Chapter 32: Granny is Back

Since Granny Whitney's message seemed serious, Rick headed straight to the Underground. He was on edge as he approached, expecting to get attacked by Mike or for hitmen to jump out of the shadows, but the neighborhood appeared no different than usual. When he got close and found the entrance warehouse the same as it had always been, he allowed himself to relax a little.

Hopefully things would be more secure from now on. Alger ran his arena casually, but he had to care about the damage the incident had done to his income and reputation. Presumably there were more security measures in place.

Other than passing through some sort of lucrim scanner on the way down, Rick didn't notice anything different, but presumably the best security measures wouldn't be obvious. He glanced into the arena itself, but it was completely empty, since there weren't fights during the day. No one but a janitor mopping at a stain on the floor, which was oddly prosaic.

Instead of entering, he headed off the entrance path to the offices, since he couldn't think of many other places Granny Whitney might be. As he headed through, he found himself wondering if he shouldn't try to memorize the tunnel layout. Not knowing it had been a disadvantage during the chaos, even if it had worked out in the end.

Soon he came to Alger's office and finally saw her. Granny Whitney was speaking to Alger, who wore a flashy new suit. Standing in between them was another man, built like a tank. He wore simple dark clothing and had black hair that hung down around his head randomly.

The man looked up and for a moment Rick stopped.

Even though they only locked eyes for an instant, all of Rick's instincts screamed at him that he was in mortal danger. The man's eyes burned like molten fire, carrying a force that flattened him with a gaze. Though his muscularity might have seemed thuggish on most people, in this man it carried an animal ferocity.

Rick had no idea what the man's generation rate might be or if his conceptions of lucrim even applied. He realized that he was facing the strongest person he had ever met. Over his life Rick had a solid sense of what humans could normally do, how much strength it took to generate an aura or fly. But this man struck him as entirely superhuman.

"Oh, there you are, dearie!" Granny Whitney turned from the two and smiled at him. "I didn't expect you to come quite this fast, so why don't you wait just off to the side there?"

Feeling a bit weak, Rick nodded and moved. The inhuman man had already stopped looking at him - in fact, he had barely glanced at him. It had felt like a stare, since that moment had seared through him, but he realized that from the man's perspective this was just another ordinary encounter with someone far beneath him.

Though Rick headed into the room Granny Whitney had indicated, he paused at the door, glancing back again. Partially to listen to the conversation, partially because he wanted to see their interactions, partially because he wanted to feel that intense power again, so he'd be better prepared the next time.

Despite the man's power and ferocity, Alger and Granny Whitney didn't seem cowed. Alger was even arguing with him, something to do with whether or not the man's past history in the Underground still applied. The man didn't speak, letting Granny Whitney do the arguing. She seemed calm as well, though Rick noted that she never patted the man, called him dearie, or otherwise belittled him. Whoever he was, they took him seriously.

Eventually Rick stumbled into the other room and sat down. For a while he just stared. He knew that certain CEOs, celebrities, and sect leaders had truly monstrous levels of power, and he'd seen some impressive feats on television, but he'd never met someone like that in person.

The higher tiers of warriors really were different. If he continued training, could he eventually become like that? Would he feel like a god, or just himself with more power? The idea boggled the mind and he soon set aside such fanciful dreams in favor of the steps he could take directly in front of him.

Shaking himself, Rick tried to refocus. The room he'd entered was another one of the back offices of the Underground, comfortable and weirdly like a living room. This one didn't have any other entrances and appeared to be some sort of waiting room. Other than a water cooler and some furniture around a low table, there wasn't much in it.

On the other end of the table, however, he saw a number of items. Judging from the handbag and knitting, they were Granny Whitney's things. As if she had set them down when interrupted by something else, which meant he had an opportunity to investigate without her influence.

Was that foolish? Rick decided that he wouldn't touch anything, just examine it carefully. He held his hand over the knitting, doing his best to sense it. There was concentrated lucrim built into the needles, which suggested that they could be used as weapons. The knitting itself, however, just felt like ordinary yarn. Maybe she just liked knitting.

Among the other objects he didn't find anything of obvious informational value like a phone or notebook. Besides, he doubted that Granny Whitney would be so sloppy as to leave that kind of thing behind.

There were several bottles in a row, mostly synthetic drugs to enhance lucrim training. One of them appeared to be an ordinary calcium supplement. The strangest was a pharmaceutical designed to alleviate some heart condition he'd never heard of. Based on the number of warnings on the bottle's instructions, it was a highly potent medicine - he didn't even want to think about how much it would cost.

Within the bag he could see several stranger objects. There was a small satchel that felt like it contained lucrim stores, a long reed that hissed with potency, and a plastic bag filled with white powder. Examining them closer, Rick thought he had a vague idea about the first two, but the powder puzzled him. Presumably it was for training, but he didn't feel any lucrim from it and he wasn't sure of its nature...

"That's cocaine, dearie."

Rick jumped up from the couch, startled and a bit ashamed to have been caught snooping. He realized that he should probably be worried, given who he was dealing with, but Granny Whitney just shuffled into the room. Her kind smile was actually kind instead of threatening, or at least he hoped it was.

"Since that's Granny's cocaine, maybe leave it alone? I have some goodies for you too, don't worry." She came to sit down opposite him and began to sort through the items. It seemed like she was going to speak about other subjects, but Rick had to ask.

"Just who was that with Alger?"

"His name is Teragen. It took me a great deal of effort to convince him to be my heavyweight, so I'm glad that dear Alger saw reason and allowed him to participate. Would have been such a terrible disappointment otherwise."

"I heard a little... he was a fighter here once?"

"That was a very long time ago, in a different Underground." Granny Whitney looked wistful for a moment. "He was such a precocious young man, then. The years have really changed him."

"He looked young, though. Is he...?"

"Immortal? A Perpetual Soul? He's both, but you don't worry your head about that." She reached over to pat him on the cheek. "His job is to win me the heavyweight division, yours is to win the featherweight. They both count for the same number of points in the end, so you can just put him out of your mind, dearie."

Rick slowly shook his head, coming to grips with the fact that he would be on the same team as that man, even if only technically. But he didn't want to let the matter go and to fall into her plans, so he made himself speak up. "Did you hear about the incident while you were gone?"

"Yes, so shocking." Granny Whitney clicked her tongue sharply. "I can't believe someone already tried to use a hitman so far from the competition. Not only is it sloppy, it will prevent me from using the same tactic. Really, whoever was behind it ruined the fun for everyone."

"So, you don't know who it was?"

"I have my suspicions - there are only so many of us who are serious contenders, and Gerald likes this sort of thing. But you shouldn't worry about that. Now that we're getting closer, everyone will be under more scrutiny. There will be last desperate attempts to interfere with one another on the final days before the event, but otherwise you can focus solely on training."

While her reassurances were never entirely reassuring, Rick felt that he had to accept that for now. "While you were gone, I met Emily. Apparently you're recruiting both of us... or do you have an even larger pool of people you're considering? Am I just one of many possible featherweights?"

"That would be too tedious, dearie. No, I've invested money and blackmail in you, so I expect you to do your part."

Rick didn't like to think about what Granny Whitney might do if she didn't need him at all, but having that much pressure on him was uncomfortable as well. This competition was looking more serious all the time: not only was a rival team willing to hire a hitman, she had recruited someone like Teragen. The idea of watching the heavyweight match both excited and terrified him. "How many do you have?"

"Hmm... normally I would say better not to distract yourself with such things, but you're a bright enough young man. And I do have the leverage I need on you, so I suppose there's no harm in sharing." Granny Whitney took a small piece of paper from her cardigan and set it down on the table.

[Featherweight: Rick Hunter

Welterweight: Anthony Taylor

Middleweight: Emily Park

Cruiserweight:

Heavyweight: Teragen]

While that didn't tell him anything too essential, it was interesting to learn the identity of his other teammate, as well as Emily's last name. Teragen apparently didn't have one, or was too important for it to be recorded. But more importantly... "No cruiserweight yet?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I have my eye on someone, but it might be a bit difficult to convince them." Granny Whitney sighed and began packing up some of the medications. "Plus there's the difficulty of getting all of you enough points so that you can participate. You're going to need to take part in some big matches to catch up, by the way."

"I'd have more points if you didn't handicap me every match."

"But that would slow down your development, dearie, and Granny Whitney needs you at the top of your game when it's time for the match."

Rick considered that for a time, eyes running over the list. "So I take it there's no danger that I'll improve too much for the featherweight category? What are the limits to each, anyway?"

"For the Underground, the limit is a crude measure of lucrim generation rate, but I wouldn't take that too seriously. The power classes are different for other professions, anyway, Alger just likes his little games." She gave him a little smile. "In any case, don't you worry about that. Granny Whitney will make sure you end up just where you need to be. Now, let me get a good look at you!"

She poked at him experimentally, testing his lucrima. Occasionally she told him to activate his aura, once she hooked a knitting needle into his mouth to open it, like he was a horse. Rick honestly had no idea if she needed to do all that or if she was just humiliating him, but in the end she sat back, satisfied.

"You haven't been wasting your time in my absence. That foundation of yours has particularly improved, which will save me time and money in your training. It's good to see diligence in young people these days."

"So this is about preparing for the match? Do you have some kind of specific plan for it?"

"Oh, it's still too early to be blocking out your days by the hour or anything. But I do have a number of interesting ideas." She looked through her bag for a time, then pulled out one of the bottles. "These are for you now - take one of them every day, not too soon after eating or drinking. They'll tear up your insides something fierce."

Rick stared at her flatly. "...for a reason, right? They're not just torture?"

She chuckled and didn't explicitly answer. "In my absence, it seems an old friend of mine has come up with a good candidate for the featherweight tier, a martial artist with a soft style that damages the internal organs. If you aren't ready for it, well, then Granny wouldn't get a return on her investment. Why don't you start with one now?"

For a brief moment, he considered disobeying. It had been a long time since the Slayer incident, and given how casual Alger had been about the hitman, perhaps he didn't care so much. But then again... if she knew people like Teragen, he couldn't underestimate her. Worse, she was going to all this effort just for a competition. Testing how far she would go if snubbed seemed unwise.

Rick swallowed the pill.

For a while he felt no different and Granny Whitney nodded her approval. "Very good, dearie. I'm afraid I can't afford to invest too much in you, but this should get you part of the way there. The question now is how to make up for your other flaws."

"I noticed that my numbers don't add up," Rick said. "There's been lucrima damage... is it possible to fix that?"

"Not yet, not yet. Everything in good time. Hmm, what other options do we have? I could try to get Emily to help out, but she didn't really take to Anthony, no, not at all..."

"We worked together during the incident. She might be willing to help me."

Granny Whitney's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so? Well, then, perhaps I'll set something up! Just give me a little time to check on some other things..."

Though he had more questions to ask, at that moment Rick felt his stomach wrench. It started out like a bad stomach ache, then felt as if something was tearing. He clutched his stomach, first in surprise and then in agonizing pain. His stomach seemed to be tearing in half and he tasted bile on the back of his throat. When he slumped over onto the couch, he saw Granny Whitney shaking her head.

"Oh dear, it seems that's doing a number on you. We need you to be able to shrug off pain like this, okay, dearie?"

"Okay." Rick used the last of his strength to flip her off.

Then he fell unconscious to the sound of the old woman chuckling.