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- Sorry, - Luke awkwardly shrugged. - I don't think this job is for you...

Chris took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising surge of anger. A long-standing habit that had been failing him with alarming regularity lately.

Once again, everything had gone to hell! Why did it always have to be like this?!

Unable to sit still, Chris scanned the room for people or objects he could... do something with.

Jessica had entered another phase of her endless cycle of "get drunk-pass out-swear-repeat," specifically the "pass out" phase. Besides, Chris wasn't capable of doing anything bad to her. Just a distant thought born from his furious mind.

Erzhan was diligently polishing another glass. Chris had heard somewhere that a bartender couldn't just stand around doing nothing, as it would make the client feel uncomfortable. But no, Erzhan wasn't a suitable target for venting his aggression either.

Then Chris's focused gaze fell on the two-meter-tall African-American who was so bored he might as well have been spitting at the ceiling.

Considering the man's size, the strange signals from his intuition, and the general urge to act, Chris immediately found his target.

Placing his elbow on the counter and extending his hand, Chris addressed Luke:

- Arm wrestling. You and me. I'll show you my strength.

Luke blinked in confusion. Erzhan opened his mouth but said nothing. Only Jessica instantly woke up and, with a spark in her eyes, downed another shot of whiskey.

- Are you sure? - Luke himself seemed to start doubting Chris's sanity. I mean, Luke's arm was as thick as a young man's thigh—what kind of arm wrestling was this?

But the hesitation only fueled Chris's determination, which, honestly, even surprised him. Maybe it was the fiasco with the "fight," or maybe it was Luke's natural but no less biting skepticism. It didn't matter.

Chris just wanted to show that he shouldn't be underestimated.

- I'm sure, - Chris snorted, shaking his hand a couple of times, beckoning his opponent.

- Go on, Luke, - Jessica smiled like a predator spotting prey. - You've got nothing better to do...

Sighing heavily but unable to hide his skepticism—Chris tried not to frown—Luke leaned over and clasped Chris's hand with his own. Even in this gesture, the disparity in their sizes was evident—Luke's hand almost swallowed Chris's.

- One... - Jessica began counting slowly. - Two...

Chris tightened his grip on Luke's hand, causing the latter to widen his eyes in surprise. No wonder—Chris, though not using his full strength, could bend metal without breaking a sweat. This gesture was just to wake Luke up.

Honestly, Chris didn't know why he was so worked up that he challenged the bartender, who hadn't done anything to him. Except maybe saying he "wasn't cut out for the job." Though... It was those words, full of hidden condescension, that once again stirred something in him... a desire to act. Well, now he'd show what he was capable of.

- THREE!

Everything happened in an instant. A brief flash in Chris's mind overshadowed his usual timidity and uncertainty. For a fleeting moment, there was only one desire in his mind.

To crush Luke Cage.

Luke barely had time to tense his wrist before Chris's pressure drove his hand through the wooden counter. And that wasn't the end!

The force Chris unleashed in that split second sent Luke spinning in the air, following his own arm. One hundred and thirty kilograms, over two meters tall, were instantly on the floor, knocking over the drinks behind the counter.

The contrast was so stark and unbelievable that even Erzhan, who hadn't expected this, and Jessica, who had anticipated something extraordinary, couldn't help but gape in superstitious horror at the unfazed Chris.

Even Luke, who wasn't hurt—which was really strange—didn't get up immediately. He just sat there, clutching his right hand, which Chris had used to make him do a near-somersault in the air a second ago. As if he weighed nothing and offered no resistance! Though he had tried! At one point, Luke felt like he wasn't arm wrestling but rather had his hand tied to a herd of elephants and told to run for their lives.

Chris took a deep breath, trying to suppress the grin threatening to break out on his face. The satisfaction of self-affirmation was an unfamiliar feeling, but...

Incredible, just damn pleasurable!

- So... - Chris calmly watched as Luke slowly got to his feet, scratching his head in confusion. - Any jobs available?...

This time, no one dared to say he wasn't cut out for the job.

And it felt...

Absolutely fucking amazing.

*****

- There's a place in Hell's Kitchen... - Luke slowly tidied up the bar. Chris, by the way—once he realized he hadn't acted too gracefully—helped him. - But its reputation isn't the best...

The bar owner didn't escalate or prolong the conflict, the existence of which was hard to prove anyway. Maybe he was impressed by Chris's strength, or maybe he realized his words had been offensive, but...

He didn't get angry and instead acted like Chris wasn't at fault.

Or maybe Luke was just a good guy.

- You know Ferret?

Chris, though he grew up in the ghetto, had always tried to stay away from the underworld. That's why he didn't know any of the big names or people known in "certain" circles.

Jessica, on the other hand, knew every dog in the city. And every dog knew Jessica in return. She was just too... loud. And drunk. Always loud and drunk.

- That bespectacled stoner? - Jessica snorted dismissively. - He's still alive?

- Surprisingly, yes, - Luke smirked. - He's been running that place for a few years now and has barely gotten hurt. Well, except for a couple of stabbings and almost getting shot...

- "Barely" stabbed? - Chris raised an eyebrow.

- That's just how it is there, - Luke waved it off, pouring Chris a beer as a thank you. Or maybe he just wanted to smooth over any hint of conflict, though let's be honest, Chris started the whole mess. - So, what do you think of my bar?

- Clean, tidy, respectable, you could say, - Chris tactfully ignored the hole in the counter that he himself had made. - Well, the reasons for that shouldn't be a mystery...

Of course. Who would start a fight when there's a two-meter-tall bald muscleman behind the bar? In Harlem, people love to fight, not get their asses kicked.

- But Ferret's place... - Luke shook his head. - I wouldn't say it's Hell, but the people who hang out there, um... They tend to make any place their own.

- Mercenaries, - Jessica burped and continued. - Prostitutes, thugs, all kinds of scum are there in abundance. But it's known as a mercenary hangout...

- Mercenaries? - Chris was surprised. - Like military mercenaries or...

- No, no... - Luke shook his head. - For example, if some thugs are bothering you on the street, or your sister has a too-persistent suitor. You go to this bar, find the scariest-looking mercenary, if you're lucky, he's actually skilled, pay him, and voila... He handles your problem. Of course, no killings. Officially, at least.

- You can also buy weapons there, and a few other not-so-legal things...

The description impressed Chris. It didn't scare him—that was progress—but it did impress him. He had always tried to stay away from crime, but now that he could defend himself... Why not? Besides, he'd just be observing from the sidelines, his job was to guard the bar and nothing more. Well, that's what he hoped.

- Do they need a bouncer?

- They always need a bouncer, - Luke shrugged. - And Ferret could use help with other things, though the pay's decent. Honestly, places like that have a higher chance of catching a bullet to the head. If I were you, Chris, I'd think twice...

No need to think twice. He'd already made up his mind. Because...

Chris wasn't afraid of bullets to the head anymore. And there was a lot more he wasn't afraid of now.

- Can you put in a good word for me? - Chris smiled. - You owe me...

- I've seen your strength, - Luke smirked. - And Ferret's the type... Well, hiring shouldn't be a problem. Staying hired—that's the issue...

- I'll keep an eye on him... - Jessica suddenly went quiet and swallowed, seemingly trying to hold back the urge to vomit. - For him...

Luke looked at them with considerable doubt.

- Whatever you say...

*****

Chris and Jessica headed to his potential new workplace immediately. It was well past midnight, but places like these operated on that schedule.

A short trip to Hell's Kitchen, with Jessica as the guide—she knew every such place in New York like the back of her hand—brought them to a graffiti-covered alley. At the end was a basement door illuminated by neon lights. A small sign above the entrance let everyone know the name of this place.

"Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls"

Chris smirked at the implied irony—judging by the expected clientele—as he followed Jessica into the bar. And this place was a far cry from Luke's bar.

The bar was almost entirely filled with a less-than-cultured crowd. Various bikers, criminals, drug addicts, and girls in nothing but lingerie roamed the smoke-filled room. The air was filled with drunken laughter, crude jokes, and swearing. A very... unique atmosphere. Extremely unique...

Behind the bar—much messier than Luke's—stood a blond man with a beard and glasses. With a calm expression, he immediately spotted them and started waving them over.

By the way, Jessica, as expected, was very well-known in this place.

- Jessica! Long time no see!

- Go to hell, you bald walrus, - Jessica flipped off some bald guy in his forties.

- Ha-ha-ha... Has our Jessica forgotten Papa John?!

- If I had, I'd make sure to forget! Now scram in terror before I shove this bottle up your ass!

- Oh-ho-ho... So you're into that kind of...

Jessica didn't follow through on her promise to shove the whiskey bottle up Papa John's ass. She just, after finishing the bottle, smashed it over the man's head, sending him into a deep sleep.

The crowd responded with approving cheers.

- Jessica, this is totally your scene, - Chris muttered, impressed.

In response, Chris got the middle finger, practically Jessica's signature move.

But as they approached the bar, Jessica was called over by another acquaintance, who clearly knew her well.

- Yo, hello to all the drunks!

A handsome man in his thirties, a brunet, raised his bottle in Jessica's direction with a smile.

- Wade Wilson! - Jessica smirked. - I thought you'd finally kicked the bucket!

- And you're not looking too shabby yourself, beautiful, - the man gave off the vibe of a charming rogue. - And who's this? Your boyfriend?

- This is Chris...

An unexpected wave of overwhelming nausea nearly sent Chris into unconsciousness.

As soon as he saw Wade Wilson, the world started spinning before his eyes.

The blood in Chris's ears roared so loudly it drowned out all other sounds. Sudden dizziness and palpable pain made Chris wince.

S^N$RO$IZ$T^ON: 69696969%

- Seems like, - Wade chuckled in confusion. - He doesn't like me very much. Weird, why's that? Doesn't he like handsome, talented, and very modest Canadians?

Chris didn't have time to come up with a response. Because...

He vomited all over the floor.

******

- Everything is quickly spiraling out of control.

Another encounter with his father came as always unexpectedly, right after the episode triggered by meeting Wade Wilson.

Chris had never been able to control these... conversations. Is it really that hard to control your own imagination? According to Chris, it's practically impossible. Especially when you're not entirely sure of your own sanity.

His father looked at his prone figure with a calm, squinting gaze. The numerous wrinkles on his face only emphasized his focused expression.

Every encounter with his father ended in... nothing. At least, that's what Chris thought.

But now he was beginning to realize that his abilities were inextricably linked to this old man. His father.

Chris didn't know his name. He didn't know what he did or what he was doing. Hell, he didn't even know if he was real!

But one thing he was sure of...

His "father" had a direct connection to his abilities.

Even the latest fiasco—when Chris vomited all over the floor in front of Wade—seemed to be reflected in this "imaginary" space.

The once peaceful ranch was now riddled with unnatural holes. Not holes in the ground, but white voids in space. As if someone had taken an eraser to the entire place.

Looking up at the sky, Chris was both surprised and not surprised by what he saw. He wasn't surprised because he had expected some kind of trick from the "synchronization" scale. Whatever anomaly had caused this, it wasn't just affecting his well-being, but his powers as well.

What surprised him was...

S?????????Я [B?????er HerakL] [Rank: $$$$$$$$$]: $$$$04%

- What the hell is HerakL? - Chris muttered in disbelief, staring at the "glitches" in his own schizophrenia.

Clearly, the low synchronization percentage hadn't allowed Chris to fully understand the true name of the synchronization object, but the incident that had thrown his powers into chaos had accidentally—or perhaps intentionally—revealed some crucial information.

Honestly, for a moment, he felt like a cheater, or maybe a weakling who had gone online to look up a walkthrough.

So, his power... was "binding" him to HerakL? Giving him the abilities of one of the greatest heroes known to mankind?

That's why even an incomplete synchronization percentage gave such an incredible boost to his physical abilities!

Who was HerakL?

A demigod, the son of Zeus, with strength beyond mortal comprehension! And what was HerakL known for?

The great hero of Greece who performed the Twelve Labors!

Chris smirked with anticipation, focusing on one particular phantasm...

????

Again.

????

- Well... - Chris's spirits instantly fell. - It's not going to be that easy, apparently...

Yes, Chris had hoped to summon information about his main skill, but the "glitches" weren't on his side this time. The skill simply refused to unfold...

He had hoped to peek at the secret condition for replenishing his lives!

- Ha-ha-ha... - His father, sitting on the bench, chuckled softly. - Nice try...

- So, are you my schizophrenia after all? - Chris asked skeptically. - Did you stop me from "peeking"?

His father smiled cheerfully.

- I have a direct connection to your abilities, but I don't control them...

- Can you be more specific? Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you my "father," but I've been an orphan for as long as I can remember? Why do I "know" you're my father?!

- I really am your father, - the old man nodded. - But you'll learn the rest in the future...

- Why not now? - Chris grimaced. - I'm sitting here. You're sitting here. Just tell me and stop creating these damn unnecessary mysteries!

- You're not ready, - his father shook his head. - And you won't be ready for a long time.

- Then why the hell are you messing with my head?! Why does my brain feel like it's being twisted inside out every time something happens?!

- I already told you, - his father replied patiently. - I have no control over your abilities. And the root of your problems lies in... an error. A miscalculation, the consequences of which are impossible to predict. Too many... too many variables.

Honestly, Chris was starting to boil over from the uncertainty of the situation.

And it seemed his "father" really did know him well. Specifically, he knew Chris's habit of bottling everything up and not letting it out, so he finally decided to offer some explanation.

- Mutants shouldn't exist in this universe.

Chris froze in stunned silence.

- Mu... tants? - He asked in horror.

- Yes.

Slowly, Chris's expression shifted from shock to emptiness.

- ...who are they?

- You don't know who they are? - His father asked in surprise. - Oh right, how could you know what you don't know...

- You're really hitting the nail on the head, - Chris smiled, slowly boiling over. - What's next? Water is wet because it's water? Or maybe people die because they're killed?!

- Sorry, - his father didn't take the bait, smiling. - I forgot that my truths, the direct and obvious part of my worldview, aren't your truths.

- You're really getting on my nerves, - Chris sighed. - Who are these mutants, and why shouldn't they exist in our universe? Are they like aliens?

- Imagine Transformers, humanoid alien robots that fight each other and transform into different types of vehicles, - Chris's father began from afar. - You watch a great movie, enjoy the time spent, but when you leave the theater, you realize that the movie is just a movie. Transformers, Optimus Prime, or Megatron aren't part of your reality. You won't meet Bumblebee on the streets of New York or fend off an attack from a mechanical civilization. They're there, and you're here...

- So, these mutants are characters from some movie?

- No, - his father sighed, but after a moment's hesitation, he added. - Though it's possible, but that's not the point, - gathering his strength, his father asked. - What do you know about the multiverse?

- It's complete crap, - Chris answered immediately. - Greedy creators trying to artificially extend the life of their franchises, hinting that "anything" is possible. They can pull stories out of thin air, cover up their mistakes and obvious sloppiness by waving their hands and shouting about the "multiverse"... - Chris looked at his father in disbelief. - No...

- I'm afraid it's true...

- No way!...

- The multiverse is real...

- God, what a crappy world I live in!... - Chris almost cried in frustration. - I've always hated this damn multiverse! It's like producers pour a ton of money into marketing but completely ignore the quality of the product itself! You go to the movies with anticipation, only to have them crap all over your face!

- But nevertheless, it's true, - his father shrugged, completely unfazed by his whining. - And you'll just have to accept it.

- Are you saying that somewhere "out there," - Chris waved his hand vaguely. - There's a Chris who's in the same situation, but she's a girl?

- It's possible.

- Or a Chris who's a small pink pony with wings?

- It's possible, - his father replied, though less confidently this time.

- See, - Chris nodded knowingly. - That's the problem with the multiverse! No matter how crappy something is, you can justify it with the "infinity" of the multiverse...

- I didn't say it was infinite, - his father smirked.

- But you said a female Chris and a pink pony Chris were possible...

- First, I said it's possible, not because the multiverse is infinite, but because I simply can't claim to know anything about this incredibly complex mechanism of the universe. Second, the infinity of the multiverse hasn't been proven; it's just echoes of science fiction writers. How would you even prove infinity? And third... Why a "pink pony Chris"?

- Don't think about it.

- Alright... - His father awkwardly continued. - Anyway, the point is that the mutant universe is merging with ours.

- First, who the hell are these mutants, and second, why are you talking about the apocalypse with such a nonchalant expression?

- Well, you'll meet mutants sooner or later, - the elderly man sighed. - And the "merging" of two universes isn't the apocalypse, - after a moment's hesitation, he added. - Probably.

- Probably, - Chris repeated. - Probably! Or maybe, probably? - Chris tried to mock his father in a hundred different ways. - Can you be even a little more specific! I'm no expert, but it seems to me that the merging of two universes sounds like a complete disaster!

- How many times do I have to tell you, - his father replied patiently. - I can't control your powers or this process. The merging of universes wasn't planned; it wasn't in any forecasts or plans. And I'm not a big enough figure to figure it out, let alone intervene in such processes.

- So you're saying, - Chris said slowly. - That you had a hand in starting this damn "merging"?

- Well, - his father shrugged slightly awkwardly. - Technically...

- Pragmatically, technically, idiotically, yobudally, you could even say klingonically, - Chris clutched his head in frustration. - Is that a yes or no?!

- Well, - his father nodded calmly. - Yes.

- A-a-a-a!... - Chris groaned in frustration.

What do we know?

Chris's father is somehow directly connected to his powers and this unpleasant, unpredictable process of merging two universes.

So...

What is he, a nineteen-year-old cosplayer of HerakL, supposed to do?!

Who the hell knows!

- You're giving this too much importance, - his father smirked. - Believe me, if we were facing a catastrophe, you'd either realize it immediately or be dead.

- Then why does my brain feel like it's melting every time I encounter these... - Chris waved his hand in the air. - These damn mutants?!

- Haven't you noticed that the world itself periodically "forgets" about mutants? It's a self-defense mechanism...

Exactly!

Jessica forgot about the "radioactive people," and the man disappeared from the photo!

But why does he...

- I told you, this scenario wasn't even considered, - Chris's father sighed. - I couldn't have predicted that your "special" abilities would collide with an event of this nature.

- Are the headaches a side effect of my abilities?

- Not exactly, - his father pursed his lips. - Your abilities allow you to avoid the influence of this... event. You hardly forget anything, you see and understand everything, but...

- The abilities... - Chris nervously pursed his lips. - The abilities protect me from the merging of two multiverses, but my mind can't process it. I just... My brain literally fries from the lack of processing power!

- You figured that out yourself? - His father looked at him with pleasant surprise.

- A father's faith in his son is truly evident, - Chris sighed. - And how do I protect myself from this?! And don't tell me you don't know...

- You've already protected yourself, Chris, haven't you noticed? - His father smiled with anticipation. - As soon as you increased your strength, you stopped dying from overload. The formula is simple—get stronger, and the "echoes" will become nothing more than a minor annoyance.

******

- ...I don't need another junkie in the bar. We've already got me!...

Chris didn't recognize the first voice, but the response from Jessica—that he knew.

- He's not a junkie, - Jessica snorted. - He just has... uh... episodes, yeah. But otherwise, he's a really capable guy!

Chris's head was splitting, and his throat wasn't just dry—it had the nasty aftertaste of his own vomit.

Well, at least this time his eyes didn't explode! You've got to look for the positives in everything, right?!

Waking up from the "dream" was just as abrupt—no introductory or farewell "credits," just "bam" and it was over—as entering it.

Though...

This time, he'd actually made some progress. The information was finally worth something! Even if he didn't understand most of it. At least he didn't feel like he was lost in a dense forest like before. Well, no, the forest was still just as unfamiliar, but now he had a "compass." Chris knew the direction, but he had no idea *where* he was going, *how long* it would take, or *what* awaited him. But still, progress, right?

Well, assuming this wasn't just the product of his not-so-healthy mind. If his abilities had landed him in a psychiatric hospital as a teenager, it didn't mean he was completely sane. In fact, Chris was pretty sure there were a few screws loose in his head. Otherwise, his "bipolarity"—the sudden mood swings from "I love everyone" to "I'll kill everyone"—couldn't be explained.

- O-o-o-oh, - Chris groaned, struggling to open his eyes. - My head's killing me!

He woke up sitting right at the bar counter, with Jessica sitting to his right, occasionally patting him on the shoulder. Directly in front of him stood Ferret, who was eyeing him skeptically, probably trying to decide if he needed such a "worker." Yeah, puking in front of your potential boss before even getting hired—that's a real achievement.

By the way, glancing carefully to the left, he noticed the empty spot where Wade Wilson had been sitting just moments ago, a clear native of the "other" universe. It was unclear whether he'd left on his own or if the world had "glitched."

- Hello... - Chris awkwardly waved. - Mr. Ferret...

The man snorted.

- Just Ferret, real name's Jack Hammer, - the man gave off the vibe of someone who was hard to surprise. Or maybe he just had a laid-back personality. - Hope you're not a cop...

- Your name is "Jack Hammer"? - Jessica was surprised. - Holy crap, why's that so cool?! You're just a nerd who smokes, plays Halo, and jerks off at night!

- Screw you, Jessica, - Ferret replied without batting an eye. Apparently, he was well acquainted with Jessica's tactlessness and rudeness.

- Screw you!...

The dynamic between these two was actually pretty funny, at least it distracted Chris. Though... Wherever Jessica was, it was always entertaining.

A pat on his other shoulder snapped Chris out of his thoughts. To his surprise, it was the same guy who'd been knocked out by Jessica's bottle earlier. The casually wrapped bandages hid the bump, but that was the only reminder of the recent incident. The bearded guy didn't even glance at Jessica, as if nothing had happened! Huh... Guess that's just how things are around here.

- You okay? - The man's smile wasn't exactly full—he was missing a few teeth—but even that gesture lifted Chris's spirits. Maybe not everyone here was a total scumbag! - First day on the job? Feeling better?

- Yeah, thanks, - Chris nodded, surprised.

The man smirked and, pulling a few bills from his wallet, placed them in front of Ferret.

- For our new buddy, two hundred, a week!

- Got it, - Ferret nodded, took the money, and turned to the chalkboard, where he started writing down the bearded guy's "contribution."

After watching the man leave with a puzzled look, Chris turned back to Ferret, who was casually filling out the table.

- What's that?

On the board was a table with names listed down the side and dates across the top, ranging from one day to two months.

And to his surprise, Chris found his own name at the very top of the list!

There were tons of bets on all sorts of dates! His line stood out because Ferret had to shrink his handwriting to fit everything in!

- It's... - Jessica awkwardly shifted. - Don't worry about it...

- Just a little game, - Ferret shrugged and went back to wiping glasses with a calm expression.

- Your name's on there too!

In Chris's row, it clearly read: "Ferret, five hundred bucks, a week." He hadn't even properly introduced himself, and his boss was already betting on him!

Jessica was also thoughtfully examining the board. She glanced at him. Back at the board. Then at him again.

Finally, she made up her mind...

- Five hundred bucks, against.

- Suit yourself, - Ferret shrugged. - Hand over the cash.

And that's when the dilemma arose...

- Uh... Let me owe you.

- What, do you think this is a personal bank for the very poor and very, very needy, otherwise known as Jessica Jones? - Ferret instantly shot down Jessica's request.

- Hey!...

- Besides, you already owe me five hundred bucks!

- Five hundred to Ferret, fifteen hundred to Luke... - Chris thoughtfully looked at his friend. - Jessica, seriously, why the hell do bars even give you credit?

Bars aren't banks, as Ferret said! They don't give out loans or serve on credit!

- Oh, Chris, - Ferret adjusted his glasses. - That's a very interesting story. You see, some people live close to the sea, knowing there's a theoretical chance of flooding. Others live near volcanoes that rarely erupt. And all the bars and clubs in New York have their own natural disaster...

- Shut your mouth! - Jessica turned red, either from anger or embarrassment.

- And its name is Jessica Jones! - Ferret proclaimed with a touch of triumph.

- Jessica, - Chris barely holding back his laughter, turned to his best friend. - You're being compared to a natural disaster?...

- Shut up already! - Jessica grumbled and took a swig from her bottle.

- But humans are adaptable creatures. They'll survive in any conditions, - Ferret continued. - And one genius came up with an equally genius way not to "eliminate" but to "contain" Jessica. When she runs out of money—and she always does—just give her what she wants, but make sure—this is crucial—to write it down as a debt and remind her at every opportunity! Sure, you'll lose some money, but this monster, - the "monster" narrowed her eyes threateningly but didn't attack. Apparently, it really was a "genius" method. - Will try to keep herself in check, not digging herself deeper into debt. Sure, you'll lose some money on Jessica, but it's better than calling the insurance company when Jessica trashes your place in another drunken rage. Like I said, a natural disaster...

- Ha-ha-ha-ha... - Chris couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. - Jessica, you're collecting "tribute" from every alcohol-serving spot in New York! You're like... Genghis Khan of the booze world!

- Chris, screw you!...

Jessica was such a funny girl! In Chris's eyes, this story wasn't shameful at all—it was something to be proud of! Jessica was a true legend of New York! Even if it was an alcoholic one...

- A thousand bucks on this twig, today.

A deep voice, coming from right beside him, instantly killed the cheerful mood. But Ferret—surprisingly professionally—took the money and wrote the "bet" in the first column under Chris's name. The shortest "date" possible...

- Look up, - the two-meter-tall guy covered in tattoos smirked threateningly and pointed at the board.

And sure enough, Chris hadn't noticed before, but the heading read "Deadly Bet."

- We have a... "specific" sense of humor in our circles, - the man took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke right in Chris's face, who was no longer smiling. - Can you guess what these bets are about?

- Hey, you son of a... - Jessica stood up and narrowed her eyes. But just as she was about to send another jerk to the floor, Chris raised his hand, silently asking her to let him handle it. Surprisingly, she sat back down, waiting for the show.

- Deadly Bet, - Chris thoughtfully read the rows and columns. - Names and dates, from a day to two months. A lot of people have already bet on me, and Jessica wanted to bet against...

- Didn't want to, I'm betting against now!

- You can go beg on the streets, I'm not giving you a dime!

- Come on, Ferret! For old times' sake!

- I guess... - Chris continued, not taking his eyes off his opponent. - The name speaks for itself? You're betting on death by date? Whoever's closest wins?

- Not bad, - some random thug laughed hoarsely. - I, by the way, bet on today, and not a small amount. And you know what that means?

- Oh? - Chris raised an eyebrow theatrically. - What's that?

- It means, - the man slowly pulled a knife from his pocket. - I want to make some easy money.

- Hey, hey, - Ferret started to worry. - Take it outside. Actually, no! Better yet, go to another district!...

- No need to go outside, - Chris's eyes began to burn with inner rage. - I'll settle this here and now.

With a movement too fast for the average eye to see, Chris knocked the knife out of the tattooed man's hand, bending his wrist backward.

And just as the thug was about to scream in pain, Chris caught the falling cigarette and shoved it into his mouth, preventing him from screaming or spitting out the "hot" addition.

Standing up from the high stool and spinning on his heel—his enhanced agility gave him more than just a boost to "grace"—Chris grabbed the thug by the back of the head, forced him to his knees, and slammed his head into the iron counter.

A second later, the unconscious thug collapsed onto his back, eyes rolled back, wrist twisted, and smoke rising from his mouth.

A second of stunned silence in the bar, and then...

- Chris! - Jessica clutched her head in pain. - Why the hell did you do that?!

- What? - Chris raised an eyebrow. - I thought that's how things work around here...

- I don't care about that suicidal idiot! - Jessica almost cried in frustration. - How am I supposed to clean up the bank now?!

In the next moment, people from all corners of the room rushed over with money, shoving it in Ferret's face.

- Two hundred, against!

- Fifty, against!

- Get the hell out of here! - Jessica roared like a wounded animal. - That's my money! GET THE HELL OUT!

Ignoring the chaos involving all the patrons and Jessica, who stood like a mountain in front of the bar counter, Ferret sighed dejectedly.

- Never won a single bet, - he muttered gloomily and turned to Chris. - Alright, before I hire you, I need to ask a few questions. Just formalities, really. Any trouble with the law?

- Uh, - Chris thought for a second. - An FBI agent wanted to talk to me recently...

- No trouble with the law, - Ferret didn't bat an eye. - Any health issues?

- I spent four years in a psychiatric hospital...

- Healthy as a bull, - Ferret nodded. - We serve alcohol here. You're over twenty-one, right?

- I'm nineteen, actually...

- Oh, exactly twenty-one? Cool! - Ferret smirked and extended his hand. - Welcome to "Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls."

Chris smiled sincerely and shook his hand.

- Thanks!