A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here!
Just... going through some stuff. I've been sick for the past, almost 10 weeks now, and it's evolved into a potential medical issue. Still waiting on results, but it hasn't exactly left me in the best of headspaces. Still, hoping to get out some more content, cause I'm really enjoying writing this story so far.
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:
- Well . Ok: A "himbo". That's your take-away. Ouch dude. But seeing as there are multiple, overlapping definitions, your definition could fall anywhere on that spectrum. Still, the most basic and straight forward term is "dumb, but attractive". Still ouch, I'll be nursing that one for a hot-minute. Though I'm glad you like the setup.
- Bearticguy7: Still kind of on the fence. But I do have an idea of where I want to send him to build his 'Skills' and approximately in what timing. As to his full setup? No idea yet. All I got is a concept that I'm filling out.
- Reader8916: For any reason? Really? I'd argue this in one on a very simple concept - it depends on what you believe defines being human. Is it the general shape that your body takes? A set of defined traits that are unique among homo sapiens? Or is it something less concrete and more conceptual? The ability to empathize? The ability to recognize and understand the affect one has on others, especially when inflicting harm? The ability to prioritize and care for something greater over your own well-being?
His struggle with humanity isn't in regards to the physical, especially when he can basically switch off his emotions at a moment's notice. I'll let you make of that what you will.
- Starwar98: Well, here's that chapter!
- Crainium9: The world as I know it, in a nutshell.
- DG2: Kinda, yeah.
- Camsonius: Yeah, easily one of my favorite parts about writing this so far. As far as actors go, Charlie Cox nailed Matt Murdock.
Your confidence in my abilites is appreciated. And me too. I really want to bring in more characters, but I have to restrain myself on the daily, and let it trickle together.
- danialhaziq520: Thanks!
- LocomotiveClown: Thank you! And will do my best!
- gukison56: Top 25? I'm flattered. I wanted a realistic take on someone getting transported, and it's great to read that it's a unique take too.
- treviondrown: I... think I got the gist of what you were writing? Maybe? The thing is, reality is set to Hardcore Mode. And ultimately, Marcus wanted something closer to his/our reality. Because ultimately, getting transported to another world is simply changing one reality for another. There is no "Easy Mode". And that means, no changing difficulties. Hard set, no reruns, no do overs.
*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 5: (Sorta) Legal Representation
{…Malibu, California…}
"What do you mean, you can't hack it?"
"I'm sorry, sir. But whatever encryption is being used is beyond my capabilities."
Tony inhaled as he clasped his hands together in front of his computer, his pointer fingers resting on his lip. "Jarvis."
"Yes sir?"
"It's… a library card," Tony stated.
"Correct sir. Utilized directly in correlation to the library's system regarding our mystery user."
Tony nodded, still frowning. "It's a library. Card."
"Unfortunately sir, enunciation will not make the results any less reclusive," Jarvis sassed back.
And there was his A.I. Doing A.I. things. Like learning sass. Tony still wasn't sure which part of his code allowed him to do that, or if that was just genetic. 90% of the time, Tony was the proud papa of a nearing self-sustained A.I. It was the remaining 10% that was utterly grinding his gears. It was just so... him.
"What kind of library card has that kind of security?" Tony asked. Never mind that outfitting Jarvis with an advanced hacking program hadn't made getting those results any easier.
"I don't know, sir," Jarvis stated. "While unable to collect any particular data on our mystery person, I was able to create a trace pattern coded to that particular card's usage. We'll now know whenever, and wherever, it is used. Albeit, only in libraries."
Tony blinked again. He hadn't designed Jarvis to do that. At least, not yet. The idea that Jarvis could analyze the problem, create contingencies, adapt strategies, and offer solutions was the idea behind his creation. Well, that and handling the usual computer and business stuff at STARK Industries that he just couldn't be bothered with. "Jarvis, why did you do that?"
"Based on previous interactions and correlations, I thought it best to base a minimal form of location and observation around events that coincide with our mystery person. That way, some data may continue to be of use, instead of none."
"Jarvis… how developed is your programming right now?" Tony inquired.
Immediately, Jarvis's code showed up on the computer screens, minimizing everything else out.
"While not yet to the minimal standard you've designed behind my creation, sir, I have been attempting to analyze and highlight varies portions of my source code that may need a second glance since you upgraded and cleaned my processors. Mostly redundancies, and pieces that may result in future bugs when new updates are installed. Of course, these are just possibilities."
Tony nodded as he observed some of the code Jarvis had highlighted. While it wasn't quite self-sustaining, the fact that Jarvis was not just quickly learning, but also adapting, was a good sign. Not only that, Jarvis was taking initiative and preemptively setting up measures showed a unique kind of forward-thinking. Or processing? However that worked for a fledgling A.I.
"Good job, Jarvis," Tony praised before closing his eyes for a moment as he frowned in thought. "Also, add proxies around the same coding and-or patterns you noticed with the library card. The same kind of… untraceable signature of our mystery person. It may very well give us an idea of all his or her activities, even if we can't pinpoint who exactly it is.
"Yet," he added firmly. It was fine. He liked a good mystery like anyone else. Except when that mystery wouldn't let him find an answer. Evasive mysteries were the worst. Not knowing always left this little itch at the back of the skull. And Tony hated not knowing. "Also, make sure nothing's coming back through the Firewall with those data packets you're picking up. Fun as this is, I don't want our systems compromised."
"Already done, sir," Jarvis complied. "Might I also recommend the ruby pierced cufflinks for your business dinner tonight? Elegant, sleek, and not too gaudy… and also red, sir."
Huh. The fashion advice was new too. "Hmm. Not a bad idea," Tony hummed.
He did look good in red.
{…New York City, New York… April 11th, 2007…}
So… Marcus learned something new.
Despite the fact that backpacks couldn't be used as broken-ass Shulker boxes, it had come as a surprise when he had packed a spare change of clothes before putting it in his 'Inventory'. Evidently, the System registered that as one item: 'Spare Clothes'.
Four or five items condensed together took up one slot of his 'Inventory', and it had been bugging him for some time now. Like how ridiculously under-utilized and under-appreciated such a minor detail was. Or how he now had to fold his laundry in order to make use of said detail, which sucked. No one liked folding laundry. He had a "clean laundry" basket that was out of a job now.
While an interesting development, it didn't help him though as he jump roped as deftly as he could while looking over the new quest that he'd accepted just two days ago.
[!Quest: Enter the Ring!]
You're taking your training to the next level… which means getting into controlled, supervised fights. The things you do for the grind.
Requirements:
- Train for Hell's Kitchen's Boxing circuit
- Compete in Hell's Kitchen's Boxing circuit
- Complete "Target" Sub-Quests as they appear.
Reward:
- 4000 EXP (+1000 EXP)
- $2400 (+$600)
- 1 Evolution Point
- 5 Skill Points
- Additional Rewards pending other Quest factors (Completion of Sub-quests)
Failure: Quest can be 'Quit' at any time, with no guarantee that rewards will be granted. Any Sub-Quests completed will be retained.
.
It was as close to a 'Questline' as he'd achieved, although, it was closer to a set of quests that co-incited, rather than a linear set of quests.
Being distracted by his musings ended with him catching his foot on the jump rope, sending him tripping to the floor with a grunt.
"Get back at it!" George snapped, scrutinizing him critically.
Huffing in irritation he stood back up, continuing with his training. As much as he'd like to argue, he didn't. He just set himself at a firm pace, and kept it. As it was, George was a blessing in a poorly disguised pain in the ass.
The man was a task master, pushing Marcus the way his high school P.E. teacher never did. Demanding a level of fitness and resilience that Marcus hadn't been able to apply self-sufficiently outside of his basic workout routine.
But, the good news was, he did get an 'Title' out of it….
[Title: Boxer-in-Training (UNCOMMON)
Gained by those who start to put in the work toward being a professional boxer. Under the supervision of a trainer, your skills in boxing should improve.
+10% Skill Leveling to relevant skills.
+10% Stat Acquisition to relevant stats.]
.
…The problem was that it wasn't as good as his 'Masochistic Gamer' Title; thought most Titles would be hard-pressed to beat it, even after it became useless at level 20. And he half-expected it to be more of an 'Occupation'. Although, that might be more towards things that earn him money. Although, he did appreciate the 'Trait' he got out of it.
[Pugalist Conditioning (Uncommon, Temporary)
The user has conditioned their body with their training. As long as the user continues this training, they will continue to benefit from this 'Trait'.
+5% to STR, VIT, and DEX Acquisition.
+5% SP regen.
+1% SP efficiency.]
.
Despite the efficiency being low, which, Marcus didn't quite understand in practice, it was an excellent 'Trait'. And kind of broken for an 'Uncommon' rarity. Since even if Marcus decided to stop training and became a couch potato, he wouldn't lose any 'Stats' he gained. He might slip progress like the jail feature in Skyrim (fucking Bethesda), but since he wasn't aiming on testing that, he was pretty sure he was good.
The only real downside to his current predicament was that any form of training increased the build-up of his 'Thirst' and 'Hunger' bars. 'Thirst' was easy; they had this revolutionary invention called "tap water". 'Hunger'… not so much. His lackluster meals (ergo: PB&J and Ramen) were barely holding it together. The sheer discipline he was invoking to keep from buying a box of donuts should have made him a transcendent monk already. He felt like the fucking Buddha for ignoring how badly he wanted to eat a Snickers bar sometimes. Sometimes, he walked past the deli aisle of a grocery store, just to remember what the saturated fat of fried chicken smelled like.
God, he missed sweets that didn't taste like bland grape jelly. It tasted like his wasted college years. But he couldn't (read: "wouldn't") splurge his money. Plus, Sys was keeping him focused financially, which certainly helped. He didn't think he was strong enough otherwise.
And this is why actors had personal trainers. Because no one in their right mind would subscribe themselves to that level of discipline that would deny them glorious. Fucking. CARBS!
Marcus had dealt with that whole shpiel in his old world. Unfortunately, he loved pizza and apple pie more than he liked having a muscle-fat ratio that denied him buoyancy in water. And now, thanks to the miracle of broken-ass [Gamer's Body], he wasn't sure if he'd float any more if he suddenly and spontaneously got stranded in the middle of the ocean.
[For making healthy eating habits, despite wanting to chow down on sugary goodness, and sticking to it, your WIS increased by 1.]
[Your Willpower is noteworthy.]
The System was mocking him. He was 93.76% sure of it. But if he got a reward out of it, he could suck up his pride and gluttonous appetite for a brief moment.
The other downside was that every instance he thought he wasn't looking, Rouise Domingo was glaring at the back of his head. Like seriously, what did he do, besides tell him 'no' to a spar? Did he kill his dog in a past life adjacent with this Universe or something?
When he'd asked George about it, all he'd say is, "Does it matter? He's pissed at ya, and that's that."
Yeah, super helpful. He didn't even care that Rouise seemed to have something against him. He just wanted to know "why". Not knowing the "why" of the matter bugged the shit out of him.
Unfortunately, Rouise didn't want to use his big-boy words.
[The fact that your upset about this is more worrisome than whatever crawled up his ass.]
'You mean besides the fact I have a compulsive – bordering on instinctual – need for people to at least be chill with me? Ya don't say!' Marcus sassed back as he continued to hop in place. It was new for him. He'd never had anyone in actively antagonistic toward him. At least, not that he knew about. It was a new experience that he wasn't sure how to handle.
The building ache of his swiftly leveling 'Stats' continued to keep him mentally grounded, making time move by at a ridiculously slow pace. His only boon was that – thanks to [Gamer's Body] – lactic acid didn't seem to build up in his muscles, a trait he'd only discovered after some basic research regarding his new training schedule.
As such, he could technically continue rapidly increase his 'Stats' with virtually no cooldown limit, as long as he had SP to keep up and the will to ignore his body straining itself.
'Now if only I could put myself in a trance. Then I could do this all day with virtually no negative effects,' he thought glumly.
[Dedication to your training has yielded results, your STR, VIT, and DEX increased by 1.]
It wasn't the first time he'd seen the training pop-up though. He'd received it twice before, and now, his 'Stats' were starting to distance themselves. He just didn't know how to build a singular 'Stat' without spending 'Skill Points'. At least, not in his physical 'Stats'. INT was by far the easiest, since all he had to do was expound on what he already knew.
[DEX 27 = 30]
DEX was clearly his highest base stat, and if he was honest, he was okay with that. DEX dealt with agility, avoiding blows, and dealing with finesse, which was okay in his book. Though, if he was honest, he was still kind of directionless when it came to how he wanted to build himself; especially without access to a basic idea like Class-Function. Should he go Wizard, or Rogue? Maybe Ranger? How did Cleric and Paladin work in this world if all the gods were technically aliens?
"Alright! That's enough!" George ordered, almost as though he was griping. "Jeezus kid! What are you made of?!"
[Finished 'Supervised Training' for 3 hours.
+102 EXP.]
Setting down the jump rope he'd been training with, he looked at the old fart with a deadpanned expression. While his SP was decently low, it was recovering fast. "You ask that every time. The answer hasn't changed. I'm flesh and blood last I checked."
George just rolled his eyes before getting a contemplative look on his face. "What's it take to make you sweat, kid? I've seen pro's who'd be drenched by now."
Marcus just chalked it up to [Gamer's Body]. No lactic acid build up. No sweating. As far as he knew, he didn't even notice any actual fatigue either outside of his SP; so he might not need to sleep either unless he received a particular 'Infliction'.
'Not that I'm ever testing that theory.' If this shit wasn't life-or-death in a few years time, he'd be sleeping in. Sleep was a beautiful thing, and if it wasn't required… he'd still sleep anyway. He'd go nuts if he didn't have to sleep any more. 'That, and… sleeping is a normal human thing.'
Funny how it took getting transported to another world to fix that chronic insomnia he'd been dealing with since high school. That [Night Owl] 'Trait' had been a massive pain in his butt. And still was if he was being honest. It was just less so.
His depressive thoughts slowly faded away, courtesy of [Gamer's Mind]. Was it any wonder he questioned his status as a human when his Body and Mind were far enough removed from the norm.
And that was just what he'd stumbled into so far.
'I guess I could technically qualify as an Enhanced,' he thought happily. Not too weird then.
[Pfft!
Sweetie, Enhanced have limits. You do not.]
'And thank you for ruining my attempt to normalize myself again,' he groaned internally.
[But you're not normal.]
He grumbled obscenities toward the System's matter-of-fact texting under his breath.
"What was that?!" George demanded.
"Nothing, sir!" he responded quickly, hating that he'd almost jumped to attention.
Sighing, old George just waved dismissively. "We'll call it for today." Then in a grumbled undertone, complained, "At least we know the pace we can set you at."
"Speaking of…," Marcus started, unwinding his hand tape. "…When's the season start?"
"Hmm?" George stroked his chin in thought. "About mid-April. Why?"
[Say what now?]
"Um… it's the 11th of April," Marcus pointed out.
"Well then it's a good thing you're a natural when it comes to this stuff, kid," George proclaimed with a shrug. "You'll be caught up in no time!"
Que the rehash of the glare Domingo was sending his way… with a vengeance. Nosy little shit.
"And if you lose one or two fights, no big deal," George stated. "No better teacher than experience anyway."
'Your faith in my System is touching, but….' "Thank you for throwing me to the wolves ya old fart," he huffed with both seriousness and sarcasm. "Glad to know the real treasure was our friendship all along."
"Not until I see the cash, kid," George quipped back with the slightest upturn of his lip. "This old fart's gotta eat."
'And to afford the stoggies you probably smoke in your down time.'
Sighing, Marcus did some quick thinking. "So first match is probably this Saturday or Sunday, right?"
George nodded gently. "How ya feelin' about it?"
"Like I'm gonna get trounced," he admitted with a snort before looking across the gym at Rouise.
Noticing where his eyes wondered, George just shook his head. "Ya won't be fighting him just yet if you're lucky. We'll get ya sorted through the test circuits before we even think about taking it further."
"Test circuits?" He'd never heard about that.
"A few starter matches that some judges will use to decide how high up on the proverbial ladder ta send ya before ya get tenderized," George clarified. "And they're good at their jobs, so no sense in holding back to dominate a lower circuit. They don't take kindly to that either."
"So it works on a circuit system?" Marcus asked.
"Professional boxing? No. Local boxing? Yes," George answered. "Keeps the whole thing clean. Less of that telegenic stuff. You don't set up your own opponents either. And if ya do, it's more of a private thing."
"So more old-fashioned fisticuffs, tournament-style?"
"Yep. And a whole lot less of the pandering and propaganda bullshit. Just skill against skill as God intended," George nodded with a nostalgic look.
Marcus just cocked his head. "I don't get it."
George let out a sigh of long-suffering. "Kid, do you know why the League doesn't pit their best fighter against their poster boy?"
[So nobody gets their ear bitten off?]
"Because… they need their poster boy to keep winning?" Marcus answered thoughtfully. Though he was partial to Sys's response.
George nodded. "Some fighters just advertise better than others, regardless of skills. Where the money goes, they need to keep making money.
"The local stuff, we don't do that. You either make it or break it on your own. Ya get good enough, or famous enough, then ya might get some arranged fights. Understood?"
"I… guess?" Marcus stated. He couldn't help it though. Sports were just never his thing; didn't matter what sport, or who was playing. Plus, watching his family yell at a screen was just… it hurt on a spiritual level. At least with video games, if he sucked, he knew it was his own skill issue.
"It doesn't matter anyway," Marcus dismissed. "I understand the basics of a bracket system, and I only have a few days to prepare for my first fight."
Ignoring him, George continued. "Speaking of, some gents are gonna drop by and will need to take some tests."
"Tests?" he asked. No one told him about any tests. "It isn't going to be a History of Boxing lesson is it?"
George snorted. "No. They're gonna make sure you don't got anything in your system that'll give you… any undue advantages."
"Like drugs?" Marcus deadpanned. He sighed. He really should have expected it.
"And other things, kid," George stated, before adding quickly, "But don't worry about it."
'They're testing to see if I'm Enhanced, huh?' It was feasible. He wasn't sure how common someone with superpowers was, or even if those kinds of things were public knowledge. He didn't think so, but it never hurt to assume a little.
[That's a reasonable deduction. Can't have someone with superpowers wrecking the competition.]
'Is something gonna show up on those tests that I can't explain?'
[*Snort* Please! You're DNA is as average as anyone else's.]
'Thanks… I think?' Small favors.
Still… "Any chance I can get that in writing?" Marcus asked. "I'm not pissing in a cup without a bona fide contract I agree to, in place."
"We generally do these things by word o' mouth," George stated, clearly proud of such simplicity.
Marcus shook his head. "George, I trust you not to screw me over, if only because you're an old enough to have an old soul, and the integrity to back it up. It's the wigs too big for their britches behind this shit that worry me."
The old man seemed to think it over for a moment before sighing and nodding in acknowledgement. "I hear ya kid. Don't happen to know anyone who knows some bullshitter-speak, do ya?"
A smirk crawled its way onto Marcus's face. "It just so happens, that I do. Ya got a phone?"
"And that's all the time we have for today. Make sure you're keeping up on your final essay. I know it's still April, but finals are coming up in June, so it's not too far away."
Matt chuckled softly as he listened to his teacher's words fall on deaf ears. Students were itching to be out of classes for the day, and were already leaving, talking with their little cliques as they exited the classroom.
He quietly felt around the space he'd taken up, ensuring everything was present before he began to pack it up. From his books to the notetaker, each designed with braille in mind when he interacted with them. He shifted gently, making sure it was all secure before he gingerly grasped the edge of the long table that stood on but a single layer of the amphitheater-like classroom.
Guiding himself, he winced when his shin smacked into chair that had been left out. He pushed it in with a soft huff before stopping at the edge of the table. His que triggered, he quietly unfolded his cane, using it to gently tap his way out of the classroom.
The hallways were "alight" with the resounding sounds of his classmates leaving, their echoing voices reverberated a three-dimensional image that he could use to "see". It was just exceptionally loud to him compared to the simple, sharp clack of his cane.
Bzzz!
Eyebrows quirking, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his flip phone (because flip and slide phones were a thing in 2007), opening the cover to answer it. "This is Matt Murdock speaking?"
"Hey Matt, it's Marcus."
He smirked as he continued walking, utilizing the art of tapping and talking at the same time. "Did you finally get a phone?"
"No, just borrowing one for the foreseeable moment." The pausing at the other end didn't bode well.
"Do you need bailed out?"
The snort that came over the other end made Matt smile. "If I did something that got me put in the slammer, leave me. Clearly I was being stupid.
"No, I'm calling 'cause I might have your first case."
"You do know I'm still a college student, right?"
"Yes. You wanna know what else I know? That you could probably wipe the floor with some of those fancy shmancy lawyers."
"Probably?"
"Plausible deniability."
"That's not how that works," Matt pointed out, pausing as he came to a door. He quickly pushed his way out of the vestibule, getting a rush of fresh air. "So what's this for?"
A sigh. Definitely not a good sign. "So evidently they got some guys dropping by to make sure I'm on the up and up. Urine tests, possibly bloodwork. The problem is that there's no documentation on my part."
Matt paused at that, frowning. "You mean you haven't signed anything?"
"Not a thing," Mark confirmed. "So you can see why I'm a little hesitant about some tests run by people I didn't sign off for."
"If there's no documentation, then there's no agreement. You have the right to refuse since no documentation was provided."
"But they can also say that I can't fight because I didn't let them run a swab in my mouth. Not to mention, they didn't send any paperwork for my fighting in the first place."
"Which they can use to stiff-arm you unless you want to be dismissed, or short-changed," Matt spelled out, though he could imagine that Mark was nodding along unsaid. "And despite how unfair it would be, there was nothing concrete except a vocal agreement. It'd be easily dismissible as words aren't binding."
"Yeah-yeah. Words are wind. Even when they shouldn't be.
"So… you got a second to keep my ass out of the fire?"
Matt smirked at that. "Where you at?"
"Fogwell's. And bring your roommate, too. No time like your first case to meet, and I'll even sweeten the pot with dinner and drinks afterward."
"Casual, or formal?"
"Like a date? I dunno. Cute as you are Murdock, I'm into women."
"I meant for swooping in to save you."
"My hero," Mark responded sarcastically. "Um… the kind of formal that says you were being casual today, before you got a phone call from a client on your day off, and might have ruined whatever plans you had later."
"Well that's specific."
"Yes, well, you're blind and I'm tasteless. I'm sure that somewhere, the intricate art of fashion is just waiting to tell us how it's done."
Smiling at the jab, Matt shook his head. "I'll have my roommate help. Can't look completely tasteless."
A muttered, "Not that you'd know," revitalized the smile on his face.
"So what kind of ETA are you expecting?"
"Dunno. But it's sometime today. Sooner than later I'd say."
"Rush job. Got it. I'll be there in a bit."
"Thanks Matt. I'll see ya then."
"Alright. Smell you soon."
"He–!" Matt hung up before Mark could protest. He wasn't technically wrong.
Regardless though, he had work to do.
…
…
…
"Foggy!" Matt called as he barged into his dorm room.
"I'm awake!" Foggy called groggily from the couch, inhaling sharply as he blinked awake, greeted by the sight of his college books on the coffee table. He groaned when he realized he was alive and conscious again. "Maaaatt! I was sleeping!"
"We have a case!" Matt shot back.
Perking up, Foggy stretched as he stood up. "Case? Matt, we haven't even taken the bar exam."
Matt paused just before he entered his room. "You know my mystery friend?"
"My potential replacement in the best friend department?" Foggy asked teasingly. "I might have heard of him."
"Well he just called, and he needs a hand with some low-key legal matters."
Interest peaked, Foggy quirked an eyebrow. "What kind of legal matters? He didn't, like, try strangling his neighbor with a garden hose did he?"
"Drug testing without formal employment, or documentation suggesting that he'll be hired upon positive completion of said testing," Matt pointed out.
Foggy frowned knowingly. "No documentation?"
"No documentation," Matt nodded, before continuing on to his room. "Called me the moment he was notified. And, he asked for your help too."
"Me? You talking about me behind my back, Murdock?" Foggy asked.
"Only good things Foggy. Only good things." Matt came back out. "And we don't have long to get there, so I need your help picking out an outfit."
"Oooh! Are we gonna get our hair done too?" Foggy prompted with false enthusiasm. "Maybe our nails while we're at it?"
"Something that says casual, but professional," Matt pointed out.
"Business-casual. Right," Foggy said, hesitating for a moment. "I can do that." Foggy ran to Matt's room, already finding him pulling out pre-made outfits from his closet, all neatly hung on clothes hangers. "Nope! No! Forget the sweaters and the cardigans! We're on Foggy-Time!"
Matt paused before looking in Foggy's direction. "Is that a thing?"
"It is now!" Foggy stated excitedly, before stopping. "What about Punjabi?"
"What about it?"
"I haven't gotten my latest test results back," he stated.
"Then I'll just have to have faith you did a good job."
"Right," Foggy muttered hesitantly. "Faith.
"C'mon. Let's get you properly decked out."
He continued to punch a punching bag, unable to calm his nerves to the synchronous rhythm of his fist on leather. Waiting had never been his strong suite, even in his own world. Always needing something to do, growing antsy and agitated when all he could do was sit there. Play a game, read a book, listen to music; just… something.
Time was precious after all; a resource no one ever got back. It wasn't something to spend idle, even in an impossible Universe like Marvel's. Something he hadn't appreciated as much until he no longer had any left where it mattered in his own world.
But the weight of it was especially harsh with a looming warzone over his head. Kinda, sorta, literally. Even if it was still a few years away.
['Pugilism Style' skill has gained a level.]
'Don't panic. Don't panic. Plans fall through sometimes,' he thought reassuringly, in no way successfully convincing himself. There were few things he disliked more than making a plan, and then having some extraneous force come in and wreck said plan.
'It's okay. It's aaall good.' It was mostly the idea that he wasted time on a perfectly good plan that was now rendered useless. Even if it was somewhat self-inflicted.
He wasn't an ex-convict. If people wanted him to pee in a cup, he was getting that shit in writing. Nevermind getting a blood sample. He wasn't a blood bank, and he wasn't donating to any vampires.
Did traversing Universes fudge with his DNA? Sys had said it would be normal. Average even. What even constituted average DNA?
[You're panicking for nothing. Just chill out.]
'This is my life! I panic over scenarios that haven't happened yet, and are unlikely to happen!' he thought in protest, stressing himself out even more.
[*sigh*]
['Gamer's Mind' has been turned up to 11.]
A sharp sigh exited his body as he hit the bag, half-prepared to slump against it as a feeling of calm rippled through him. 'Sorry.'
[No biggie.]
"Eyes sharp, rookie," George barked softly.
'Fuuuuuuuu-,' he groaned internally. He looked around the bag to see a couple of blokes in their business casuals walked into the Gym. One even had a briefcase. And they weren't the cavalry he'd called in. '-ck.'
Or the troops.
Or the bombs.
Or even the friggin' medics.
[!New Quest: Negotiation – New York Boxing!]
Unfortunately, due to last minute circumstances (and an unwillingness to let anyone at your DNA without a warrant), you've decided to risk a potentially frugal quest. Not bashing you, it's just a curious set of circumstances considering your alternatives.
Requirements:
- Successfully negotiate for your boxing career.
Reward:
- Retain 'Quest: Enter the Ring'
- 933 EXP (+233 EXP)
Failure: 'Quest: Enter the Ring' will be removed and considered a failure. There's always next season.
.
'Gee, thanks.'
"Good evening, Mister McKinnon," one stated, looking friendly enough. At least they didn't have the Men in Black look. "You know what we're here for?"
"Well, you'll have to bring it up with the kid," George stated as he walked over to greet them. "Somethin' about ensuring contractual obligation or something like that."
'Did he just throw me under the bus?' Marcus deadpanned as his fist hit the bag with a thud.
[Yep. That is one big bus.]
'Double-decker even. Right… well, que the music! [Observe, Inspect].'
{Christopher "Chris" Jefferson lvl ?
"Legal Mediator"
Max HP: 380 | Max MP: 560 (locked) | Max SP: 400
Damage: Unarmed
Hit: 18.
Armor: 2.
Status: In a hurry.
Weakness: Time is Money.}
.
{Robert Jackson lvl ?
"Drug and Alcohol Technician"
Max HP: 320 | Max MP: 460 (locked) | Max SP: 340
Damage: Unarmed
Hit: 15.
Armor: 2.
Status: Tired.
Weakness: Chronic Insomnia. Uses heavy sleep medication.}
.
'Fuck me, I need to get to a higher level,' he griped, observing the '?' that reflected their levels. Then he looked down at Robert Jackson's weakness. 'Been there, bud. Been there.'
"Contractual… obligation?" the man called Robert asked slowly.
"They mean the documents," Christopher stated to his colleague, sounding exasperated. "We're here to get this done quickly, and make sure your boxer isn't on anything. Especially since he's joining so late. Overall, not a lot of wiggle room."
"Well, that's convenient." They all looked over at Marcus as he began approaching, unstrapping his boxing gloves. "I'm not trying to make your jobs difficult or anything. I get I'm coming in relatively late for the beginning of the season, but this stark last minute stuff says more about your lack of professionalism than it does about the "hurry" you guys are in."
'The fuck am I doing?!' he yelled at himself.
"It looks bad," Marcus summed up, leaning to one side slightly. "And unfortunately, it makes wanting to sign anything difficult when I don't have time to read the Terms of Agreement. Much less have the chance to negotiate past the rough draft."
They both blinked before turning to look at each other, then turning back to look at him. "You read the Terms of Agreement?" Robert asked somewhat disbelievingly.
"Why would he? That's not his job."
Marcus looked up at the new voice, smiling slightly to himself when he noticed two guys approaching on a mission. It was almost funny watching as the person he recognized as Foggy Nelson from the show, carefully marched in, Matt gently holding his shoulder for guidance. Both were dressed smart, but casual-smart.
"Technically, the reading is my job," Foggy stated off-handedly. "So…."
Chris and Robbie both looked back at the future Nelson and Murdock. "Um… and who are you two?"
"Matt," George greeted familiarly.
With a smile, Matt nodded back, gently shifting over his folded cane to his other hand before reaching out blindly toward the sound of his voice. "George." They shook briefly. "Didn't know you still trained boxers."
"Keeps these old gears from rusting I suppose," George joked back.
And like that, they were all business again. "As to who we are, we'd be Mister Kendrick's legal counsel," Matt stated. "My name is Matt Murdock, and this is my partner, Franklin Nelson."
"Pleasure," Foggy stated with a brief smile, that quickly morphed back into a game-face.
"You look like a couple of kids," Christopher stated firmly. "Aren't you a little young to be legal council?"
'Yes. Yes they are,' Marcus couldn't help, but wisely zipped his mouth.
Ignoring him, Matt started. "While normally such matters would be left to our client's manager, it's within our client's right to reserve counsel, especially for particular Terms of Agreement negotiated last minute. Or in this case, the lack of them. While normally, this wouldn't be too big of an issue, the potential nature of taking a urine sample to ensure my client is clean of foreign substances does pose a much more… shifty… position if bloodwork eventually becomes involved, especially since it involves his direct DNA.
"Especially with intent to do the exact same thing within a few hours before each fight to ensure legitimacy," he tacked on with a gentle 'What can you do?' shrug.
"Furthermore, the lack of a direct interview to establish my client's livelihood, does also put a bit of a damper when said client could be easily short changed, and his integrity undermined at a moment's notice. And I'm no expert, but boxing isn't exactly going to net a salary, now is it? Via it's per fight monetary dispensary, it's best that a solid figure is established for such out comes.
"Namely, so there can be no verbal indiscretions. Again, the last minute nature of this arrangement is troublesome, but the sooner we can establish a more concrete baseline, the sooner we can put this all behind us."
Marcus just blinked. 'Um… say what?'
[That's… a lot of fancy talk.]
'Great. At least I'm not the only one who can't keep up with whatever he just said. I think my ears bled there for a second.'
[Actually, I understood it perfectly. It was just a lot.]
'Well fuck me.'
"You do realize that without said documentation or testing, your…," Christopher pointedly glared at Marcus. "… client… won't be fighting."
Matt just smiled softly, almost pointedly. "Mister Kendrick?"
"That's my dad's name," Marcus answered with a mild start.
"Your thoughts?" Matt asked.
"Well… I'm not much for legal ('Read: Bullshit.') speak. And if I have to wait another season so it can be done properly, then… I'll wait," he stated, shrugging like it wasn't that big of a deal.
"You do realize that the local circuit is under no compulsion to hire you? Especially without a test," Robbie asked gently enough.
"And if it's meant to be, the opportunity will come back around," Marcus shrugged. "If this door closes, I'll just go and look for an open one. This is an opportunity I'd love to take, but it's not the end-all-be-all for me, especially if it could come at my own expense.
"And besides, I'm mostly doing this for fun," he added with a light-hearted shrug. 'And a chance to boost my stats.' Was that the best mindset to go in with? Probably not. But Marcus wasn't going to compromise here, especially for something necessary.
Christopher and Robert didn't look all that shook about it. "Thank you for your time, Mister Kendrick. We'll be in touch." And just like that, they began walking away.
'You and every other job interview I've had,' he retorted, mentally slumping a little. 'You guys aren't even being subtle. I don't even have a phone number. Well, there goes Plan A. Time for Plan B. Maybe C.'
"Just a moment," Matt stated firmly, halting both of them as he turned toward Marcus. "One punch."
"Excuse me?" Robert asked.
"Just one punch," Matt restated. "My client shows you one punch, and you decide if it's worth the extra effort or not."
'One punch? Really Matt?' Marcus deadpanned. No pressure. What. So. Ever.
As Matt could actually "see" his expression, he gave Marcus an 'I'm trying here' face, followed by a 'take it home' face.
Sighing exasperatedly, Marcus sucked it up like the adult he was supposed to be. "If they're okay with it," he answered neutrally, shoving his hands in his short's pockets.
Christopher pinched between his brows in frustration while Robert just looked to his co-worker, clearly following his lead.
"You're a businessman," Marcus stated, recapturing his attention. "So you need something to denote what utilizes your time. Because like the rest of us, time is money." Was it cheating that he was using his 'Skills'… maybe. But no more or less than anyone else using their own skills and gifts.
Then Marcus smiled. "And, if I impress, then I'll even throw in the samples as a bonus to open negotiations."
Matt frowned at that. "You sure."
"They need something to show for today," Marcus stated with the same plastered smile he'd used when dealing with people. He could negotiate this. "And what better way than to show that I'm completely, 100% legit."
Mister Jackson sighed, probably reluctantly vibing with Marcus using his own personal philosophy against him. "Alright. Show me what you got kid."
Marcus nodded, glad he hadn't taken off his tape. "Gloves? No gloves? A foldable chair?"
"No gloves," George suggested, putting in his two-cents as he continued watching. "Nothing padding your blows. Go wild."
"This I gotta see," Foggy commented lightly, much to the chagrin of their actual audience.
'Sys, you there?'
[Always.]
Quietly positioning himself in front of the punching bag, he flexed his fingers before slowly and tensely curling them into fist as he inhale, and closed his eyes.
'Activate… everything. Just one good punch.'
[Activate 'The Zone', 'Adrenaline Rush', 'Power Strike', 'Charge Attack', 'Sprint', 'Pushing Limits'.]
[STR: 22 +34.5%(+7) (+5) = 34
DEX: 30 +34.5%(+10) (+5) = 45]
['Power Charge Damage' calculating…
(34+175%+31%+23%)+30%]
[You will deal approximately 143 points of bludgeoning damage.]
.
'Noice.'
Marcus wasn't sure what it looked like from the outside, but he felt the momentary rush of all his 'Skills' culminating in a single strike. All that energy and power unleashed from a single point of impact. Like a machine.
Unable to see what was happening, Matt could still hear it though. The first was how Marcus's near mechanically calm heart rate skyrocketed. It was like listening to a soft thrum suddenly turn into a pounding drumbeat. The softest, almost imperceivable creak of his muscles tensing throughout his body, like an old house settling.
THUD!
And then the hit. He could feel the gentlest wave bristle through the roots of his hair. Hearing leather of the punching bag strain, and the sound of sand grains shifting as they tried to absorb the full blow, but ultimately still tip as the bag swung slightly on its clinking chain.
"Jeezus!" Foggy yelped as he jumped back.
"Mary and Joseph, kid. Where you been hiding all that?" George whistled appreciatively.
'Ow. My poor baby hand,' Marcus held back a sniff at how sore his knuckles was. Suppose that was what the gloves were for. Flexing it slightly to ease up the pain, he turned to the guys who he had put this show on for in the first place. "Well?"
Mister Jefferson's face had changed to one of intrigue while Mister Jackson's had turned to interest. "Completely clean you said?" Robbie asked.
"As my mama's kitchen counter," Marcus stated proudly.
Matt chose that moment to interject. "So, gentlemen… about that paperwork?"
[!Congratulations! You completed the Quest: Negotiation – New York Boxing!]
Rewards:
- You've retained 'Quest: Enter the Ring'
- 933 EXP (+233 EXP)
[!You Gained a Level!]
Foggy sat staring contemplatively at Matt's friend as they waited on their food. And while they waited, it was endless breadsticks galore!
He was actually surprised at how sort of… normal Marcus seemed. A roughly trimmed jowl that looked like it could either use a barber or a clean shave given how choppy it was; short but messy dark hair that seemed uneven in some areas, like he'd tried cutting it himself; a passive, closed smile that lopsided one of his cheeks; tired, but vibrant blue eyes that had some weird ring of hazel around the pupil. Foggy couldn't remember what that was called; some weird biology term he hadn't paid attention to.
He'd have that rugged stereotypical "mountain man" look if his oddly silky-looking darkish hair wasn't pulled back into a ponytail. Like, seriously, the guys had some weird calico of hair color going on, with a blend of medium brown that faded into blonde atop his head, while his facial hair was a much darker brown, but with this reddish hue tint that was like a faded auburn. That wasn't to mention the singular strands of early graying that Foggy swore he caught sight of. Genetics were weird man.
He wasn't bulging and veiny with muscle like he'd initially pictured, but holding lean trim that implied he at least looked a little fit. Even had the beginnings of a gut that suggested he was never going to be dehydrated enough to show off his abs; and maybe that he appreciated food as much as Foggy himself did. He wasn't sure if that was weird for boxers or not.
Nelson wasn't an expert on what people considered good-looking among guys, unless you counted Matt's wounded, handsome duck charms that somehow landed him a lot of pretty and hot, and pretty hot girls. Foggy still didn't know how he knew which girls were absolutely smokin'. But Marcus, he had that crooked little smile and deep-depth eyes that Foggy supposed could some just might consider handsome.
He was quiet mostly, but quirky and full of quips when he did talk. All dry humor and sarcasm. He seemed to visibly light up when Matt talked, like he was happy just to hear him speak. He wasn't what most would call "charismatic", but there was a reserved kind of... presence... like he was caught up trying his best to listen to anything and everything said.
"Man. I didn't think to bring a container," Marcus stated, looking at the breadsticks in thought.
And then he said things like that.
"You sound like my mom," Foggy commented, earning a snort.
"Funny. I opened my mouth, and I heard my grandmother come out," Marcus stated back before holding his hand out. "I suppose I should introduce myself properly. I'm Marcus Kendrick. Friends call me Mark."
"Franklin Nelson," Foggy returned, even though he cringed at his name. "But just call me Foggy."
Marcus cocked his head in an odd way. "Sooo… I can't call you Frank?"
"Please no," Foggy laughed nervously before realizing he was just being teased. "It's good to meet you though.
"So how'd you strong-arm Matt into becoming your personal sorta-lawyer?"
"Likewise," Marcus stated before snatching up a breadstick. "Technically, I'm hiring you both. Think of it as more of a swimming pool to stretch your little lawyer flippers in before you get thrown out in the ocean."
"With all the sharks," Foggy offered dryly.
"That's the idea," Marcus confirmed.
"Curse of being a lawyer," Matt commented, eating a breadstick.
"And here I thought they'd be more akin to blood-sucking leeches," Marcus quipped back.
Matt snorted a very Matt snort. "So what was the plan if we couldn't help you secure a contract?"
"Prayer," Marcus stated seriously. "And the knowledge that I vastly overestimated both of your abilities. Or that I jump too often without thinking."
"But…," Foggy started with a slight frown, "…I didn't even do anything."
"And that's a good thing," Marcus stated, giving him a smile. "It means you're underestimated."
"Underestimated?" Matt asked.
"Yep," he confirmed. "Matt strikes me as more of a… what's the word… phalanx? Solid defense, devastating offense. Relentless assault."
"Damn," Foggy commented at the comparison. "What about me?"
Marcus smiled again. "Hmm. I'd say a riptide."
"A… riptide?"
"No offense Foggy, but you look like an unassuming teddy bear," Marcus teased. "That's good. Means when you flip the tables, suddenly your opponents have their feet taken out from under them, swept out to sea, and dragged under before they can come up for air."
"Morbid," Foggy stated at that thought, but he still couldn't help but preen a little at the praise. Plus, being called a riptide sounded dope. "But cool. I can dig it. I'm a riptide."
"Dig it?" Matt chuckled. "I can't tell if you sound like an old man or a kid."
Foggy huffed in dejection.
"So what got you into wanting to be a lawyer Mister Nelson?" Marcus asked.
"Well, my mom wanted me to be a butcher," he answered dramatically, as though he was about to tell a story.
"Oh no. Not the 'butcher story'," Matt protested.
Foggy continued, undeterred. "I told her, 'No mom. I wanna be a lawyer'. And the rest is history." Almost speculatively he continued. "I'm pretty sure she just wanted free cuts."
"Well if you plan to use that as a fall back, I could use some occasionally cheaper steak to go with my mashed potatoes," Marcus commented, munching on a breadstick.
"Ha-ha," was Foggy's dry response. "Potatoes sound boring anyway. Like 'nursing home' or 'hospital' boring. At least add some substance."
"Okay…." Marcus briefly stumbled over what went well with steak. "…Asparagus then."
"Asparagus?" Foggy turned back to give Marcus a weird look.
"Or brussel sprouts," Marcus offered weakly. "Baked. Thinly glazed with oil and touched with salt. Just enough to leave the outside a little crispy."
"Better stop now, before Foggy gets any hungrier," Matt teased.
"You know, that's rude," he countered matter-of-factly. "Still waiting on the food though."
Matt and Marcus both snorted simultaneously.
"Just don't get used to it," Marcus warned sternly. "This is a celebration of success, and I can't afford this regularly."
"You can't afford Olive Garden?" Foggy asked in disbelief.
"I can. Just not regularly," Marcus corrected before quoting, ""Eat like your broke, and you'll never spend more than you can afford"."
"Who told you that?" Foggy asked with a weird look.
"Me."
"No offense, but you're depressing."
"So is being broke broke," Marcus pointed out.
Matt just smiled as he listened to them banter back and forth. He was glad they got along.
[!Congratulations! You completed the Quest: Befriend 'Matt Murdock'!]
And you didn't even need my help.
Rewards:
- 'Matt Murdock' has been added as a friend.
- 'Friends with the Devil' Trait (locked)
Bonus:
- 'Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson' has been added as an acquaintance.
Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick
Race: Human (standard)
Occupation: Server
Level: 8 (789/3600)
Title: Masochistic Gamer (+5 STR, VIT, DEX; +25% Cash and EXP)
HP: 640
– HP regen: 3.4% (21.76 HP/hour)
MP: 620
– MP regen: 7.4% (45.88 MP/minute)
– Magic/Mental resist: 5.4%
SP: 670
– SP regen: 9% (60.3 SP/minute) (1.00 SP/second)
STR: 22 (+5) = 27
VIT: 19 (+5) = 24
DEX: 30 (+5) = 35
INT: 23 (+0) = 23
WIS: 27 (+0) = 27
LUC: 18 (+0) = 18
SKL: 61 | EVO: 1
Currency: $12201.00
– Rate/hour: $13.50 (+25%) = $16.875
Hunger: 26/240
– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)
Thirst: 53/240
– Standing Drain: 6/hour (144/day)
.
.
!New Trait!:
Pugalist Conditioning (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 = 12]
[Cartography lvl 21]
[Empathic Reception lvl 8 = 9]
[Inconspicuous lvl 8 = 9]
[Danger Sense lvl 3]
[Critical Hit lvl 3]
[Unarmed Mastery lvl 5 = 6]
[Pugilism Style lvl 6 = 9]
[Knife Wielding lvl 2 = 3]
[Blade Guard lvl 4 = 6]
[Fire Retardant lvl 3 = 4]
[Pain Mitigation lvl 3]
.
Active Skills:
[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]
[The Zone lvl 2]
[Adrenaline Rush lvl 1]
[Power Strike lvl 3 = 5]
[Charge Attack lvl 1 = 2]
.
Passive & Active Skills:
[Pushing Limits lvl Max]
[Climbing lvl 3 = 4]
[Sprint lvl 13 = 14]
[Inspect lvl 15 = 16]
[Observe lvl 16 = 17]
[Harmonic Meditation lvl 1 = 3]
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.