A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here! Sorry for the delay.
It was my intention to have this chapter out Saturday, but my computer decided to max out it's DISK usage for no good reason, so I ended up spending the better part of the weekend trying to figure out what was wrong. One 10 hour deep scan, and a full system update later, the issue is... mostly resolved. Still, it's functional for now, and that's what counts.
That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness, even if I don't always fully understand it. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. If there is something not canon or changed from canon, there is generally a reason. If something doesn't make sense, feel free to let me know (constructively), and as long as it doesn't creep into SPOILER! territory, I'll do my best to explain it.
If you don't like it, DON'T CONTINUE READING IT!
Review Responses:
- razorbackmike: Thanks! And will do.
- TheSystemFan: And he's doing so, through jogging and using his job to supplement some of his stat growth. The reason he's not immediately jumping to a gym is because he's taking the time to adapt to his place in a world that is borderline realistic: he has to eat, he has to make money, and he needs to provide for his own safety and security. The every day-to-day grind. Not to mention the emotional and mental tole getting uprooted like that would put on someone. Realistically, no one would hit the ground running if they got transported to a new world, especially starting off as basic as he is with no overpowered magic or skills, and just a System that helps him grow. He has to work his way up to that point, and even then it'll happen a lot faster than it would for most other people simply because he has [Gamer's Mind].
- Freelook: Thanks!
- tobikempachi: First off, I'm using that: "masturbate their egos with their bullshit". I don't know where, but I'm using it!
While Marcus is working locally, he is going to try and grow in as many ways as he can come up with; and even more so when he moves on. But the end goal is always going to be larger than just one section of New York City.
- Bearticguy7: Could you clarify the "Mix" part please? Because you only listed "Full-Warrior Build"... and nothing else. I don't know what he's supposed to be a "Mix" of.
Marcus will have a primary focus on combat (given that it's the MCU, and there's a lot of fighting), with a healthy dose of other roles that I'll let develop as the story progresses.
- Sasez: Thank you!
- Camsonius: Too true, and thanks. Kinda want to know what qualifies as a "pitfall" now, since I'm winging it. Any constructive criticism is appreciated.
- Smirfclassic: That's a good problem though, right.
- Ebrahim051: Not enough 'Inventory' space... the true BBEG. As for Tony... let's just say he's going to be massively annoyed.
- shadowpanther93: I'm trying to follow along the approximate MCU timeline. Carl Lucas (Luke Cage) would still be in Georgia, and Jessica Jones would still be with her adoptive family with no reason to go near Hell's Kitchen. Plus, their stories don't level out until approximately 2013 (MCU time).
As for Marcus learning Martial Arts... he'll learn those in his own time, and in less pleasant circumstances.
*End of Responses
Disclaimer: I don't own the Gamer, or the Avengers, or any of their subsidiaries. Those rights belong exclusively to whoever owns them, and anyone else who had a hand in their creation. I just get to have fun with it all.
I would also like to point out that I don't own any other media or content that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Chapter 3: Disparity
[!'Sprint' skill has gained a level!]
"AAAAAGGHH!" Marcus yelled out as he continued to push himself. 'God… damned… Survival… Mode'.' Unfortunately, despite his [Gamer's Body], he could still feel pain. Or was that 'Max Human Mode'? Either way. The stitch in his side was a real bitch, and even with a decent bout of SP left to keep going, it still hurt. That's what he got for pushing himself further. He'd noticed the pain was a… trigger, that let him know he was maximizing how fast he got to his next 'Stat Point'. And pressing on would push his body to reach that next point, much like in his old world. The fact a number of his 'Traits' were stacking to speed up this process helped.
At least he wasn't huffing and puffing with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a dog. And he evidently didn't sweat. It seemed, with great sacrifices came small mercies from his [Gamer's Body].
He stood still for a moment, hands on his hips as he took deep, strong breaths to ease himself back down using [Meditation, self-taught] to help reduce whatever strain was on his body. He could feel the slight difference as his 'regen' was increased by the slimmest margin. Luckily, he didn't have to get into the Lotus position to do it; he just had to put himself in the right frame of mind like any other meditation. That, and deep measured breaths.
He looked down at his hand oddly though. Once upon a time, his body would have been shaking with ache from exercising this much. It seemed that [Gamer's Body] really did wonders. He hadn't tested the limits of it, but he wasn't inclined to find out whether there was a difference between his body at Max HP and 1 HP. Things like if he bled or not, or did his skin disfigure based on the type of damage as it happened, or just from damage in general? He wasn't sure whether to use gamer or reality logic.
"Map," he ordered as he finished up his breathing. The window opened, and he took note of the 'Path Tracing' feature of the [Cartography] skill, showing his exact path across map at his last prompting, and time it took to achieve it.
[Cartography (Passive) lvl 21
Knowing your destination is just as important as knowing where to visit again. Whether it's landmarks, favorite haunts, or planning for a future battle. One needs to know the lay of the land to achieve victory. Doesn't hurt to have a road map, either.
Passive:
Auto-Map's world and landmarks of note within 40 feet.
– Auto-Map's inside of buildings (doesn't apply to 'Secure Areas')
User-made Markers – Can mark locations on the 'Map' and the toggle is visible to the user when the 'Map' is closed (Max 6).
Preference Markers – Can mark preferred in-world locations on the 'Map' (Max 10)
Directions – Can make directional prompts, showing the quickest route to that destination via the users intended method of travel.
– Path Tracing – Can trace the user's path on the 'Map' at users prompt (including distance and time).
Denizen Markers – Show people on map (in pink) based on Auto-Map distance.
– Enemy Markers – Show potential enemies (in orange) and hostiles (in red) on map. Can't see through or behind solid walls.
– Ally Markers – Show allies on map (in blue).
Faction Zones are marked upon discovery.]
.
Yeeeah… he abused the shit of out Google Maps to power level the skill up. It was also nice of the 'Settings' to let him fiddle with the 'Marker' colors. It was the closest thing he had to "Bat-vision" at the moment, but it was still cool as Hell that he had developed his own built- in GPS. Granted, it only applied to the places he'd mapped, but it was still something.
"Hey Sys," he breathed steadily. "Set directions to 'Apartment'."
[Calibrating directions to 'Apartment'
You're enjoying this, aren't you?]
A half-transparent green line visibly appeared in front of him, leading him back towards his apartment.
He just smiled at the System, enjoying the bit of teasing. "Only a little bit," he admitted as he started following the path home. It was the evening, he'd finished work, the library was closed, and the sun was beginning to set. All he wanted was to hydrate and maybe grab a bite. He was getting sick and tired of ramen and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, but it was cheap, filling, and had a ridiculous shelf life. Except for bread; he had to eat through that relatively quick.
Still, his teeth clacked irritably as they longed for something crunchier than crunchy peanut butter.
'When I can afford it, I wonder if I can create a 'Cooking' skill,' he thought. He still had to think of ways to grind his current skills as was. He knew there was a gym somewhere around Hell's Kitchen, and it would be a good opportunity to start developing some skill to his (non-existent) fighting capabilities in his off-time. Plus, there were some books he wanted to check out at the library.
Huh. He hadn't tried it yet, but the System might have altered his library card the same way it had altered his still usable debit card. Once inserted into the 'Status' screen, both had lost all prior affiliations and brands. And Marcus didn't know what that meant on a digital level. Still, something to check out he guessed. He'd even tried it on his I.D. He couldn't tell if it was successful or not though, and he really wasn't willing to test if it had been successful or not.
'So much to do, and so little time,' he bemoaned.
There was his other option, but he didn't know if he was ready for that yet. He was still working up the courage to try as it was.
"–e quiet!"
Marcus instantly halted, his senses unconsciously expanding at the sound of shouting.
"Sys, can you ping that?"
[No! What do I look like? Batman?!]
'Technically can't see you, so…,' he thought quietly with a shrug.
['n']
He didn't bother responding as he quietly opened his 'Map', slowly tracking the general direction he heard it from. He moved quickly, keeping a peripheral look at his 'Map' for any sign of orange or red 'Markers'.
The moment he caught an orange blip, he backed up quickly at the face of an alley. He peeked around the edge, half expecting some poor lady being robbed or hazed. 'Or worse,' he growled. The stereotype steeple of comic tropes.
He was close. Rather than a lady, some poor guy, fresh off his fast food job judging by his shirt and hat, was being pressed face-first into the alley wall, while two clearly bad guys were frisking him down, one was looking through his wallet, while the other kept him pinned. They weren't even covering their faces. While Hells Kitchen wasn't supposed to be that bad yet, it seemed the MCU still had a thug problem. Even the Russian mob had to start somewhere before they became a syndicate.
'[Observe].'
{Russian Thug A lvl 14
"Hell's Kitchen Russian Mafia"}
.
{Russian Thug B lvl 14
"Hell's Kitchen Russian Mafia"}
.
'Any reason they're simply labeled 'Russian Thug'?' he thought intently, quirking an eyebrow.
[Would you rather I leave their names so you can imagine them as people?
You could end up getting beat up by a 'Kristoff', and 'Kristoff' could have a family somewhere.
Or we can leave it as is, yeah?]
'Don't put words in my mouth,' he protested weakly. 'Jeez. You and the sass. And possibly a little racist against Russians.' He could admit, low-level bad guys with names would make him feel bad. Maybe not so much the higher level ones though.
He weighed his options. Without even being able to view their 'Max HP' with his limited (but still decent) [Observe] skill, he couldn't even begin to get a gist of what their Stats looked like. Not to mention that they were a solid 9 levels ahead of him. They were almost three times his level. And there were two of them. He didn't have any means of protecting his identity, unless you include the shades he had. He was at a complete disadvantage.
'Shit!'
There was another option though.
He could leave. It was fine. He wasn't strong enough, or brave enough, in his previous world to intervene in something like this. And it wasn't any different in this one.
[It's alright you know. You can't save everyone.]
'Then what's the point?! Of getting pulled into this world?! Of having this stupid ability?! Of making all those outrageous plans?!' he demanded heatedly. 'It's just a game, right?! So why does it hurt so damn much?!'
Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – Sys didn't answer.
Marcus felt a pit in his stomach as he turned to leave, shame settled like a rock in his stomach.
Shame… and an immense heat. At how unfair it was. At the injustice of it. At how they didn't even bother hiding behind masks. How they grabbed that guy in broad daylight.
No matter how much he tried to hide behind the act of self-preservation, the shame was slowly heating into innate rage from within, coiling and twisting knots within his stomach.
'All that talking to Matt about what justice was, and here I am, ignoring my own advice,' he thought bitterly, looking back down the alley. 'For how decent my WIS stat is, I'm really not all that wise.'
He really shouldn't have looked again.
In a single moment, the victim's eyes caught hold of his own. The sheer hopeless pleading behind them, as he bit his lip to keep from calling out for help. He closed them again, as if hoping by cutting off that brief connection, then he could ignore that Marcus could see him now.
[Well shit.]
'Oh God fucking damnit! 'Inventory'!'
Marcus turned into the alley, his eyes immediately darting around as he made a direct path toward the Russian muggers, looking quickly and desperately over the handful of available items he carried with him regularly, including the [Survival Bayonet] he'd had sitting in there.
[Survival Bayonet
Used in emergency survival situations. Has a saw built into the spine of the blade,
a compass in the pommel, and hollow in the hilt with a wire saw.
Large Knife
Hit: +7 Slash (lethal). Bleed/Organ Puncture.
+Bleed (large) - deals up to 7 bleed damage per slash.
+Organ Puncture (large) - This weapon is big enough that stabbing or piercing will deal significantly increased vital damage.]
.
'Well shit.' Swallowing, he walked into view, keeping his mind on the 'Inventory' the moment he needed to draw his weapon. No need to escalate unless it became necessary. The descriptor said "emergency" and "survival situations" after all.
"Hey!" he yelled, wincing at how stupid that sounded. Unfortunately, he didn't have anything rehearsed in his head, and even then, speaking under pressure was never his strong suit. The only time he'd ever succeeded in that department was speaking at his sister's wedding. And even then, it had been a near thing.
Thug's A and B both whipped their heads in his direction before they snorted. "Get lost," one called back in a thick Russian accent.
'Okay. Reaching for new levels of absolute stupid.'
"Make me," he stated.
[Sweetie, your balls are bigger than your brains right now. But fine.]
[!New Quest: Playing with the Big Boys!]
Your fighting guys 5+ levels above you (Almost 10! That. Close.) Just make sure you come out of it alive. If you don't die, then the EXP gain will be tremendous, so I'mma keep this down to your level.
Reward:
- Skill Book
- 500 EXP (+25%)
- $300 (+25%)
- 1 Evolution Point
- 5 Skill Points
Failure: You die, and so does the guy they were robbing.
.
'Yeeeah. Not my brightest idea,' he admitted. 'But, this is my first time instigating a fight, so give me some slack. Please?'
He now had their undivided attention. {Russian Thug A} was still pinning the victim, but gestured at Marcus with his chin for {Russian Thug B} to take care of him.
At {Russian Thug B}'s approach, Marcus's mind wasn't backpedaling near fast enough to make up for his stupidity. Especially when the Thug decided to pull out a switchblade.
'Oh! Stereotypical much?!'
"Sys, how many Skill Points do I have?" he asked aloud, feeling lucid enough under the presence of [Gamer's Mind]. He didn't care if he looked or sounded crazy for talking to himself.
[50 Skill Points available, on the dot. Why?]
At the Russian's fast approach, Marcus made a split-second decision. "Round off base DEX and WIS to 25, NOW!"
[Acknowledged…
Initiate….]
[DEX 17 = 25 (+5)]
[WIS 24 = 25]
Time instantly seemed to slow down. Or more accurately, Marcus's brain sped up with an influx as [Information Processing] took it all in in record time.
[Skill ceiling for base DEX achieved.
Unlocked Trait 'Runner's Dexterity']
[Runner's Dexterity (Uncommon)
The user has hit the first Skill Ceiling for DEX, granting them the conditioning of a seasoned runner.
+100% (x2) to overall SP regeneration.
+100% (x2) to all base DEX attributes affected in 'Skills'.
+15% attack speed.
+15% movement speed.]
.
[Skill ceiling for base WIS achieved.
Unlocked Trait 'Ponderer's Wisdom']
[Ponderer's Wisdom (Uncommon)
The user has hit the first Skill Ceiling for WIS, granting them a ponderer's forethought.
Passive:
200% (x2) to overall MP regeneration.
200% (x2) to all base WIS attributes affected in 'Skills'.
200% (x2) to overall Magic/Mental resistance.
+15% accuracy.]
.
[Through a high-stress situation, a new skill has been created.
'Adrenaline Rush' skill has been obtained.]
[Adrenaline Rush (Active) lvl 1 (7.9%)
With danger closing in, the user's body has flooded with adrenaline as their limbic system trigger's flight, fight, or freeze. As a limbic response, 'Adrenaline Rush' temporarily negates 'Gamer's Mind'.
Active:
+10% to Precision Damage.
+10% to Critical Damage.
+10% to Movement Speed.
+10% to Attack Speed.
+10% to STR and DEX.
+100% to MP regen/minute.
Time appears to move 10% slower (90.9%).
Any 'Pain' felt is reduced by a single level, under the effects of 'Numb'.
While active, 'Gamer's Mind' is temporarily negated.
Cost: 3 SP/second.
Ending 'Adrenaline Rush' will leave the user in a state of 'Weakness' and 'Restless' for twice as long as this skill was left active.]
.
[Activate 'Adrenaline Rush'.]
His body was abuzz as a new rush of energy flooded through him. The disparity between what he had been just a mere moment before and now as like night and day.
With what little reason his body had left, he activated a skill. This was a fight. He had to go all out. He wanted to live. He wanted to survive!
'Activate [The Zone].'
[Combining effects of 'Adrenaline Rush' and 'the Zone'.]
[MP: 420/470
– MP regen: 14% (65.8 MP/minute) (1.09 MP/sec)
SP: 440/490
– SP regen: 18% (88.2 SP/minute) (1.47 SP/sec)
STR: 16 +20%(+3) (+5) = 24
DEX: 25 +20%(+5) (+5) = 35
INT: 20 +10%(+2) = 22]
.
Even in a slowed state of mind, he could feel his diminished MP and SP staving off the rapid drain, but unable to withhold it forever. Merely delay. If he didn't end this quickly, he'd be running out of both.
It was both puzzling and amazing, watching as time seemed to slow down. It wasn't quite... slowing time, but rather... speeding him up by the alleged number, giving the illusion of slowing down. Even something as seemingly trivial as 15% made it feel like he had all the time in the world.
Mentally shaking off the strange and aberrant euphoria that was tingling from the roots of his hair, down to the digits of his toes, he returned his focus toward the approaching goon. He took a deep breath, and the temporary flare of [Meditation, self-taught] further bolstering his 'regen' for the briefest moment even as [Gamer's Mind] was temporarily negated by reactive instinct.
{Russian Thug B} came in with a wide, very telegraphed swing of his switchblade. Marcus leaned back as he watched it pass with several inches to spare. He didn't know any fighting styles. He'd never even been in a proper fight before, but he was doing his best to make up for it with his stats, desire to survive, and saving the guy they were robbing.
He noticed his moment when the Thug came back for another swing, leaving his chest wide open.
'Activate [Sprint].'
All his increase in 'Movement Speed' culminated. And with the skill descriptor not accounting for acceleration, and 'Attack Speed' coming into play on a technicality, the little space between him and the Thug was rapidly filled. Shoulder lowered, arm braced, and with a very open target in mind, Marcus rammed into {Russian Thug B}'s sternum with all his might.
[Status Inflicted – Phrenospasm: 43 seconds.]
[a.k.a, you knocked the wind out of him.]
Marcus almost tripped over him as he pushed past him, both he and {Russian Thug A} stopping in surprise as {Russian Thug B} collapsed to the ground, barely gasping as he wheezed for breath.
'God, I wish I could see your HP right now,' would have been his thought, had he been the proper mental state to convey it. But with both [The Zone] and [Adrenaline Rush] active, he was reacting on pure instinct.
He quickly moved on as he as he marshalled toward {Russian Thug A}, seeking to capitalize while one of them was downed. The Thug pushed his victim down as he met Marcus's march, prioritizing this new opponent as he drew out his own switchblade.
Marcus wasn't in a state of mind to rationally realize that he didn't know how to knife fight. They closed the distance, {Russian Thug A} holding his stance much firmer, and approaching much more cautiously than his co-Thug had.
So that was when he attacked. Rather than give up his momentum, Marcus activated [Sprint] again, bursting forward through the alley. Just before he could come within range of the Russian preparing to intercept his charge, he dropped into a slide, his hand disappearing in the ether before pulling his own knife out of his 'Inventory'. Without pausing, he slashed the tip of the blade across his calf.
"AAARRGH!" The Thug dropped, tentatively hovering his hands around the wounded area. It wasn't a particularly gaping wound, but it was deep enough.
[Left Leg Crippled: -50% overall movement speed. Searing pain.]
The sight of blood all but fully shut down the receptors in Marcus's brain. He knew blood. He'd seen blood. He'd seen plenty of it while hunting. But he'd never seen so much human blood.
The tremor that had began in his hands quickly stilled once more, his gaze nearly empty and apathetic as he stood back up. The fight wasn't over until the EXP was tallied.
"Proshcheniye!" {Russian Thug A} begged when he noticed Marcus moving toward him. "Proshcheniye! Proshcheniye!"
The same word, over and over again. Marcus didn't know what it meant, but the disappointment afforded by his addled mind was prevalent. It seemed that these guys had their levels… and that was it. Their Stats seemed rather pathetic for their levels. And they lacked anything resembling both skill, and 'Skill'. But even greater still, they were cowards, preying on those weaker than them, simply because they could.
"SVOLOCH'!" Marcus's eyes darted up as {Russian Thug B} charged him, blade held forward and low, fully intending on skewering him.
With that little warning, his hand snapped out, deflecting the blade from it's intended target in his abdomen, only for the blade to slice into the side of his upper hip.
[You took 28 points of damage.]
[HP: 402/430]
Evidently the level difference did work in their favor. Especially if he took that much from just a… well, a cut.
But the Thug over-extended, allowing Marcus to grab the cuffs of his shoulders and drive his knee directly into his sternum for a second time, just without the driving force of [Sprint] to reinforce it.
[Status Inflicted – Phrenospasm: 8 seconds.]
[Status Inflicted - Cracked Rib: -10% SP regen; Pain.]
It took every fiber of his remaining consciousness not to use his knife, instead striking with his knee again as the Russian keeled over. And again. And again. Before he finally let up. He yanked him to the side into a pile of soggy cardboard. {Russian Thug B} didn't get up, groaning as he tried to roll away from his repeatedly abused ribs.
[You defeated {Russian Thug B lvl 14} without killing.]
[+1592 EXP, +$79.62]
[!You gained a level!]
Marcus frowned at the update. Why hadn't he gotten that prompt from the other guy after defeating him?
Click-click.
His ears perked, and his eyes widened. He didn't have spidey-senses. He could have sworn that. So why did every hair in his body suddenly scream at him to move?
Listening, he dived.
BANG!
The man they had been robbing yelped, curling into a ball.
[Through a high-stress situation, a new skill has been created.
'Danger Sense' skill has been obtained.]
['Danger Sense' has gained a level.]
[Danger Sense (Passive) lvl 2 (14.3%)
The user's senses become heightened the moment they sense danger to their person.
Passive:
+2% DEX when avoiding both passive and active danger.
+2% Movement Speed to avoid danger.
User gains a sense of the general direction the danger is coming from.
Time appears to move 2% slower.]
.
Had he been in a state to retort, he'd have called bullshit. Instead, he shot to his feet, already following that sense of where the danger came from.
{Russian Thug A} was shakily holding up a gun, his face contorted in anger as he tracked where Marcus had fallen to. He squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
Again, Marcus activated [Sprint] using the speed boosting alongside [Danger Sense] to maneuver as he dodged away again.
['Danger Sense' has gained a level.]
Ignoring it, he pounced, pushing the Russian's arm away rather than arresting his weapon, before rearing back with his fist and the pommel of his knife and slammed it with all his might into the man's face.
[Inflicted Status – Stun: 10 seconds.]
He didn't let up. That brief moment allowed him to pin the Thug's arm under a knee, freeing up both his hands to wail every last bit of his 'Skill' enhanced strength. The SP drain meant very little as his instincts screamed at him to deal with the threat to his person. It wasn't about saving someone anymore.
For the first time in his life, the 'Fight' had been forced out in Marcus. And he had no control over it.
He lost track of the 'Inflictions' he bestowed with his fists, and the System seemed to hold off on any Logs or input. With [Gamer's Mind] negated by [Adrenaline Rush], it was all pouring out of him: the fear of being in this unfamiliar world, of death; the sadness and desperation of losing his family without even the chance to say goodbye; the bitterness that he'd been taken away from the only world he'd ever known. All of that, neatly wrapped in a veil of anger to protect him from such vulnerabilities when he was already raw and exposed.
He wasn't sure what drained first, the prompt for [Adrenaline Rush], or his SP, but he eventually stopped, huffing as he looked down at the near pulpy mess he'd beaten the Russian into. Nervously, he put a hand near the man's nose, sighing in relief when he felt a shuddered breath along his blood-wet fingers.
[You defeated {Russian Thug A lvl 14} without killing.]
[+1592 EXP, +$79.62]
[!You gained a level!]
[Battle Rewards:
- Switch Knife (x2)
- Glock 19
- Additional Magazine
- 9x19mm (x28)
- Basic Bloody Shirt
- Basic Bloody Fleece Jacket]
.
[!Congratulations! You completed the Quest: Playing with the Big Boys!]
Rewards:
- Skill Book
- 625 EXP
- $375
- 1 Evolution Point
- 5 Skill Points
.
[You have created a new skill through repetitive action.
'Critical Hit' skill obtained.]
.
[You have created a new skill through repetitive action.
'Unarmed Mastery' skill obtained.]
.
[You have created a new skill through repetitive action.
'Power Strike' skill obtained.]
.
[Critical Hit (Passive) lvl 3 (9.7%)
The users strikes have a chance to inflict 'Critical Damage'
Critical Hit Chance is based on LUC.
Passive:
Critical Hit: 9%
Critical Damage: +15%.]
.
[Unarmed Mastery (Passive) lvl 4 (32.8%)
Sometimes the only way to solve a fight is with good, ol' fashion fisticuffs.
Unarmed damage is based on STR.
Passive:
+4% to Damage when Unarmed.
+4% to Attack Speed when Unarmed.]
.
[Power Strike (Active) lvl 2 (15.6%)
Putting all the user's strength behind a strike deals extra damage.
Extra damage based on STR.
Active:
10% increased chance to trigger a Critical Hit (9.9%)
+10.5% damage increase. (STR x0.5%)
Cost: 29 SP/strike.]
.
Marcus hardly acknowledged it all as [the Zone] faded with the fight and he dropped his knife back into his 'Inventory', leaving only his body trembling from the drawbacks of [Adrenaline Rush] remaining, and [Gamer's Mind] slowly drawing in around his mind, like a familiar embrace that drew him into the eye of his own personal emotional hurricane.
But the calm was bittersweet.
Maybe it was their lack of pain tolerance, and not their lack of stats that was doing them in? He didn't know. He just didn't know.
And if he was honest, he didn't really have it in him to care right then.
[You are affected by 'Weakness' 252 seconds.
STR is reduced by 15% for the duration.]
[You are affected by 'Restless' 252 seconds.
DEX is reduced by 15% for the duration.]
.
Their victim sat against the wall, eyes pinched closed, unable to unhear what was happening. But then it stopped, only the sounds of groaning and sharp sobbing catching his ear.
['Empathic Reception' skill has gained a level.]
Something loose flopped against his head and his eyes shot open, darting upward fearfully. The man who had charged into the alley was looking down at him, holding out his wallet.
"Go home," he ordered, his body trembling at the 'Infliction' his skills had left him with.
Marcus didn't wait for him to move, dropping the wallet in the guy's lap and simply turning to leave, returning to the GPS lines along the sidewalk that would lead him back to his 'Apartment'. The sun was almost down, and the numbing sensation provided by the rush of his combined 'Skills' was going with it, revealing a sharp pain in his side.
He held a hand over his jacket, bemoaning that all the clothing he had now was bloodied. Not the best way to show up to work tomorrow.
As soon as he made it around a corner, he stopped, pressing his back up against it before drawing his jacket away. Wincing, he looked down at his ruined t-shirt, internally cursing at both the damage and the pain. Gritting his teeth as he psyched himself up, gently rolled up the edge of his shirt.
'Heh, I lost weight,' he noted with a gasping chuckle, quickly recoiling at the sharp pain that followed. He'd never been heavy, but mid-twenties and a love of food hadn't done him any favors. Stupid [Gamer's Body], and stupid Stats enhancing his physique. That round of DEX he'd spent had really shaped up his body. As long as he didn't see any abs though. If he was that dehydrated, then there were other issues that needed addressing.
He looked down at the wound, surprised it wasn't worse than he'd anticipated. At least, until he noticed it slowly stitching back together.
In horrid fascination, his flesh was sealing shut. Like two zippers from each side. At a slow rate to be sure, but much, much faster than what was natural.
'Right. HP regen,' he remembered, watching as his body slowly knitted back together. He chuckled again at the sheer amass of emotion he was feeling, even with [Gamer's Mind] now dampening it back down again. 'I'm fucking Wolverine.' He almost cackled at how ridiculous that sounded.
To top it off, his knuckles hadn't even cracked from hitting that guy repeatedly.
The hobble back to his apartment was slow going, but enough time for his Status Inflictions to wear off, and for his wound to seal closed, leaving only a sensitive and smooth pink slash, the beginnings of scarring. By the time he'd made to his door, the sun was down. Ignoring the open staring of one of his nosey neighbors, he pulled his door open and shut it just as quickly behind him.
He made for the bathroom, ignoring the growl of his stomach as it demanded he consume sustenance. His Hunger Bar was fine for now; it could wait. He quickly began stripping off his clothes, wincing as he pulled his practically healed side, the muscle stiff and in need of a stretch. He deposited the clothes on the ground in a heap, quickly turning on the hot water before switching it to the showerhead.
Marcus quickly settled in the tub, letting the frigid water pour over him as it gradually heated up.
"Sys… turn it off," he asked, his eyes feeling almost empty once more.
[…I don't know if that's a good idea.]
"Please," he begged, his lip trembling. "P-Please."
[…
…
Okay.]
[The effects of 'Gamer's Mind' have been temporarily disabled.]
He felt as the Skill effect leech away, his eyes clenching as the images held back by the [Gamer's Mind] began to flood in. The adrenaline. The anger. The injustice. The fear.
The blood.
His hands began shaking as he lifted them up. There was a stain of red on the inside of his palm on one hand from his grip on the bayonet, and speckles of sprayed red along the fingers of his other hand from where he'd braced his hand and the hilt when he'd slid past the Russian's calf. His knuckles were dripping red from his repeated wailing too.
He wiped his hands together, sniffing as he tried to get rid of the stains, even though he knew they would fade with time. He pulled up a cheap bar of soap, scrubbing with it as though it would help erase the stains faster.
It didn't.
And when it didn't, he gasped back a gut-racking sob. Without [Gamer's Mind] active, the emotions came as freely as when [Adrenaline Rush] was active, no longer bound or suppressed. Like breaking down a dam that had held back too much water.
He sobbed, the hot water washing over his hair and his face, trailing very real and false tears down his cheeks. Everything he'd felt while swinging his fists came back, but this time without the physical release of beating the shit out of something.
Images of blood coating his hands as he swung, as he stabbed. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to heave. Instead, he just sobbed, drowned out by the sound of warm water.
"I'm human," he whispered sorrowfully, and even a little happily, as he held himself tighter. All while trying not to touch his legs with his stained hands. "…I'm still human."
[…]
{…A few days later…}
Marcus stepped into the old gym, both intrigued and disappointed that there were others there. He'd wanted to train in peace, but maybe it was better this way. After his self-imposed breakdown, he needed people to keep him grounded, and Josie wasn't exactly the saint of any sort of affection.
And he was done worrying about the Russian's tracking him down. He'd done plenty of that, and they hadn't seemed aware of what happened. Either they weren't as organized as they had been in the show, or finding out who beat up a couple of their Thug's wasn't that big of a deal. The rumor mill in Hell's Kitchen would have made it obvious if they had been active.
He'd remembered Fogwell's Gym from the show. From what he remembered, it was visited by Matt in the evenings, when it was otherwise closed, and the janitor was wrapping up; the privacy ideal for someone who operated blind. Marcus just hadn't expected it to be a full-time establishment.
He stepped in, watching as two blokes were already in the center ring, either their coach or trainer yelling pointers as they sparred. "Keep your hands up!" You know, the usual.
He walked over to the front counter, backpack in hand as he waited. He figured it was like a bowling alley, and he needed to rent some boxing gloves, because he didn't know jack shit about this stuff. He looked around, appreciating the more rustic aesthetic that was maintained in light of more modern facilities. It had a more homey feel.
"Can I help you?" a gruff voice asked from behind a counter, walled off by wire-mesh and plexiglass. An older man made his way from further in the back.
"How much for a couple hours?" he asked. '[Observe].'
{"Gatling" George McKinnon lvl ?
"Former Pro-Boxer" "Fogwell Gym Manager"}
.
'Well shit-biscuits, Batman. A real boxer. Fancy name and everything.'
"For the bag, or for the ring?" the older man asked, wiping off his hands with a rag.
Marcus just shrugged. "Either, or. But I'll also pay for tips, technique, and form."
"Recreation?" he further prodded.
Marcus just snorted. "No. Because I suck, and no one taught me how to fight." He nodded so-so. "It's coming full circle to bite me in the ass."
"At least you know it," he sighed, stepping forward as he stepped out.
"Marcus Kendrick," Marcus greeted, holding out his hand.
The man stared at it for a moment before reaching out his own. "George McKinnon."
Marcus tried to keep his handshake firm, while not squeezing, topping it with a respectful nod.
His hand was suddenly held up, the older man examining them thoroughly before he dropped them again.
"So where ya from, Mark?" George asked as he walked back to grab some gloves. "No offense, but ya don't have that New Yorker speak. Much less Hell's Kitchen."
"None taken. I'm from Idaho." It was easier to tell people his home state now. Far enough away that scrutiny was passible by average everyday people. A safe distinction from his old world.
"'Tato country?"
"So I'm told," he shrugged. He should have expected that. "I preferred the fishing myself."
"Hmm." George quietly came back out, holding a pair of boxing gloves and roll of wrap before setting them down on the counter. "The 15-ounce should do ta get ya started. You'll probably need hand wraps too. That's $25 dollars. Return the gloves when you're done. The hand wraps are reusable."
Marcus reached into his jacket pocket, mostly to hide the fact that he was reaching into his 'Status' box to pull out a $10 and a few $5's, purposefully counting them out before handing the cost over, and re-storing the rest.
George walked back out, gesturing for Marcus to follow. "So what do you know about fighting kid?"
Ignoring the kid part (because he was 26 years old, and an a-dolt!), he thought about it for a moment before he answered. "Don't wrap your fingers around your thumb when you make a fist. And when you hit, hit like your trying to strike beyond your target."
George seemed authentically surprised. "That's it?"
Marcus just shrugged. "Kung fu movies don't count, and neither does Rocky. I've swung my fists, landed some good hits, but that's it. It's safe to assume I'm a complete amateur."
Muttering under his breath George continued leading him. "You really don't know how to fight."
"As I've already established." 'Way to cut me down while I'm already prone, Georgie.'
"Fine," he replied gruffly. "We'll get you started on the basics. Starting with how ta put on your tape."
Marcus made sure to pay extra special attention to the old-timer's instructions. Mostly because he was spacy on a good day in his old world (and because most teachers were boring as Hell. Sorry Mister Tibbets!), and partially because Mister McKinnon didn't strike him as the type to relish in repeating himself.
"Alright, show me your ready stance," he ordered.
Marcus just looked like a deer in headlights that had forgotten how to deer. "Um… what part of I have no clue–"
"Just do it," George ordered, clearly put out.
Swallowing thickly, Marcus took off his jacket, laying it gently to the side before flexing his fingers in the tape. While it felt odd, he did a couple of warm-up punches before obeying, trying to keep his stance even, but sturdy. His recently added DEX seemed to help in maintaining his balance.
"Hmm," the older man scrutinized. "Your stance is decent. Form and positioning are lacking. And you hold yourself like your trying to mimic all those video games you kids play these days."
'Sue me!' he sniveled. Speaking of which, which consoles were out right now? It was 2007, so Skyrim was still 4 ½ years away. Assuming of course that Bethesda was around in this world. 'Fucking Bethesda.'
"Alright, try this." Very carefully, George began making subtle adjustments to how Marcus stood, how he positioned himself. Even what parts of his body he should be tensing. It was… oh God, holding this position felt so weird! "Now, show me a punch."
'[Inspect].'
[Old Sand Punching Bag (Uncommon)
Proof that old-school still works, this old punching bag is used to provide training for boxers, or recreational exercise.
Damage Resistance: 35 bludgeoning resist.
Weight: 100 Ib.]
.
Looking at the bag, Marcus gave his best – watched his sister take Karate – punch he could manage, landing it dead-center.
POP!
He was surprised to watch as the bag swayed from the hit. Not much, but he thought it was decent.
"Hmm." While Marcus wasn't exactly expecting praise, the lackluster in George's voice was… more than a little disheartening. "You got strength kid, I'll give ya that."
'It's STR actually,' he kept to himself. No need for the sass just yet. That could come later.
George went on to correct his form, demonstrating and helping him iron out a proper punch. Which was more than he'd ever gotten in his old world.
"Now, keep your shoulders loose. Feet apart. Focus, and chain your hits."
Marcus obliged. It wasn't perfect. But he struck the bag, letting just as much calculation go into the hit, as making sure it felt right.
"And again." He obeyed. "And again." He did. "And again."
[You have created a new skill through repetitive action.
'Pugilism Style' skill obtained.].
[Pugilism Style (Passive) lvl 1 (6.8%)
The start of the user utilizing unarmed combat, 'Pugilism' – or 'Western Boxing' – is only the beginning.
Passive:
'Boxing Style' Synergizes with 'Unarmed Mastery'.
+0.5% to STR when using 'Pugilism Style'.
+0.5% to DEX when using 'Pugilism Style'.]
.
'Huh,' he thought, only half paying attention to the new skill as he continued to punch. Skill Synergy. Who knew? Or maybe it was more like a branching system. The 'Style' aspect seemed to be imitating physical conditioning through said skill. And because it was his Gamer reinforced body and not a machine (like, say, a gun) with built-in limitations, then there technically wasn't a limit on how much he could "condition" his body.
But that brought another thought to mind.
"Could you show me that punch again?" he asked after doing a full set of straights and hooks against the bag.
George looked annoyed for only a moment before seeing the calculating furrow to Marcus's brow. "Alrighty. Watch very carefully."
'I intend to. [Inspect].' Marcus was almost mad that it had taken him so long to think about using the skill on a person. Then again, he had been a little preoccupied adapting to this world. Most days, he still was.
And breaking down. And building up. And breaking down again.
As if to reward his success, he watched as the ingrained and trained punch of "Gatling" George McKinnon thudded into the bag.
["Gatling" George McKinnon lvl ?
Damage: Unarmed
Hit: ?, massive chance of inducing 'Staggered'.
Staggered – temporarily negates any guard mitigation against damage.
Armor: 1.
Status: Healthy.
Weakness: Arthritis in hands. Hearing aids.]
'DAAAAAAMN! Gramps still got it, even with the Arthritis!'
It. Was. Surreal. The details that transpired from [Inspect] suddenly becoming crystal clear. It was like watching a cutaway video of a bullet going off, or a slowed-down version of watching the combustion process in a car; how each process came together to affect the next. Every muscle cord moving in a strange, machine-like fashion that was broken down in increments.
[For utilizing your skill in a unique and intriguing way, your INT increased by 1.]
[Due to developing the 'Inspect' skill in a unique way, 'Inspect' has evolved.
'Inspect' has gained a level.]
'Hello darling.'
"And that's how ya do it," George stated. "Did ya get that?"
Marcus nodded, deep in thought as he retook his place in front of the bag. He started slow, imagining the exact process as he gingerly tried to emulate each muscle movement.
Furthermore, he decided to reverse the skill usage.
'[Observe].'
{Old Sand Punching Bag (Uncommon)}
.
It wasn't much compared to using [Inspect] on people, considering the bag wouldn't exactly have much in the way of Status but–
[Due to developing the 'Observe' skill in a unique way, 'Observe' has evolved.
'Observe' has gained a level.]
.
[Observe (Passive & Active) lvl 15
By watching people intently, the user has learned to take a peak at how they fit into the world around them. And whether or not they're worth the EXP.
Passive:
Can view the names and level of people up to 5 levels higher than the user
Can view titles and monikers
Range is 30 feet
+20% Accuracy
Active:
Can view Max HP, Max MP, Max SP, and basic information.
Can view an additional 5 levels higher
Cost: 13 MP/person or object.]
.
And now for the kicker. Combination. If any two skills should have synergy, it was these two.
[Observe, Inspect].
'…Oh.'
To his shock and surprise, the combination almost seemed to explode in his eyes, not just on a peripheral observation, but as though he were tearing it apart with his eyes. Every crease, every repair job, every stitch. This combo was specifically for tearing apart weaknesses and strengths. It. Was. Beautiful.
And terrible all in one. To see so much of the world. And yet see so little of it.
[!Skill Synergy Discovered!
'Inspect' has a gained a level.
'Observe' has gained a level.]
[New skill development path has been discovered. Max both skills to unlock.]
[For creating a Skill synergy effect, your WIS increased by 1.]
.
"Something funny?" George asked impatiently, dropping Marcus from his amazement.
It took Marcus a moment to realize that he was smiling. "No. I just realized something is all." He didn't say much more than that as he continued to hit the punching bag, striking in a much more intentional manner.
"Care to share with the rest of the class?" he inquired sarcastically.
Marcus punched the bag, making it sway harder as he hit it, surprising the older man.
"Just something interesting," he responded vaguely.
['Pugilism Style' has gained a level.]
Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick
Race: Human (standard)
Occupation: Server
Level: 7 (1340/2800)
Title: Masochistic Gamer (+5 STR, VIT, DEX; +25% Cash and EXP)
HP: 540
– HP regen: 2.9% (15.66 HP/minute)
MP: 560
– MP regen: 7.2% (40.32 MP/minute)
– Magic/Mental resist: 5.2%
SP: 570
– SP regen: 8% (36.8 SP/minute)
STR: 17 (+5) = 22
VIT: 14 (+5) = 19
DEX: 25 (+5) = 30
INT: 23 (+0) = 23
WIS: 26 (+0) = 26
LUC: 18 (+0) = 18
SKL: 56 | EVO: 1
Currency: $12205.83
– Rate/hour: $13.50 (+25%) = $16.875
Hunger: 43/190
– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)
Thirst: 24/190
– Standing Drain: 6/hour (144/day)
.
.
!NEW Traits!:
[Runner's Dexterity (Uncommon)]
[Ponderer's Wisdom (Uncommon)]
.
Passive Skills:
[Vehicle Mastery, novice lvl 8]
[Mechanics, basic lvl 5]
[Firearm Mastery, novice lvl 4]
[Fishing Mastery, novice lvl 11]
[Information Processing lvl 11]
[Cartography lvl 21]
[Empathic Reception lvl 5 = 6]
[Inconspicuous lvl 5 = 7]
[Danger Sense lvl 3]
[Critical Hit lvl 3]
[Unarmed Mastery lvl 4]
[Pugilism Style lvl 2]
.
Active Skills:
[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]
[Meditation, self-taught lvl Max]
[The Zone lvl 1]
[Adrenaline Rush lvl 1]
[Power Strike lvl 2]
.
Passive & Active Skills:
[Pushing Limits lvl Max]
[Sprint lvl 10 = 13]
[Climbing lvl 2 = 3]
[Inspect lvl 11 = 15]
[Observe lvl 12 = 16]
Author's Note: Don't forget to READ and REVIEW!
Let me know what you guys think. Keep it constructive. And any help balancing or reinventing certain skills would be most helpful.
Until next time.