Nothing in this place is nice to look at, but the actual bar is the worst thing in the room. It's rotting--visibly rotting--and someone has painted over the worst of it with layers and layers of a chalky, cloudy sealant.
Your grandfather was a woodworker, and he would have taken an axe to this thing out of principle.
[[Look anywhere but at the TV |The bar]]
[[Look up at the TV|TV]] The bar is a real hole. One of millions of interchangeable sports bars across the world, this bar spent all its money on neon signs and too many TVs. Sometime after the 23rd TV, they stopped buying decorations and started giving up.
Actually you, uh, recognize that giving-up feeling pretty well.
The place is crowded and filled with smoke. The boxing match that you can't stand to watch is on, and everyone around you is yelling and cheering.
[[Look down at the bar|Bartop]]
[[Look up at the TV|TV]]You finally look up at the TV.
Yep. The young boxer you bet on, Benavides, is doing it again. He's bobbing his head around with his hands at his hips.
No, no no.
This can’t be happening.
[[Drink again|Second drink]]
[[Signal for another round|Another round]]You drink again, but you come up with nothing but ice.
[[Signal for another round|Another round]]A waitress walks by. She looks tired, forced to spend her nights serving offensive liquor to low-lifes and drunks. Management makes her wear some stupid Sexy Baseball Player uniform out of the clearance section of a Halloween Store.
You signal for another round, but it’ll be an hour before you see her again.
[[I hate this bar]]
[[I hate Benevides]]This bar hates you too, buddy. God, it hates you so much.
[[I hate Benevides]] For a white-hot second, you hate Benavides. In a violent moment you despise him while you watch him from way, way down in the gutter where you live now. Marco Felipo Benavides Jr. needs to keep his hands up or you will be completely screwed.
He’s a shitty boxer and a shitty human, and losing your bet because of his sloppiness is an expensive way to die.
You feel the skin on the side of your head trying to crawl around to the front of your head. You know he's watching you.
[[Don't look at him]]
[[Look at him|Vlad]]Dude, come on. Don't you do it. Don't you look over at him.
[[God damnit|Vlad]]You just can’t help it: your eyes wander to the table by the window.
Yep, there’s Vladimir. He's not watching the fight, he’s watching you. His eyes meet yours.
[[Look away]]Vlad knows that Benavides is doomed. The crowd is cheering like it's still a fight, but anyone who knows boxing can see what's going on. And you know boxing. Benevides is as good as unconscious, he just hasn't gotten punched yet.
You know.
Vlad knows that you know.
Vlad loves it.
He’s counting your money and adding it to your tab.
[[Shit]]You appreciate the attempt at having some self-esteem, but no. Come on.
Who's the biggest cliche in this room?
[[I am]]Oh hell yes you are. The washed-up boxer with a gambling problem. Frankly, you're not even believable as a character.
If this was a story or, I don't know, some sort of //open-source tool created by Chris Klimas for making interactive fiction in the form of web pages//, then you wouldn't believe you could be real.
[[Am... Am I real?|Am I real?]]Oh hell yeah you are. The washed-up boxer with a gambling problem. Frankly, you're not even believable as a character.
If this was a story or some sort of //open-source tool created by Chris Klimas for making interactive fiction in the form of web pages//, then you wouldn't believe you could be real.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Am... Am I real?**]]
Oh my god, dude, you're cut off.
[[Right, right, sorry.]]Oh hell yes you are. The washed-up boxer with a gambling problem. Frankly, you're not even believable as a character.
If this was a story or, I don't know, some sort of //open-source tool created by Chris Klimas for making interactive fiction in the form of web pages//, then you wouldn't believe you could be real.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Am... Am I real?**]]
Oh my god, dude, you're cut off.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Right, right, sorry.**]]
Anyway.
[[Take a drink]]Shit is right, Bucko.
Vlad is:
* a thug bookie
* in a dive bar
* wearing an Iron Curtain-special tracksuit
* with an open collar
* and a gold chain
* and a stupid accent.
Let's try an experiment: Account for all that cliche in one angry Russian package, and still you have to ask yourself: //who's the biggest cliche in this room?//
[[Vlad is]]
[[I am]]Oh hell yes you are. The washed-up boxer with a gambling problem. Frankly, you're not even believable as a character.
If this was a story or, I don't know, some sort of //open-source tool created by Chris Klimas for making interactive fiction in the form of web pages//, then you wouldn't believe you could be real.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Am... Am I real?**]]
Oh my god, dude, you're cut off.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Right, right, sorry.**]]
Anyway.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Take a drink**]]
You forgot that your glass was empty, and an ice cube dings your front teeth. It hurts like hell.
Life’s tiny injustices don’t stop just because it’s the worst day of your life.
[[What a day]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
[[1. Finish the last of my whiskey]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
[[2. Pawn the last of my stuff]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
[[3. Borrow money from friends again]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
~~3. Borrow money from friends again~~
[[4. Beg my boss for an advance on my paycheck]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
~~3. Borrow money from friends again~~
~~4. Beg my boss for an advance on my paycheck~~
[[5. Talk to Benavides's trainer]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
~~3. Borrow money from friends again~~
~~4. Beg my boss for an advance on my paycheck~~
~~5. Talk to Benavides's trainer~~
[[6. Place my bet]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
~~3. Borrow money from friends again~~
~~4. Beg my boss for an advance on my paycheck~~
~~5. Talk to Benavides's trainer~~
~~6. Place my bet~~
[[7. Plant my ass on a barstool]]//**Your Day In 7 Parts**//
~~1. Finish the last of my whiskey~~
~~2. Pawn the last of my stuff~~
~~3. Borrow money from friends again~~
~~4. Beg my boss for an advance on my paycheck~~
~~5. Talk to Benavides's trainer~~
~~6. Place my bet~~
~~7. Plant my ass on a barstool~~
You look back on your day and
[[You think about Benavides.]]
[[You think about Lewis.]]You think about Benavides.
You had heard he was good. Not, like, Muhammad Ali good or anything, but good enough. Strong. Had a lot of promise.
Then there's Lewis.
You're not above taking advantage of a fixed fight, and this is one fixed fight. Lewis was definitely, definitely going to come down with sudden food poisoning, *wink wink*, tonight.
But nothing in life is certain. Lewis could be feeling it, and he's trying to hang in there long enough to have a couple of good rounds. Just for pride. Just for show. Just enough of a risk that he might be able to catch Benavides with a lucky one.
Benavides, whose cocky little wiggle [[WILL NOT SAVE HIM IF HE CAN'T KEEP HIS HANDS UP.]]You think about Lewis.
You're not above taking advantage of a fixed fight, and this is one fixed fight. Lewis was definitely, definitely going to come down with sudden food poisoning, *wink wink*, tonight.
But nothing in life is certain. Lewis could be feeling it, and he's trying to hang in there long enough to have a couple of good rounds. Just for pride. Just for show. Just enough of a risk that he might be able to catch Benavides with a lucky one.
Then there's Benavides.
You had heard he was good. Not, like, Muhammad Ali good or anything, but good enough. Strong. Had a lot of promise.
Benavides, whose cocky little wiggle [[WILL NOT SAVE HIM IF HE CAN'T KEEP HIS HANDS UP.]]You're standing at the bar and yelling at the TV.
Everyone is staring at you.
They think it's weird that you don’t sound like you're having fun.
[[Sit]]
[[Walk the fuck out]]You sit. You just made Vlad’s night even sweeter.
Good one, champ.
[[Look at Vlad's table]]
[[Don't look at Vlad's table.]]You turn to storm out, but you could use another drink...
And, well, the fight's not over. What if you're wrong?
What if Benavides is cocky for a reason?
What if? *What if?*
That's how addicts think, and you know it. You fully recognize the patterns of self-destruction you've worn into the floor of your life. You know.
But, like, what if, man?
[[Sit]]You can't even begin to explain why you hate yourself so much that you just looked over at Vlad's table.
Jesus, am I like contractually obligated to be your narrator here? Because this is bumming me way out.
[[Shut up|Money]]You don't look at Vlad's table, so you don't see him raise a glass to you in a sarcastic little toast. At least you did one thing right today.
^^Yay^^
[[I'm going to need more money.|Money]]You think about every possible place in the world where you might find money.
You scroll down the list in your head. One by one, you eliminate them all.
* Danny ^^//no//^^
* Rachel ^^//no//^^
* Jim ^^//nope//^^
* Dad ^^//hilarious//^^
* Grandma?
[[Hmmmm . . . Grandma]]What was that? What was that thought you had there?
[[Nothing]]
[[See, what happened was...]]What was that? What was that thought that just went across your brain?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Nothing**]]
No, what the hell was that?
[[I didn't]]What was that? What was that thought that just went across your brain?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Nothing**]]
No, what the hell was that?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**I didn't**]]
You just thought about killing your grandmother.
[[That's ridiculous]]What was that? What was that thought that just went across your brain?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Nothing**]]
No, what the hell was that?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**I didn't**]]
You just thought about killing your grandmother.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**That's ridiculous**]]
Oh my god, dude.
[[Ugh, OK. Yeah. That was... not great.|Not Great]]What was that? What was that thought that just went across your brain?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**See, what happened was...**]]
You just thought about killing your own grandmother. Oh my god.
[[Yeah, OK. That was... not great.|Not Great]]You come back to your senses and feel sick. Jesus, did you really just think about killing your grandmother for your inheritance?
[[Maybe I do have a gambling problem]]You come back to your senses and feel sick. Jesus, did you really just think about killing your grandmother for your inheritance?
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Maybe I do have a gambling problem**]]
Ya think?
The crowd screams at the TV. They're getting really into it, now.
[[Look up]]The whiskey is cheap. Brown liquid that burns like it's fighting back.
[[Look around|The bar]]
[[Keep staring at the bar|Bartop]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 1]</h2>
A roar goes up.
Everyone around you screams at the TV over the bar, but you just close your eyes. You can't watch. You just... can't.
[[Take another drink]]Benavides lands a solid right hook on his opponent and then hugs up in the clinch. A fresh cut bleeds over Lewis’s eye. The crowd loves it, but you can see Benavides gasping for air. The kid's stalling.
You glance at Vlad and, yep, he knows it too. Benavides and Lewis get separated, and... Benavides drops his hands again.
[[What an asshole]]You put your bet on a Benavides knockout in the second round. You were sure Lewis would start getting sick during the first round, but he would hang in there. Then the pain and distraction would let Benavides tee off on Lewis's face during the second. Betting on a specific outcome in a specific round is risky, but the dividends are worth it.
At least... they’re worth it if you owe a guy like Vlad as much money as you do.
Benavides and Lewis circle and then slam together, two dogs in a pit fight. Benavides ducks a hook and catches Lewis twice in the kidney, but Lewis drops his elbow to block and comes over with a cross that knocks Benavides back a couple of paces. It pops him square in the nose, but Benavides makes like it doesn’t hurt and does his cocky, mocking shimmy again.
[[No]]Benavides drops his hands.
Lewis punches.
Benavides goes rigid, falling away from the point of impact in a slow, graceful, downward arc.
[[Oh, shit.]]Benavides drops his hands.
Lewis punches.
Benavides goes rigid, falling away from the point of impact in a slow, graceful, downward arc.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Oh, shit**]]
Yeah, dude, this is bad.
[[This is really bad]]Benavides drops his hands.
Lewis punches.
Benavides goes rigid, falling away from the point of impact in a slow, graceful, downward arc. The bar crowd goes nuts.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Oh, shit**]]
Yeah, dude, this is bad.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**This is really bad**]]
You throw some bills on the counter, grab your coat, and get up.
[[I have to go kill my grandma now]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 2]</h2>
You're certain that Grandma’s inheritance is the only way out of Vlad's pocket, but your stomach for actually killing her evaporates before you cross the parking lot. You can’t. You just can’t. If you could, you'd have one more reason to hate yourself.
[[I don't need another one]]When your mom died, she was there. When your dad drank, she was there. When the house was gone, her house was home, and it had a bedroom in it that was yours.
When Billy Wong beat you up, she patched you up. She took you to your first boxing lesson because of Billy Wong.
She sat in the stands for your first professional fight.
She stood in the doctor’s office when you found out you could never box again.
Mom was dead, Dad was in prison, but Grandma was there. She held your hand and cried with you.
You could never do this.
[[I can't do this]]Your phone lights up. It's Vlad. Again.
(text-style:"blink")[(text-style: "condense")[(text-style:"mark")[4 UNREAD MESSAGES]]]
**Vlad the Dickhead** //now//
catch you later, champ.
**Vlad the Dickhead** //2m//
you can't run from this
**Vlad the Dickhead** //2m//
going somewhere?
**Vlad the Dickhead** //3m//
ouch did you see that punch?
[[Clear All]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 3]</h2>
Your guts hurt.
[[I think I might puke and crap myself and die]]You're waiting for your hitman to show. You feel like everyone in the bar is staring at you, the scumbag plotting to kill his grandma. They’re all looking at you, and they all just //know//.
There are a lot of posers out there, a lot of sociopaths who watched too many Chuck Norris movies or played too many video games.
Every punk with a handgun thinks he can pay his way through life by becoming a Fixer with a capital //F//, the bald-headed man-in-black with gloves and a briefcase collapsible sniper rifle.
[[Browse Featured Deals on Psychopaths.com]]|==
(link-reveal: "JoeytheBlade420")[
Name: Joe
Age: 19
Height: 5'1"
Weight: 95 pounds
Specialty: Knives]
==|==
(link-reveal: "xXxICEMANxXx")[
Name: Lucifer
Age: 14
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 200 pounds
Specialty: Sniper]
==|
(link-reveal: "Hardcore1993")[
Name: Dave
Age: 28
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 400 pounds
Specialty: Poisons]
|==|
(link: "Continue Shopping")[They may be insane, but not a one of them looks dangerous. That one holds his gun sideways in his picture. That one is bean-pole skinny and promises to use piano wire. That one is a morbidly obese “expert" in parkour and ninjitsu.
[[For fuck's sake]]]The door to the diner chimes and you look up. You recognize him instantly, and your guts wrap around themselves even tighter.
Your hitman.
You picked him because he looks dangerous.
[[He does]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 4]</h2>
You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the non-fiction section
To your left is the children's section
To your right is the fiction section//
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:14]]]
Pick up (link-reveal:"book")[: //Caring for your elderly loved ones// by Goodie T. Shoes]
**Moves:**
[[Forward|Move2]]
[[Left|Move2]]
[[Right|Move2]]
You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
You've been prowling in circles around the stacks because you're supposed to be out of the house from eight to nine. You can’t stop thinking about what’s happening at Grandma’s house.
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:15]]]
Pick up (link-reveal:"book")[: //The Very Happy Family// by Some Fucking Dick]
[[Forward|Move3]]
[[Left|Move3]]
[[Right|Move3]]You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the fiction section
To your left is the non-fiction section
To your right is the children's section//
He said he’d use poison and that she won't feel anything. It will look like heart failure, and no doctor will ever second-guess it on a woman her age. He agreed to take a cut of the inheritance as payment, making him the world’s only hitman to agree to work on consignment, but whatever. You're not about to say anything because you're not his business manager and you need the thing done.
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:16]]]
Pick up (link-reveal:"book")[: //Defeating the Demon Grandchild// by Wizardly Snarglecarp]
[[Forward|Move4]]
[[Left|Move4]]
[[Right|Move4]]You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the non-fiction section
To your left is the children's section
To your right is the fiction section//
You pass the shelves marked //SPORTS// and purposely don’t look at the books about boxing. There’s a book on Jack Dempsey that you don’t look at and a book on heavy bag workout circuits that you also don’t look at.
You stand there for a while and don’t look at a lot of those books.
There’s one on chronic traumatic encephalopathy that you definitely don’t fucking look at for one goddamn second.
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:17]]]
Pick up (link-reveal:"book")[: //Healing with Family Yoga// by Agnes T. Nutter]
[[Forward|Move5]]
[[Left|Move5]]
[[Right|Move5]]You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
You get out of the sports section fast, heading anywhere but there.
You end up in the kids’ section. The books are a little hard to find behind the colorful stands of expensive toys, but they're there. Real books, not the crap with the cartoon characters and corporate tie-ins with the latest kids’ movie. Books like //Where The Wild Things Are// and //The Very Hungry Caterpillar// and all of the other books you loved
. . . because Grandma took the time to read them to you.
She loved you even before your family fell apart and she had to take you in. She made sure you loved to read.
The caterpillar with an eating disorder looks up at you, and you stare into the soulless eyes of a construction-paper insect. Oval green eyes rimmed in yellow look through you.
Even the caterpillar judges you, and you are scum.
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:18]]]
Pick up (link-reveal:"book")[: //How Fast Can You Run// by Coach Jim T. Strong]
[[Forward|Move6]]
[[Left|Move6]]
[[Right|Move6]]
[[Behind you is the exit|Move7]]You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
Even the caterpillar judges you, and you are scum.
**Actions:**
Check (link-reveal:"time")[(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:19]]]
[[Forward|Move8]]
[[Left|Move8]]
[[Right|Move8]]
[[Behind you is the exit|Move7]]You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the exit
To your left is the non-fiction section
To your right is the fiction section
Behind you is the children's section//
Your resolve breaks and you turn to run, knocking into an elderly woman and spilling her books across the friendly, corporate tile. She’s somebody’s grandma, but she's not yours, so you can’t spare the time for apologies.
You have tears in your eyes and bile in your throat.
[[Run out of the store]](text-style:"blur")[You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
Even the caterpillar judges you, and] you are scum.
(text-style:"blur")[
**Actions:**
Check time][(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:20]]]
(text-style:"blur")[
[[Forward|Move9]]
[[Left|Move9]]
[[Right|Move9]]]
[[Behind you is the exit|Move7]](text-style:"blurrier")[You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
Even the caterpillar judges you, and] you are scum.
(text-style:"blurrier")[
**Actions:**
Check time][(color:"red")[(text-style:"blink")[: 8:21]]]
(text-style:"blurrier")[
[[Forward|Move10]]
[[Left|Move10]]
[[Right|Move10]]]
[[Behind you is the exit|Move7]](text-style:"smear")[You are in a Barnes & Noble. The house music is terrible.
//In front of you is the children's section
To your left is the fiction section
To your right is the non-fiction section//
Even the caterpillar judges you, and you are scum.
**Actions:**
Check time(color:"red")[: 8:22]
(link: "Forward")[No.]
(link: "Left")[Stop it.]
(link: "Right")[You're a dick.]]
(text-style:"fade-in-out")[[[Behind you is the exit|Move7]]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 5]</h2>
Flashing lights. Sirens.
You're in the back of an ambulance with Grandma and there’s an EMT and, bless him, he’s trying really hard. Somewhere in the back of your Swiss-cheese brain stem, you appreciate his hustle.
Her heart stops and he cuts open her blouse and charges paddles, and god help you, you think how embarrassed she's going to be about all the fuss.
Then you realize it doesn't matter because she isn’t going to make it.
[[Fuck]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 6]</h2>
Her hand is clammy. You're holding her fingers.
[[Twist her old diamond ring back and forth|6.2]]Her hand is clammy. You're holding her fingers.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
Somewhere far away, a doctor says an awful lot of words. She explains that Grandma will stay in the ICU for at least a week until she’s stabilized.
[[Twist her old diamond ring back and forth|6.3]]Her hand is clammy. You're holding her fingers.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
Somewhere far away, a doctor says an awful lot of words. She explains that Grandma will stay in the ICU for at least a week until she’s stabilized.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
She says words like
“not out of the woods” and
“very blessed” and
“guardian angel” and
“very critical.”
[[Twist her old diamond ring back and forth|6.4]]Her hand is clammy. You're holding her fingers.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
Somewhere far away, a doctor says an awful lot of words. She explains that Grandma will stay in the ICU for at least a week until she’s stabilized.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
She says words like
“not out of the woods” and
“very blessed” and
“guardian angel” and
“very critical.”
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**Twist her old diamond ring back and forth**]]
You're thinking about confessing to this doctor, throwing yourself at her feet. You want to cry or kill yourself or call the cops.
[[Twist her old diamond ring back and forth|6.5]]Eventually, the doctor just leaves because you've said nothing at all.
Later, an administrator stops in to ask about insurance that you don't have.
Later still, your hitman arrives and asks to talk out in the hallway.
[[Get in his face]]
[[Try to be cool|6.6]]You try to muster up some rage, some righteous indignation, but you can't.
You're too tired. You're too guilty.
Your hitman looks really annoyed, and you end up apologizing.
[[Well that was embarrassing.|6.6]]This is unexpected: you go get some coffee with your hitman.
You talk for a while. Even though he seems pretty cool, as Grandma's near-fatal coronary proves, your hitman really is dangerous. Your hitman does not appreciate agreeing to work on consignment and then having his work undone at the last minute. As it turns out, he's pretty pissed at you.
You tell him you’ll get him his money. He’ll be paid in full.
You are full of it, and you both know it.
“Look,” he says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but weren’t you kind of a big deal once?” Your hitman does not mean to be rude. In a conversation with a guy who murders people for money, you’re still the jerk.
[[Wow]]He’s not wrong. You were a big deal.
You don't think about it anymore because you start drinking a lot when you do.
Few people have ever had careers like you had, though most people got to enjoy them for longer. Most people did not go 13 rounds with Hurricane McCall and come out on top.
You tell him you’ll make a call.
You tell him you're sorry.
You tell him to stay the hell away from Grandma.
With your finger in his face, for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you're full of it anymore.
[[Make it right]]<h2>(text-style: "outline")[Chapter 7]</h2>
This Welsh kid, Evans, punches you again.
[[Block]]
[[Punch back]]This Welsh kid, Evans, punches you again.
You block it easily. Again.
You feel good.
[[I feel great|Block2]]This Welsh kid, Evans, punches you again.
You punch him right back. Again.
You feel good.
[[I feel great|Punch2]]This Welsh kid, Evans, punches you again.
You punch him right back. Again.
You feel good.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**I feel great**]]
You feel alive for the first time in a long time. There's no trace of the washed-up has-been sitting in that bar, watching cocky Benavides drop his hands again and again.
You may be old. You may have a brain made of soggy toilet paper.
But you never lost your heart. You did not get fat. In the time it took you to call your old agent, pitch a comeback fight, and sign the paperwork, you got within five pounds of your fighting weight and thirty seconds of your best time for the mile.
Your agent asked after your mental health, so you came half-clean and told him you were desperate, but you didn't tell him why. Your voice cracked a little when you said it. You have no pride left to lose.
[[Punch Evans again|7.3]]
[[Duck and weave for a minute|7.4]]This Welsh kid, Evans, punches you again.
You block it easily. Again.
You feel good.
(font:"Courier")[(color:"green")[**I feel great**]]
You feel alive for the first time in a long time. There's no trace of the washed-up has-been sitting in that bar, watching cocky Benavides drop his hands again and again.
You may be old. You may have a brain made of soggy toilet paper.
But you never lost your heart. You did not get fat. In the time it took you to call your old agent, pitch a comeback fight, and sign the paperwork, you got within five pounds of your fighting weight and thirty seconds of your best time for the mile.
Your agent asked after your mental health, so you came half-clean and told him you were desperate, but you didn't tell him why. Your voice cracked a little when you said it. You have no pride left to lose.
[[Punch Evans again|7.3]]
[[Duck and weave for a minute|7.4]]You lash out with a double-jab and vicious cross that used to be your signature. Evans bobs and weaves straight into the gut punch that you had waiting, and it takes that scrawny Welsh punk down a peg.
You grin behind your mouth guard because you’re having fun for the first time in years.
You can’t see Vlad in the screaming crowd, but you know he is watching. You told him what to bet on and when, and you told him it would more than cover your debt.
You promised you would get knocked out in the eighth round. You'd take the dive and he would clean up and you'd be square and he could goose-step his way out of your life.
[[Chase Evans]]
[[Stay posted in the center of the ring]]You duck and weave for a minute, letting Evans throw hands at empty air. It's cool. You've got time.
Evans swings an uppercut at you, but he's off-balance and over-extended. You punch back with a double-jab and vicious cross that used to be your signature. Evans manages to block it, but then he bobs and weaves straight into the gut punch that you had waiting. That takes the scrawny Welsh punk down a peg.
You grin behind your mouth guard because you’re having fun for the first time in years.
You can’t see Vlad in the screaming crowd, but you know he is watching. You told him what to bet on and when, and you told him it would more than cover your debt.
You promised you would get knocked out in the eighth round. You'd take the dive and he would clean up and you'd be square and he could goose-step his way out of your life.
[[Chase Evans]]
[[Stay posted in the center of the ring]]Evans is hurt, so you chase him. You stay tight and don't go crazy, but you keep it up with the jab-jab-jab so he can't get a second to breathe. Your elbows are down tight against your ribs, your hands are high. Like a piston, an angry machine, you jab-jab-jab, and your hands snap back.
Vlad is out there, yeah, but someone else is watching. If you could make eye contact with Vlad, your eyes would say: //I know something that you don't.//
Your hitman also placed his bets according to plan, but it’s not the same plan you shared with Vlad. Your hitman promised to use some of his winnings to pay your grandma’s hospital bills. Grandma is going to be well taken care of.
It’s horrible that you have to trust your hitman to do this for you, but... to be honest you don’t have any other friends.
For an instant, you forgot that Grandma was watching. She’s not going to like seeing you go down, but, well. It’s a lot better than what you tried to do to her a few months ago.
The match timer hammers on the mat three times, and you know that you’ve only got ten seconds left in this, the seventh round.
Evans rushes you, coming back again with a wild hook, an insane, dangeorus haymaker. He's getting desperate.
[[Slip around it|7.tableau]]
[[Duck it|7.tableau]]Evans is hurt, but you let him go. You dominate the center of the ring so Evan has to move around you. You own that ring. You keep up a rain of jab-jab-jabs so he can't push back in. Your elbows are down tight against your ribs, your hands are high. Like a piston, an angry machine, you jab-jab-jab, and your hands snap back.
Vlad is out there, yeah, but someone else is watching. If you could make eye contact with Vlad, your eyes would say: //I know something that you don't.//
Your hitman also placed his bets according to plan, but it’s not the same plan you shared with Vlad. Your hitman promised to use some of his winnings to pay your grandma’s hospital bills. Grandma is going to be well taken care of.
It’s horrible that you have to trust your hitman to do this for you, but... to be honest you don’t have any other friends.
For an instant, you forgot that Grandma was watching. She’s not going to like seeing you go down, but, well. It’s a lot better than what you tried to do to her a few months ago.
The match timer hammers on the mat three times, and you know that you’ve only got ten seconds left in this, the seventh round.
Evans rushes you, coming back again with a wild hook, an insane, dangerous haymaker. He's getting desperate.
[[Slip around it|7.tableau]]
[[Duck it|7.tableau]]//**A Frozen Moment in 7 Pieces**//
1. The crowd surges
2. Lights burn, bright and hot
3. Evans moving
4. Cameras flash
5. Your corner screaming
6. His corner screaming
7. The ref orbiting you both, the silent partner in this self-destructive tango.
[[Drink it in]]The doctors told you a lot about never fighting again:
* One more trauma, they said, would result in severe brain damage, brain bleeding, and probably death.
* One more concussion, and you’ll stroke out and be a vegetable.
* One bad knockout, and the world will watch you die in the ring.
* One more hit, and...
One more hit, and Grandma will be safe. One more concussion in //this// round and not the //eighth//, and Vlad will get completely screwed.
You won't be around to feel his rage.
You knock back the Welsh kid one last time.
[[Drop my hands|Title]]<center><h1>Seven Point Dog</h1>
<center><h3>by Ian Birnbaum</h3>
[[START|Bar Intro]]</center>