
“I’m wondering about clothing. Some of it offers protection. What does that mean?”
“A shirt with minor protection would absorb damage from minor attacks such as moderately hard punches and reduce damage from more powerful attacks but wouldn’t help if you were stabbed or shot or struck by a train. After absorbing a certain amount of damage—a dozen moderately hard punches, for instance—the shirt loses its protective qualities.”
“What about the ones with moderate and significant protection?”
“They operate in much the same way, but the shirt with moderate protection will absorb damage from hard punches or a slicing attack from a knife or most blunt instrument trauma, such as attacks with saps or baseball bats.”
“That could come in handy.”
“A shirt with significant protection would absorb the damage from a single gunshot or knife attack.”
The shirt with significant protection would be nice, Johnny thought, but it cost 300 Vicarus credits, and so far, he hadn’t so much as seen weapons in Fight Town.
Still, he was glad he’d asked. Down the road, things in Fight Town could always take a dark turn.
“Would you like to purchase any clothing, sir?”
“No thanks, Fiona. Thankfully, I’m not in Philly anymore. Let’s have a look at the other categories.”
Last time the Residential category had been empty. This time an interesting choice appeared.
Nice, 2-bedroom motel suite, one year rental: 500 Vicarus credits.
“How nice is nice?” he asked.
“Quite nice, sir,” Fiona responded. “Nine hundred freshly remodeled square feet with a kitchenette and a common area.”
“This would be in the Oasis?”
“Yes, sir. On the first floor.”
“Hmm.” Again, he was tempted. It would be nice to have a cool place, and it offered a lot, especially when he considered that the annual cost of his current rent would convert to 360 Vicarus credits.
So, for 140 credits, not much more than 10 extra bucks per month, he could get a spiffy place with an extra bedroom, a living room, and a kitchenette.
Which felt like a no-brainer.
But since he had no idea when he would visit this store again, he was less concerned with value and more concerned with results. And quite simply, he needed a stat boost more than a sweet pad.
He scanned Food, Drink & Herbs.
“Is the cult food from the Vicarus store any better than I can buy in Fight Town?”
“No, sir,” Fiona said. “It is of the same quality.”
“All right.” He made a mental list and moved on.
He barely skimmed Drugs & Alcohol.
Last time he’d bought a six-pack. These days, however, he wasn’t much interested in catching a buzz. He hadn’t become one of those intolerable people who shrieks in a brittle voice full of false and desperate enthusiasm, “I’m high on life!” But he was feeling pretty good as-is and didn’t have the time or interest to tie one on. Besides, most nights, it was all he could do to eat and shower before passing out.
Entering the Healing category of the Juice menu, he saw the same categories as last time.
Minor Healing: 4 Vicarus Credits
Moderate Healing: 20 Vicarus Credits
Complete Healing: 100 Vicarus Credits
“Would Minor Healing be on par with zip?”
“Yes, sir. It will heal minor injuries, even some breaks and internal damage, and speed up your natural healing process.”
“I thought so. What about Moderate Healing?”
“Moderate Healing will heal a major wound like a gunshot or puncture wound, even a broken spine or fractured skull.”
“Sounds like the sort of thing that if you need it, you need it then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it, a pill?”
“No, sir. It’s handled server side. To initiate healing, you simply give a mental command.”
“Handy.”
Yes, sir. Would you like to purchase Moderate Healing?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one of those and half a dozen units of Minor Healing.”
“An excellent selection, sir.”
His available balance dropped to 556 Vicarus credits.
He didn’t expect to need Complete Healing, but then he thought of something. “Can I use these healing units on someone else?”
“No, sir. I do apologize, but these healing units are solely for your personal healing.”
Damn. It would’ve been great to heal Freddie’s dad. Marvella, too, for that matter.
He opened the Modifiers subcategory. The choices were the same as last time.
10-minute Juice Boost, 5%: 20 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Agility Stat Boost, 25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Chin Stat Boost, 25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Endurance Stat Boost, 25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Power Stat Boost,
25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Speed Stat Boost, 25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
3-minute Strength Stat Boost, 25%: 10 Vicarus Credits
10-minute Recovery to Full Juice: 20 Vicarus Credits
“Do you mentally initiate these temporary boosts, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And they only start you at the enhanced number, right?”
“Yes, sir. Your abilities will degrade in step with taxation.”
“And at the end of the 10 minutes?”
“You will return to your natural stats minus however much juice you spent.”
“And what if I spent more juice than I had naturally?”
“Unconsciousness, sir.”
That would be a bummer in the middle of a fight.
He switched to the Points subcategory. Once again, he saw the same options he’d seen last time.
+1 Permanent Agility Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
+1 Permanent Chin Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
+1 Permanent Endurance Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
+1 Permanent Power Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
+1 Permanent Speed Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
+1 Permanent Strength Stat Increase: 100 Vicarus Credits
“Question, Fiona. Why no Heart Stat option?”
“Your heart stat is already maxed out, sir.”
“So I can’t go above 100? Not even temporarily?”
“No, sir.”
“Can other people?”
“No, sir.”
“Same goes for the other stats? So the hardest puncher in the world has a power stat of 100?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Interesting. So guys like Mike Tyson, George Foreman, or Ernie Shavers only have a power stat of 100?”
“Correct, sir. Though I might also point out that a power stat score of 100 would represent the hardest puncher in this world, not your former reality. Imagine George Foreman after years of cultivation, a strict cultivation diet, every possible juice boost, the benefit of cultivation bling, and the assistance of top-notch juice cultivation experts.”
“Like Reina?”
“Yes, sir. Needless to say, George Foreman would punch much harder after receiving those benefits.”
“And that represents a score of 100 here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about back on my old world? What would Mike Tyson’s power score have been in his prime?”
“92, sir. Shall I provide examples to represent the other categories?”
“No, that’s all right.” He understood that the top fighters here would be faster than Roy Jones, Jr., more agile than Vasiliy Lomachenko, stronger than Sonny Liston, better conditioned than Marvin Hagler, and couldn’t be knocked out with a sledgehammer.
“What’s the highest power stat in the light heavyweight division?”
“93, sir.”
He whistled. “Hell of a score for a 175-pounder. He hits harder than prime Tyson back in my old world?”
“Yes, sir. Harder than anyone back in your old world.”
“What’s his name?”
“Darius Monroe, the professional light heavyweight champion of the world.”
Johnny committed that to memory and switched to the Experiences category, which had a new offering: A Fortuitous Meeting.
Toggling through those he could meet, he saw Lou from the Diner, Mr. Trongo, Donna Queen, and a radiant woman whose beaming smile and bright green eyes crackled with vitality.
“Who’s that?”
“That is Reina, sir.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, sir.”
He remembered Freddie going on about how beautiful the Juice Queen was. She wasn’t kidding.
“What does A Fortuitous Meeting mean, exactly?”
“If you purchase this experience, you will soon meet this person, and a positive opportunity will arise from that interaction. I’m afraid I can’t be more specific than that, sir.”
Again, very tempting. But at 550 Vicarus credits, one of these encounters would practically wipe him out.
Would it be worth it?
Trongo and Donna Queen could obviously provide major advantages in boxing. But at this stage, he didn’t need those sorts of advantages, right?
What about Reina? What would she do?
“Would Reina increase my juice?”
“I apologize, sir, but I can say no more on this matter.”
He glanced at the long list of sexual experiences available to him. While he would have enjoyed sharing many of these with Freddie—and he couldn’t help but linger over the notion of a threesome with Freddie and her twin sister—he stuck to his guns.
He and Freddie were doing fine on their own, thank you very much.
To hell with Paul.
“Would you like to purchase any experiences, sir?”
Looking back over the experiences, he said, “Yes.”
“A sexual experience, sir?” Fiona purred.
“Nope. I’d like to splurge and spend 1 Vicarus credit on Pet a Three-Legged Dog in a Bar.”
Fiona surprised him by laughing. “Excellent, sir.”
His balance dropped to 549 credits.
“Let’s go back to the Juice menu, and I’ll boost some stats.”
“A commendable plan, sir.”
Once again, he looked over his six options, weighing the pros and cons of each.
Then something occurred to him. He’d been training hard, meditating, and eating and drinking cult choices.
“Could I see my current stats before I choose?”
“Of course, sir.”
A second later, his stats appeared. Fiona narrated.
* * *
Fighter: Johnny Rockledge
Age: 21
Height: 6’0”
Weight: 180 pounds
Reach: 76 inches
Total Juice: 493
Total Juice minus Heart: 393
Agility: 52
Chin: 79
Endurance: 57
Heart: 100
Power: 74
Speed: 61
Strength: 70
* * *
“Awesome!” Johnny threw a combination in the air. His agility, speed, and strength stats had all improved by a point, and his endurance had gone up by four points.
“Yes, sir. Your hard work and new lifestyle are paying off. Endurance gained the most, thanks to your intense training and, of course, your starting stat, which was, if I may be frank, less than stellar.”
“Fiona,” Johnny laughed, “did you just bust on me?”
“Perhaps, sir. A little.”
“Heh. All right. Well, I’m going to spend 500 Vicarus credits on boosting stats and convert the remaining 49 credits into cold, hard cash.”
“A prudent choice, sir.”
“Thanks. Now, I just have to decide which stats to improve. Any advice?”
“Yes, in fact, I do have some advice: choose wisely, sir.”
“You’re turning into a regular comedian, Fiona. Hmm. Last time, I weighed my options and played it smart. I figured throwing a point into agility was smart.”
“I would concur, sir. Would you like to purchase additional agility points now? Doing so would benefit your defense.”
“True,” Johnny said, “but I didn’t earn all these Vicarus credits by slipping punches. I earned them by dropping Andre.”
“Will you boost your power again, then, sir?”
“Yeah. A little. I’d love to dump all five points into power. I mean, that’s what I want to do.”
“But you have other plans, sir?”
Johnny nodded. “I hated being slower than Andre. Imagine a whole fight going that way. How frustrating would it be to get patty-caked to death and lose every round without landing a punch?”
“That would be most frustrating, sir.”
Johnny nodded. “I need to be faster. I’ll put 1 point into power, 1 into agil
ity, and 3 into speed.”
Chapter 36
The bag hopped, chains jangling, as Johnny hammered it with powerful combinations.
Marvella watched, her expression blending boredom and contempt.
Johnny was sucking wind. He’d been in the gym for an hour and a half, working hard, and this was his sixth round on the heavy bag.
His arms were heavy, and his lungs were burning.
He’d pushed it like never before, pumped by his new agility, power, and speed.
Especially the speed.
Turned out that three points of speed was a lot. It felt awesome, snapping out fast punches, especially in combinations.
Which explained why he was so winded.
All that speed had jazzed him up, tricking him into exhausting himself.
But he was going to finish strong, even if he couldn’t breathe.
Not just because he always pushed hard. Also because he was bound and determined to earn a compliment from his stoic trainer.
All through the workout, everyone in the gym had noticed his new speed. From the time he started shadowboxing, he felt them staring.
Everyone, that is, except Marvella.
Mostly, she’d ignored him.
Which was fine. She was spending most of her time with Freddie, whose fight was rapidly approaching.
But when Marvella did limp over and watch him work, she looked at him like he was a wad of bloody gauze in a dusty corner.
The thirty-second buzzer rang.
Johnny dug deep, pounding the bag with all he had, rocking his shoulders, smashing straight shots with full extension, one-two, one-two, one-two, like he’d pinned a dazed opponent on the ropes and was going all out to finish him.
He dipped to the side, threw a double hook to the body, then brought a third hook to the head, followed with a short right, then finished the round with a series of wild but powerful uppercuts all aimed at chin level, crushing his imaginary opponent.
The bell rang and Johnny bent over gasping for air.
“Sloppy,” Marvella growled from behind him. “Stand up straight. Expand your lungs. You need to build up your wind.”
Johnny straightened and scowled at her but said nothing.
She was his trainer, not his buddy. It wasn’t his place to talk back. And besides, she was right. He’d winged those uppercuts, exposing himself, and despite all his hard work, his endurance still sucked.
But what about the rest?