A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here!
Going on 15 weeks (I think) now with whatever I'm sick with. Still going to the doctors, and they have no idea what it is yet. Doing better mentally, but still slumped since it's affected my ability to work to the point that my insurance was cancelled. Which sucks even more. Trying to keep it going and keep it real all the same though.
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:
- Bearticguy7: I'll be keeping keyly to the MCU.
A super pet would be cool, but it would more "mid-game" so to speak. And what I'm looking at for that would be... well, I'll just let it progress until it's ready.
- j hellfire: Wouldn't be a super hero story without banter and cheesy lines. Half the fun is the wise-cracks and sass that come out of those.
- FieldTested: Thanks!
- Camsonius: Will do my best!
I think the word was actually "reclusive", which means to elude or to hide from. No problems though. If I misuse a word, I'd want to know about it.
- Zerosdfr: Ah. Magic. I don't see him getting it any time soon though unfortunately. I already have most of the arcs assigned.
- BONEMILK: That'll be fun.
- P34644563: STR and DEX are a little harder to individualize than that, though still intertwined with the other due to how they both affect SP and SP regen. Plus, strength can technically affect dexterity/agility, since it requires strength in certain muscles groups to propel ones self faster. While Dexterity could apply to resistance, which affects how long muscles can apply the same amount of force; as well as affect agility and flexiblity. But due to videogame logic applying to a realistic situation... it does get confusing. It's a little more complex, and I hope I'm explaining it okay, since my head can make unnecessarily complicated.
Or maybe I am making it too complicated? Let me know.
My main point of the individual stats was that pesky VIT stat that's the issue since it deals with HP. Besides LUC, it's probably the only stat you couldn't train individually. Or maybe you could? I don't know.
- insanecoop: Okay, this is a tough one. Whether or not you get around to reading my reply is fine, but it's something I need to address. So here we go.
First off, Marcus isn't initially aware of what world he's getting sent to. While he may have an idea due to the general theme of the Isekai-genre, it's actually quite simple, switching worlds means you are trading one reality for another reality. Gamer system or not, it's addressing real people, with real issues, with complex moral values that may or may not align with the character's own. The moment any "Gamer" based character starts addressing their Isekai world like it's an actual game, is the moment you "realistically" get a sociopath; or at least, a character who would manifest radical anti-social behaviors and a sharp lack of empathy and conscience. And why wouldn't they? It's just a game, and these other "characters" are just NPC's.
Him asking for a realistic approach is not for his detriment, but rather for his quality of life. If he's the sole PC in a world of NPC's, what would that do to someone on the psychological level? Food for thought. And saying that most (because you did stress that) people are into Gamer-fics for the fun and not the realism... yeah, it's a preference. Just like certain game-genres are a preference. One of my favorite Gamer-fic's was about a guy who gets transported to the Naruto-verse, with knowledge of future events and a very clear understanding he's in a world of child-soldiers. It was approached realistically (or as realistically as you can get with Naruto). And it was easily one of the best Gamer fic's I've ever read, because the threat of war and the friends he made gave him agency to level those skills he developed.
And it's not as though Marcus is ungrateful for the ability, despite the fact he was uprooted and subplanted against his will (we humans call that "kidnapping"). But the responsibility of entering a new world with that power shows more about a person than the actual ability itself does. And just because super powers start off cool, it doesn't mean they aren't their own burden, or riddled with there own consequences. Plus, having it spelled out exactly what portions of the "Game" are getting cut out due to increased difficulty is much different than assuming (because that's what Marcus did) you know what you're starting off with.
Second, are we reading the same story? I'm not finding that minor meltdown? Plus the comment about "average" difficulty was done sarcastically, mainly because he's already acknowledged that he's living in a new reality and the sarcasm was aimed at Inventory space. In fact, most of the stuff you're pointing out just seems to be coming from off-handed comments Marcus makes, not direct complaints. He's literally thinking out-loud. Connecting context helps dude.
And not to bash you about the Halo 3 comment (cudos by the way), but Halo runs no risk to the player regarding any of those things you mentioned in your first Review (namely: death, dismemberment, and pain). Because: Its. A. Game. Maybe, with similarities to reality. Sure, I'd be disappointed if I did that too. But trying to allot that kind of logic to a new reality, with Game-like similarities... like, why would you even try?
As far as Jarvis is concerned, yeah there is a certain suspencion of belief that is required. But that's kind of the point of the entire MCU, isn't it? Much less any other Gamer fic? Not to mention, I can scan the whole world's internet for just about anything in as little as a few seconds. Is it that hard to believe that Tony Stark's A.I. (even in his baby stages) couldn't do the same on a more intrinsic level. Especially when most modern sci-fi point out that the government is tracking ALL your data via algorithms since 9/11 (which would have happened about six years prior story-wise). If a government (especially one with an agency like S.H.I.E.L.D. around) can do that for everyone in a greater universe, how is it less likely that Jarvis (a near sentient A.I.) can do that for Tony. Just Tony. An internet proxy based on word association and conjunction is basically kittens at that rate.
If it's not to your liking, I can respect that, and I will leave it at that. I'm not here to change your mind, merely explain my point of view.
- vtorx: Thanks!
- reiwil10: Here's that update!
- "Guest" 1 & 2: 'Making a Cameo' was probably one of my better strokes of inspiriation. It showed up last minute and I love the idea that interacting with other heroes/villans can directly impact someone.
That is true. I intend for Marcus to do a (hopefully) healthy amount of both. There are some things though that no pep-talk is gonna change though. But that makes it fun, working within those limits.
- Sasez: That's the hope. Only time, energy, and discipline will tell.
- Zigstrom: Appreciate it.
- Walkmanapprenticewordsmith: 1. Opening the packages is right after he obtains the 'Dining with Death' Quest, about halfway through 'Chapter 1: A Brand New World'.
2. EVO points are gonna be used under unique and special circumstances that will eventually come up. They're not gonna show up for a while though. More like the sample of teaser of something bigger. Rest assured though, they are going to play a big role when they do come into play.
- Aconitum613: Me too.
- OrigamiGuyII: Yeah, ID create is just broken. Hands down.
Ah, the library card.
*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.
If the story isn't to your liking, I can respect that. But I'm not concerned with writing a surface level story with a surface level character and surface level plot that makes things easy to explain or understand. I want to read a story with depth, about a character with depth, so I'm going to write depth. I'm gonna write stories I would want to read. And if other people like what I share, then I've already done more than I set out to do.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Chapter 6: Your Greatest Fear
Marcus gently appreciated his 'Status' window, and the fact that he had finally leveled up again. 'Still, it's only 'Lvl 8',' he complained, glaring at his new status. The fact remained, he was vastly under-leveled compared to most people, and the guys he was going up against were much stronger than he was. He was improving as fast as he could… but it didn't seem to be enough.
'You're trying, Marcus,' he sighed to himself. 'It's been just over a month.' He still felt like shit though. As though he was somehow failing this world by being so… well… weak.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any instant gratification powers. But maybe that was a positive in its own right. He always had the feeling, as an adult, that in the unlikely and borderline improbable chance that he gained superpowers, he would abuse the shit out of them.
Two words: "Road Rage". If his luck had anything to say about it, he was a few cut-offs and one nearly getting t-boned away from his villain origin story. Good thing he was regulated to taking the taxi.
Either way, he digressed. Turning back to the book he'd suspended on a book bracket; he studied it curiously as he washed dishes for his day job. Funny thing about combat, the most basic lessons in anatomy could be applied to the boxing ring.
You know… minus kidney shots. And neck shots. And shots to the back of the head. And shots to the back.
Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he observed the basic structure of the systems that supported the human body, noting where each organ was positioned and how to apply that. It was completely legal, as long as he was aiming for his opponents' front.
The problem was application.
He was hoping he'd evolve a sort of Fallout V.A.T.S. precision mode. If not now, then when his [Inspect] and [Observe] skills evolved. Liver shots were basically a TKO, but required hitting just the right spot. Repeated blows to the sternum were a better bet, and could be used to slow down his opponent when the blows began to affect their breathing, and thereby, their stamina (or their SP). It was harder to hit pressure points, made basically impossible when using boxing gloves unless he got super lucky.
The main issue was the opponent themselves. They weren't just going to be stationary. They were going to be blocking, dodging, and weaving. Any one of those methods were rendered impractical. But not impossible.
'Makes it really hard to win when the rules apply,' he complained. Then again, without the rules, he'd probably be flattened like a pancake. Getting smashed under a breadbox. Which was then runover by an SUV.
Sighing, he continued his research, trying to memorize any advantageous hits the could give him an edge. Because banking on an opponent having a glass jaw wasn't going to cut it.
'You could just use blunt-force trauma,' he reminded himself, but that seemed kinda run of the mill.
"Yeah, yeah," he waved himself off. He wasn't counting on winning, not when he had such a long way to go. These guys had trained for however long, and he was garden fresh to the sport. But the experience (and 'EXP') would go a long way. The faster he improved, the better.
"Heard you got a fight tonight."
Marcus turned, just then noticing that Josie was watching him from inside the kitchen jam. Having nothing better to say, he nodded in response. "Yeah. Guess I'm gonna find out which bracket I'm in. I'm amateur enough, might just get put in the little leagues."
"It's not baseball ya dimwit. Am I gonna have to worry about you coming in here with a black eye, busted lip, and broken teeth?" she inquired. "That'll scare off the customers you know."
"I've seen how some of your customers come in. I should be fine," he reassured her. 'With the black eye and busted lip anyway. I don't know about my teeth though. Sys?'
[Eh. We'll leave it as a surprise.]
'You know I fucking hate surprises! I need to know if I'll regrow my teeth or not!'
[Like a shark, right?
~Ba-by, shark dodo-dodo-dodo~]
'I hate you… so much,' he lamented. Now that song was going to be stuck in his head for the rest of the day. And Sys knew it too.
"So, any clue who I should put money on?" Josie interjected into his thoughts.
He took a moment to process her question before chuckling and shaking his head. "First off, that wouldn't be sporting. Second, it's just preliminary as far as I know. And thirdly, I'm not that good of a judge to be handing out that information, even if I knew who my opponents were."
She snorted. "Well you're no help. Can't get rich without some risk."
"And gambling is a bad habit," he shot back, returning his focus to cathartic washing and intent reading.
"Well, all the same, good luck," she offered. Which he supposed was about as good as it got when it came to her.
He gave her a smile of appreciation, only dropping it once she had gone back to the front counter. Then his thoughts inevitably went from his 'Level' to the 'LUC' Stat that now governed such things. "I'm gonna need it."
"Oh." She peaked her head back in. "And once you finish up, go ahead and call it for today."
A… less-than-irrational fear of his procced up as he looked over at her. "Um… why?"
"It's an interview, right?" she asked. "That means no half-assing it."
Marcus swallowed nervously, his grip tensing around the glass he'd been cleaning. "Are– Are you… firing me?" he asked meekly, unable to look back up once the question left his mouth.
His head whipped back up in indignation when he heard her snort. What?! It was a perfectly rational fear! Especially since he'd been lead along by the nose at his previous jobs: always told to come back in, and then left conveniently absent from the schedule, until it finally occurred to him that he had been "let go", despite the fact they kept telling him to come back in.
He might not be the sharpest knife in the cabinet, but even he took a hint once pattern recognition kicked in. His only problem with it was the amount of time he'd wasted; there was nothing more infuriating.
And Josie making fun of him wasn't helping matters.
"Kid, if I wanted to fire you, I'd tell you," she stated matter-of-factly. She seemed to search for something in his thoughtful frown. "You got a good work-ethic, and I'd hate to lose you. But Hell's Kitchen isn't meant for everyone.
"I don't expect you wanna stay here any longer than you need to. As much as I hate to lose the help, yur still young enough to try and make the world yur bitch."
What could he honestly say? He just stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. If he had been in a cartoon – or some Deadpool crossover – smoke would be trailing out of his ears from his brain overheating.
"Don't overthink it. My head hurts just watching you." And she was gone again, leaving Marcus with his thoughts once more.
When that became too much, he just looked down at the sudsy water dripping off the glass in his hands. Sometimes, it was just better to smile and not look a gift horse in the mouth. It was nice to have a boss that talked to him straight.
…
…
…
A few days was hardly any time to prep, given he was probably going up against people much stronger than he was; though that might have been more from the daunting level gap than anything else.
The sound of rhythmic cheering and chanting seemed to rumble in the locker room, not granting him the peace he needed to prepare himself. And the fact it seemed to tremble from every brick and locker only served to surround him in a dissonance from every angle.
His knee bounced irritably in his black and bronze-highlighted basketball shorts, feeling a headache coming on just from pure anxiety. Not to mention he was half self-conscious sitting there with his shirt off, like he was waiting for the doctor to tell him what was wrong. And [Gamer's Mind] wasn't doing jack.
He was gonna need a pre-game ritual or something to ease it up, 'cause this was bordering on something between ridiculous and a eminent panic attack.
"Nervous?" George asked as he walked in.
Marcus nodded slowly. "I was expecting… maybe a small panel of judges, doing judgy things? Instead I get a full-blown spectacle, crowd and all."
"It's boxing. It's always a spectacle," George snorted back. "Might as well take the time to get used to it." Ignoring his discomfort, George continued. "There's a young buck or two you'll be pitted against, both as a means to gauge your skill, and as a crowd warm-up for the veterans and the favorites. Still good money. Just give them your best."
Marcus just nodded, but it did nothing to alleviate his nerves. "Anything I should know about the other rookies?"
"They're rookies. Info's a little short until they start making some waves. Same with you. The more fights you land yourself in, the more they start digging into your personal business."
Marcus couldn't help the bitter little sliver he felt though. "You know, as far as pre-game peptalks go, yours sucks."
George just let out a belly-filled laugh right back at him. "This isn't some movie kid. Ain't no peptalk gonna suddenly give you the power to beat the odds. It's a lotta skill, a lotta grit, and a lotta luck. You've put in the time, you've put in the work to get'cha started. Now, you just keep at it until you get where you want to go. Simple enough for ya?"
A small chuckle escaped Marcus's lips. "You know what, I'll take it."
"Mmm, by the way, you got a song you want played as you walk out?" George asked absently.
"Wait." Marcus blinked as he glared at George. "You mean I get my own intro song?!"
George just scratched his chin in mild embarrassment.
'How the Hell am I supposed to choose a song, when 95% of my playlist only shows up years from now?!' he panicked in crisis. 15 years was a lot to lose. Especially where music was concerned. 'SYS! HELP!'
[Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" just came out.]
'Okay? So?'
[Katy Perry's "Hot n' Cold" hasn't. *smirk*]
…
'…God I'm old.'
[…Well?]
Marcus thought about for a second before he threw his hands up. "Fuck it! When in doubt, go for the classics!"
"Are you sure you want to be here?" Foggy asked, having to ease his voice just over the mumbling of the crowd from their seats. Thanks to the powers of friendship, Marcus had scored them some seats, and he wasn't going to miss out on a chance to avoid his homework for a little while.
His main concern though was how Matt would feel, being back in an environment that didn't have the best memories attached to it.
Matt smiled appreciatively, if not a little nervously. "I'll be okay," he breathed out. "It's just been a while."
Foggy nodded sympathetically. It wasn't a huge venue. Maybe a couple thousand max capacity? The local circuits kept it small for the most part. Still, it was exciting all the same. "You want the play-by-play? Or just the general run-down?"
"I think I can follow along," Matt assured him, cocking his head as if listening to everything around him. "Any idea where Mark is in the lineup?"
"Well, after that amazing display the other day, I believe he's going to be the opener," Foggy stated with his minute bit of showmanship. "Something to hype up the crowd."
Matt cocked his head slightly. "They handed out pamphlets, didn't they?"
Foggy cleared his throat, having the presence of mind to at least look guilty as he tried to tuck the folded paper away in his jacket. "Maaay-be!"
Matt smiled, appreciating his attempt at humor. After another moment of thought, he flexed his eyebrows in a shrug. "Hope he at least picked a good intro. It's the only way I'll recognize him." Foggy snorted in response. Leave it to Matt to make a subtle blind joke.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! We've got quite the spectacle for you tonight as we kick off this Season here in Hell's Kitchen!" the overhead blasted as the announcer walked around the ring, drawing in everyone's attention with a near deafening cheer.
"Oh-hooo! This is gonna be good!" Foggy whispered intensely.
Marcus hopped back and forth, the pre-game jitters shaking through his body. His anxiety was through the roof, the excessive need to swallow only mitigated by the shudders in his breathing. Now that he was here, he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Why'd I let you talk me into this?" he muttered.
[I didn't–]
"Not you. Me," he corrected quickly. His hopping quickly devolved into pacing. Which devolved into him leaning heavily face-first into the wall. "I'm freaking out here."
[Breathe, Marcus.
No one expects you to be perfect. The limelight is an acquired skill, much like any of your other 'Skills'.
You got this.]
.
"And what if I don't?!" he demanded hurriedly. "I've never been good around people, much less around crowds of them! And now they're all gonna be looking at me! Me!"
His heartbeat began roaring in his ears, and he half keeled over, gasping wildly. His vision blurred with each near-painful thud, the veins in his eyes pounding like his eyes were doors, and someone wanted out. His face began to rapidly heat up as he tensely sucked in terse, almost short breaths, unable to expand his lungs enough to grasp anything else quickly enough.
[Playing "Anchor - Reimagined" by Skillet.
Breathe, Marcus. Just breathe.]
.
He inhaled sharply as the music echoed not just in his ears, but through his head and body in a three-way, all-encompassing, stimuli that felt like the warm buzz of alcohol across his body. Gripping his eyes closed, he forced himself to take one deep breath as he felt his weight settle back into his body like a literal tether.
Then another.
Eventually, [Harmonic Meditation] kicked in, along with intentional breathing exercises.
Eyes still closed, he commented, "It's all so big."
[If it becomes too much for you, just say so. I can crank up the 'Gamer's Mind' at any time.
But this is something you're gonna have to face. With or without me.
Tough love, and all that.]
.
"You come with a self-improvement program too?" he joked, half-choking on his own chuckle as he wrestled to stitch the rends in his fraying self-control. "My own reality-altering, guardian angel."
"You doin' okay?"
Marcus turned to see George giving him an odd look from the exit that lead to the ring.
Taking in one more deep breath, he turned to face whatever was next. "No. But let's get it done," he answered, continuing to control his breathing.
"Well, they're gonna announce ya soon," George commented with a nod. Not much else to say when you walk in on someone having a monologue (or in this case, a dialogue) with themselves.
Marcus nodded, following the older gentleman as he gradually tensed every muscle group he could think of from his head to his toes, before one-by-one letting them loose again. A little trick he'd picked up in his old world to relax after a twelve to thirteen hour day.
"And do I have to wear the hood?" he asked, wondering what purpose the simple black boxing robe actually served. He wasn't that far read into the sport. He wondered if the library had a book he could borrow; something simple, and preferably with diagrams and pictures.
"Yes, now get to it!" George ushered quickly, falling into step behind him before pushing him forward.
"...Now! In the blue corner! Weighing in at 153 pounds! Making his Boxing Debut! From Hell's Kitchen, New York! Give a warm welcome! Toooo! Marcus! Kendrick!"
{Playing "Enter Sandman" by Metallica}
He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the introduction; but hey, according to the announcer, he'd lost a not so substantial amount of weight in the fat department. Proof that even if he gained nothing else out of this venture, all his working out had paid some dividends. The hype alone was off-putting, but what shook him as he walked forward were the cheers. Oh, there were plenty of 'boo's' in the ambience. But the cheers.
He could suddenly understand why some people grew addicted to the gratification. The validation. It overwhelmed a part of him that had gone the majority of his life vastly underwhelmed.
These people may not be here for him, but they're passion wasn't something to dismiss.
[!'Empathic Reception' skill has gained a level!]
'Wonder if this is live, so viewers can yell at me through a screen for all the stuff I'm doing wrong. Unless the coverage is radio, and not television,' he humored as he took another deep breath to calm his already frayed nerves. And what do ya know? The hood blocked out some of the blinding camera flashes.
Even if it was a little toasty.
Once they had pushed toward the ring, George tapped up on the mat, prompting Marcus to climb over the ropes and into centerstage itself.
One of those stage lights beamed into him, reminding him just how warm the spotlight was. With little experience in these matters otherwise, he raised a blue gloved hand, waving at the crowd. 'Don't wave at the crowd,' he reminded himself, having prepped for this like he was about to read a speech. 'Wave at a few individual people in each section, and move on to the next.'
Overall, despite the heaviness in his chest, he thought he did pretty good for a homebody.
He kept it short, a smile on his face, because despite his nervousness, he was excited to be here. It was new, and thrilling in it's own right. Just overwhelming.
Moving to his corner after a few moments, he was met with George having set up a foldable chair for him to sit on as he took off his robe.
"Any last minute tips?" Marcus asked, continuing with his breathing.
"We already covered everything physical kid," George stated from behind him, gripping both of Marcus shoulders firmly. "Just stay out of your own head. Don't think of what your opponent will do to you, but what you'll do to him."
Marcus closed his eyes. Just like in other sports then. Imagery was everything. If you lost focus, or imagined a losing scenario, it only served to work against you. While Marcus was great at imagery, it was cut and balanced with an unhealthy capacity to overthink.
"Now," George continued, "you are going to get hit. Avoid it as much as possible, but it's a forgone conclusion. Try to avoid moving straight back. Move sideways in a circle. It'll prevent you getting caught on the ropes, and make it harder for 'im to use both 'is fists."
"Guerilla tactics?" Marcus asked, doing his best to keep focused. Imagery. He could do that. Shave off the unnecessary bits, and focus.
George just smiled. "Guerilla tactics," he agreed before turning serious. "Don't expect to floor 'im the first bout. If you can, great. But that's what I'm here for. You worry about getting in there. I'll be watching you both and give you tips between each round."
Marcus nodded his understanding. "Let's work on combos when we hit the gym next. We didn't really touch on those during training."
George gave him a wry chuckle. "Trust me kid, what you've had lately is just the crash course. You'll be getting the full-course once you land this guy."
His confidence was a small bolster to Marcus's own, and he was raking for every ounce of it like he was trying to make a pile of leaves on a windy day.
"In the red corner! Weighing in at 143 pounds! Another debut to start off the evening folks! From Chelsea, New York! Give us a shout! Fooooor! Irwin! Travis!"
{Playing "Lose Yourself" by Eminem}
Marcus watched as his opponent approached, almost intrigued. He couldn't have been older than 22 years old. Young, dumb, and full of cum judging by the full-on aggressive walk he was strutting. But his eyes were fired with determination and sincerity.
The crowd was just as ecstatic, if not a little wilder for his opponent.
'Is it cheating if I use my Skills?' he wondered.
[Is it cheating if you use your talents to get an edge on the competition?]
Gently tapping his foot to the beat, his eyes flexed in a 'fair enough' gesture. '[Observe, Inspect]'
{Irwin Travis lvl 14
"Rookie Boxer"
Max HP: 630 | Max MP: 580 (locked) | Max SP: 650 (+10)
Damage: Unarmed
Hit: 27 (+9% Unarmed, +1 Pugalism)
Armor: 1.
Status: Pumped. Nervous.
Weakness: Short-fused.
Notes: Orthodox (Right-handed). Respects opponents. Appreciates humility. Has more training than you do. Didn't pick his own ring walk.
Noted Skills: Unarmed Fighting Lvl 9, Pugilism Style Lvl 14}
.
Marcus nodded in understanding, already determined to win. Though it was kind of a kick in the pants that this kid was younger than him, but was a higher level. Then again, he was progressing pretty fast all things considered.
[!New Sub-Quest: Defeat Target: "Irwin Travis"!]
A subsidiary of the Quest 'Enter the Ring'. Defeat your opponent.
Requirements:
- Defeat 'Irwin Travis' in a Boxing Match
Reward:
- 796 EXP (+199 EXP)
- $477.60 (+$119.40)
- 1 Evolution Point (Opponent is 5+ Lvls stronger than you)
Entertainment Bonus:
- $2000 (+$500)
Failure: No 'Quitting' now. But you may gain some rewards for sheer entertainment value.
- $1500 (+$375)
.
His opponent took to his own corner, his trainer whispering his own assurances. A judge walked around as the announcer continued on whatever shpiel he was on, doing a wrap check to make sure they both had the right gloves and their mouthguards were secure.
It felt weird to have something in his mouth like that, but Marcus wasn't going to complain if it spared his losing some teeth. He liked his teeth. Still, he rolled his jaw in discomfort as he continued to keep himself grounded, biting down to secure it.
"Fighters! Front and center!" the announcer finally called.
Kendrick and Travis both stood up, meeting up in the center of the ring while their chairs were quickly removed from the stage. While Travis continued to stare at Marcus, Marcus looked to the awaiting referee.
The ref began speaking the moment they were within earshot. "Alright you two, I want a clean fight. If you don't know the rules by now, let me remind you: no biting, no grabbing, no kicking, no hitting below the belt, no hitting the back of anything. You keep all strikes to your fists. You'll be scored accordingly, so don't pull no stupid shit."
'Right. Hell's Kitchen folk,' Marcus smiled internally, being reminded of Josie. 'Straight to the point, and crass while doing so.'
"If I say break it up, you break it up," the ref continued looking at both of them to make sure they understood. "Now, touch gloves and back to your corners. You can start when the bell rings."
Marcus nodded to his opponent, and Irwin nodded back as they bumped gloves, turning and walking back to their respective corners.
'Hey Sys, unarmed is subtle-damage, right?'
[Yeah. Why?]
His eyes narrowed in relief. 'Good. 'Full-Roster' please.'
Rather than take the time to go through all the Skills activated, all of them were simply activated with a single phrase.
[STR: 28 +35%(+8) (+5) = 36
DEX: 31 +35%(+10) (+5) = 46
– SP: 690/760 (SP regen: 178.75/minute)
INT: 23 +20%(+4) = 27
– MP: 620/670 (MP regen: 101.84/minute)
Critical Hit: 9% +31%(+2.79) = 11.79%
Critical Damage: +15% +30% = +45%
Precision Damage: +30%
Accuracy: +70%]
['Full-Roster' Power Charge Attack calculating…
(36 +20% base +213% movement +31% atk speed) +30% overall]
[You will deal approximately 170 points of subtle damage.
50 MP consumed per minute.
70 SP consumed per minute.
Additional 107 SP consumed per 'Full-Roster' strike.]
.
For a full moment, Marcus felt as the rush of his 'Skills' amassing behind him. With just [The Zone] and [Adrenaline Rush] he could win, but why take the chance? His eyes focused forward, prepared and aiming for one spot on his opponent. Imagery. He could do that.
DING!
The bell going off was all the signal he needed as both he and Travis slowly edged towards each other, each ready in case the other made the first move. Travis didn't wait long though before he came in with testing jabs, only to for Marcus's to slip them and step in with his full power.
POP!
Foggy's mouth was half-agape as he stared. A chorus of wild yells and cheers erupted brokenly from the crowd, though more than a decent portion of it had gone silent in surprise and shock.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
It took a hand grabbing him firmly by the forearm before he turned to see Matt cocking his head in a worried kind of way, but leaving it unasked, given the announcer was somewhat difficult to hear over the roar of people.
"…and Irwin Travis is down, and he is not getting up," the host narrated aloud.
"If you take a look down at Kendrick… he seems almost stunned."
"Probably didn't realize he could land a hit like that."
"This is probably one of the quickest shut-outs in Boxing History."
Matt pulled Foggy's arm gently. "Are they okay down there?"
"I… I dunno," Foggy admitted with trepidation. While it seemed pretty cut-and-dry, what little he knew about Mark was anything but.
[!'Danger Sense' skill has gained a level!]
[!'Unarmed Mastery' skill has gained a level!]
.
Marcus wasn't exactly paying attention to the 'Log' as it informed him, too stunned to do much more than stare.
A near instantaneous hook straight to the jaw. A single, solitary hit.
[You inflicted 97 subtle damage, +29 precision subtle damage.]
.
Irwin Travis dropped like a sack of potatoes, a wide-eyed, very far away look in his eyes.
"ONE… TWO…."
"Oh shit!" Marcus whispered, not even needing the ref point him to his corner before he stumbled back, barely aware of the countdown being chanted on the overhead. 'Oh fuck! Please tell me I didn't just kill a kid!'
He backed away, almost tripping over his feet in shock. Travis was barely moving, much less trying to get up, even with his trainer shouting at him.
Taking exactly 20% of his 'Subtle Bar' in one blow, much less to the head…. Marcus didn't know how that translated in real-life, but he was pretty sure most people didn't just shake that off. And that was with boxing gloves on! Some of the saving grace came from the fact that their level difference probably prevented the full damage output.
That would have taken about 35% of his health in 'Subtle damage' had they been on even terms. And Marcus wasn't sure what that would do to someone.
Reflexively, [Observe, Inspect] were running over him, attempting to reassure himself that he hadn't just flatlined someone with one hit.
{Irwin Travis Lvl 14
HP: 630 (Subtle: 504/630)
Status Inflicted: Concussed.}
.
[He's good. He'll be up and walking in a day or two.
Probably won't be Boxing for a couple weeks though for safety reasons.]
.
"…TEN! Winner by knockout! Marcuuus! Kendriiick!"
Marcus just stood there as the room thundered with cheers, still stunned as George hopped into the ring, forcibly pulling him back to the corner, urging him to sit down on the chair he'd procured.
"Hey kid. Hey kid!" George had to physically force Marcus to look him in the eye, and not just blearily focus on his fallen opponent.
"You in there, kid?" he asked, making sure to draw in direct eye contact.
Hesitantly, Marcus nodded. "Is… Is he okay?"
"I've seen worse," George reassured, though he wasn't sure how much of that was true, and how much of that was George just trying to keep him grounded. The old fart even had the audacity to chuckle. "You hear 'bout shit like that, but I've never seen someone get flattened like that. Thought that was only for the professional circuit and movies."
Marcus choked out half a chuckle. 'Considering the Universe I'm in, it wouldn't surprise me.'
Taking a moment, he watched as the ref was carefully able to rouse Travis, before ref and trainer got the boxer sat into their corner. A quick examination of quiet questions, and shining a light in the kid's eyes were telling enough.
Nervously, Marcus stood up, quietly trailing up to them as they kept Irwin Travis as awake and focused as they could.
"Wha'do you want?" his trainer demanded as he noticed him.
Marcus ignored him as he knelt in-front of Travis, offering a gloved fist. Sportsmanship was the only olive branch he had left at that point. An apology wouldn't be received well, and saying "If I had known, I'd have held back" would only serve to insult him as a fighter.
Sometimes, living with the consequences was the only option.
A half-delirious smile crossed Travis's face. "You always hit like a truck?"
"You regularly get hit by trucks?" Marcus teased, earning an eyeroll that was almost too lazy to be natural. "Honestly, half-scared the shit out of myself."
Travis coughed out a laugh, clearly in pain judging by the wince. Hazily enough, he met Marcus's hanging fist with his own. If either of them had been paying attention, they would have heard the crowd soar.
"You know I'll be back?" Travis asked good-naturedly, if severely unfocused. "Can't have this sitting on my record as the guy who got bodied in one hit."
Marcus smiled back, gently holding Irwin's extended fist. "And I'll be waiting for you to return the favor."
He had to back off as they gingerly carried the kid out of the ring.
With his conscience a little less murky, he looked around at the crowd cheering.
"KENDRICK! KENDRICK! KENDRICK!" they chanted, and for the life of him, Marcus didn't know what to do. He'd seen the movies, knew that the heroes were supposed to be these paragons of prowess and perseverance.
But he was just a guy, stuck in an alternate Universe.
[You won, Marcus. Celebrate it.]
.
'Why?' he wondered, authentically confused. It was just a fight. Sure, it was the first competitive sport he'd participated in since he'd played soccer in 4th Grade.
How did that make it something to celebrate?
Did he celebrate whenever he did a good job at work? Did he celebrate whenever he fixed his leaky sink? Did he celebrate when it was his birthday? Did he celebrate when he cooked his own meals, or swept the floor, or go to work, or when he remembered to tie his shoelaces?
No. They were just average everyday things that he was expected to do to get through life. Because they were necessary. It didn't matter if doing some of those things required more motivation or discipline from him than it did for "normal" people. This was no different. He needed the money, to level up, and improve his 'Skills'; it was a necessity. Celebrating necessity just seemed so… arbitrary.
And yet, the hypocrisy was that he somehow felt so proud of himself when he did something as simple as clean his kitchen sink and keep it dirty dish free. But then again, it almost felt like he did something wrong when he succeeded in something big. Like celebrating it was going to turn him into an egomaniac. Or maybe because it felt so small in comparison to the mountain of failures.
[You celebrate, because it's an achievement worth celebrating.
Humility is great and all, but sometimes, you have to remind yourself that you are capable.]
.
He didn't get it. Or maybe he just didn't want to get it. Still, Sys hadn't steered him wrong yet.
Almost nervously, reluctantly even, he raised a gloved fist, holding it firmly to the ceiling in what he assumed was a pose of victory. He almost flinched when the crowds cheering grew louder, his name echoing off their lips.
[Ironically, your deepest fear isn't that you are inadequate, Mark.
It's that–]
"…I am powerful beyond measure," he whispered, almost chuckling. His head dropped and tears pooled in his eyes as he not only listened, but he heard the praise that was reserved for him. "Nelson Mandela. I know. I love that quote."
[Then stop knowing, and start believing it.]
.
'Well aren't you the inspirational speaker,' he teased. So for the first time in his life, Marcus Kendrick shut up, and just rolled with it. He didn't know if he was proud of what he'd accomplished, but it was a start.
"KENDRICK! KENDRICK! KENDRICK!"
[!Congratulations! You completed the Sub-Quest: Defeat Target: "Irwin Travis"!]
And a single hit knock-out too!
Rewards:
- 796 EXP (+199 EXP)
- $477.60 (+$119.40)
- 1 Evolution Point (Opponent is 5+ Lvls stronger than you)
Entertainment Bonus:
- $2000 (+$500)
Sitting in the upper balcony, looking down on the event itself as a VIP, curious and intrigued eyes watched as the young man in the ring reluctantly accepted the praise he was showered with.
It was… interesting.
Every fighter was vetted. For drugs. For other, less noticeable, much rarer, features. All in the sake of the lie that was fairness of course. Funnily enough, this one was the only contestant that had been adamant about having legal representation; almost to the point of passing over the opportunity. It said a lot about his mindset, his values, and the standards he held for his own autonomy and sanctity. And in the end, he'd forced a compromise.
It was notable, but he was hardly the only competitor he had kept his eye on. It was amazing what one could learn when you paid the right people to be thorough.
But that punch was something else. And he'd seen some punches before.
While proposed by the hand of a still amateur boxer, there was intent behind it. And power. But more importantly was the speed; he hadn't even seen the boxer's hand move before he toppled his opponent. Though clearly, injuring his opponent so severely had not been his intent, despite such things being demanded of the sport.
The sportsmanship was an intriguing aspect. It hinting at a charm, and curiouser yet, not just an honest charm, but selfless. Almost… altruistic. A rarity in Hell's Kitchen. Few who truly were, lived long lives.
And the sheep ate it up, like it was the flowery beginnings of a playwright's Tragedy. Although, one could argue that "death" is what made a tragedy.
Even as the fights continued, and more boxers rose and fell and fought round for round, his mind would occasionally return to the opener for tonight's sport. And he found it hard to palate the others with his mind so occupied.
Sipping a rather smoky and oaken flavored tea, he hummed deeply in contemplation.
"Is the tea not to your liking?" his assistant asked in a curious monotone. Not one born of genuine intrigue, but one that wondered if those that prepared it needed to be reminded just who they worked for. Assuming they received a "reminder" at all.
"That opening fight. It's… hard to forget," he admitted openly. Steely eyes turned back. "What did you think of it?"
His assistant took a moment to collect his thoughts, articulating his response. It was always fresh to see a more genuine process when so many either answered immediately, or – in worse cases – tried pandering to what they assumed he wanted to hear. The honest – and even on occasion, divergent – outlook was something he appreciated greatly from his relatively new assistant.
"I don't think it was the fight that was intriguing," his assistant stated, still very much in thought. "What was the fighter? Blue corner? Marcus Kendrick?"
He nodded, curious where his thoughts would lead.
"They vet these fighters for oddities. What brings up an interesting point right now is that the punch he threw was inhumanly fast. Either the results were wrong or tampered with, or…."
"Or he is something extraordinary among the mundane," he mused aloud, leaning back in his seat as he hummed in thought.
True to form, his assistant was already to anticipate his desires. "Should I reach out to him?"
"No. Not yet," he answered. "I want to see if he proves as consistent in successive fights." He took another sip of his tea.
"Then I'll see what more I can dig up on him in the meantime. Will that be all, sir?"
He smiled at his assistant's forthright thinking. "No Wesley. That'll be all for now."
He continued to watch as his assistant left, a little more vested in tonight's event now that there was a clarity to his thoughts once more. But still, they didn't quite strike home like that first fight had.
Brief though it had been, Wilson Fisk had felt... entertained.
"THAT! WAS! AWESOME!" Foggy proclaimed hands thrown up in cheer as they walked down the street. "Behold! The man! The myth! The legend!"
Marcus's head hung in embarrassment; a hand half-covering his face as he kept a firm gaze on the ground. Meanwhile, Matt got his kicks chuckling at his expense.
"Please stop," he protested meekly, looking around to see if they were bothering anyone.
"You were just like, POW! And he was floored!" Foggy continued, either ignoring or unaware of the odd looks from the few people out this late were giving them as they walked past. Almost skipping, Foggy turned around, looking inquisitively at their newly minted boxer. "Where'd you learn to punch like that?"
Marcus shrugged half-heartedly, half-shyly. "I dunno. I just… put all my whole body into it?" He wasn't sure how to describe that his [Charge Attack] utilized not just his STR and power, but all his movement and attack speeds as well. In the briefest movement, he could generate force equivocal to him full on crashing into someone with virtually no windup.
"Oooh! What do ya think they're gonna call you?"
"Call me?"
"You know," Foggy gestured, trying to get his thoughts out. It was adorable. "Boxers have those monikers they have tagged onto their names. Like… you know?"
"Arturo 'Thunder' Gatti," Matt offered.
"Yeah! That!" Foggy affirmed, capitalizing on it. "James 'Bonecrusher' Smith!"
"Ray 'Boom Boom' Mancini," Matt offered back.
Frowning in thought, Marcus looked between them. "Didn't Muhammad Ali keep his name?"
"Yeah, but he was also so famous that just his regular name was enough," Foggy countered.
It was Matt's turn to frown. "Wasn't his name Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr.?"
Foggy and Marcus looked at each other, confused, but ultimately just shrugging to each other. They weren't boxing buffs.
"C'mon! He just took a guy out in one punch! In the first ten seconds of the first round!" Foggy protested. "First. Round." Like any of them needed a reminder.
"Let the fans deal with that one," Marcus stated. He didn't need the added mental load of coming up with a cool nickname. That was for the spectators, superpowered individuals, news networks, marketing, and of course, the heads and titles of mystical organizations.
And just about every character in Marvel history! Somehow. Their names just rolled off the tongue; both their real names, and their super-names.
"Fine! I'll come up with something," Foggy protested petulantly. He continued to ponder in thought as they walked, enjoying the cooler evening air. "Oh! I got it! You knocked him out with a single punch, plus your intro song! Like you were throwing sand in their eyes and putting them to sleep! The Sandman!"
"The Sandman?"
"Marcus 'The Sandman' Kendrick," Matt tried out, quirking his brows at the sound. "I've heard worse."
Marcus just looked between them with exasperation. "Shouldn't a moniker come naturally. And from the public."
"No," they both stated immediately, before it was picked up by Matt. "It's about branding. From the moment you stepped into the ring, there's going to be a certain amount of advertising yourself. You never let the consumers name the product, because otherwise, it's like giving them control over how you're marketed."
"Harsh, but fair," Foggy admitted.
"The customer isn't always right," Marcus admitted. Years of retail had taught him that. Only an idiot would lead with that philosophy. He'd met plenty of people who were just having a shit day and had to take it out on the nearest person who couldn't do anything about it; namely, the guy bagging their groceries. Or people who were just so picky (read: lonely) that they made a fuss over the dumbest shit.
He could sympathize, really. But his tolerance for people had shot down after taking that abuse for years. Because people sucked.
"Right?!" Foggy exclaimed to the evening. "'No sir, those are finishing nails. Good for cabinets, bad for porches. I recommend the wire nails!' I swear sometimes!"
Correction: most people sucked. Not these guys though.
"Where'd the trouble hit you?" Marcus asked in amusement.
"Hardware store. Front counter. You?"
"Grocery retail. Courtesy clerk. Bagging groceries, helping people out to their cars, retrieving carts, stocking shelves. The works. And all for minimum wage and no raise."
Foggy reached out his hand, his posture bemused with respect. "It's a pleasure to meet a veteran of dealing with shitty people."
Marcus rolled his eyes, but shook his hand anyway. "It wasn't all bad. Had an old lady shove a $20 down my shirt once because I wouldn't take a tip."
He got laughed at for all his honesty. By both of them. Jerks.
"Of course, we have Matt over here who got away scot-free by being blind," Marcus jabbed in irritation.
Now it was Marcus's turn to laugh as Matt looked indignant. It was a funny look on him. "Oh yes. I went and got myself blinded so I didn't have old ladies shoving money down my shirt like a cheap stripper."
Aaand they were back to laughing at him.
"I dunno," Marcus mused. "Some of those old ladies were acting mighty thirsty."
And they continued laughing at him, Foggy almost tipping over into Matt's shoulder as he tried to keep himself upright. "OH! Oh God, make it stop!" And then he burst into laughter again.
Marcus smiled, looking up at the starless black of New York's sky. For some reason, he really missed the stars; thank you light pollution. So he closed his eyes, trying to imagine what they looked like back home. To his sorrow, he couldn't even begin to picture it.
"But here I am," he stated, basking in his sheer inability to grasp the vastness of this Universe, much less the one of his birth. "Little ol' me." 'Bussing tables and knocking the lights out of people.'
"What'cha thinking about?" Matt asked.
His smile only grew. "Give the "Sandman" name time. See if I can keep up a winning streak before capitalizing on it."
Foggy perked up. "You know what that means? Arts and crafts. A sign! Matt, I need to make a sign that we can hold up!"
And there they went again. Despite how vast the Universe was, Marcus didn't know how he gained such amazing friends.
For the first time in a long while, he remembered what it was to feel an sliver of… happiness.
Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick
Race: Human (standard)
Occupation: Server, Rookie Boxer
Level: 8 (2387/3600)
Title: Masochistic Gamer (+5 STR, VIT, DEX; +25% Cash and EXP)
HP: 650
– HP regen: 3.6% (23.76 HP/hour)
MP: 630
– MP regen: 7.6% (47.88 MP/minute)
– Magic/Mental resist: 5.6%
SP: 680
– SP regen: 9.2% (62.56 SP/minute) (1.04 SP/second)
STR: 23 (+5) = 28
VIT: 20 (+5) = 25
DEX: 31 (+5) = 36
INT: 23 (+0) = 23
WIS: 28 (+0) = 28
LUC: 18 (+0) = 18
SKL: 61 | EVO: 2
Currency: $15601.75
– 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)
.
.
Passive Skills:
[Gamer's Mind lvl Max]
[Gamer's Body lvl Max]
[Vehicle Mastery, novice lvl 8]
[Mechanics, basic lvl 5]
[Firearm Mastery, novice lvl 4]
[Fishing Mastery, novice lvl 11]
[Information Processing lvl 12 = 13]
[Cartography lvl 21]
[Empathic Reception lvl 9 = 10]
[Inconspicuous lvl 9 = 10]
[Danger Sense lvl 3]
[Critical Hit lvl 3]
[Unarmed Mastery lvl 6 = 7]
[Pugilism Style lvl 9 = 10]
[Knife Wielding lvl 3]
[Blade Guard lvl 6]
[Fire Retardant lvl 4]
[Pain Mitigation lvl 3]
.
Active Skills:
[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]
[The Zone lvl 2]
[Adrenaline Rush lvl 1]
[Power Strike lvl 5 = 6]
[Charge Attack lvl 2 = 3]
.
Passive & Active Skills:
[Pushing Limits lvl Max]
[Climbing lvl 4]
[Sprint lvl 14 = 15]
[Inspect lvl 16]
[Observe lvl 17]
[Harmonic Meditation lvl 3 = 4]
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.
'Full-Roster' is essentially activating 'Adrenaline Rush' and 'The Zone'. Then on account of Marcus strikes, combining 'Power Strike', 'Charge Attack', and 'Sprint'. And topped off with 'Pushing Limits'. It's a lot of math believe it or not.
In addition, other bonuses for damage are included from 'Pugilism Style' and 'Unarmed Mastery'.
Until next time.