5 Chapter Five. Signs of Life
"Life always bursts the boundaries of formulas. Defeat may prove to have been the only path to resurrection, despite its ugliness."
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras
I STILL HAD some time before Yanna came home. The soup had been made. I'd cleaned the place, taken out the trash and started a load of washing. House chores out of the way, I could finally do some work.
Provided I had some.
A housemaker earning a pittance and sponging off a wife eight years his junior... it felt uncomfortable. It wasn't as if it had never bothered me before — but before, I'd somehow managed to suppress the voice of my conscience. I was an artist — a writer. Our clan was #2 on the server! And even if you did compare my and Yanna's earnings, you'd see that I'd always managed to earn slightly more than she did. Not much but still.
For some reason, today it failed to reassure me. What was I like? Threadbare jeans, faded T-shirts, my only pair of sneakers falling apart... How was Yanna supposed to feel, having chosen to spend the best years of her life with me?
I sat down to check my computer. My game client was bursting with messages from my clanmates. Still, I had more important things to do.
I checked my inbox, silently praying for new job offers. I scrolled through a hundred-plus letters which had accumulated over the last two days, deleting any potential spam without reading. Nothing I could use. Shame.
That was weird. Only a few hours ago, the absence of job offers would have been good news: it meant I could log back into the game with a clear conscience. And now I felt disappointed for some reason.
I decided to check a few freelance websites for any private messages. Nothing. No one seemed to be tempted by my wide range of services including "the writing of concise and eloquent website articles, press releases, speeches, reports and promotional materials". Might they have been put off by my rather high rates?
I chuckled. I was an idiot, really. I used to justify my high rates by the fact that I was an accomplished author: not a college student but someone with a life's wealth of experience behind him. While in fact I'd simply been unwilling to do the work, too wary of putting in the actual effort. Because accepting a job would mean I might have to work hard, writing, rewriting and editing my hard-gained words time and time again.
Which was admittedly boring. Also, I had the game to play. Still, today I somehow wished I hadn't.
I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. One of those people just might have an assignment for me to do.
I finally dialed Ivan. He worked in an advertising company which sometimes hired me to write a blog post or something. Faking cheerfulness, I asked him if they had anything for me, by any chance.
"I don't think so," he replied unenthusiastically. "We don't have any clients ourselves at the moment. Wretched recession. We'll keep you posted. Thanks for staying in touch."
Sure. In recession times, everyone had to cut corners. And the likes of me were the first to get the boot.
The air in the room was still rife with my badly-digested ambitions which had appeared so alluring ten years ago. By now though they'd almost completed their full circle through my rich psyche and were about to reveal themselves to the world as a perfect pile of complete garbage.
And Yanna would be the first to witness its arrival.
I'd scrolled through the entire contacts list without calling anyone. I simply hadn't dared. I was too scared of more rejections. Also, I hated making other people feel uncomfortable by having to say "no" to me.
I spent the next hour updating my job profiles. I chose some of my best work and uploaded it to my portfolios making sure it looked attractive. The only things I now mentioned in my profile were experience and my ability to work under pressure to meet urgent deadlines. You get this sort of skill by doing hardcore raids.
That got me thinking. Freelancing was all well and good — but should I be thinking of getting a regular job, maybe? I could try living a normal life for a change. Waking up at the same time as Yanna, having breakfast together, then leaving the house, driving to work in some office or other, then heading back home in the evening with a clear conscience...
A regular paycheck might help me get back on my feet and earn some self-respect. I might even become friends with my workmates. So basically, why not?
I rummaged through a junk heap of ancient files until I unearthed my old CV. I updated it a bit, adding a new mug shot and a fresh portfolio, then Googled an employment website and signed up.
I could give the game a miss for a while. Raids could wait. Real-life leveling was admittedly fun.
With that out of the way, I walked out onto the balcony and lit another cigarette, habitually closing a new debuff message.
My lips stretched in a smile. I was more than pleased with myself and my decision.
The setting sun had colored the horizon purple. The yard below echoed with children's voices and the booming sounds of a 1992 disco hit from someone's window. A flock of pigeons fussed below.
The sound of breaking glass and Yagoza's furious cussing disrupted the bucolic atmosphere. One of his subordinates had just dropped a bagful of booze on the tarmac.
I heard the key turn in the door. Yanna was back. I put out the unfinished cigarette and went back in to greet her.
She walked through the front door loaded down with shopping bags. She must have done the shopping on her way home from work.
How embarrassing. I took the bags from her and gave her a hearty kiss. She answered it unenthusiastically.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi there. What's up? What's with the shaving? Why aren't you-" she cut herself short.
I knew what she meant. Normally, whenever she came home, I was either asleep or sitting behind my computer wearing a pair of headphones.
I shrugged. "It's just that... I missed you."
I took the bags into the kitchen and began putting the shopping away. I couldn't stop thinking of what I'd just read on the name tag hovering above her head,
Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Age: 24
Current status: lawyer
Social status level: 8
Class: Office Worker. Level: 3
Married.
Husband: Philip Panfilov
Children: none
Reputation: Amicability 5/60
Only Amicability? And only 5 points?
Never mind. This weird game system probably didn't even list Love on its Reputation scale. But still...
Engrossed in these thoughts, I began laying the table. How funny. Yanna was the first person today who didn't seem to have a criminal record.
She'd already changed out of her office clothes and slumped onto the kitchen stool. "How was your day, then?"
"Fine. I've cleaned the house, spent some time looking for a proper job and uploaded my CV to Headhunter.com."
"Poor you! You've cleaned the house! And uploaded your CV! You must be exhausted!"
I stared at a new system message.
I just didn't understand it.
Your Reputation with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current reputation: Dislike 25/30
I seemed to have been right: this was a standard gaming Reputation system. But at the moment, I couldn't care less.
Dislike, why? What had I done?
I felt a surge of blood flush my face. My ears burned.
I gulped, trying to take it all in, then looked up at her. Yanna's unfriendly stare was boring a hole in me. There was no love in her eyes.
I spoke slowly, weighing every word and trying to sound calm,
"I know how you must feel. I'm sorry. You work hard while I stay home sleeping, then spend nights playing. You have to lug all that shopping around... I know. I've made up my mind. No more playing. No more raids. I'm getting a proper job."
"You don't mean it!" she exclaimed, faking amazement. "Just about goddamn time!"
"I'm serious. I've also dropped my freelance rates today. This way I might get more job offers while I'm looking for work."
"You're full of surprises, you! Did you also write your book?"
"No, I didn't. I didn't have the time. Actually... it's possible I might not-"
I faltered but strangely enough, I felt relieved. For the first time in my life, I'd spoken my mind instead of just offering excuses.
Yanna raised an eyebrow. "Anything happen?"
Oh yes. It most definitely had. Still, I wasn't going to tell her. She wouldn't believe me. She'd just think she'd been living with a nutcase all these years.
"Everything's fine," I said. "Tuck in."
She chuckled.
We ate in silence, each thinking our own thoughts. No idea what she was contemplating. Me, I was pondering over the fact that I'd just received a numerical confirmation of Yanna's alienation which she'd expressed on a few occasions before.
After dinner, she retired to our bedroom while I did the dishes and had another smoke break. Then I joined her and sat on the bed next to her. We really needed to talk. We needed to get this out of our respective systems.
She was lying in bed as if I wasn't even there, listening to the music in her earphones and scrolling through her Instagram feed.
I peered at the message hovering over her head,
Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Age: 24
Reputation: Dislike 25/30
Then a new message popped up,
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike 20/30
I reached out to touch her, wishing to say something. A new message appeared above the first one,
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike 15/30
I sprang off the bed and shot out of the room before my own wife aggroed me.
She couldn't even bear being next to me!
For the next couple of hours, I circled the rest of the apartment like a caged animal, smoking, drinking coffee, then smoking some more, then making more coffee, occasionally trying to Google instances of spontaneous virtual-reality disorders (which I apparently had) or scrolling through pages of marital advice.
Should I go on that raid? Or make a appointment with a doctor? I logged into the game but kept checking my email every couple of minutes, hoping for new job offers.
Basically, I was just going mad. My brain was in overload. I was losing Yanna.
My PM box was bursting with messages. I could understand my clanmates. The raid had already started, they could see I was logged in but still I wouldn't join them. My avatar was standing frozen like an idiot in the middle of the game's capital city.
I didn't notice Yanna walk out of the bedroom, standing behind my back and watching me sitting at my computer staring at the game interface.
I did notice the new system message, though.
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Animosity 20/30
"Didn't you just say 'No more playing'?" she asked behind my back. "'No more raids', yeah right! You're a jerk, that's what you are. I think I've had enough."
I didn't turn. Pointless. When your relationship dropped to Animosity, it meant no one would even talk to you. I could only make matters worse.
She slammed the bedroom door. I sat there, listening to her pack her stuff and talk to someone on the phone. Her voice sounded so sweet — flirty even — and ringing with happiness. You wouldn't think it was the same person who'd just hissed and vented her fury at me.
I put on my Shabby Sneakers of Misfortune, scooped up my cell phone, the cigarettes, the lighter, the wallet and the apartment keys, dumped it all into a backpack and walked out of the house as I was, in a pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt (-1 to Charisma, Durability: 2/20).
For some reason, I headed for the ramshackle pavilion in the center of the playground and sat there, staring at the flickering light above the front door. Everything went out of focus.
Had it not been for the wretched Reputation message, I might have tried to go back and apologize like I'd done many times before. I might have tried to explain and beg her forgiveness. We might have dissolved into one of our night-long shouting matches when I'd be trying to put my arms around her while she'd scratch me, telling me to keep my filthy hands to myself. Then, when the sun finally showed up and our janitor, a Tadzhik migrant who could barely speak any Russian, started swishing his broom outside, we'd finally make up. We had this agreement never to go to bed angry.
So any other day we might have finally kissed and made up, then indulged in some angry, desperate, mind-boggling lovemaking when all you could feel was that the two of you had become one, united in your passion.
This time, however, I knew: this was the end of the line.
It hadn't happened overnight. Whatever feelings she'd had for me — whether love, friendship, respect or adoration — they had been fading, dropping a point each day, every day, until today their count had finally arrived at zero. She'd run out of love and friendship; she didn't have any respect left for me and as for adoration... just forget it.
A Jeep pulled up at some distance from the house. A young guy climbed out, took Yanna's suitcase from her and put it in the trunk. They exchanged a hug and a kiss (on the cheek!). He opened the passenger door for her. Yanna got in, and the car drove off.
A figure appeared out of the shadows. "Fancy a drink?"
I looked up sharply. It was Alik.
He must have taken my staring back at him as a yes because he offered me a beer can.
I downed half of it. A new system message appeared promptly, informing me of a drop in both agility and perception and a slight rise in confidence and charisma.
He offered me a light, then lit his own cigarette. "Easy, man! Wassup?" he nodded at the front door.
"Nothing," I drew deeply on my cigarette, then added against my better judgement as I exhaled, "My wife's just left me."
Your Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov has improved!
Current Reputation: Amicability 5/60
I started to laugh, louder and louder, until I dissolved in a bout of hysterics.
Amicability! With a local bum! Was it because I'd been honest with him? Or because of the beer and smokes we'd shared?
Whatever. It was hilarious, anyway. Only a few hours ago, my wife, the love of my life who'd been with me through thick and thin, had the same reputation reading with me as this street thug with whom I'd barely exchanged a few words.
Had this been a game, I might have thought I had some kind of stat booster or a premium account which offered fast-track Reputation leveling. And had this indeed been the case...
Alik gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder, ignoring my bout of hysteria. "Happens. So she left you, big deal. You can get her back if you really want to. Take it easy, man."
"Yeah, I suppose so," I replied absent-mindedly as another thought struck me.
A stat booster. Why not? Because if it were so, then...
My head boomed, replaying a single song snippet over and over again,
"...how can I describe
The TV shows running through this brain box of mine
World, I'm back,
You'd better watch your back
You wanted my head
Too bad
I'm showing you signs of life"
I could get Yanna back.
Enough wallowing in self-pity. Enough wasting my time.
"Thanks for the beer, man," I shook Alik's hand. "And for the advice. I'm gonna go for a walk. I need some fresh air."
Your Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov has improved!
Current Reputation: Amicability 10/60
"I can go with you if you want," he offered.
Was it the alcohol? Or the stat booster? I really needed to find that out. Time was an issue.
"Next time, man," I handed him the unfinished beer and left the pavilion.
I walked out onto the street and hurried along while reaching for my earbuds and connecting them to my phone. I put some music on and started jogging, breathing in the springtime night air infused with the aromas of early blossoms, budding leaves and exhaust fumes.
I threaded my way among the passersby, leaping over pools of rainwater, past parked cars and apartment buildings, block after block, stopping occasionally to catch my breath.
It started raining. I kept jogging, catching raindrops with my open mouth and wiping my forehead with my sleeve as I ran.
I only stopped when I reached the city limits. My sneakers were soaking wet. My lungs were on fire. My legs were giving way under me.
No idea how long I'd been running. The rain had long stopped. The sky was getting lighter. I could hear dogs barking in nearby cottages.
And me? Well, I was grinning!
Your Stamina has improved!
+1 to Stamina
Current Stamina, 4
I set my backpack on the curb and slumped down on it, then reached for the soggy pack of cigarettes. I took my time lighting up and smoking it, then lit up a new cigarette with the first one.
Cleansed by my run through the nighttime city, my lungs and blood greedily soaked up the new dose of nicotine. It went to my head. My legs felt weak. New debuff messages kept flooding in. Still I kept smoking, trying to remember exactly how it felt. The foul taste, the slackened muscles...
I scrambled back to my feet and staggered over to a trash can, crumpling the remaining cigarettes in my hand. I shoved them in the trash, then did the same to the lighter.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras
I STILL HAD some time before Yanna came home. The soup had been made. I'd cleaned the place, taken out the trash and started a load of washing. House chores out of the way, I could finally do some work.
Provided I had some.
A housemaker earning a pittance and sponging off a wife eight years his junior... it felt uncomfortable. It wasn't as if it had never bothered me before — but before, I'd somehow managed to suppress the voice of my conscience. I was an artist — a writer. Our clan was #2 on the server! And even if you did compare my and Yanna's earnings, you'd see that I'd always managed to earn slightly more than she did. Not much but still.
For some reason, today it failed to reassure me. What was I like? Threadbare jeans, faded T-shirts, my only pair of sneakers falling apart... How was Yanna supposed to feel, having chosen to spend the best years of her life with me?
I sat down to check my computer. My game client was bursting with messages from my clanmates. Still, I had more important things to do.
I checked my inbox, silently praying for new job offers. I scrolled through a hundred-plus letters which had accumulated over the last two days, deleting any potential spam without reading. Nothing I could use. Shame.
That was weird. Only a few hours ago, the absence of job offers would have been good news: it meant I could log back into the game with a clear conscience. And now I felt disappointed for some reason.
I decided to check a few freelance websites for any private messages. Nothing. No one seemed to be tempted by my wide range of services including "the writing of concise and eloquent website articles, press releases, speeches, reports and promotional materials". Might they have been put off by my rather high rates?
I chuckled. I was an idiot, really. I used to justify my high rates by the fact that I was an accomplished author: not a college student but someone with a life's wealth of experience behind him. While in fact I'd simply been unwilling to do the work, too wary of putting in the actual effort. Because accepting a job would mean I might have to work hard, writing, rewriting and editing my hard-gained words time and time again.
Which was admittedly boring. Also, I had the game to play. Still, today I somehow wished I hadn't.
I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. One of those people just might have an assignment for me to do.
I finally dialed Ivan. He worked in an advertising company which sometimes hired me to write a blog post or something. Faking cheerfulness, I asked him if they had anything for me, by any chance.
"I don't think so," he replied unenthusiastically. "We don't have any clients ourselves at the moment. Wretched recession. We'll keep you posted. Thanks for staying in touch."
Sure. In recession times, everyone had to cut corners. And the likes of me were the first to get the boot.
The air in the room was still rife with my badly-digested ambitions which had appeared so alluring ten years ago. By now though they'd almost completed their full circle through my rich psyche and were about to reveal themselves to the world as a perfect pile of complete garbage.
And Yanna would be the first to witness its arrival.
I'd scrolled through the entire contacts list without calling anyone. I simply hadn't dared. I was too scared of more rejections. Also, I hated making other people feel uncomfortable by having to say "no" to me.
I spent the next hour updating my job profiles. I chose some of my best work and uploaded it to my portfolios making sure it looked attractive. The only things I now mentioned in my profile were experience and my ability to work under pressure to meet urgent deadlines. You get this sort of skill by doing hardcore raids.
That got me thinking. Freelancing was all well and good — but should I be thinking of getting a regular job, maybe? I could try living a normal life for a change. Waking up at the same time as Yanna, having breakfast together, then leaving the house, driving to work in some office or other, then heading back home in the evening with a clear conscience...
A regular paycheck might help me get back on my feet and earn some self-respect. I might even become friends with my workmates. So basically, why not?
I rummaged through a junk heap of ancient files until I unearthed my old CV. I updated it a bit, adding a new mug shot and a fresh portfolio, then Googled an employment website and signed up.
I could give the game a miss for a while. Raids could wait. Real-life leveling was admittedly fun.
With that out of the way, I walked out onto the balcony and lit another cigarette, habitually closing a new debuff message.
My lips stretched in a smile. I was more than pleased with myself and my decision.
The setting sun had colored the horizon purple. The yard below echoed with children's voices and the booming sounds of a 1992 disco hit from someone's window. A flock of pigeons fussed below.
The sound of breaking glass and Yagoza's furious cussing disrupted the bucolic atmosphere. One of his subordinates had just dropped a bagful of booze on the tarmac.
I heard the key turn in the door. Yanna was back. I put out the unfinished cigarette and went back in to greet her.
She walked through the front door loaded down with shopping bags. She must have done the shopping on her way home from work.
How embarrassing. I took the bags from her and gave her a hearty kiss. She answered it unenthusiastically.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi there. What's up? What's with the shaving? Why aren't you-" she cut herself short.
I knew what she meant. Normally, whenever she came home, I was either asleep or sitting behind my computer wearing a pair of headphones.
I shrugged. "It's just that... I missed you."
I took the bags into the kitchen and began putting the shopping away. I couldn't stop thinking of what I'd just read on the name tag hovering above her head,
Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Age: 24
Current status: lawyer
Social status level: 8
Class: Office Worker. Level: 3
Married.
Husband: Philip Panfilov
Children: none
Reputation: Amicability 5/60
Only Amicability? And only 5 points?
Never mind. This weird game system probably didn't even list Love on its Reputation scale. But still...
Engrossed in these thoughts, I began laying the table. How funny. Yanna was the first person today who didn't seem to have a criminal record.
She'd already changed out of her office clothes and slumped onto the kitchen stool. "How was your day, then?"
"Fine. I've cleaned the house, spent some time looking for a proper job and uploaded my CV to Headhunter.com."
"Poor you! You've cleaned the house! And uploaded your CV! You must be exhausted!"
I stared at a new system message.
I just didn't understand it.
Your Reputation with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current reputation: Dislike 25/30
I seemed to have been right: this was a standard gaming Reputation system. But at the moment, I couldn't care less.
Dislike, why? What had I done?
I felt a surge of blood flush my face. My ears burned.
I gulped, trying to take it all in, then looked up at her. Yanna's unfriendly stare was boring a hole in me. There was no love in her eyes.
I spoke slowly, weighing every word and trying to sound calm,
"I know how you must feel. I'm sorry. You work hard while I stay home sleeping, then spend nights playing. You have to lug all that shopping around... I know. I've made up my mind. No more playing. No more raids. I'm getting a proper job."
"You don't mean it!" she exclaimed, faking amazement. "Just about goddamn time!"
"I'm serious. I've also dropped my freelance rates today. This way I might get more job offers while I'm looking for work."
"You're full of surprises, you! Did you also write your book?"
"No, I didn't. I didn't have the time. Actually... it's possible I might not-"
I faltered but strangely enough, I felt relieved. For the first time in my life, I'd spoken my mind instead of just offering excuses.
Yanna raised an eyebrow. "Anything happen?"
Oh yes. It most definitely had. Still, I wasn't going to tell her. She wouldn't believe me. She'd just think she'd been living with a nutcase all these years.
"Everything's fine," I said. "Tuck in."
She chuckled.
We ate in silence, each thinking our own thoughts. No idea what she was contemplating. Me, I was pondering over the fact that I'd just received a numerical confirmation of Yanna's alienation which she'd expressed on a few occasions before.
After dinner, she retired to our bedroom while I did the dishes and had another smoke break. Then I joined her and sat on the bed next to her. We really needed to talk. We needed to get this out of our respective systems.
She was lying in bed as if I wasn't even there, listening to the music in her earphones and scrolling through her Instagram feed.
I peered at the message hovering over her head,
Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Age: 24
Reputation: Dislike 25/30
Then a new message popped up,
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike 20/30
I reached out to touch her, wishing to say something. A new message appeared above the first one,
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike 15/30
I sprang off the bed and shot out of the room before my own wife aggroed me.
She couldn't even bear being next to me!
For the next couple of hours, I circled the rest of the apartment like a caged animal, smoking, drinking coffee, then smoking some more, then making more coffee, occasionally trying to Google instances of spontaneous virtual-reality disorders (which I apparently had) or scrolling through pages of marital advice.
Should I go on that raid? Or make a appointment with a doctor? I logged into the game but kept checking my email every couple of minutes, hoping for new job offers.
Basically, I was just going mad. My brain was in overload. I was losing Yanna.
My PM box was bursting with messages. I could understand my clanmates. The raid had already started, they could see I was logged in but still I wouldn't join them. My avatar was standing frozen like an idiot in the middle of the game's capital city.
I didn't notice Yanna walk out of the bedroom, standing behind my back and watching me sitting at my computer staring at the game interface.
I did notice the new system message, though.
Your Relationship with Yannina "Yanna" Orlova has decreased!
Current Reputation: Animosity 20/30
"Didn't you just say 'No more playing'?" she asked behind my back. "'No more raids', yeah right! You're a jerk, that's what you are. I think I've had enough."
I didn't turn. Pointless. When your relationship dropped to Animosity, it meant no one would even talk to you. I could only make matters worse.
She slammed the bedroom door. I sat there, listening to her pack her stuff and talk to someone on the phone. Her voice sounded so sweet — flirty even — and ringing with happiness. You wouldn't think it was the same person who'd just hissed and vented her fury at me.
I put on my Shabby Sneakers of Misfortune, scooped up my cell phone, the cigarettes, the lighter, the wallet and the apartment keys, dumped it all into a backpack and walked out of the house as I was, in a pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt (-1 to Charisma, Durability: 2/20).
For some reason, I headed for the ramshackle pavilion in the center of the playground and sat there, staring at the flickering light above the front door. Everything went out of focus.
Had it not been for the wretched Reputation message, I might have tried to go back and apologize like I'd done many times before. I might have tried to explain and beg her forgiveness. We might have dissolved into one of our night-long shouting matches when I'd be trying to put my arms around her while she'd scratch me, telling me to keep my filthy hands to myself. Then, when the sun finally showed up and our janitor, a Tadzhik migrant who could barely speak any Russian, started swishing his broom outside, we'd finally make up. We had this agreement never to go to bed angry.
So any other day we might have finally kissed and made up, then indulged in some angry, desperate, mind-boggling lovemaking when all you could feel was that the two of you had become one, united in your passion.
This time, however, I knew: this was the end of the line.
It hadn't happened overnight. Whatever feelings she'd had for me — whether love, friendship, respect or adoration — they had been fading, dropping a point each day, every day, until today their count had finally arrived at zero. She'd run out of love and friendship; she didn't have any respect left for me and as for adoration... just forget it.
A Jeep pulled up at some distance from the house. A young guy climbed out, took Yanna's suitcase from her and put it in the trunk. They exchanged a hug and a kiss (on the cheek!). He opened the passenger door for her. Yanna got in, and the car drove off.
A figure appeared out of the shadows. "Fancy a drink?"
I looked up sharply. It was Alik.
He must have taken my staring back at him as a yes because he offered me a beer can.
I downed half of it. A new system message appeared promptly, informing me of a drop in both agility and perception and a slight rise in confidence and charisma.
He offered me a light, then lit his own cigarette. "Easy, man! Wassup?" he nodded at the front door.
"Nothing," I drew deeply on my cigarette, then added against my better judgement as I exhaled, "My wife's just left me."
Your Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov has improved!
Current Reputation: Amicability 5/60
I started to laugh, louder and louder, until I dissolved in a bout of hysterics.
Amicability! With a local bum! Was it because I'd been honest with him? Or because of the beer and smokes we'd shared?
Whatever. It was hilarious, anyway. Only a few hours ago, my wife, the love of my life who'd been with me through thick and thin, had the same reputation reading with me as this street thug with whom I'd barely exchanged a few words.
Had this been a game, I might have thought I had some kind of stat booster or a premium account which offered fast-track Reputation leveling. And had this indeed been the case...
Alik gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder, ignoring my bout of hysteria. "Happens. So she left you, big deal. You can get her back if you really want to. Take it easy, man."
"Yeah, I suppose so," I replied absent-mindedly as another thought struck me.
A stat booster. Why not? Because if it were so, then...
My head boomed, replaying a single song snippet over and over again,
"...how can I describe
The TV shows running through this brain box of mine
World, I'm back,
You'd better watch your back
You wanted my head
Too bad
I'm showing you signs of life"
I could get Yanna back.
Enough wallowing in self-pity. Enough wasting my time.
"Thanks for the beer, man," I shook Alik's hand. "And for the advice. I'm gonna go for a walk. I need some fresh air."
Your Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov has improved!
Current Reputation: Amicability 10/60
"I can go with you if you want," he offered.
Was it the alcohol? Or the stat booster? I really needed to find that out. Time was an issue.
"Next time, man," I handed him the unfinished beer and left the pavilion.
I walked out onto the street and hurried along while reaching for my earbuds and connecting them to my phone. I put some music on and started jogging, breathing in the springtime night air infused with the aromas of early blossoms, budding leaves and exhaust fumes.
I threaded my way among the passersby, leaping over pools of rainwater, past parked cars and apartment buildings, block after block, stopping occasionally to catch my breath.
It started raining. I kept jogging, catching raindrops with my open mouth and wiping my forehead with my sleeve as I ran.
I only stopped when I reached the city limits. My sneakers were soaking wet. My lungs were on fire. My legs were giving way under me.
No idea how long I'd been running. The rain had long stopped. The sky was getting lighter. I could hear dogs barking in nearby cottages.
And me? Well, I was grinning!
Your Stamina has improved!
+1 to Stamina
Current Stamina, 4
I set my backpack on the curb and slumped down on it, then reached for the soggy pack of cigarettes. I took my time lighting up and smoking it, then lit up a new cigarette with the first one.
Cleansed by my run through the nighttime city, my lungs and blood greedily soaked up the new dose of nicotine. It went to my head. My legs felt weak. New debuff messages kept flooding in. Still I kept smoking, trying to remember exactly how it felt. The foul taste, the slackened muscles...
I scrambled back to my feet and staggered over to a trash can, crumpling the remaining cigarettes in my hand. I shoved them in the trash, then did the same to the lighter.
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