12 Chapter Twelve. Optimization
"Her gaze was begging, mournful, wet, hateful, defeated, anxious, disappointed, naïve, proud, contemptuous — but still it stayed blue."
Frédéric Beigbeder, Love Lasts Three Years
I AWOKE in the dead of night, driven by inhuman hunger. I needed to find some food. This seemed to be the sole driving force behind my existence, my body's single quest and purpose.
My field of vision was littered with alerts and debuff messages,
Extreme Hunger!
You're starving!
-30% to Metabolism
Warning! Your glucose reading is critically low!
Warning! Your amino acids reading is critically low!
Warning! Critical threat of losing muscle mass!
Debuff received: Weakness II
-2 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-2 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-2 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-2 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-2 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-5% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-1% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
Extreme Thirst!
You're parched!
-20% to Metabolism
Warning! Your body fluids reading is critically low!
Debuff received: Weakness III
-3 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-3 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-3 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-3 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-3 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-10% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-2% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
My mouth was so dry that my tongue grated against my palate. My throat rasped. It took me a good ten minutes to literally crawl the forty feet to the kitchen, taking frequent breaks.
Richie pranced around me in concern, dropping to his front legs and looking me in the eye as if asking, 'You okay, boss?' Even Boris left the wardrobe and rubbed against my dragging legs, pushing them forward with her large forehead.
Scrambling back to my feet in order to reach for the sink tap proved to be the difficult bit. Leaning against a stool, I finally did it. I opened the tap and took a long, luxurious drink, enjoying every mouthful. I must have drunk at least a couple of quarts. I'd never been so thirsty in my life.
Finally, the Thirst debuff disappeared. I could move around again.
I opened the fridge and wolfed down everything that was left from Kira's cooking. I then grabbed the large chunk of cheese she'd brought last night and gobbled it like an apple.
And then I found her oatmeal cookies.
I boiled some water, made myself a large mug of tea and attacked the cookies. Ooh Kira, they're so good, thank you so much!
What was wrong with me? I'd never liked cookies. Especially not oatmeal ones.
After about twenty minutes, the Weakness debuff was finally gone. Now I was sleepy. As I finished the tea, I noticed the familiar black diamond icon with a red exclamation mark.
Wasn't it the same one I'd glimpsed before falling asleep?
The black icon expanded into a message,
Warning! We've detected an abnormal increase in your Strength characteristic: +1 pt.
Your body will be restructured in keeping with the new reading (7) to comply with your new metabolism and chronotropy values.
Changes required: development of new muscle tissue and the strengthening of sinews, ligaments and tendons.
It went on and on, telling me about the changes made to my glycogen and intramuscular phosphocreatine levels, intramuscular and intermuscular coordination, etc., etc. But it all paled into insignificance next to a small notice at the end. It was written in big fat letters and framed in red. Which, in my opinion, they should have shown me even before offering me the Accept/Decline button!
Warning!
The restructuring of your body functions requires a considerable amount of nutrients. In order to avoid danger to your life, you're strongly encouraged to consume a minimum of 10 oz. animal protein, 3 lbs. of carbohydrates and 3 oz. of animal fats. A shortage of nutrients may result in body function failure.
Warning!
Artificial characteristic boosting of more that 1 pt. at a time is strictly forbidden! Strong chance of fatality!
Oh, great. Just what I wanted to hear. And what if I'd left it till next level when I'd have two points to distribute? Would I have just dropped dead on the spot? With no hope of ever being rezzed?
The mere thought of this outcome made me break out in a cold sweat. I was desperate for a smoke, so much so that I very nearly made a dash for a nearby 24/7. The only thing that stopped me was the Nicotine Withdrawal debuff still hovering in my mental view. I had only eight days of it left. I could do it.
Instead, I summoned Martha, greeting her with a liberal amount of f-words. She replied that she'd have had no authority to intervene even if she'd been activated. I unsummoned the useless wench and went back to bed.
Before falling asleep, I did check my stats. I had indeed grown stronger, judging by my Strength, 7 reading. My arm muscles, too, felt slightly harder. My chest seemed to be bulging just a tad more. But that was the extent of it.
I awoke from Richie's desperate barking. The doorbell was about to shake itself loose.
I glanced at the phone: half past seven. Who the heck could that be so early?
I stumbled to my feet, threw some clothes on and hurried for the door. Someone was already banging on it, kicking it impatiently.
They shouldn't, really. I hated this kind of aggressive behavior. There were three things I couldn't stand: road ragers honking at me, a phone that won't stop ringing when you can't pick it up, and someone kicking the door before you can even answer it.
"Open the door, now!" Yanna's voice came from outside.
"Coming," I snapped over Richie's barking.
I locked him in the bathroom so he didn't scare her. The banging stopped. I could hear her whispering something to somebody she'd apparently brought along.
I opened the door. Ignoring me, my mother-in-law barged into the apartment, loaded with empty bags.
"Hi," I said to her back.
Yanna stood in the doorway, looking good and dressed in a neat business suit with a white shirt, a light blazer and a skirt which ended just above her knees. She was wearing a gold watch and a matching bangle I'd never seen before. The heavy, seductive scent of an expensive perfume hung around her.
"Hi Yanna," I said as calmly as I could, trying to level my heartbeat.
She didn't reply. For a split second, she lingered in the doorway, then walked directly into the bedroom, looking appraisingly around.
"I can see you've got a dog now," she said without turning. "I thought you didn't like them?"
"It's not my dog," I said. "I'm taking care of it for a while."
She wasn't listening. She walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind her.
I seethed. She couldn't have shown her lack of respect for me any clearer. This used to be our home. Our love nest. And I'd cleaned it — the least she could do was wipe her feet by the door.
I suppressed the desire to barge into the bedroom and tell them everything I thought about them. Then I reconsidered. Yanna was her mommy's little girl. Between the two of them, they'd make quick work of me.
So I walked into the bathroom instead and began brushing my teeth. Let them do their packing in peace. I had no desire to speak to Yanna in her mother's presence.
I brushed my teeth angrily, realizing I'd never been comfortable around the older woman.
Although outwardly supportive of her daughter's choice, in reality her mother had always been against it. I could sense it in her constant sarcasms and in the contemptuous way Yanna treated me whenever she'd come back from visiting them. The old lady seemed to despise me with abandon, barely deigning to notice me.
When Yanna and I had still been dating, every time I'd come round with a bunch of flowers, my future mother-in-law would answer the door and shout, "Yanna, it's what's-his-name! He's got some twigs with him this time!" She never called me by my name. She'd chuck the "twigs" nonchalantly onto the shoe rack without ever inviting me in. I had to wait for Yanna on the landing every time, until we finally got married.
The wedding had been rather modest. We didn't even have a honeymoon. I was pretty sure that her mother (or even Yanna herself, maybe) blamed this on me too.
I was ravenous again. My body was probably still restructuring itself.
"Wait here," I told Richie, then walked out of the bathroom.
Both Yanna and her mother were already busy in the kitchen packing stuff. They rummaged through the cupboards, scooping out pots, skillets, mugs and plates.
"Look, this is the kettle I gave you as a wedding gift!" the older woman held a running commentary. "It's still new! And a packet of buckwheat. Is it expired? — no. Excellent. Take it!"
I didn't know what to say. I suppressed my desire to shower them with sarcasms about their petty greed. Let them take whatever they wanted.
Just as I was thinking about it, Yanna's mother opened the fridge and pulled out some meatballs and a carton of eggs Kira had brought me yesterday. She brought the box up to her eyes, squinting at the expiry date.
"Excuse me!" I raised my voice. "These meatballs are mine!"
I immediately regretted saying anything because Yanna felt obliged to chime in, "You've never had any balls, you. Stop kidding yourself."
"We're only taking what's ours," her mother said magnanimously, hurling the box back into the fridge.
"Thank you very much," I said. "You're most kind."
I focused on her stats, just to keep my mind off the scene.
Natalia Sergeevna Orlova.
Age: 49
Current status: housewife
Social status level: 13
Class: office worker. Level: 7
Married
Husband: Sergei Orlov
Children: Yannina, daughter. Age: 24
Reputation: Animosity 15/30
I picked up an old pot she'd discarded as not having passed her quality control. "Do you mind?"
She ignored my question. I filled the pot with water, placed six eggs into it and put it on the burner.
Mrs. Orlova scooped up the blender and the toaster and hurled them into one of the bags. Her appraising gaze alighted on the microwave. "Is it ours?"
"No, it's not," Yanna said. "It came with the flat."
"Very well, then," losing all interest, Mrs. Orlova staggered out of the kitchen into the lounge, dragging the heavy bags behind her.
"Mom, wait!" Yanna called, holding a bottle of dishwashing liquid. "I bought this."
Her mother's face brightened. "Come on, chuck it in. It's always useful."
By then, I was beyond flabbergasted. I knew Yanna was the frugal type — stingy even — but this was a bit too much.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered it. "Yes? Yes, it's me. How can I help you?"
I could sense them freeze in the lounge, pricking up their ears.
"Phil? Phil, it's Darya," a girl's voice rattled off in the receiver. "You saw me during the interview you had with our company, Ultrapak, the other day. I'm very happy to tell you that you've been accepted for a trial period. You think you could start tomorrow?"
"Hey!" Yanna shouted from the lounge. "Mind getting your mutt out of the bathroom? We need to check it out!"
"Or, absolutely," I replied into the phone, then covered it with my hand and shouted to Yanna, "Coming!"
"Very well," Darya's voice said. "You know the address, don't you? We start at eight a.m. We'd like you to bring-"
Mrs. Orlova barged into the kitchen, "Take the dog out now! We don't have all day!"
I gestured for her to wait till I'd finished. Stepping back, I very nearly stumbled over a hungry Boris rubbing against my feet as in, 'whassup boss, it's breakfast time, where's my chow?'
I rummaged through the cupboards for the cat food but couldn't locate it in the mess. Never mind. I grabbed a carton of milk and poured some into his bowl. That one was sorted.
Mrs. Orlova opened her mouth to speak. I hurried to switch off the phone's microphone.
"Phil, are you there?" Darya's voice asked.
I cussed and switched the mic back on. "Yes, sure. What do you want me to bring?"
"Get the dog out now!" Mrs. Orlova growled.
"Oh, just a recent photo of yourself... sorry, what did you say?"
"Er... no, nothing."
"Yes, a photo for your name tag. A digital one will do. And-"
"Hey!" Yanna's voice rang with hysterical notes so familiar to me.
Mrs. Orlova stood hands on hips in the doorway, boring me with her impatient stare. I clenched my teeth and went to the bathroom.
Richie dashed out and went for the older woman who scrambled to safety just in time. I grabbed at his collar and led him out onto the balcony, "Heel! Richie, heel!"
He was straining on the collar, wheezing and pulling me along, his paws slipping on the lino.
"Off!" I shouted to him.
"What a monster!" Mrs. Orlova sobbed. She was dripping with cold sweat.
"Please make sure you take your paperwork to the HP department before you start working," Darya finished, nonplussed.
"Yes, absolutely! See you tomorrow! Thanks a lot," I cradled the phone on my shoulder in order to lock the balcony door.
"See you tomorrow, Phil. We're looking forward to working with you."
I switched the phone off.
I had a job! A tidal wave of relief and pleasure flooded over me.
Task Status: Find a stable job
Task completed!
XP received: 50 pt.
+10% to Satisfaction
I dropped onto the couch, savoring the moment. It felt so good I might even get used to it. So this was the feeling which turned people into workaholics and time management freaks?
I needed to see my XP bar really badly. I just hoped it would sooner or later appear in my interface.
A Godawful crashing noise came from the bathroom, followed by a torrent of f-words courtesy of Mrs. Orlova. Richie outside leaned his front paws against the balcony door, whimpering. I hurried to the bathroom to assess the damage.
"Mom, are you crazy?" Yanna fussed around her. "You could have hurt yourself!"
"It's all right," the older woman said, rubbing her forehead. "That's what happens when you don't have a handyman in the house! Things are held together with spit and a prayer!"
The bathroom cabinet lay shattered on the floor, its contents spilled all over the place. Shower gels, shampoos, my shaving foam, our two razors, toothbrushes and toothpaste, as well as a broken tumbler. It looked like my mother-in-law had at some point leaned her 200 pound-plus weight against the cabinet which had collapsed, unable to sustain the extra pressure.
Mrs. Orlova scooped everything into a plastic bag, only leaving me my toothbrush.
"Hey, that's my razor," I attempted to protest. "You don't need the shaving foam either, do you?"
"I bought it with my money," Yanna announced. "I use both, anyway. You can buy your own. You don't even need them, do you? It's not as if you shave very often!"
I smiled. Their attempts to provoke me were truly pathetic. This final quip had actually become the last straw: now I didn't feel anything. They could take what they wanted, I didn't care. All I needed was my computer and the mattress to sleep on, so they were very welcome to take the bedframe if they wanted, too. They could strip the whole house bare, be my guest!
What did hurt was this petty attempt at revenge from a woman I used to love so much right until this morning. Her hatred was so blatantly obvious that I really didn't feel like talking to her, let alone try to kiss and make up. Actually, I was happy it had happened now and not after a lifetime of living together. It was a good job we didn't have children. I knew it wasn't a good thing to say but that's the way it was. First, she'd been too busy graduating, then we'd had to settle down and wait for me to start earning... until at some point we'd simply stopped thinking about kids. At least I had.
Yanna seemed to be reading my mind. "Oh, and by the way," she said matter-of-factly. "We need to go to the registry office and file for divorce. I can't do it this week. I have too much work. So it's gonna be next Tuesday. I'll text you when."
"Please do," I said. "I'll have to take time off work."
She raised a quizzical eyebrow but refused to comment.
Finally, Mrs. Orlova was done plundering. Yanna dialed her phone,
"Vlad? You can come up now. We're finished. What did you say? It's okay, we can wait."
"It's all right," I said. "I can help you."
Showing no reaction, they picked up a bag each and walked out of the flat. I lifted all the remaining bags and staggered out of the apartment. I actually did feel stronger. The bags were still heavy but at least my fingers didn't slacken on the handles as they would have before.
As I walked out onto the landing, I remembered the eggs, cussed, trotted back in and turned off the gas. Then I carried the bags downstairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.
Strangely enough, I didn't give a damn about Vlad, whoever he was. They could do what they wanted. Even though formally Yanna and I were still married, I didn't feel any pangs of jealousy or whatever a male ape was supposed to feel having lost his female to a stronger opponent. I just didn't care.
I immediately recognized the Jeep which had picked up Yanna the night she'd left. Vlad stood next to it: a tall fit guy with short slicked-back hair. I sort of remembered him: he was Yanna's workmate. He was wearing a hugging blue shirt and a fancy belt in his dark pants. His polished shoes reflected the sunshine.
He didn't seem to be in a hurry to help them with the bags though. He just stood there staring at the two women staggering under the weight of their ill-gotten gains. He simply opened the trunk and turned away, talking into his phone.
Grunting like a weightlifter, Mrs. Orlova hauled the bags into the trunk. She never stopped panting and complaining how tired she really was. I put the remaining bags in too. Still, one last plastic bag didn't fit in the trunk.
"D'you want it in the car?" I asked Yanna.
She shrugged, then took the passenger seat in front.
I was getting a bit fed up with all this. I swung the back door open and sat the bag onto the seat.
"Are you nuts? What do you think you're doing?" came from behind as I was brushing my hands. "Get your crap out now! This is leather, you dimwit!"
"You mean it's not shark skin? That would suit you better," I slammed the Jeep's door shut and walked back to the house.
"Hey you!" Vlad raved behind me. "Come back here now! I tell you!"
I'd had enough. I couldn't control myself any longer. I swung round and walked back, all the while studying his profile.
Vladimir Korolev
Age: 30
Current status: Manager
Social status level: 13
Class: Administrator. Level: 6
Not married
Children: Radomir, son. Age: 2
Reputation: Indifference 0/30
I walked over to him, so close I'd very nearly stepped on his polished shoes, and locked my gaze with his. Admittedly, I had to tilt my head up to do that.
"What's your problem, dude?" I asked, investing all my anger into the question.
He wasn't impressed. "This isn't an Internet chat, dude. You'd better behave yourself."
He grinned, enjoying Yanna's attention. He was clearly winding me up. "Take your junk out, get a protection cover from the trunk, spread it on the seat, then put the stuff back in."
"Really?" I faked surprise. "WTF? If you're Yanna's new-"
"Leave him, Vlad," Mrs. Orlova intervened. "Just go!"
"What do you mean, 'just go'? This is leather! I really don't want him to-"
"Hi Phil," Alik's unmannered voice resounded next to us. "Problems?"
He stood behind Vlad in a relaxed, slightly stooping pose, hands in his sweatpants pockets, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, his eyes squinting predatorily, his lower lip slightly bulging. He looked like the epitome of a street thug if ever I'd seen one.
Your Reputation with Vladimir Korolev has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike, 15/30
Vlad cast a nervous glance around him. "Get in the car," he snapped at Yanna's mother. He jumped into the driver's seat, slammed the door and stepped on the gas.
Yanna leaned out of the open window, "Tonight Dad will come to collect the TV! Make sure you're at home!"
"Tell him to call me first," I began. "I might be out-" I fell silent, realizing no one was listening to me.
"Is she gone?" Alik asked. "Like, gone gone?"
I nodded.
He offered me a packet of cigarettes. "Have a smoke."
I took one and turned it over in my fingers for a while, then gave it back to him. "No, thanks. I haven't smoked for a week. I want to keep it that way."
"Nice job," he said. "Wish I could quit too. Costs me an arm and a leg..."
"It does, doesn't it?" I agreed. "Thanks for helping me out. It would have been a shame to have had my lights punched out by my ex's new acquisition."
I paused. "If you don't mind me asking... you're not following me, are you? It's just that every time I come out into the courtyard you're always around."
Alik's face darkened. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and chuckled, chewing his lips. He heaved a sigh and prepared to speak.
A yellow exclamation mark appeared above his head.
He was a quest giver!
"You could say that," he admitted. "I don't have a place to stay, do I? So I just take it one day at a time. Sometimes I sleep in the basement. Or at one of the guys'. And when it's warm like this I just sleep on a bench in the yard."
"No way? I thought you had a home?"
"I did," he faltered. "Basically, my Dad took out a payday loan. Just to celebrate his fiftieth birthday in style, if you know what I mean. He kept up with his payments at first. And then he got fired. And we still had to pay off the loan. So we're subletting our flat to some migrant workers. My parents have moved to their allotment shed in the country. We have a garden allotment, you know, so they live there now. Mother is really sick now. Worse than before. And Dad just drinks all day. I have to handle the bailiffs..."
"Why don't you find a job? Or just move in with them? You could help them with the garden..."
"There isn't much to help, man. Also, it's a shed as I told you. Normally we keep garden tools in it. And as for finding a job, nobody wants me. I worked at a building site for a while but their foreman, the bastard, fired me for being on the bottle. He never paid me," he turned away.
We stood there for a while, each thinking his own thoughts.
The yard was getting busy with people leaving for work. The sounds of starting motors filled the air as cars began pulling out of their parking spaces. The day was slipping into gear. I had lots of things to do.
"Is there any way I can help you?" I asked Alik point blank.
"I don't think so. I know you're broke. Crashing out at your place isn't an option, either. But if you hear of a job..."
Help Alik Find a Job!
Your neighbor Romuald "Alik" Zhukov is in bad need of regular employment.
Rewards:
XP: 400 pt.
Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov: 30 pt.
Current Reputation: Amicability 10/60
No Accept/Decline buttons anywhere, just like it had been the last time with old Mr. Panikoff and his sports newspaper quest. Apparently, the only way to accept the quest was by saying it out loud.
"I'll see what I can do, man." I said.
The quest window disappeared.
"Thanks," Alik proffered me his hand. "It means a lot to me."
I went back home, had breakfast and began cleaning up. Having finished, I picked up the full trash bag and took Richie for a walk. We headed for the park so I could put in a bit of jogging too.
As I jogged, Sveta Messerschmitt called me. "Hi, Phil. How's Richie?"
"Like a dog with two tails," I replied, panting. "He's actually running next to me. Richie, speak!"
"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"That's all right. You don't need to worry about him."
"Thank you. Dad wanted me to tell you that he'll make sure you get the reward for finding him."
That was good. I could use some monetary reinforcement. Having said that...
No. It just felt wrong.
"Sorry, Sveta," I stopped to catch my breath. "I didn't do it for the reward. Just promise me that when he fathers some puppies I can buy one."
"You can have one! Of course!"
"Deal," I suppressed an involuntary smile. "I'll be off, then."
"Thank you so much! Can you please send me some more pictures of him?"
"Absolutely. Bye!"
I took a few more pics of Richie, sent them to her and resumed my jogging.
My Vitality bar caught my eye. I knew for sure it used to be red — but now it was yellow. Yellow.
I focused on it. I had 80,00173% Vitality. Did that mean that anything below 80% was in the red?
In which case, everything over 90% was probably green. Oh well. That was something to work towards.
Having finished my run, I dropped onto a bench. I really needed to check my stats. It had been exactly a week since I'd discovered the interface.
I opened the stats window,
Philip "Phil" Panfilov
Age: 32
Current status: unemployed
Social status level: 6
Unclassified
Married
Wife: Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Children: none
Main Characteristics:
Strength: 7
Agility: 4 (+1 bonus from the Stinky Chinese Sneakers of Nimbleness)
Intellect: 18
Stamina: 4
Perception: 7
Charisma: 12
Luck: 6
Secondary Characteristics:
Vitality: 80%
Satisfaction: 78%
Vigor: 47%
Metabolism: 103%
In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight
Aha. My "gamer" status was gone, replaced by "unemployed". Hopefully, not for long. The sneakers' bonus to Agility was quite impressive. I just loved their name-generating engine! Luckily, it didn't seem to have any negative readings. Otherwise I wouldn't be surprised if the word "stinky" detracted 1 pt. from Charisma, and the word "Chinese", from Durability.
The rest was more or less clear. I'd brought up Strength by investing the available point I'd had. As for Stamina, I'd leveled it up by running non-stop the night Yanna had walked out on me.
That was the extent of my last week's accomplishments. Never mind. I'd spent a lot of time working out the interface. Now I had to concentrate on Insight as well as social status, all the while improving the main levelable stats and whatever skills could make a difference in real life.
Just out of curiosity, I checked my skill list. It would be a good idea to copy them all to an Excel file and ponder over them.
I scrolled through the list until I came to a weird line at the very bottom written in pale gray ink,
Optimization: 0
What was that? Some yet unblocked skill the system had bestowed on me?
I tried to open it. Pointless. A message popped up,
In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight
I summoned Martha. This time she was glitchy as hell, answering all my questions in a grave tone,
"In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight!"
This Insight seemed to be increasingly important. Almost as important as the new debuff I then received on my way back home,
Sexual frustration!
You're suffering from lack of sex! It negatively affects your general health. Continuous sexual frustration and arousal may lead to prostate problems and neurotic disorders.
Warning! High probability of spontaneous erections!
Warning! Your aggro radius has increased!
Warning! High probability of receiving a Depression debuff!
Warning! The Sexual Frustration debuff cannot be disabled by self-gratification!
-5% to Satisfaction every 12 hrs
As if to please, the street seemed to be packed with girls in skimpy summer clothes. Trying to blank them out, I hurried to my front door. Just as I crossed the doorway, I got the mother of all spontaneous erections.
Frédéric Beigbeder, Love Lasts Three Years
I AWOKE in the dead of night, driven by inhuman hunger. I needed to find some food. This seemed to be the sole driving force behind my existence, my body's single quest and purpose.
My field of vision was littered with alerts and debuff messages,
Extreme Hunger!
You're starving!
-30% to Metabolism
Warning! Your glucose reading is critically low!
Warning! Your amino acids reading is critically low!
Warning! Critical threat of losing muscle mass!
Debuff received: Weakness II
-2 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-2 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-2 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-2 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-2 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-5% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-1% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
Extreme Thirst!
You're parched!
-20% to Metabolism
Warning! Your body fluids reading is critically low!
Debuff received: Weakness III
-3 to Stamina every 24 hrs.
-3 to Agility every 24 hrs.
-3 to Perception every 24 hrs.
-3 to Intellect every 24 hrs.
-3 to Strength every 24 hrs.
-10% to Satisfaction every 2 hrs.
-5% to Vigor every 2 hrs.
-2% to Vitality every 4 hrs.
My mouth was so dry that my tongue grated against my palate. My throat rasped. It took me a good ten minutes to literally crawl the forty feet to the kitchen, taking frequent breaks.
Richie pranced around me in concern, dropping to his front legs and looking me in the eye as if asking, 'You okay, boss?' Even Boris left the wardrobe and rubbed against my dragging legs, pushing them forward with her large forehead.
Scrambling back to my feet in order to reach for the sink tap proved to be the difficult bit. Leaning against a stool, I finally did it. I opened the tap and took a long, luxurious drink, enjoying every mouthful. I must have drunk at least a couple of quarts. I'd never been so thirsty in my life.
Finally, the Thirst debuff disappeared. I could move around again.
I opened the fridge and wolfed down everything that was left from Kira's cooking. I then grabbed the large chunk of cheese she'd brought last night and gobbled it like an apple.
And then I found her oatmeal cookies.
I boiled some water, made myself a large mug of tea and attacked the cookies. Ooh Kira, they're so good, thank you so much!
What was wrong with me? I'd never liked cookies. Especially not oatmeal ones.
After about twenty minutes, the Weakness debuff was finally gone. Now I was sleepy. As I finished the tea, I noticed the familiar black diamond icon with a red exclamation mark.
Wasn't it the same one I'd glimpsed before falling asleep?
The black icon expanded into a message,
Warning! We've detected an abnormal increase in your Strength characteristic: +1 pt.
Your body will be restructured in keeping with the new reading (7) to comply with your new metabolism and chronotropy values.
Changes required: development of new muscle tissue and the strengthening of sinews, ligaments and tendons.
It went on and on, telling me about the changes made to my glycogen and intramuscular phosphocreatine levels, intramuscular and intermuscular coordination, etc., etc. But it all paled into insignificance next to a small notice at the end. It was written in big fat letters and framed in red. Which, in my opinion, they should have shown me even before offering me the Accept/Decline button!
Warning!
The restructuring of your body functions requires a considerable amount of nutrients. In order to avoid danger to your life, you're strongly encouraged to consume a minimum of 10 oz. animal protein, 3 lbs. of carbohydrates and 3 oz. of animal fats. A shortage of nutrients may result in body function failure.
Warning!
Artificial characteristic boosting of more that 1 pt. at a time is strictly forbidden! Strong chance of fatality!
Oh, great. Just what I wanted to hear. And what if I'd left it till next level when I'd have two points to distribute? Would I have just dropped dead on the spot? With no hope of ever being rezzed?
The mere thought of this outcome made me break out in a cold sweat. I was desperate for a smoke, so much so that I very nearly made a dash for a nearby 24/7. The only thing that stopped me was the Nicotine Withdrawal debuff still hovering in my mental view. I had only eight days of it left. I could do it.
Instead, I summoned Martha, greeting her with a liberal amount of f-words. She replied that she'd have had no authority to intervene even if she'd been activated. I unsummoned the useless wench and went back to bed.
Before falling asleep, I did check my stats. I had indeed grown stronger, judging by my Strength, 7 reading. My arm muscles, too, felt slightly harder. My chest seemed to be bulging just a tad more. But that was the extent of it.
I awoke from Richie's desperate barking. The doorbell was about to shake itself loose.
I glanced at the phone: half past seven. Who the heck could that be so early?
I stumbled to my feet, threw some clothes on and hurried for the door. Someone was already banging on it, kicking it impatiently.
They shouldn't, really. I hated this kind of aggressive behavior. There were three things I couldn't stand: road ragers honking at me, a phone that won't stop ringing when you can't pick it up, and someone kicking the door before you can even answer it.
"Open the door, now!" Yanna's voice came from outside.
"Coming," I snapped over Richie's barking.
I locked him in the bathroom so he didn't scare her. The banging stopped. I could hear her whispering something to somebody she'd apparently brought along.
I opened the door. Ignoring me, my mother-in-law barged into the apartment, loaded with empty bags.
"Hi," I said to her back.
Yanna stood in the doorway, looking good and dressed in a neat business suit with a white shirt, a light blazer and a skirt which ended just above her knees. She was wearing a gold watch and a matching bangle I'd never seen before. The heavy, seductive scent of an expensive perfume hung around her.
"Hi Yanna," I said as calmly as I could, trying to level my heartbeat.
She didn't reply. For a split second, she lingered in the doorway, then walked directly into the bedroom, looking appraisingly around.
"I can see you've got a dog now," she said without turning. "I thought you didn't like them?"
"It's not my dog," I said. "I'm taking care of it for a while."
She wasn't listening. She walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind her.
I seethed. She couldn't have shown her lack of respect for me any clearer. This used to be our home. Our love nest. And I'd cleaned it — the least she could do was wipe her feet by the door.
I suppressed the desire to barge into the bedroom and tell them everything I thought about them. Then I reconsidered. Yanna was her mommy's little girl. Between the two of them, they'd make quick work of me.
So I walked into the bathroom instead and began brushing my teeth. Let them do their packing in peace. I had no desire to speak to Yanna in her mother's presence.
I brushed my teeth angrily, realizing I'd never been comfortable around the older woman.
Although outwardly supportive of her daughter's choice, in reality her mother had always been against it. I could sense it in her constant sarcasms and in the contemptuous way Yanna treated me whenever she'd come back from visiting them. The old lady seemed to despise me with abandon, barely deigning to notice me.
When Yanna and I had still been dating, every time I'd come round with a bunch of flowers, my future mother-in-law would answer the door and shout, "Yanna, it's what's-his-name! He's got some twigs with him this time!" She never called me by my name. She'd chuck the "twigs" nonchalantly onto the shoe rack without ever inviting me in. I had to wait for Yanna on the landing every time, until we finally got married.
The wedding had been rather modest. We didn't even have a honeymoon. I was pretty sure that her mother (or even Yanna herself, maybe) blamed this on me too.
I was ravenous again. My body was probably still restructuring itself.
"Wait here," I told Richie, then walked out of the bathroom.
Both Yanna and her mother were already busy in the kitchen packing stuff. They rummaged through the cupboards, scooping out pots, skillets, mugs and plates.
"Look, this is the kettle I gave you as a wedding gift!" the older woman held a running commentary. "It's still new! And a packet of buckwheat. Is it expired? — no. Excellent. Take it!"
I didn't know what to say. I suppressed my desire to shower them with sarcasms about their petty greed. Let them take whatever they wanted.
Just as I was thinking about it, Yanna's mother opened the fridge and pulled out some meatballs and a carton of eggs Kira had brought me yesterday. She brought the box up to her eyes, squinting at the expiry date.
"Excuse me!" I raised my voice. "These meatballs are mine!"
I immediately regretted saying anything because Yanna felt obliged to chime in, "You've never had any balls, you. Stop kidding yourself."
"We're only taking what's ours," her mother said magnanimously, hurling the box back into the fridge.
"Thank you very much," I said. "You're most kind."
I focused on her stats, just to keep my mind off the scene.
Natalia Sergeevna Orlova.
Age: 49
Current status: housewife
Social status level: 13
Class: office worker. Level: 7
Married
Husband: Sergei Orlov
Children: Yannina, daughter. Age: 24
Reputation: Animosity 15/30
I picked up an old pot she'd discarded as not having passed her quality control. "Do you mind?"
She ignored my question. I filled the pot with water, placed six eggs into it and put it on the burner.
Mrs. Orlova scooped up the blender and the toaster and hurled them into one of the bags. Her appraising gaze alighted on the microwave. "Is it ours?"
"No, it's not," Yanna said. "It came with the flat."
"Very well, then," losing all interest, Mrs. Orlova staggered out of the kitchen into the lounge, dragging the heavy bags behind her.
"Mom, wait!" Yanna called, holding a bottle of dishwashing liquid. "I bought this."
Her mother's face brightened. "Come on, chuck it in. It's always useful."
By then, I was beyond flabbergasted. I knew Yanna was the frugal type — stingy even — but this was a bit too much.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered it. "Yes? Yes, it's me. How can I help you?"
I could sense them freeze in the lounge, pricking up their ears.
"Phil? Phil, it's Darya," a girl's voice rattled off in the receiver. "You saw me during the interview you had with our company, Ultrapak, the other day. I'm very happy to tell you that you've been accepted for a trial period. You think you could start tomorrow?"
"Hey!" Yanna shouted from the lounge. "Mind getting your mutt out of the bathroom? We need to check it out!"
"Or, absolutely," I replied into the phone, then covered it with my hand and shouted to Yanna, "Coming!"
"Very well," Darya's voice said. "You know the address, don't you? We start at eight a.m. We'd like you to bring-"
Mrs. Orlova barged into the kitchen, "Take the dog out now! We don't have all day!"
I gestured for her to wait till I'd finished. Stepping back, I very nearly stumbled over a hungry Boris rubbing against my feet as in, 'whassup boss, it's breakfast time, where's my chow?'
I rummaged through the cupboards for the cat food but couldn't locate it in the mess. Never mind. I grabbed a carton of milk and poured some into his bowl. That one was sorted.
Mrs. Orlova opened her mouth to speak. I hurried to switch off the phone's microphone.
"Phil, are you there?" Darya's voice asked.
I cussed and switched the mic back on. "Yes, sure. What do you want me to bring?"
"Get the dog out now!" Mrs. Orlova growled.
"Oh, just a recent photo of yourself... sorry, what did you say?"
"Er... no, nothing."
"Yes, a photo for your name tag. A digital one will do. And-"
"Hey!" Yanna's voice rang with hysterical notes so familiar to me.
Mrs. Orlova stood hands on hips in the doorway, boring me with her impatient stare. I clenched my teeth and went to the bathroom.
Richie dashed out and went for the older woman who scrambled to safety just in time. I grabbed at his collar and led him out onto the balcony, "Heel! Richie, heel!"
He was straining on the collar, wheezing and pulling me along, his paws slipping on the lino.
"Off!" I shouted to him.
"What a monster!" Mrs. Orlova sobbed. She was dripping with cold sweat.
"Please make sure you take your paperwork to the HP department before you start working," Darya finished, nonplussed.
"Yes, absolutely! See you tomorrow! Thanks a lot," I cradled the phone on my shoulder in order to lock the balcony door.
"See you tomorrow, Phil. We're looking forward to working with you."
I switched the phone off.
I had a job! A tidal wave of relief and pleasure flooded over me.
Task Status: Find a stable job
Task completed!
XP received: 50 pt.
+10% to Satisfaction
I dropped onto the couch, savoring the moment. It felt so good I might even get used to it. So this was the feeling which turned people into workaholics and time management freaks?
I needed to see my XP bar really badly. I just hoped it would sooner or later appear in my interface.
A Godawful crashing noise came from the bathroom, followed by a torrent of f-words courtesy of Mrs. Orlova. Richie outside leaned his front paws against the balcony door, whimpering. I hurried to the bathroom to assess the damage.
"Mom, are you crazy?" Yanna fussed around her. "You could have hurt yourself!"
"It's all right," the older woman said, rubbing her forehead. "That's what happens when you don't have a handyman in the house! Things are held together with spit and a prayer!"
The bathroom cabinet lay shattered on the floor, its contents spilled all over the place. Shower gels, shampoos, my shaving foam, our two razors, toothbrushes and toothpaste, as well as a broken tumbler. It looked like my mother-in-law had at some point leaned her 200 pound-plus weight against the cabinet which had collapsed, unable to sustain the extra pressure.
Mrs. Orlova scooped everything into a plastic bag, only leaving me my toothbrush.
"Hey, that's my razor," I attempted to protest. "You don't need the shaving foam either, do you?"
"I bought it with my money," Yanna announced. "I use both, anyway. You can buy your own. You don't even need them, do you? It's not as if you shave very often!"
I smiled. Their attempts to provoke me were truly pathetic. This final quip had actually become the last straw: now I didn't feel anything. They could take what they wanted, I didn't care. All I needed was my computer and the mattress to sleep on, so they were very welcome to take the bedframe if they wanted, too. They could strip the whole house bare, be my guest!
What did hurt was this petty attempt at revenge from a woman I used to love so much right until this morning. Her hatred was so blatantly obvious that I really didn't feel like talking to her, let alone try to kiss and make up. Actually, I was happy it had happened now and not after a lifetime of living together. It was a good job we didn't have children. I knew it wasn't a good thing to say but that's the way it was. First, she'd been too busy graduating, then we'd had to settle down and wait for me to start earning... until at some point we'd simply stopped thinking about kids. At least I had.
Yanna seemed to be reading my mind. "Oh, and by the way," she said matter-of-factly. "We need to go to the registry office and file for divorce. I can't do it this week. I have too much work. So it's gonna be next Tuesday. I'll text you when."
"Please do," I said. "I'll have to take time off work."
She raised a quizzical eyebrow but refused to comment.
Finally, Mrs. Orlova was done plundering. Yanna dialed her phone,
"Vlad? You can come up now. We're finished. What did you say? It's okay, we can wait."
"It's all right," I said. "I can help you."
Showing no reaction, they picked up a bag each and walked out of the flat. I lifted all the remaining bags and staggered out of the apartment. I actually did feel stronger. The bags were still heavy but at least my fingers didn't slacken on the handles as they would have before.
As I walked out onto the landing, I remembered the eggs, cussed, trotted back in and turned off the gas. Then I carried the bags downstairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.
Strangely enough, I didn't give a damn about Vlad, whoever he was. They could do what they wanted. Even though formally Yanna and I were still married, I didn't feel any pangs of jealousy or whatever a male ape was supposed to feel having lost his female to a stronger opponent. I just didn't care.
I immediately recognized the Jeep which had picked up Yanna the night she'd left. Vlad stood next to it: a tall fit guy with short slicked-back hair. I sort of remembered him: he was Yanna's workmate. He was wearing a hugging blue shirt and a fancy belt in his dark pants. His polished shoes reflected the sunshine.
He didn't seem to be in a hurry to help them with the bags though. He just stood there staring at the two women staggering under the weight of their ill-gotten gains. He simply opened the trunk and turned away, talking into his phone.
Grunting like a weightlifter, Mrs. Orlova hauled the bags into the trunk. She never stopped panting and complaining how tired she really was. I put the remaining bags in too. Still, one last plastic bag didn't fit in the trunk.
"D'you want it in the car?" I asked Yanna.
She shrugged, then took the passenger seat in front.
I was getting a bit fed up with all this. I swung the back door open and sat the bag onto the seat.
"Are you nuts? What do you think you're doing?" came from behind as I was brushing my hands. "Get your crap out now! This is leather, you dimwit!"
"You mean it's not shark skin? That would suit you better," I slammed the Jeep's door shut and walked back to the house.
"Hey you!" Vlad raved behind me. "Come back here now! I tell you!"
I'd had enough. I couldn't control myself any longer. I swung round and walked back, all the while studying his profile.
Vladimir Korolev
Age: 30
Current status: Manager
Social status level: 13
Class: Administrator. Level: 6
Not married
Children: Radomir, son. Age: 2
Reputation: Indifference 0/30
I walked over to him, so close I'd very nearly stepped on his polished shoes, and locked my gaze with his. Admittedly, I had to tilt my head up to do that.
"What's your problem, dude?" I asked, investing all my anger into the question.
He wasn't impressed. "This isn't an Internet chat, dude. You'd better behave yourself."
He grinned, enjoying Yanna's attention. He was clearly winding me up. "Take your junk out, get a protection cover from the trunk, spread it on the seat, then put the stuff back in."
"Really?" I faked surprise. "WTF? If you're Yanna's new-"
"Leave him, Vlad," Mrs. Orlova intervened. "Just go!"
"What do you mean, 'just go'? This is leather! I really don't want him to-"
"Hi Phil," Alik's unmannered voice resounded next to us. "Problems?"
He stood behind Vlad in a relaxed, slightly stooping pose, hands in his sweatpants pockets, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, his eyes squinting predatorily, his lower lip slightly bulging. He looked like the epitome of a street thug if ever I'd seen one.
Your Reputation with Vladimir Korolev has decreased!
Current Reputation: Dislike, 15/30
Vlad cast a nervous glance around him. "Get in the car," he snapped at Yanna's mother. He jumped into the driver's seat, slammed the door and stepped on the gas.
Yanna leaned out of the open window, "Tonight Dad will come to collect the TV! Make sure you're at home!"
"Tell him to call me first," I began. "I might be out-" I fell silent, realizing no one was listening to me.
"Is she gone?" Alik asked. "Like, gone gone?"
I nodded.
He offered me a packet of cigarettes. "Have a smoke."
I took one and turned it over in my fingers for a while, then gave it back to him. "No, thanks. I haven't smoked for a week. I want to keep it that way."
"Nice job," he said. "Wish I could quit too. Costs me an arm and a leg..."
"It does, doesn't it?" I agreed. "Thanks for helping me out. It would have been a shame to have had my lights punched out by my ex's new acquisition."
I paused. "If you don't mind me asking... you're not following me, are you? It's just that every time I come out into the courtyard you're always around."
Alik's face darkened. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and chuckled, chewing his lips. He heaved a sigh and prepared to speak.
A yellow exclamation mark appeared above his head.
He was a quest giver!
"You could say that," he admitted. "I don't have a place to stay, do I? So I just take it one day at a time. Sometimes I sleep in the basement. Or at one of the guys'. And when it's warm like this I just sleep on a bench in the yard."
"No way? I thought you had a home?"
"I did," he faltered. "Basically, my Dad took out a payday loan. Just to celebrate his fiftieth birthday in style, if you know what I mean. He kept up with his payments at first. And then he got fired. And we still had to pay off the loan. So we're subletting our flat to some migrant workers. My parents have moved to their allotment shed in the country. We have a garden allotment, you know, so they live there now. Mother is really sick now. Worse than before. And Dad just drinks all day. I have to handle the bailiffs..."
"Why don't you find a job? Or just move in with them? You could help them with the garden..."
"There isn't much to help, man. Also, it's a shed as I told you. Normally we keep garden tools in it. And as for finding a job, nobody wants me. I worked at a building site for a while but their foreman, the bastard, fired me for being on the bottle. He never paid me," he turned away.
We stood there for a while, each thinking his own thoughts.
The yard was getting busy with people leaving for work. The sounds of starting motors filled the air as cars began pulling out of their parking spaces. The day was slipping into gear. I had lots of things to do.
"Is there any way I can help you?" I asked Alik point blank.
"I don't think so. I know you're broke. Crashing out at your place isn't an option, either. But if you hear of a job..."
Help Alik Find a Job!
Your neighbor Romuald "Alik" Zhukov is in bad need of regular employment.
Rewards:
XP: 400 pt.
Reputation with Romuald "Alik" Zhukov: 30 pt.
Current Reputation: Amicability 10/60
No Accept/Decline buttons anywhere, just like it had been the last time with old Mr. Panikoff and his sports newspaper quest. Apparently, the only way to accept the quest was by saying it out loud.
"I'll see what I can do, man." I said.
The quest window disappeared.
"Thanks," Alik proffered me his hand. "It means a lot to me."
I went back home, had breakfast and began cleaning up. Having finished, I picked up the full trash bag and took Richie for a walk. We headed for the park so I could put in a bit of jogging too.
As I jogged, Sveta Messerschmitt called me. "Hi, Phil. How's Richie?"
"Like a dog with two tails," I replied, panting. "He's actually running next to me. Richie, speak!"
"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
"That's all right. You don't need to worry about him."
"Thank you. Dad wanted me to tell you that he'll make sure you get the reward for finding him."
That was good. I could use some monetary reinforcement. Having said that...
No. It just felt wrong.
"Sorry, Sveta," I stopped to catch my breath. "I didn't do it for the reward. Just promise me that when he fathers some puppies I can buy one."
"You can have one! Of course!"
"Deal," I suppressed an involuntary smile. "I'll be off, then."
"Thank you so much! Can you please send me some more pictures of him?"
"Absolutely. Bye!"
I took a few more pics of Richie, sent them to her and resumed my jogging.
My Vitality bar caught my eye. I knew for sure it used to be red — but now it was yellow. Yellow.
I focused on it. I had 80,00173% Vitality. Did that mean that anything below 80% was in the red?
In which case, everything over 90% was probably green. Oh well. That was something to work towards.
Having finished my run, I dropped onto a bench. I really needed to check my stats. It had been exactly a week since I'd discovered the interface.
I opened the stats window,
Philip "Phil" Panfilov
Age: 32
Current status: unemployed
Social status level: 6
Unclassified
Married
Wife: Yannina "Yanna" Orlova
Children: none
Main Characteristics:
Strength: 7
Agility: 4 (+1 bonus from the Stinky Chinese Sneakers of Nimbleness)
Intellect: 18
Stamina: 4
Perception: 7
Charisma: 12
Luck: 6
Secondary Characteristics:
Vitality: 80%
Satisfaction: 78%
Vigor: 47%
Metabolism: 103%
In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight
Aha. My "gamer" status was gone, replaced by "unemployed". Hopefully, not for long. The sneakers' bonus to Agility was quite impressive. I just loved their name-generating engine! Luckily, it didn't seem to have any negative readings. Otherwise I wouldn't be surprised if the word "stinky" detracted 1 pt. from Charisma, and the word "Chinese", from Durability.
The rest was more or less clear. I'd brought up Strength by investing the available point I'd had. As for Stamina, I'd leveled it up by running non-stop the night Yanna had walked out on me.
That was the extent of my last week's accomplishments. Never mind. I'd spent a lot of time working out the interface. Now I had to concentrate on Insight as well as social status, all the while improving the main levelable stats and whatever skills could make a difference in real life.
Just out of curiosity, I checked my skill list. It would be a good idea to copy them all to an Excel file and ponder over them.
I scrolled through the list until I came to a weird line at the very bottom written in pale gray ink,
Optimization: 0
What was that? Some yet unblocked skill the system had bestowed on me?
I tried to open it. Pointless. A message popped up,
In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight
I summoned Martha. This time she was glitchy as hell, answering all my questions in a grave tone,
"In order to access more data, you need to level up Insight!"
This Insight seemed to be increasingly important. Almost as important as the new debuff I then received on my way back home,
Sexual frustration!
You're suffering from lack of sex! It negatively affects your general health. Continuous sexual frustration and arousal may lead to prostate problems and neurotic disorders.
Warning! High probability of spontaneous erections!
Warning! Your aggro radius has increased!
Warning! High probability of receiving a Depression debuff!
Warning! The Sexual Frustration debuff cannot be disabled by self-gratification!
-5% to Satisfaction every 12 hrs
As if to please, the street seemed to be packed with girls in skimpy summer clothes. Trying to blank them out, I hurried to my front door. Just as I crossed the doorway, I got the mother of all spontaneous erections.
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