14 Chapter Fourteen. The Dog Eat Dog World

"Accomplishing the impossible means only that the boss will add it to your regular duties."

Doug Larson

"THERE YOU GO," a pretty gym receptionist handed me a towel and a magnetic locker key on a bracelet. "Your personal coach is Alexander over there. Once you've changed, you need to go and speak to him. Enjoy your workout!"

"Thanks," I replied, suppressing a big yawn.

I'd gotten up before 5 a.m. Waking up hadn't been such a problem thanks to my smart internal alarm clock. Still, I couldn't fool my own body. I simply hadn't had enough sleep. At least I hadn't received the Lack of Sleep debuff this time. No matter how hard I'd tried to force myself asleep, I'd tossed and turned through the best part of the night deciding on what I should do next.

Two things that were virtually guaranteed to satisfy most of one's needs were money and power. Also, money could lead to power just as power could lead to money. Which meant that acquiring one of the two was probably enough to get the other — plus all the perks one could think of.

Would you like to make this world a better place? In this case, you should invest in science and medicine, help the poor and support non-profits. Or would you rather indulge in the most unthinkable debauchery? In which case, you were more than welcome to an unlimited list of pleasures delivered directly to your Presidential Suite. And if it was vanity you were after, why not buy a top soccer club, pack it chock full of stars and enjoy the world's standing ovations and TV appearances?

You could make your childhood dreams come true by becoming a space tourist or investing in space exploration; you could enjoy the privacy of a tropical island complete with white beaches and picturesque vistas; you could finance and lead a revolution in some remote banana republic; or you could shoot a blockbuster movie about dinosaurs and beautiful androids in skimpy bikinis... you could do lots of things. Your imagination and the size of your wallet were the limits.

As for power, that was something I'd never been interested in. But money... money didn't earn itself. I had less than a year left until my paid membership ran out. I'd have to make the most of this time.

This was the proverbial crossroads. I was thirty-two with nothing to show for it. What was normal for my peers — a stable income, a family, a place of their own, decent cars and frequent overseas vacations — was still out of reach for me. So whatever decision I made now would gradually, over months, take me further away from any alternative routes.

What should I invest my time and effort in? Should I pursue my writing career? Or become an advertising expert? Persevere with sales or start my own business while I gained enough experience?

This kind of choice was still academic — I was too busy trying to survive for the time being. But my other goal, to bring my main characteristics up to average, was pretty obvious. Whatever I decided to do, I couldn't afford to be worse than the average Joe — not when I had this premium augmented-reality account to help me.

This was my chance. If I used it right, then by the end of the year I'd be able to live a new life unassisted by the interface. I'd be strong, agile, intelligent, charismatic and lucky enough.

I really should have invested into Intellect, Luck or Perception. Had I known that these characteristics were more than just numbers! It looked like they really could affect your life with every level you gained. Crazy, I know, but would I have really become smarter had I invested in Intellect? How about Luck — would I have started making better decisions? I also had a funny feeling that an improved Perception might have restructured my vision.

Naturally, I had to concentrate on important stats, clearing my head from all the worthless extras. Optimization had a month's cooldown, after all. According to Martha, this wasn't just some arbitrary limitation. Apparently, the human brain couldn't be rebuilt overnight. The artificial rerouting of neural paths was a time-consuming and highly delicate procedure, especially if the skill required introducing new data to the brain.

I'd already made up my mind to get rid of my WoW skills. That would give me 4 extra points for level 1 of some other skill. But what was going to happen if I did that? Would I forget that the game even existed? Would I still be able to remember my guild and the names of my clan members?

According to Martha, I'd be able to remember all of it, only that the memory would become weak and blurred as if it were something that had happened decades ago. A bit like I remembered my childhood games in my grandparents' village. We had this game of throwing pocket knives at targets. I could vaguely recall us drawing some circles on the ground and dividing them into sectors depending on the number of players... but that was the extent of it. I couldn't remember the rules nor the faces of my playmates. I didn't even know anymore if I'd been any good at it. The knife we'd used — had it been a pocket or a kitchen knife? Had its handle been made of wood or held together with a length of tape? I just didn't remember...

I still didn't know how many skills I could select as primary for use with Optimization. Were there any restrictions? And which ones should I really level?

Unfortunately, system skills such as Insight could only be leveled up through repeated use. So if I thought strategically — not just about this year but about my life as a whole — I really had to improve Learning Skills which gave 10% to Learning Rate with its first level gained.

In this light, making the next social status level was becoming a priority. I needed this skill point in order to activate Optimization. Then by the time the license ran out, I would have converted ten or eleven worthless skills into something useful.

Leveling social status was also important for another reason. Even though I still didn't understand what exactly I gained from it, I now knew that each level gained gave me an extra system point to invest into characteristics and skills.

Now that I could finally see all the stat bars, my progress had ceased to be guesswork. Each new level required 1000 XP more than the one before it. Skill bars were calibrated in percent.

Currently, I was level 6. In order to make level 7, I had to amass 7,000 XP. At the moment, the XP bar was filled a little more than a half.

Current level: 6

XP gained: 3760/7000

Interestingly, I'd earned most of that XP last night — by leveling Charisma, Insight and Cooking, and by having helped Alik out. I already knew that I received no XP for any system leveling of my stats — but I did receive 1 pt. for each Reputation point as well as for each point earned for completing self-assigned tasks.

True, you couldn't earn much XP by setting your own tasks. The game could read my mind, so it knew which things were hard for me to do and which ones were easy peasy. At first, I'd had this idea of making a to-do list of a hundred entries for the next morning: get out of bed, walk into the bathroom, open the tap... yeah right. It hadn't worked, had it? The tasks hadn't even added to my 2do log.

I'd love to know how Mr Panikoff, my old-age pensioner, had managed to level his social status to level 27? That was over 300,000 XP! Hadn't he said he used to be a university lecturer? Could it have been all the Respect his students had for him? That could explain it. That way he could have earned one level a year easily, even without any boosters.

I could only imagine the numbers achieved by medical workers. Having said that, some so-called doctors could be mere quacks who didn't give a damn about their negative karma as long as they could line their pockets.

I smiled, remembering Olga, the cute shrink from the clinic. Should I visit her again, maybe?

I toyed with the idea for a bit until I realized it must have been my wretched sexual debuff putting thoughts into my head. No, I'd better give this one a miss.

I was curious to check out celebrities' levels, just to see if their fame affected their real Reputation. Questions, questions... The more answers I discovered, the more new questions I had.

Then there was money, of course. I had to become my own boss. I could already see that this new job in Ultrapak wasn't going to pay millions even if I owned the company itself which I didn't. I was a humble sales rep on a trial period. And in order to come up with any moneymaking ideas, I might need to experiment. I had to find out which KIDD points counted and which didn't.

I equipped my brand-new workout gear and walked out of the locker room. Considering this was still early morning, the place was heaving. I had no idea we had so many health freaks in our country.

My debuff-ridden gaze seemed to gravitate to all the shapely gym babes. In a way, this was actually motivational, encouraging me to lose weight, gain muscle and improve stamina. All of that might considerably improve my standing with the fairer sex.

I spent the next hour working out with my coach Alexander (age: 28, married, social level 9). He asked me about my objectives (strength and stamina) and began trying me on all sorts of machines. We started with a warmup on a treadmill, followed by sit-ups, bench presses, cable rows, hyperextensions and a few other exercises, all of them with the minimum weight.

"First we need to teach you technique," he explained. "It might take us a couple of weeks. We'll be doing it nice and slow, gradually adding more weights."

As I worked out, I received several system warnings about my heart rate exceeding safe parameters. I was so out of shape my heart was pounding after every set — but I had to start a new one before I even had a chance to catch my breath.

I walked back to the locker room on rubbery legs, soaked in sweat. My towel was dripping wet.

Much to my surprise, my Strength numbers hadn't changed. It was still level 7, the progress bar frozen at 18% (I'd checked it on purpose before I'd started working out).

Alexander's last words seemed to shed some light on this mystery. "At the moment, it's better that you take a full day's rest between sessions," he said as he parted with me, with a suggestion I had a protein shake. "Muscle tissue requires a 48-hour recovery period in order to enter the supercompensation stage."

The effects of his training session manifested themselves in a totally different way. Once I got out of the shower, I received a message informing me of my increased Metabolism, Satisfaction and Vigor. My Mood, Spirit, Willpower and Confidence had also received a bit of a nudge. I couldn't complain, really. Benefit was apparent.

Seeing as my Happiness buff was about to expire, I went to the gym bar and had a delicious chocolate protein shake. Was this how people became addicted to exercise?

* * *

AS SOON AS I walked into the Ultrapak office, I noticed a few familiar faces. Both Marina and Greg "Bullshit Artist" Boyko were there too — the guys I'd met at the job interview three days previously.

Only three days! So many things had happened since — mainly in my head, though — that it felt like an eternity.

We hung in the sales department, not knowing what to do with ourselves. There was nowhere to sit down, anyway. All six of us — myself, Greg, Marina and three other guys of various ages — stood in a tight group by the water cooler.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to us. Either they viewed us as competition or they'd already seen loads of hopeless wannabes like ourselves.

We spent a quarter of an hour shooting the breeze and listening to Greg's half-baked stories. Today he'd arrived dressed all in white. He admitted he hadn't had the guts to quit his old job. He'd just taken some time off without pay.

Finally the door opened, letting in the company's commercial director: a grim man of about thirty. I remembered him: he'd been present at my earlier interview.

He walked through the room, dishing out orders left and right while talking on his phone and drinking coffee. He motioned us to follow him.

We trotted in his wake through a maze of office corridors until finally we came to the conference room with a projector mounted on a large oval table. Still busy arguing with someone on his phone, he motioned us to sit down.

I checked his profile. Pavel Gorelov, 31 years old, corporate leader, a level-11 vendor. Married with three kids. Social status level: 18.

I remembered what Martha had earlier said about having children: apparently, children were considered society's future so raising them could positively affect one's social status too.

I checked his primary skills and main characteristics. Predictably, he had high levels of Sales Skills, Leadership — and Boxing, of all things. Oh wow. Strength: 15, Agility: 14, Charisma: 16... this was one hell of a dude!

And I was a year his senior...

The moment I thought this, I received a debuff message,

A Pang of Envy

You're experiencing jealousy of another person's success.

-5% to Confidence

-5% to Satisfaction

-10% to Self-Control

+5% to Willpower

There you go, Phil. You're a jealous bastard, aren't you?

Admittedly, I had every reason to be. My future boss cut a fine figure with his crewcut, his fit body, his expensive suit and megawatt smile. He projected confidence an wellbeing.

We took our seats, waiting for him to finish his conversation. Finally, he switched the phone off. Without sitting down, he leaned both hands against the back of a chair.

"Morning, everyone. We've met already. Still, for those who might have forgotten me, my name's Pavel and I'm the sales director here at Ultrapak. I can see there're six of you here even though I specifically told the HR that I only needed five people. One of you will be going home now. By the end of next week, there'll be only three of you left. And by the end of your trial period, only one person will join us as a new sales manager. If you're not sure you can do it, I suggest you don't waste my time — or your own. You'd better leave now."

His searching gaze lingered upon each of us as he studied our reactions. No volunteers.

"Very well. In which case, allow me to take my pick."

Then — I kid you not! — he began reciting a children's counting rhyme, pointing his finger at each of us in turn,

"Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,

Wizard, Warrior, Rogue or Gambler,

Dwarf or Druid, friend or foe,

One of us will have to go!"

His finger alighted on my chest. "You. You're free to go."

All eyes were upon me. One of the guys grinned triumphantly, not bothering to conceal his relief.

My ears were burning. My throat seized. I received a "high pulse rate" system message.

I stared at his groomed manicured finger poking my chest, then looked up at him.

"You can go now," he repeated.

I feverishly rummaged through all my available options. Finally, I braced myself and rose from my seat. "If I may-"

He raised a protesting hand. "Oh, no, no, please stop. Should I call security?"

He seemed to be losing his patience with me. This guy valued every minute of his time.

"Please don't," I said. "I'm going now. I just wanted to make a counteroffer. You won't be losing anything by accepting it."

"Make it quick."

"I'm gonna close a sale before the end of the working day. If I fail, you won't see me again. Do you need an extra sale?"

"Absolutely. You can sit down-" he faltered.

"I'm Phil," I helpfully offered.

"I know your name. You can sit down, Phil. And you," he turned to the guy with a smug grin, "you can go now."

Now I knew what it looked like when someone wiped a smile off your face. The guy turned crimson. Stuttering, he mumbled something in his defense which met with Pavel's cold, disdainful glare.

The guy beat a dignified retreat, slamming the door behind him.

A new quest message followed,

A One-Day Chance

You must close a sales deal for packaging products produced by Ultrapak, Ltd.

Deadline: end of the workday

Rewards:

A chance to win a sales rep's position with the company

XP: 1500 pt.

Reputation with the company's commercial director Pavel Gorelov: +10 pt.

Current Reputation: Indifference 0/30

Penalties:

Loss of your chance to work with Ultrapak, Ltd

Reputation with the company's commercial director Pavel Gorelov: -30 pt.

Current Reputation: Indifference 0/30

"Now, where were we?" the director continued. "Today I'm going to introduce you to our products and give you a quick guided tour of the company. Then I'll assign each of you to one of our managers so you can watch them sell..."

He turned to me. "That doesn't apply to you, Phil. I suggest you don't waste your time and start selling as soon as you acquaint yourself with the list of our products."

* * *

BIAXIALLY ORIENTED polystyrene, or BOPS for short, stands for those clear plastic containers used by supermarkets, restaurants and fast food joints to sell salads, prepackaged foods, cream cakes and other goodies. It can't be reused which means that the demand for it is just as high as for the foods themselves.

This particular type of packaging had caught my attention — especially when I compared the price charged by Ultrapak with its real price which I could see in my mental interface. Its market price was 6 rubles apiece. Peanuts. Still, Ultrapak sold it at 324 rubles apiece.

What was the catch?

Once we'd finished familiarizing ourselves with the company's produce, Pavel sent me directly to the sales department where he found me a spare desk with a telephone. A dog-eared business phone directory sat on the desk next to it, covered with its previous owner's scribbles: "Not to call"; "Speak to Svetlana the company buyer", "They're all idiots!!!"

No one had shown me the client base. I could understand them. I was still a nobody here.

I spent the next hour copying the names of all of the city's markets and fast food chains, then walked around the room with the list to make sure I didn't call someone who was already a client. Other reps stared at me like I was some kind of idiot. Still, they didn't tell me as much. Instead, they glanced over my list, ticking off the names of their own clients.

One of the managers, the fat Cyril Cyrilenko, took me aside. Assaulting me with a strong tobacco breath, he told me to follow him into the smoking room.

I agreed unhesitantly. In my situation, any information was precious.

"You don't need to call Pesco Market," he said. "I work with them."

He drew hard on his cigarette, then wheezed, exhaling, "How did you manage to get a sale? Normally, he won't let trainees anywhere near sales for a week at least. How did you do it?"

"Dunno," I didn't feel like lying to a potential workmate. "He wanted to fire me straight away. He said we were one too many. So what he did, he..."

"He recited a counting rhyme," Cyril grinned and immediately exploded in a bout of coughing. "Isn't that typical. He always uses the same rhyme. Was it the one about wizards and rogues? I'll tell you something. He didn't like you from the start. He already knew how to recite the rhyme so that it ended with you."

"What was the point? They could simply fail my interview."

"Or no, they couldn't. If he fired someone now, the others would give up hope and become desperate. So how come he didn't give you the boot?"

"I promised him a sale. If I fail to close a deal by the end of the day, then he can fire me."

"You're not shy, are you?" he laughed, then exploded in another bout of coughing.

I peered at his health numbers. 62,6%. Should I say something? Or ask about his health? He might think I was prying.

A new task message appeared in my view.

Ask about Mr. Cyrilenko's health and suggest he makes an appointment with the doctor.

I waited for his coughing bout to subside. "What do I have to lose? It's not as if I have another job," I said. "Maybe you could give me some advice? Tell me which places are best to avoid?"

"I shouldn't count too much on our advice, if I were you. Competition is tough here. Everyone has mouths to feed and mortgages to pay. Rents, children, vacations; wives and mistresses to support.." he paused. "If I can be brutally honest, you don't have a chance in hell. All the big clients are already taken — if not by us, then by other firms. And the small fry are just not worth it. You'll spend months trying to close them and haggling over the bottom line. They count every cent and won't just sign up because you're there."

"I see," I replied, wondering if I should ask him about the difference in market price. "If you don't mind me asking... what's with the high profit margin?"

His Interest bar began to shrink. I had to be more open and persuasive. I didn't lose anything by trying, anyway.

"Oh, come on," I said. "I just need this job real bad, you know. I haven't got a pot to piss in. My wife left me the other day. I don't need advice, just some information."

"Your wife left you? Oh... I've just got divorced myself. Not the best feeling, I have to admit," he heaved a sigh and lit another cigarette. "Just between you and me. We have our own production line, you know. And marginality is virtually non-existent. The bosses prefer to work by volume. We already sell at wholesale prices while all these shops just whack on the price of the packaging on top of their own product price. And thirdly, the kickbacks. All buyers charge them. They buy in bulk at deflated prices and split the difference. Pavel is quite scrupulous about it. He has respect for the market, even though we have to deal with this problem every month. The most we can do is invite a buyer to a good restaurant, or give him a nice birthday present, but that's the extent of it. You personally, what would you choose — a bottle of good brandy for your birthday or a few thousand dollars under the table every month?"

"But this is-"

"I know. That's why we do it like we do. Our price is the lowest on the market simply because it doesn't include kickbacks, black cash conversions and higher profits. Come on, let's go now."

"Thanks," I proffered him my hand.

Mechanically he shook it and walked out. I followed in his wake, mulling over what I'd just heard.

Back at my desk, I opened my phone and Googled the list of all the biggest supermarket chains. Then I spent some quality time studying each of them: their logos, the brands they carried, the number of stores and their respective locations, stocks and the names of their top management.

Then I opened my own map and highlighted all their offices all over the country. I took a deep sigh, crossed my fingers and entered a new search filter:

Delete all those who are not Ultrapak's clients

A couple of dots disappeared from the map.

Bingo.

The rest was the database I could work with.

I ran a few more queries, narrowing my search by the type of packaging ordered, and excluding all those who bought our products for more than 50% over the wholesale price. A few more dots expired, leaving me with four chains out of the original ten.

I went back to Google and began looking up the companies' owners, shareholders and beneficiaries. I perused their biographies and interviews, and copied all the data into a fat agenda I'd bought the night before.

By lunchtime, I was done. It had taken me a while but now I had plenty of KIDD points to play with.

All my fellow trainees and their coaches had already left for lunch and a bit of a get-together with their mentors and future workmates. No one had bothered to invite me along.

I hurried out of the building and bought myself a quick shawarma in the nearest underground passage. Strangely enough, this prime example of street food so popular in Russia didn't result in any health alert messages. I wolfed my lunch down and returned to my desk.

As I walked into the room, I saw the stooping figure of a girl by the window. Seeing me, she turned away.

"Hi Marina," I said. "Everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine, thank you," she replied without turning.

Was it my imagination or had she been crying?

I checked her status. Her Mood was really low. Still, I decided to give her some space for a while. No good me trying to intrude on her feelings.

I took my place at the desk and sent a request to see the locations of my shortlisted candidates.

Much to my disappointment, all of them were either in a different town or abroad. My crazy initial idea of visiting them in person had failed miserably.

Or had it? As I zoomed in on the map, I saw that I'd been wrong. One of the markers must have overlapped with that of my own town which was why I hadn't noticed it at first. It belonged to a certain Nicholas Valiadis, the owner of one of the supermarket chains.

Valiadis? Wait a sec. Wasn't that the guy whom the old boy with the newspaper had mentioned? At the time, he'd suggested I remember the name. "One day you might be happy you did."

I sent another search request to see his current location. Valiadis was in the gym, of all places. Was it my Luck kicking in? Had he been at home or in the office, my crazy idea wouldn't have worked at all.

Very well. Let's go to the gym. It wasn't a humble budget affair like my own but a top fitness club where a year membership cost the price of a new car.

I gave them a call and booked a guest visit.

"I'm out to see a client," I told Marina and rushed out. Ignoring the elevator, I took the steps three at a time, calling Uber as I hurried out.

I had no idea how I was supposed to approach him, let alone talk to him. That was something I'd have to think about on my way there.

As I rode an Uber cab, I kept an eye on his map marker. According to it, he must have been in the swimming pool. Where else can you spend half an hour just moving to and fro? His path through the weight room would have been much more complex.

Which meant I needed some swim shorts.

Finally, we were there. I took a deep breath and walked inside. Immediately I saw a small shop selling all sorts of training gear. I bought myself a pair of swimming trunks which cost the same as a decent business suit — and that was with the club discount!

Several young receptionists smiled to me from their desk. I explained the purpose of my visit, showed them my ID, paid for the guest's three-session subscription and received a silicon guest bracelet, a pair of disposable slippers, a towel, a bathing cap and a bathrobe.

My crazy idea had already cost me much more than I could afford. All the money I'd set aside for the next two weeks was already gone. Never mind. I could always use a new pair of swim trunks. Ditto for the three-session ticket: that was in fact an excellent leveling opportunity. So I'd better relax and enjoy this educational foray into the life of the rich and beautiful.

The locker room was empty. Excellent. I undressed, took a quick shower and walked out into the pool.

The place was nice and clean. Soft upbeat music bubbled in the speakers. The walls were lined with deck chairs. Athletic life guards kept watch poolside. Bar servers froze by the walls, ready to take your order at your slightest sign. A group of pretty girls with legs which went on forever were chatting and laughing in the corner drinking their herbal teas.

Herbal? I wasn't even sure it was tea at all. Whatever.

Valiadis was still busy doing his laps. I couldn't see his bodyguards anywhere. Or could those life guards actually be his bodyguards? I'd hate to have to find that out. The more natural and "accidental" our conversation, the better.

I left the bathrobe, the slippers and the towel next to an available deck chair and entered the water. It wasn't cold but it wasn't very warm, either.

Trying not to splash, I swam slowly in the opposite direction. My swimming skills had always left a lot to be desired. My lung capacity was way below average. So after a couple of laps, I flipped onto my back and relaxed, watching Valiadis out of the corner of my eye.

Finally, I sensed it was now or never. He'd been here for an hour already. I would only have two opportunities to talk to him: either in the locker room or in the sauna. The latter option was even better. In the locker room, he'd probably be already thinking about work while in the sauna he might relax and lower his guard.

I got out of the water, toweled myself dry, removed the cap and headed for the sauna.

That turned out to be another puzzle. They didn't just have one sauna. They also had a Russian steam bath and a Turkish hammam. Which one should I choose?

I finally decided on the sauna. Its glass door and the absence of steam offered an excellent view of the entire pool and the locker room door. If Valiadis headed there instead, I could catch up with him in no time.

I lasted the first ten minutes just fine, albeit sweating all over. Still, the longer I remained there, the more I wished I could run out and throw my overheated body into the welcoming freshness of the pool.

By the time Valiadis finally climbed out of the pool and headed for the Russian steam bath next door, the Thirst debuff was killing me. I rushed out of the sauna and headed for the cooler, gulping water down by the bucket. Once the debuff icon was gone, I toweled the sweat off and walked into the steam bath.

Valiadis was sitting there with his eyes closed, wearing a felt cap.

He pried his eyes open and nodded, greeting me. I did the same. He was in excellent shape, sinewy and fit with broad shoulders and a six-pack.

I took a seat some distance away from him, respecting his personal space. From where I could finally study his profile and stats.

Nicholas "The Duke" Valiadis

Age: 47

Current status: Tycoon

Social status level: 29

Class: Businessman. Level: 33

Married

Wife: Arina Valiadis. Age: 38

Children: Sergei, son. Age: 16. Paulina, daughter. Age: 11

Criminal record: yes

Reputation: Indifference 0/30

Interest: 0%

I was quite happy that his Interest to me was at zero. I was afraid that by disturbing his privacy I might have alienated him.

"Mr. Valiadis?" I tried to strike up a conversation.

He tensed ever so slightly. His watchful stare sized me up. He must have decided I was no threat to him. "Have we met before?"

"I don't think so. Still, it would be strange if I," — I stressed the last word, "didn't know you."

"Why not?"

"Our company provides packaging materials for supermarket chains. So it's my job to know everyone who's anyone in our line of business."

He nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "I don't think you've come here by accident."

"I haven't," I admitted.

"One of the staff must have sold me, I suppose. Oh well. Shame about the pool, I liked it."

He removed the felt cap and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Are you the company owner?"

"Not at all. I'm not even their commercial director. If the truth were known, I'm just a trainee sales rep."

"Are you really? So what is it you want from me, Mr. Trainee Sales Rep?"

"I want nothing from you, Mr. Valiadis. On the contrary. I'd like to help you lower your packaging costs."

I paused, watching his Interest bar grow out of the red zone and stopping at 11% in the orange sector.

"Keep talking," he said.

"I don't know the conditions your suppliers offer, but I'm absolutely sure we can offer you 50% less."

That caught his interest. It soared, reaching 50%. The sight gave me wings.

"If we take BOPS, for instance, we can supply it to you for 3.24 rubles. I'm pretty sure you're now buying it for four-something. Or five even."

He gestured to me to stop, opened the door and shouted, "Misha!"

After the briefest of delays, his assistant appeared in the sauna. "Sir?"

"I want you to call Hermann and tell him to come now. It's urgent."

Misha made himself scarce. Valiadis rose. "I suggest we move to the bar. They make good detox cocktails here-" he looked at me askance.

"I'm Phil, sir."

"Nice to meet you, Phil. Come on, then."

Your Reputation with Nicholas "the Duke" Valiadis has improved!

Current Reputation: Indifference 5/30

Soon, a certain Alex Hermann arrived at the club. He blushed, shifting from one foot to the other, as Valiadis showered him with insults, wrestling from him the admission that yes, their suppliers indeed charged them extra for packaging materials.

Valiadis turned to me. "You think you can supply our demand?"

"Absolutely," I replied, praying it was so.

"Very well," he glanced at his watch. "I need to be going. Alex and Phil, please exchange your details. Alex, I'm pretty sure the company CEO would like to see you personally, but I'd like you to speak with them in his presence," he nodded at me.

Our eyes met. "Mr. Valiadis, may I?" I asked, jumping at the opportunity.

He leaned toward me.

"I just wondered," I whispered, "if the name of Mr. Samuel Panikoff rings any bells?"

Valiadis startled ever so slightly. He gulped but didn't reply. As he stepped back, I noticed a barely discernible nod.

Finally, the big boss was gone, leaving me with Alex.

I could see he was pretty pissed off. He didn't like me. Still, you wouldn't be able to tell it by the way he spoke.

"Phil, here's my card. When can I meet your employers?"

I took a cab back to the office. As I rode, a new system message was bestowed on me,

Your Luck has improved!

Current Luck: 7

Experience points received for improving a main characteristic: 1000

Thanks to the message, I now felt I was moving in the right direction. I was bursting with confidence. The workday was nearly over. I absolutely had to see Pavel or the company's CEO before my deadline expired.

I was in luck. Pavel was still there.

"May I speak with you?" I asked.

He shook a dismissive head, preempting my possible excuses. "Please spare me the details. I won't give you one more chance. Nor another day."

"I don't need another day. I've just sold us to J-Mart. A long-term contract on our entire range. They want to meet up with you and the CEO now. They've just fired their previous supplier. They expect us to start deliveries tomorrow morning."

If you beach a shark, it'll be just as helpless as some humble small fry. It'll be squirming on the shore opening its toothy jaws and moving its gills but despite its predatory fame it'll still remain a fish out of water. I watched Pavel open and close his mouth, gulping for air. His Interest bar had soared to a full 100%.

Still, he recovered quickly. "Follow me," he rose, put on his business jacket and strode toward the CEO's office. I walked closely behind, followed by the workers and trainees' stares. Cyril gave me a wink. I winked back at him.

Pavel took me to the CEO's office and gave him a brief run-down of the situation. He finished by saying, "I think you should be the one talking to them. It's your level."

"With whom did you speak?" the fit, sinewy CEO asked me.

"I first spoke to Valiadis, who then introduced me to Hermann. I heard him tell Hermann to make out a contract with you."

"Just look at him!" Pavel enthused. "How on earth did you meet Valiadis?"

I shrugged. "Pure luck, I suppose."

Pavel tensed. "Are you sure? You're not making this up, are you?"

I gave him Hermann's business card.

New system messages promptly informed me of my improved Reputation with both. It was still Indifference but quite close to Amicability.

"Point taken," the CEO chuckled. "Well done. Should I give him a call, then?"

He picked up his phone, then gave me a long look.

"I could call them myself," I said, "but I think Hermann wanted to discuss all the details with you."

Squinting shortsightedly, the man (name: Mr. Peter Ivanov, age: 48, current status: Chief Executive Officer at Ultrapak Ltd) began dialing Hermann's number.

Then we went to meet Hermann and two more execs at the J-Mart HQ. There were three of us: Pavel, Mr. Ivanov and myself. An hour into the talks, the parties shook hands on the deal.

I very much doubted they normally closed new contracts with such speed. Or the fact that Hermann's presence would normally be required. He must have been there on personal orders from Valiadis.

I could almost see him ask Hermann at their meeting the next morning, "How was that thing with the packaging deal?" And Hermann would reply, "It's all done, sir. We've signed the contract and received the first delivery already. That'll give us a saving of hundreds of millions a year. Our security team is currently investigating the old buyers. Two-timing rats!"

Everybody was happy. With the exception of the bribe-taking buyers and their associates, of course.

Two teams of company lawyers worked on the contract until late at night. None of the workers and trainees dared leave before the top brass. I was starving. I wanted to pop out to grab something quick to eat but Pavel didn't let me. He wanted me to stay in the office. He probably wanted me to watch every stage of the contract making, learning from the pros.

It was already past 10 p.m. when Mr. Ivanov walked out of his office, holding two bottles of good single malt whisky.

Pavel joined him. "May I have your attention, please? Phil, will you come over here?"

Can't say I was pleased. I hate being the center of attention.

"Tonight we celebrate!" Pavel announced. "Let's have a quick drink and then we'll go to a restaurant for a nice meal. It's on the company. Mr. Ivanov, your turn to speak."

"Dear colleagues... and friends," the CEO paused and cleared his throat. "Our company has just arrived at a new level by getting an exclusive contract with J-Mart. I don't need to tell you what it means to us all. And what's even funnier, the person who closed it is our new trainee! It's his first day at work! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Phil!"

I'd have loved to say that his last words were drowned out by a standing ovation. They weren't. A few unenthusiastic claps was all I received — and even that was probably because I'd earned them all a free dinner.

"Pavel, where are those bottles?" Mr. Ivanov concluded. Everybody sprang into action, lining up with plastic cups in their hands.

What worried me was that I hadn't yet received a "Quest completed!" message. According to the game, the One-Day Chance quest was still active. I asked Pavel if my trial period was over.

He faltered, then replied cheerfully, "Well, what do you think? Tomorrow we'll put you on the payroll."

Why tomorrow, I wondered. All the HR people were here, congratulating Mr. Ivanov and toasting their success.

Pavel left me. I stood whisky in hand, not knowing what to do with myself.

Finally, I saw Marina sulking in the far corner. I walked over to her.

"Hi," I said. "Why aren't you celebrating?"

"Ah, it's you," she mouthed. "Congratulations. Well done. Wish I could say the same."

"Why, whassup?"

She sighed, ignoring my question. Both her Mood and her Interest in the conversation were nearing zero.

I left her alone. I could see she would have loved to have gone home but felt obliged to stick with the crowd and keep the corporate spirit.

Greg left his group of sales reps and walked over to me.

"So how was your day?" I asked him.

"Congratulations," he said dryly, overcoming his jealousy. We clinked our plastic cups. I thanked him and he returned to his group.

His group? He hadn't even quit his old job yet! Selling those windows or whatever it was. And he was already friends with everybody else!

I caught their sideways glances and overheard a few whispers.

My boss' praise had done its job, alienating everybody against me. I received a chain of warning messages, informing me of loss of Reputation with virtually all of my new workmates.

How were you supposed to work in a team whose every member envied and despised you?

And what bonuses could I expect from today's sale if I wasn't even officially hired?

"Hello!" Pavel called, attracting everybody's attention. "We're all going to the Tsar's Grill now. Dinner's on the firm!"

Everybody got their stuff and began leaving the office in small groups. I walked down the stairs with them and waited outside as they got into their cars and left.

Five minutes later, I was standing on the street alone.