Level Up- The Knockout

by Dan Sugralinov

  This information surprised Hagen so much he nearly missed a punch. “Why would that be? He barely managed to land a punch, right?”

  “The judges go by the technique, and Desmars is demonstrating better skills than you right now. You’ll need to perform an effective attack before the end of the round, and you don’t have much time.”

  Hagen jumped forward desperately, hoping to throw a body punch at Desmars. His fist nearly connected—then he found himself right next to the ropes and lying down on his side to boot.

  His vision blurred as if he was inside a car going through a car wash. Gonzalo was saying something but there were no sounds to accompany the movements of his lips.

  “It’s a knockdown,” Demetrious explained. “Three points off.”

  Hagen hurried to get back on his feet.

  Damage received: 5000 (Head Punch)

  The quest message blinked red, then disappeared.

  Quest failed!

  You could not throw the first effective punch.

  Hagen had managed to get up and assume his fighting stance, but he was saved by Ochoa.

  “Round’s up!”

  Mike retreated into his corner and sat down on the stool offered by Gonzalo.

  “Shit, cuz. You could easily have refused the fight. The two of you are just too different size-wise. I have no idea what I would do if I had to fight someone as tall as him.”

  “Decline a fight? I would never even think of it. That’s not what I’m training for.”

  Gonzalo squeezed Mike’s glove. “I’ve never doubted you, bro. But you have to kick it up a notch. Five points are no laughing matter. He’s obviously using an aggressive technique to keep you defensive. Try to reach him, use all you know, and don’t expect a knockout. Just throw all you have at him.”

  “Fighters, meet in the center of the ring!” Ochoa yelled.

  Desmars entered the melee gladly, waving his disproportionately long limbs around. His very posture was apologetic notwithstanding. Hagen got pissed off about it. The other guy was so sure of his victory, and an easy one as well.

  Well, that remained to be seen.

  Ochoa signaled for the fighters to begin.

  It was round one revisited. Desmars literally kept Hagen at an arm’s length. And a leg’s length, come to think of it. Since his arms and legs were long enough, the distance would be insurmountable in a single attack.

  The tube man loomed over Hagen like a giant from some nightmare. He swayed his fists about and tried to reach Mike with his heel or his knee. The expression on his face remained one of guilt, as if he’d been trying to say, “Sorry, man, but this is what I am.”

  Hagen had decided not to stop for a second. He would duck, jump back, and step back or forward. It served him well during the last minute when he discovered he’d evaded every attack of his opponent. A push with a leg, a jump, and a punch landing right on the unprotected face from above.

  Damage dealt: 12,580 (Downward Jump Punch)

  “Excellent,” said Demetrious. “Two points for the punch, and another for your overall performance. So the score is 5:3.”

  However, Hagen’s jump threw him off balance, and Desmars’ punch, albeit weakened, caught him on the ear. Even though Mike had been wearing a helm, he still felt deafened.

  Damage received: 2500 (Head Hook)

  “Round’s up,” Ochoa announced again, stopping Desmars from launching another attack.

  Gonzalo didn’t offer any advice this time. He just handed over the towel and gave Mike a drink of water from a bottle.

  Mike was breathing hard—almost struggling for breath, in fact. The conclusion he came to was that he hadn’t been ready for such lengthy bouts yet.

  “Fighters, come to the center of the ring!” Ochoa yelled.

  The tube man was slower this time, barely able to move. He’d been exhausted, too, as if the ventilators were off and he was crumpling slowly.

  “Fight!”

  Hagen and Desmars started circling each other in the center of the ring. Both were waiting for their opponent to throw a punch, trying to save their strength.

  “Hey, Mikey, man, Desmars is winning. He doesn’t have to attack. He only needs to hold out until the end of the round,” Demetrious said.

  “I know.” Hagen clenched his teeth.

  Demetrious displayed the time to Hagen: 00:02:12.

  They had already danced around each other for almost a minute.

  Oddly enough, Hagen enjoyed fighting thoughtfully. It made sense to watch the technique instead of attacking desperately, relying on nothing but intuition and trying to knock out his opponent with a single punch or, at the very least, not getting knocked out himself. He’d definitely have to work on his Stamina.

  00:01:59

  Desmars kicked with his long leg. Hagen parried with his knee. Ochoa paced nearby, looking at the fighters and the stopwatch app on his phone.

  00:01:01

  Hagen tried the jump punch again, but his punch met a block, and Desmars threw him back. The guy wouldn’t get fooled twice. He tried to land a kick right away but Hagen managed to dodge him. He instantly dove under his opponent’s hands for a straight jab in the face, but faced a block again.

  Dammit! He’d had a 53% chance of punching through it! Desmars must have invested a lot of time and effort into his defensive techniques.

  00:00:32

  “Ahem,” Demetrious said, copying the tone of a worried coach. “The time...”

  “I know!” Hagen tried to say it aloud, but the mouthguard was getting in the way. “I know!”

  Deadline

  You don’t have enough time to win this bout.

  +2 to Agility until the end of the fight

  +2 to Perception until the end of the fight

  Hagen took advantage of the unexpected buff, leaping towards Desmars. It only took him a single move to deflect the opponent’s punches and jump on him, grabbing his body between his legs. He held this lanky giant by the neck with his right hand as he meted out three weak punches to his helmet-covered head. Then he got thrown back with such force he barely managed to stay upright.

  Hagen was readying himself to throw the fourth and final haymaker, but Ochoa’s palm on his chest stopped him.

  “The round’s up.”

  “Wowee!” Gonzalo exclaimed. “I wasn’t aware you could do things like that!”

  You have unlocked the Leg Grab skill.

  You have to use the skill more often to level it up.

  Ochoa watched both fighters with a smile. Both hunched over like old men, their breathing loud enough to drown out his words.

  “Gentlemen, it’s a draw. Do you intend to continue?”

  Hagen spat out the mouthguard, looking Desmars in the eye. He followed suit. They looked at each other like that for a second or two, then smiled.

  “I’ll cross that bridge later,” Desmars wheezed.

  “Much later,” Hagen croaked.

  “Wise decision,” Ochoa agreed. “I wouldn’t have allowed another round. The two of you can barely stand. It’s a draw.”

  * * *

  DESMARS APOLOGIZED again in the locker room.

  “It wasn’t easy for you, I know. But I felt like fighting you, and that was that. Do you get me?”

  Hagen smiled politely in response. “No problem, bro.”

  Desmars was a very nice and humble person, be it in the ring or outside. A true clerk who fought in the ring to find an outlet for his anger while keeping outwardly calm. One would be hard-pressed to believe he could have had any issues looking at the kind expression on his face. You could easily imagine him wearing a white shirt and tie, working as a receptionist at a community center.

  After a shower, Hagen got back to the gym and found Gonzalo waiting for him. He was already through with his training.

  “Feel like discussing your performance? I’ve arranged things. You’ll be the first one to fight. They’ll start with some newbies as warm-up.”

  “So,
I’m not a newbie anymore?”

  “Let’s say you’ve almost transcended the newbie status.”

  “OK. Who am I going to fight, then?”

  Gonzalo looked around as if trying to locate someone. “Where could he have gotten to? He was here a few seconds ago...”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you get it? Your opponent at Dark Devil will be Desmars. The audience loves him for his urbane manner. Each time he wins a fight, he apologizes and invites the defeated opponent to a drawing or creative writing class at their community center. That’s his gimmick.”

  Hagen chuckled. “He didn’t invite me yet.”

  “Well, he hasn’t won yet, either.”

  Hagen had no idea how to react. It was somewhat embarrassing to fight someone so kind in the ring.

  “You have to think of a gimmick, too. Don’t forget that Dark Devil is all about entertainment. You’re gonna fight fair, but you still have to incorporate elements of theatrics.”

  Mike scratched his head. “Like a costume, you mean?”

  “Nah, that would be over the top. This is no Lucha libre, after all. You have to concentrate on how you’ll enter the ring and how you’ll greet the audience. They remember you as Crybaby, so you’ll have to build up on that.”

  Hagen scratched his head again. “I’ll think of something.”

  “That’s the spirit, blood! Now, one more thing. Think of some theme song for when you enter the ring.”

  “Oh, I know just the right track. It’s by Eminem-”

  “Hey, no way, cuz. A lot of people film this stuff and upload it on YouTube. If the copyright owners find out, they’ll sue our asses off. No celebrities. You need a license to use their music. If you have an extra hundred grand, you can do it, sure enough.”

  “What do you play?”

  “The tracks my brothers in the defunct gang have laid down.”

  “I wonder if I could...”

  “Nope, bro. You gotta find something that resonates with you. And it’s gotta be free.”

  Having finished with the planning, Gonzalo said his goodbyes and departed. Soon there was no one left in the gym. That was when Hagen would change into his old clothes and get the janitor’s cart out of the utility room.

  Having finished with the cleaning, he locked the gym and headed toward his car. He opened the back door and looked for Easy Sammy C’s CD on the back seat.

  Once he’d found it, he saw a system message above the item that he hadn’t seen before.

  A CD by an Unrecognized Genius

  +1 to Strength for the first minute of the battle

  Durability: 99/100

  He was still hurting all over after fighting Desmars. Even though his left ear could barely hear, he felt chipper and spoiling for another fight.

  Mike grinned. A well-defined and understandable goal made all the difference. Everything was clear about tomorrow.

  The real winner of today’s draw would be the one to leave the ring triumphant tomorrow.

  Chapter 18. House to House

  These clothes suck. I mean, I just got out of prison!

  Kane & Lynch: Dead Men

  PETER HAGEN read the text from his nephew in the morning.

  He dumped the required minimum of personal possessions into his old army backpack. Two hours later, he was at the airport. An hour later, he’d already boarded the plane, re-reading the message from his nephew, lost in thought.

  Peter kept tugging on his scrawny gray beard and beating himself up. He’d always doubted that his dimwit of a nephew could survive on his own after his sister’s death. He’d tried to hint that he could stay with him and help for a while, but Mike would just hunch, looking at some spot on the floor, as usual, and mumble,

  “N... Th...”

  “Come again? Speak louder, soldier! How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “I was saying, no, thanks, I’ll manage on my own.”

  Soldier, duh! Peter eventually started to pronounce the word more and more sarcastically every time he’d participated in Mike’s upbringing. The miserable little bastard was anything but a soldier. If it hadn’t been for his sister, Peter wouldn’t have bothered trying to make the boy become savvier about life and teach him not to cling to his mother’s apron whenever he’d felt threatened. But none of his efforts would ever produce any result. The kid had never had a real father, and his mom loved him way too much, the way mothers do. Any mother would die for her child, but a father figure was absolutely necessary as well. Someone who could tell him to fight when he had to—without thinking of sparing himself; failing that, at least someone to provide an example of what a man was all about.

  But Hagen’s father could hardly be considered a man by Uncle Peter’s standards—he’d ditched Helen, leaving his own son behind at the tender age of two. Peter tried to find him but the bastard kept traveling all across the country to eschew his responsibilities.

  Therefore, Peter was certain that Mike’s cowardice had been inherited from his father. There were never any cowards among the Hagens.

  And now it seemed like his nephew had lost it completely. What did he mean by “martial arts” in the first place? Was it another moronic video game, like those he’d wasted his childhood on? It wasn’t just the childhood, come to think of it—Mike had spent his adolescence and young age in the very same manner. Did he mean he had become a geek champion? Well, he’d been one all his life.

  Peter recollected how he kept telling Helen that she should send her son to a summer boot camp or buy him a season ticket to the nearest boxing gym, given his obsession with fighting. Anything would be better than wasting all his time on video games.

  Peter’s sister had had a different opinion, though.

  “Mikey is too weak. And he’s been to a summer camp. Guess what? The other kids nearly suffocated him. Can you imagine that? They stuck him into a sleeping bag and wouldn’t let him out. And as for boxing... are you out of your mind? All boxers become cripples eventually! I’d rather have him play games. Would you believe he repaired my toaster? He’s really good with all sorts of devices.”

  Helen was always so afraid something would happen to Mike. And now that she had died, her worst nightmares came true—the boy had to face harsh reality.

  No wonder his brain had given out.

  Those were the thoughts that had been going through Peter’s head as he was falling asleep.

  He awoke when an air hostess touched his shoulder.

  It was dark as he left the airport. He found a taxi, placed his army backpack on the back seat, climbed in next to the driver and pulled out his phone.

  Peter’s initial plan had been to surprise his nephew. But then he changed his mind. He dialed Mike’s number; there was no reply. Then Peter texted Mike.

  Hey, nephew. I’m in your neck of the woods by chance, so I’d been thinking I might take you up on your invitation. Are you still at the same address?

  It took a while for him to receive a reply.

  Uncle Peter, you’re just in time. Come to the Dark Devil club right now and tell the security you’re Mike ‘Crybaby’ Hagen’s special guest. I have a fight tonight. Please hurry I’ll have to be in the ring in exactly one hour.

  Mike’s next message contained a map with the club’s location. Peter showed it to the driver.

  “Si, Señor,” the man nodded as he started the engine.

  So, more proof of little Mikey having gone cuckoo. A ring, of all the things. And Crybaby? Would any fighter worth his salt call himself Crybaby?

  Peter got the feeling Mike must have been doing some sort of a stand-up routine—entertaining the audience in between bouts. A clown, in other words. A worse scenario was possible, too—he could have just been standing in the crowd imagining himself to be one of the fighters. The kid was sure off his rocker. He’d always been odd, and now he must have gone completely batshit.

  Peter remembered seeing two soldiers lose it completely in Iraq. The circums
tances were completely different in either case. The first guy started to pick non-existent flowers off the pavement during a mop-up operation in Tikrit, laughing and trying to show them to fellow soldiers. The other one just went crazy without any obvious reason. He had gone to bed like a perfectly normal soldier but the person who woke up the next morning was an incoherent paranoid spluttering all kinds of bullshit about Saddam having dug a tunnel underneath his bunk and left a time bomb there.

  Little Mikey must have gone bonkers, too.

  But what could you do? Life was never kind to the weak.

  Peter felt a craving for a few shots of bourbon. Followed by a few more. He wondered whether the pub with the bewhiskered bartender was still open. He’d have to pay him a visit. The place was fun and the wings, delicious.

  * * *

  ODDLY ENOUGH, as soon as Peter explained haltingly that he’d been invited by someone called Crybaby, the bouncer freed the doorway and ushered him in. Even if Mikey was a clown, at least the club owners knew him.

  Peter went to the bar and ordered a shot of bourbon. He eventually started to tell himself things weren’t as bad as they may have looked. He’d tried to help his nephew the best he could.

  Peter had invited him to move to his place in Seattle some five years ago. That was when he’d started on his home security system business. Back in Seattle, Mike had had to survive on his own without his mother’s care or protection. He’d turned out to have a real talent for electronics. It didn’t save the company from bankruptcy but they’d been doing OK initially, and Peter shared his profits with his nephew.

  That was where young Mikey had picked up Jessica. Or, rather, she’d picked him up, taking advantage of his naivety and lack of experience in dealing with life—or with other people.

  Peter Hagen had objected strongly to Jessica, but his sister was happy for her little boy, as always.

  “The kid finally has a real girlfriend,” she would say, smiling.