Chapter 102: New tricks
After making sure that Bats was in good hands and wasn't going to run away from his happiness, I sent a picture of the kissing couple to Alfred, and then continued my date with Harley, slowly finishing my ale and snacks.
In the course of casual conversation, some rather curious details suddenly came to light. My beloved has a mom and a dad! Apparently, purely technically, all people have them, unless you involve some mega-advanced science or divine intervention with mysticism. It's just that for some reason I was pretty sure that my faithful companion was an orphan. But not only that, it turns out that the girl's parents are still alive and well, but their house is in the suburbs of Gotham! Literally an hour's drive from our estate!
The blonde beauty refused my offer to visit her future relatives for some reason. She even raised her hair a little, as if electrified, because of the mana that responded to her strong feelings.
It was strange and terribly suspicious, but I didn't put my dirty fingers into the heartache, deciding first to do a little investigation of my own, to find out all the details.
Oh wow, only now I realized that now I, as in that funny song from the movie "Caucasian Captive", theoretically can have not only three wives, and if you count Zee, then all four, but the same number of mother-in-laws ...
Uh, no. The sorceress's mom is definitely dead, and her father's mind is completely suppressed by the Lord of Order of Naboo. Even I wonder, if Abby suddenly by some miracle finds a normal body and decides to join our small friendly group, will her parents have to meet to get a blessing too? Though, considering the fact that the dryad is Green's immortal avatar, and judging by some of her reservations, she's well past fifty, it's unlikely they're still in the world of the living.
***
Somewhere on the border between dimensions, a ghastly three-meter tall homunculus whose body was covered in black, moving veins sneezed unexpectedly to itself. An uncontrollable wave of black flame erupted from its wide, toothy mouth, scorching the few dead vegetation and poisoning the air with vile miasmas. The monster stared blankly at his handiwork and moved on, vainly trying to escape the looped trap, completely unaware that several chains of runes had flashed and gone out for a brief moment.
***
The intimacy achieved during the conversation suffered a bit after my question about visiting future relatives, but I quickly managed to regain it by starting to speculate about the future of the bat family.
To me and my lovely companion, this whole superhero and thief situation looked like some interesting TV series with live actors. Ha ha ha, practically Lady and the Tramp from the comic book world, only in reverse. Or is it? They both belong to the same world, which is on the other side of the law. It's just that one of them is quietly doing socially useful work, relieving the greedy bastards of their excess funds, while the other one drives his mega-expensive car at night and fucks people up, creating a lot of work for tired doctors. Heh, either way, Selina and Bruce will make a great couple if the latter doesn't fuck up.
By the way, the turn with the partial shutdown of the cameras was really unexpected for me. The fact that I still managed to start the broadcast is more luck than foresight.
On the roof of the Clock Tower, I just wanted to test the tracking devices from Ms. Norris's house, and I didn't even think it would turn out that way, because at that moment I had only two options. One, Gloomy Mouse would figure out all the tracking devices and successfully disarm them, and two, less likely, he would do nothing at all and let it go. But suddenly only a part of the cameras taken from the shelter under the Triggate Bridge was out of order, and after Bats left, they started working again as if there was no failure at all.
And we all together (including Ginger) reflashed them, removing backdoors and various bookmarks, while physically getting rid of everything unnecessary and suspicious! Only the lens system, the receiving sensor, microphones, image processor, transmitter and battery remained in the cameras. That's what it means to use someone else's equipment: no matter how you twist it, there's still a high probability of missing a nasty tab that will come out at the wrong moment.
It's better to create such devices from scratch... Which is simply not realistic without my own technological base. Okay, there is a small hope that Fryce will help me with this problem, or I will read all the necessary textbooks and, like a normal hitman, I'll spit and create a personal microelectronics factory with poker and courtesans, although even in this crazy universe such a project will be unrealistically labor-intensive and very expensive. It's much easier to order the necessary equipment from the VSO, even if it will cost a lot of money. But paranoia whispers that it is not worth relying on a mysterious organization with unclear goals, and it is necessary to look for alternatives.
Soon we had successfully finished the rest of the alcohol and appetizers and moved to the room of a nearby love hotel, where we plunged into the depths of pure debauchery, in the process damaging the furniture and shouting loudly at the manager, after which I thought to reapply the privacy runes.
The night didn't bring anything interesting, except for the pile of money we'd successfully delivered home after raiding Alan's rented warehouse. To be honest, I'd been waiting until the last moment for something to happen, from the money not being there to an attempted robbery. For that reason, I spent an hour circling the target, looking for a trap. But now we have the money, there are no beacons or anything else inside, and all the bills are real, so the little adventure with the now dead Hugo is over. The mad doctor had paid for his attempt to brainwash me.
Everything was fine when we got back, too. The mysterious demonic workers of the VSO had completed the repairs and upgrades to the systems as planned, as Natalie happily reported, also informing us that the lower levels were almost complete and would be ready by tomorrow evening.
It's still a bit strange to me that with such impressive capabilities, the firm is engaged in ordinary construction. Although during the Gold Rush, the most profitable business was not mining gold, but selling the things necessary for its extraction and various consumables. Yes, maybe such people did not become dollar millionaires overnight, having miraculously found some large nugget, but they became millionaires a little later, not tearing their veins and not risking their lives much. Hmm, technology and magical knowledge with artifacts can also be considered gold to some extent... No, these things are many, many times more expensive than the despicable metal, and therefore the profit of the builders must be incredibly huge. Maybe they specially give "privileges" to superheroes and supervillains to build secret shelters, expecting that then the investment will be fully paid back with interesting technologies. And the person will share them, even without wanting to, because almost all the equipment placed on the secret base will belong to the UDF. And as the recent incident has shown, even in completely overhauled equipment there can be bookmarks.
I woke up early in the morning and meditated a little to ease the pain and heal my cheeks, so I left Harley a note asking him to contact the advertisers, and I went to Leroy's house and got him another master class. I couldn't say it was entirely to my credit, though, because the older man was sick of sitting in four walls, and he was glad for any kind of movement.
After climbing out onto the roof and drawing the diversion runes (which didn't impress Smith at all), we began a training session that felt a lot like a beating, but I didn't complain, seeing almost minute-by-minute progress.
Despite all the improvements in my body, the old man, who had recovered a bit from his captivity, kept wiping my carcass on the floor over and over again, demonstrating that a high rate of the first start doesn't solve anything if you're up against a real master. Though it couldn't be said that Leroy was inferior to me in terms of strength. Most of his brick-smashing blows were easily absorbed by hard blocks.
"What the hell are you made of?" I'm writhing in pain in my shin after attempting a lowkick on my opponent's leg. And not so long ago, I was breaking the bones of various criminal elements with similar blows!
"Fifty percent cool and just as much fucking cool," the dark-skinned grandfather replied cheerfully. - Don't yawn.
He jerked, and once again struck me in the solar plexus with his open palm. Then came the classic hip toss, and when I was on the ground, trying in vain to breathe, my grandfather gave me the finishing blow.
-Ugh," I rise, regaining my breath. - What's with this stupid habit of hitting the sun?
"It disrupts the flow of Qi and makes the enemy easy prey," Smith said, smiling. - It doesn't always work against metal men, but we're practicing. If it were a fight to the death, I'd rip out your throat first, or stop your heart with the same blow.
"Wait, you know about chi? Can you show me how to work with it?" I asked when I heard the familiar word, choosing to ignore the second part of the sentence completely.
Now it's clear why Smith is so strong: it's all about "inner strength" and skill. Hmm, I wonder who will win: him or Bats, if they have to meet in mortal combat? One of them is a real genius, who managed to create his own style, combining a hundred and twenty-seven martial arts and taking the best from them, and the other has almost sixty years of experience in real fights and the same number of years of practicing vin chun.
"Hmm... It's not a matter of a day," my acquaintance stroked his gray beard thoughtfully, looking like a normal sensei for once. - Don't get me wrong. You're progressing fast, of course, but it takes years of training to master Qi properly, and I have absolutely no desire to stay in America longer than necessary. I've already lost one tanker to bird dodgers.
"At least the basics.
"That's not the point," he waved it away. - Qi is literally your life energy, and there are no special symbols or mediators for it. It's all about your will, your mind, and lots and lots of repetition to make it stick. In addition, you must realize the danger of its uncontrolled use. A little overexertion, and, bang, dick is not worth a month, and hands shake like a drunken alcoholic, ha-ha-ha. Yes, my teacher gave me a good beating then... - the man sank into his memories.
"Hey, I already know how to control it a little bit, and I can sense when I'm at my limit," I hurried to pull my companion out of the dream world.
"Yes?" said Leroy, interested. - Then show me. Maybe I can give you some advice.
"Uh, I've only used it to speed up regeneration so far, and for that I need to sit down.
"Oh, that's great! Usually, students try to learn something attacking right off the bat, and then break their limbs because their bones can't take the strain.
Under Leroy's scrutiny, I moved the phlegmatic Sugar lying on the plaid a little and, taking a comfortable position, began to sink into myself. It wasn't easy to concentrate in the presence of a stranger, but after fifteen minutes of silence and a small amount of laughter at the memories, I managed to channel some energy into healing the scars.
"What the fuck!" I jumped back when I felt a calloused palm against my cheek.
"Whoa-whoa, easy, hot guy," the old man held up his hands. - I was just checking in. And anyway, I'm all about the girls.
"Fuck knows. I'm not the one who spent a few days in the casemates with some fucking fanatics on some kind of substance.
"Hmm, can't argue with that. Okay, I've learned everything I need to know.
"И?" I said as the familiar fell silent, in no hurry to continue the conversation.
"And-and-and that's bullshit. Firstly, it is better to meditate in lotus posture, with your back straight or lying down, not slouching like a slouching dog, Sakharok, it's just an expression, don't take offense. Secondly, try to concentrate on your breathing at the moment of energy management. And thirdly, what you're using is not exactly Qi.
"What then?
"I don't know. Pure medicinal Qi tastes like a thick cherry sour cream, but what you have is not only a raspberry sour cream, but it tastes like it's been diluted with citrus soda.
"Interesting associations, most people I know, ahem, tend to be odor oriented.
"It's a matter of luck. Some people distinguish energy tactilely, some see colored pictures similar to drug tricks, some smell or taste it. I think people just don't have the necessary perception organ for such subtle matter, so the brain does what it can. By the way, notice that I didn't lick you, I just touched you, but I'm talking about taste.
I shrugged, imagining the licking scene. It wouldn't take long to get morally traumatized.
"Okay, well, the third point is more or less clear: I'm a weak mage, and when I use Qi, I can unconsciously add some mana to it. Now, can you tell me more about proper meditation and breathing?
As it turned out, Leroy was being a bit sly when he talked about the lack of ways to improve prana control. The right posture made the life force inside the body flow a little faster, making it more agile and controllable, but no one knew the reason for that. The 'inner force' didn't have any channels or anything like that. Even the core, which was at the level of the solar plexus, was an imaginary object rather than a real one, as Qi was distributed throughout the body, saturating every cell in the body.
As for breathing, the standard 4-7-8 pattern (inhale through the nose for four seconds, hold the breath for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds) helps you sink into yourself more easily and clear your mind, but you should not resort to this trick often. Most fighters become so accustomed to breathing this way that when their breath is knocked out, they completely stop controlling their Qi. Leroy himself once fell into this trap, and it took him a long time to retrain, so he advised me to immediately focus on the pulsation of the imaginary core, the frequency of which I can adjust myself. This way is a bit more difficult at first, but it will give a decent output in the future.
During the short lecture Smith also went over the basic effects of prana, and frankly speaking, against the backdrop of magic, the capabilities of this energy were not particularly impressive. The techniques presented were not very diverse and were mostly aimed either at attack or defense. There was a separate treatment, but to call it a full-fledged language simply will not turn, when in front of the eyes there are normal spells that can return people almost from the other side of the world. But despite the inferiority of this direction, I still decided to start studying it, first of all focusing on defense.
After a productive and incredibly useful workout, I cleaned up and contacted Jeremiah to see if I could visit a notable patient who was impersonating the Night King. There were no obstacles to this except visiting hours, so I suddenly had a five-hour window. I didn't want to get any more nuts, so, after a little brainstorming, I went to Alfred's to see how things were going with the fund-raiser and to talk to Bruce about the patents.
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