Chapter 3

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***

"Well, kid, I hope the coma and two weeks off haven't robbed you of your skills and you can entertain me at least a little." - Said a pile of muscles to me, demonstratively kneading his fists.

"I remember all your lessons, Master, and I wonder if it was the intensity of your lessons that made me pass out."

"You can't pin this on me. I know how to make your body remember the lesson, while still leaving it a chance to recover afterwards."

There was obvious irritation in his voice, though it was understandable: the previous Raine had been rather passive in dealing with Brooks, though who wouldn't be if you'd been beaten by the same man three days a week, year after year, since you were twelve and you couldn't do anything to change it. It's unlikely you're going to be particularly cross or arise in any way during your 'sessions'.

"Let's finish this useless talk, because you seem to have forgotten my diligent instructions, and it's time for me to start hammering them into you again."

He quickly rushed in my direction and was about to grab my arm, but at the last moment I pulled it away and stepped back, breaking the distance from him to two metres. At least that's what he thought, because in the accelerated state he was quite fast for me, but it wasn't too difficult to dodge.

"As I see, the rest was good for you and now it will be a little more interesting."

He wasn't going to grab me, he swung his right hand right at my face, and that punch would have fixed old Ryan's nose or created a better way to whistle, but now I was at the helm. Having accelerated, I decided to test his body for strength: having dodged a fist from the right, I strike a blow to the stomach and, as you can see from his bewildered face at first, and then from the grimace of pain of such force that he did not expect and did not even prepare to take the blow. Without weakening the onslaught, I struck three more blows: two on the kidneys and one on the liver. That's when my trainer realised something was wrong, and his look became serious.

"What the hell happened to you, where did you get that kind of strength?!"

"You know that after a coma people sometimes start to draw, play musical instruments or speak languages unknown to them before?"

"and?"

"So, I heard a voice and it helped me come back into this world to kick your arse."

"That's a lot of arrogance for someone with milk on his lips."

The fight continued, and now I couldn't hit him as easily: the trainer who had become serious had lost his weaknesses, or at least I couldn't find them, and my speed was faster than his, but he overwhelmed me with skill. The problem was stamina, because after a while I began to notice that I couldn't dodge and strike as fast, while he was almost as good as a cucumber. I feel like his stamina is above 60. Unable to land a proper blow and try to wear him down, I had to use my secret move. I switched off the acceleration and started to show fatigue more defiantly and he couldn't resist, he was too used to the old weak Rain. Pushing myself under his grip, I accelerated again and before he could adjust to the change, I delivered a swift kick to the groin and while he was gulping for air I added a left to the base of his ear. Such pain, I don't think his face gave out, not even when he was getting new lead holes. Clutching at his seemingly intact treasure, he collapsed and passed out. At this point I even felt like I was the one being bad here and bullying the poor man, but quickly pushing those thoughts away, I headed upstairs.

While climbing up, I received a notification that my martial arts level had been raised by 1. The system seemed to appreciate my secret technique.

After that, my training went surprisingly smoothly, and although I began to notice small gaps in Brooks's defence that appeared when I made kicks, I didn't have the skills to take advantage of it yet.

The next day after training, I went to withdraw money from my account, and after throwing off the tail of the underdogs, who didn't even seem to be trying hard enough, I picked up 2 levels of stealth. I went to one of the most criminal, if not the most criminal place in New York, Hell's Kitchen. I mean, it's the easiest place to buy illegal weapons. But first you have to make contacts, and that was pretty easy. I only had to flash my wallet full of cash in one bar, and, leaving, I immediately noticed two guys, older than me at most 3-4 years following me. I decided not to make the boys' job harder and turned down the first alley, and, as I expected, they followed.

"You're not lost, boy? Cause the big brothers can help you get home, not for free, of course."

"Yeah, for only 500 quid, you'll get home safe and sound. How about it?" - They said with a smile that smelled so threatening with trouble.

"No thanks, I know where I'm going and I think I'm close to my destination."

"He doesn't realise the situation he's in, bro!"

"So let's enlighten him." - He lifted up the hem of his T-shirt to reveal a gun sticking out from under his waistband.

"So, mate, have you realised that you can't be greedy and use our services? And since you're not from around here and I'm in a good mood today, you can leave your wallet and go. Agreed?"

"I realise my search is finally over."

I turn on the acceleration and throw the piece of brick I picked up at the corner at the guy who lit up the barrel. With as much speed as I can muster, I run up to them and, dodging an embarrassing blow that not even 13-year-old Ryan would call a punch, I deliver a punch to his stomach that takes his breath away. After a swift kick to the knees, I move on to the other, who, seeing what has happened to his friend, is about to get away. But how can he be faster than me? I catch up to him and kick him in the bend of his leg - he falls and tries to crawl away from me, but I don't give him that chance and send him into the dream world with a good leg kick to the face.

Back to the second one, I pull out his gun and check the magazine, which turns out to be loaded, and this imbecile is carrying it without a safety, after all. Let's just say that I saved him from the irreparable injury he would have received if he had continued to handle the gun like that. After waking up our 'big brother', I found out from him where he got the gun and went shopping. It turned out that Martin was in charge of sales in the neighbourhood, and I could get almost anything from him. As I approach the inconspicuous house, I notice several cars, which I realise are not good Samaritans. They must be Martin's security detail. At the house I am met by a friendly negro about two metres tall.

"Password." - The man asked me, looking me over and making some kind of personal assessment.

"Password." - I answered honestly knowing the rules here.

"What do you want?" - The man relaxed a little after my answer.

The merchants here have come up with a rather interesting system. Everyone is used to some kind of code for sales, and the police usually always try to break it. But there's no code, the code is the word itself. Martin is a newcomer to this place only six months ago, but I'm sure no one's ever made fun of the cops like this before.

"Heavy sniper rifle, assault rifle, medium body armour and three silencers."

"You got it. How you gonna pay for it?"

"Cash." - I shook the black opaque bag where I'd dumped the wads of quid I'd recently glued to my body.

"That'll do." - The nigger checked the cash and got a nod from his friend inside the house, to whom he handed a random portion of the notes he'd pulled out of various stacks.

"Have fun." - He handed me a few maps of the neighbourhoods on which the various locations of the equipment I needed were marked.

Receiving goods from Martin was also cleverly organised. The buyer received maps where the points with the hidden order were marked, because of this he not only secured the points of 'sale', but also did not seem to be such an attractive target for bigger fish, because the basis of his business was micro transactions. No normal gang would spend a few days travelling around the city to collect all their guns, they'd rather make a big order from the Russians or Kingpin.

Leaving the neighbourhood without incident, I caught a taxi and headed for the cache. After checking my purchases, I used my street phone to book a container at one of the warehouses. Having left all my purchases and given the manager a pawing, I was able to rent the container without giving my details.

Now all I had to do was pray for news of the future Iron Man's kidnapping to emerge and raise my skills.

At least that's what I thought, but as they say, 'The scribe crept up on me.'

***

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