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New York City was a very odd place. In his possibly too-long career, Glass Joe had visited a handful of times, but it never stopped feeling strange. The discomfort of an unfamiliar place was softened when he was there for exhibition matches, as the WVBA usually had guides available to help foreign fighters get around, or to help communication. But this was one of the first times he’d gone out on his own outside of a match, and he was a good distance away from where those matches usually went on.
If he understood correctly, the city was divided into ‘boroughs,’ not unlike Paris’ 20 arrondissements municipaux, though fewer in number. Manhattan was the one that people tended to imagine when they thought of New York, with its skyscrapers and Broadway and the like. The Bronx still had its fair share of hustle and bustle though, and despite having many years of experience in navigating his native Paris, it was hard to not feel a little overwhelmed trying to figure out how to get places. A few friendly locals had been kind enough to try and point him in the right direction, but they spoke very quickly and had an accent to their English that made it harder to understand.
In a distracted moment, Joe found himself wondering if Little Mac had that similar sound to his voice. He’d never heard him speak more than a few scattered words, and he hadn’t thought to pay attention during them to discern whether or not it was accented. He supposed it ultimately didn’t matter either way, but now he was curious.
“Watch where you’re going, man!”
“Ah! P-pardon-” He stammered, stumbling past the poor pedestrian that he’d nearly plowed into. Glancing over his shoulder, he could make out the man scowling at him, and making a rude gesture with his hand.
Well, he supposed, some things in America were still like home.
Rather than risk crashing into someone again, he slowed his walk and found a more out-of-the-way space on the sidewalk before taking his phone out and checking it. And sure enough, he spotted a new pop-up message.
Macet: You almost here? Doc says he’s almost got everything set up.
The man glanced back and forth at the urban landscape that surrounded him. Reluctantly, he typed out a response.
I am not sure. You told me it was Peacock Street, correct?
He managed to tuck his phone away for all of two seconds before it buzzed again.
Macet: Yeah. You close to there?
I am uncertain. I am following the directions you sent me, but I may be lost. I did what it said, took the left at Visser Avenue, but I am not seeing the sign that you mentioned.
Macet: Send me a pic of where you are? That’d probably help.
Joe did as instructed, taking a snapshot of the street from his spot and sending it. That time, Mac didn’t immediately reply, so he took a moment to lean against the nearby wall and shove both hands back in his pockets. It was hard to say offhand if New York really had colder winters, but nonetheless, the February chill had him shivering in his boots and heavy coat. It was the sort of day better suited for warm blankets, a bowl of coffee, and some tartine, in his opinion, but he reminded himself that if he wanted to improve, he couldn’t throw in the towel as soon as he got uncomfortable. Besides, once he was actually inside, he was sure that practice would have him warmed up quickly.
In his distraction, the feeling of his phone going off again nearly made him yelp in panic and fall over. Hopefully, nobody had seen that.
Macet: Shit I dunno how you got that far down, I think you missed the turn like four blocks ago.
Oh. I should turn around, then?
Macet: Yeah I guess just head back until you find the right turn. Might be a good idea to ask for directions if you see anybody.
He didn’t have the confidence to admit how ineffective that had been.
Oh. That is a smart idea. I should do that. I will do my best to arrive soon, Macet.
++++++
Doc Louis glanced up from his pad of paper. “There’s the guy! Almost worried I’d have to send out reinforcements. You find your way over ok?”
”T-trop froid…” Joe stammered, shivering as the entrance slammed shut behind him and barred away the winter cold with it. “H-had some issue, f-f-figured it out.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” The man approached and gave his guest a hearty pat on the back. “Get inside and stick your hands on the radiator a minute, try to get some color in ‘em again.”
He was more than happy to do as he was told. Though the radiator was making a noise that made it sound a half-second away from bursting into flames, it still seemed a better alternative to being outside. Joe took the opportunity to get a better look at the gym he had found himself in on a day like this. It wasn’t what some would call ‘cutting-edge,’ but the space had almost an odd sort of coziness to it. Something about it just felt very relaxed compared to many of the training spaces he had been to. Maybe it was just that the place was nearly empty, and there was nobody around to watch him stumble over his own feet. Still different, but a comfortable different.
“Feelin’ any better?” Doc approached him a few minutes later. “Can you feel your fingers again?”
Sure enough, he could. After a few tentative flexes, he could say with certainty that he would not be losing his hands today. “Yes, I am alright. Thank you.”
“That’s good to hear. You ready to get started?”
“Yes, you said there was something special that you wanted to try?”
It still seemed odd to him that someone willingly offered their assistance out of the blue. Not that he was ungrateful, far from it, but the closest thing to assistance he was typically given in terms of boxing was an unconvincing smile coupled with the words ‘maybe it’s time to retire.’
Instead, Doc Louis led him across the gym floor with a confident stride. The space was open and unobstructed, so everything he saw while following him had already become familiar, it was just at different angles. Though there was something distinctly more unsettling at seeing all of the equipment still and unoccupied.
“If I may ask...it is awfully quiet, isn’t it?”
“Place isn’t open on Saturdays,” Doc replied. “Well, not open to the public. Mac still uses it. He’s not one for days off.”
“Goodness! I suppose I can admire the tenacity.”
The man chuckled under his breath. “Guess that’s a nicer way of putting it. I tend to go with ‘bullheaded.’ I’ve had to drag his butt out of the ring way too many times after trying to train while running a fever.”
“Speaking of that, where is Macet?”
“Oh, he’s here, he’s just playing with the new toy. He’s gonna be real happy to see you, y’know. He’s been going on and on about this all week!”
Joe could feel himself blushing. He wasn’t used to having any fellow boxers be all that thrilled to see him, especially out of the ring. While he’d expected Mac would be no different after blazing through him and the rest of the Minor Circuit, for some bizarre reason, he had seemed genuinely interested in keeping in touch. It had gone on long enough that it being a pity-friendship was off the table- someone gunning for the title belt wouldn’t consider themself a good friend with the WVBA’s weakest for the hell of it, he wouldn’t think. But Mac was an enigma in many ways, perhaps he shouldn’t have questioned it.
“Can I ask about this…’new toy’ of yours?”
“It’s right over here, you’ll see it in a sec.” Replied Doc. “Last couple fights brought in some decent prize money, thought it might be worth it to try and spruce the place up with something new. Still gotta pay rent, after all. Better condition the gym’s in, the more business she gets.”
“I see. I suppose that makes sense.”
Though he’d thought the gym was a single open floor, the man noted that he was being led towards a wall with a door. Doc Louis pushed it open without much fanfare, revealing, as he’d anticipated, a smaller room, where Mac was standing in wait.
‘You’re here!’ He signed, or at least he thought that’s what it meant. Joe had been trying to work his way around ASL, but he was still terribly awkward with it, especially with how fast fluent speakers move their hands. Mac seemed happy to see him, though, that seemed like the important part.
His attention was caught by the strange contraption that was set up behind the boy. Compared to the rest of the gym, it was positively futuristic. Stainless metal, touchscreens everywhere, and all of it appeared to be wired into another fancy piece of machinery that, if he had to venture a guess, was some kind of high-tech projector.
“Is that your ‘toy?’” Joe asked. “It seems rather...out of place.”
Doc looked embarrassed. “Y-yeah, I was planning on just updating the practice ring we got, dunno how I managed to get talked into all this fancy stuff. Some weird old fella just kept going on and on about this new widget he’d made- wish I could remember his name, Gad-something? Said it was top-of-the-line and that he was sellin’ it for a good price. Dunno if I believe it, hopefully it pays off.”
Curiosity compelled him a few steps closer. “But what exactly is it?”
“It’s...well, best I can describe it is a hologram-maker.” The older man strode past, finding one of the machine’s screens and tapping away at it. As he did, a pale light began streaming from the projector. “Little more complicated than just that, though. It’s a training simulator. It can create a replica of someone for practice fights. The computer it’s got can make a fight pretty realistic to the real thing if you give it enough info.”
If he weren’t watching it whir to life right in front of him, Joe would have been a lot more dubious. “Incredible! Does it actually work?”
Doc shrugged. “Well, I gotta say it’s pretty dang accurate. Fed all the WVBA’s available fight data into it, so all of the holograms behave based on recorded matches. It’s worked real well for training so far, I’d say. Mac seems to like it.”
Mac nodded in assent. ‘I’m getting better at fighting!’
“And this is why you messaged me?” Joe asked, looking down at him.
“Thought it might be worth a try, at least.” his trainer replied. “You can fight without actually getting your lights knocked out. Kid was really excited about letting you give it a try.”
Apparently taking that as an opportunity, Mac grabbed the gangly man by his arm and pulled him over to another door marked as the locker room.
“Haha! You are awfully excited about this. Alright, Macet, alright. I will go change.”
Even after he’d gone in, changed out of his winter clothes, and gone back out again, Mac was still waiting outside for him.
‘Come on! Come on!’
“I am, do not worry.” Joe followed behind in loping steps while Mac scampered ahead to the console. Doc gave his hair a ruffle before going back to whatever he had been doing. “What do I need to do?”
“Just stand in the practice ring. Wound up needing to recalibrate it a bit, but I think I got it sorted out. Aaaaaand...there it is!”
The projector shifted up and down, flickering a few times. A vague wireframe formed, first taking on a basic shape before elaborating and growing more detailed until he could recognize the sight of-
Hologram or not, it didn’t stop him from letting out a terrified yelp and flinching away as he suddenly found Bald Bull staring him down.
“Sorry! Sorry,” Doc shouted, “looks like Mac left it on his setting. Probably a little too hardcore for you, even if it’s just practice.”
“T-terrible…” He had to hand it to the inventor, at least. His copies were just about as terrifying as the real thing. The fact that its entire body was an inhuman blue didn’t dampen that at all. If anything, the blank eyes might’ve made it even more creepy.
Joe looked past the hologram to the man at the console. “I don’t- I don’t suppose you could set it to your lowest setting, could you?”
Doc gave him a funny look. “Y’sure you don’t want it a couple settings higher?”
“Maybe I will later, but I would prefer practicing on something easier. Just to ‘get the hang of it,’ as the saying goes?”
That didn’t do away with his strange expression, but he complied, fiddling with a few options. “Alright, man. Suit yourself.”
The projector hummed to life again, reorienting itself. Bald Bull vanished, and the basic wireframe appeared in its place. It reshaped and reformed, thinning out until its new form was completed.
He shouldn’t have been as surprised in hindsight, but it was still a bit of a shock to see a full-body replica of himself flicker into existence not two feet away.
...Was he really that reedy-looking in real life?
Joe tried to laugh it off. “I do not imagine you use this setting often, Macet?”
Mac, at least, had the grace to look a bit embarrassed.
“So, how will this work? Do I just try to attack it?”
Doc nudged up the ropes and slid under them to get up on the ring. “So, here’s the thing. It’s not exactly like a hologram, not really.” He said. “It’s got some give to it. But if you push hard enough, you can still go right through it.”
To demonstrate, he pushed against the thing’s back until his hand popped out of its ribs. Even though it was just a program, Joe felt himself flinch and cover the spot with his glove.
“It can give you a whole bunch of information based on how you fight it- how strong your punches are, what areas you aim for most often, stuff like that. So you can figure out what kinda stuff needs working on based on how you do.”
The concept of fighting a copy of himself sounded bizarre just on principle. Still, at that point, it seemed worth it to at least give it a try. It had worked for Mac, so maybe it would work for him, too.
Doc sent him an approving nod as he slipped back out of the ring. “It has some basic verbal commands, ‘start,’ ‘stop,’ and ‘reset.’ Outside of that, just go to town on it and see how you do!”
“I think I understand. Thank you.”
“Hey, no problem.” The man put a hand on his student’s shoulder, guiding him towards the entrance. “Alright, Mac, let’s give the guy some space. Probably doesn’t need an audience. Give one of us a holler if you need anything, okay?”
Mac looked displeased, but nodded, signing a brief ‘good luck' before leaving alongside Doc. The door clicked behind them, leaving the Frenchman alone with his doppelganger.
“A-alright, then.” He said, turning back to the hologram. A little smile quirked in the corner of his mouth. “Allons-nous commencer?”
Joe slid his feet into position, raising his gloved fists in preparation. “Start.”
With a mechanical hum, the projection took on a similar stance. And...nope, still a little weird. Even as he watched it mimic his nervous expression, it didn’t seem quite right. He resolved to take that discomfort and use it to try and punch harder. Seriously, did it not bother Mac at all? It was definitely the eyes, a lot of it. The eyes really made it worse.
Distracted by his thoughts, it managed to slip his mind that he’d actually turned the machine on. Bringing him back to attention was a blue-tinged glove swung in his direction, noticed just in time to realize it was there but too late to properly defend himself as it came into contact with his side.
The man winced, waiting for the spot to flare with pain from the blow, but...it didn’t. It didn’t hurt, at least nowhere near the level of hurt of an actual punch. More of a friendly nudge, really. Something about it made him almost laugh.
The hologram moved to throw another punch. The second time, Joe managed to block it halfway and attempted a counterpunch of his own. Despite what Doc had said, there was still a little surprise at feeling his glove hit something solid. It reeled back with a look of panic, stumbling a few steps until it could catch itself.
’Huh.’ He thought to himself. ’I didn’t think I hit that hard. Am I stronger than I thought?’
It was fun at first, almost like a weird game. Exchanging blows with himself, parrying fists with a doppelganger that mimicked the same way he could swing a fist or shy away from a punch. He quickly got used to the feeling, it was rare in a fight that he didn’t feel that deep sense of dread that came from realizing he wasn’t long from another concussion or set of broken ribs. Maybe Mac really had been on to something, he’d need to thank him for the idea later.
After a stretch of training, a new thought occurred to him. Yes, he was probably getting something out of the repeated back-and-forth, but he was trying to improve! If he wanted to try scaling the ranks again, he would need to diversify his skills. He had to do something he wouldn’t usually do. Something new to mix up his usual fare. Adaptation and flexibility were how boxers stayed on top, right? It made sense to him, at least.
Joe tried to think of a good moment to throw in something new. Meanwhile, his copy continued throwing punches and trying to dodge when it was countered. He paid attention to its movements, standing in wait until he spotted a gap between swings.
He moved to the side, readying his left arm for a punch to the gut. But at the last moment, he switched position, leaning to the other and taking a higher swing with his right fist.
His echo flinched back in fear, but couldn’t stop the hit from connecting. It nearly tripped over its own holographic feet, but managed to right itself and move back into fighting range. The man felt himself grinning with excitement. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember pulling a move like that in the ring before.
So, naturally, he tried to follow up with something similar. Once again, he avoided or blocked the strikes aimed at him, until another opening caught his attention. Immediately, he seized the opportunity to attack.
It was a more awkward punch, from how he had landed a little oddly and couldn’t put it the same level of force and precision. The kind of punch where, had he been fighting someone like Aran Ryan of Bald Bull, would have put him in a perfect position for a counterpunch.
But instead, the hologram simply flinched back again, covering its face and wincing. The awkward punch struck it, and it stumbled back.
Another flinch? That was weird. It must have known how to respond in another way. Dodging, a counterstrike, anything? Even he could admit it had been a terrible attempt.
Okay, well, he could try again. As soon as the projection moved close enough, Joe prepared himself to find an opening for a third time. Their spar started the same way the last rounds had, with it attempting a left jab- wait, why had it always started the same way?
No, he must have been imagining things. He tried to focus on how his clone moved again, though instead of waiting for an opening, he simply defended himself and watched how it tried to attack. Yet as he did, it didn’t feel like he was learning anything new. There wasn’t much to be new at all.
He realized with an uneasy feeling in his guts at how…predictable it had been. And how predictable it was still being. A couple of slow swings and an obvious uppercut. Over and over again, with only the slightest of variations. Was this really what he was? Was this really all he knew how to do in the ring? His technique wasn’t that basic, was it…?
Part of him thought, well, this was supposed to be the easiest setting, wasn’t it? Maybe it was simplified?
But he knew what Doc had said. The hologram had all 101 of his matches fed into it. This was what it had made from studying his boxing skills. This was how he fought.
Without thinking, he swung a blind punch. Most of the way through, he halted, fist still inches away from its face.
The projection winced anyway, face twisted in a noiseless yelp of panic.
Joe could feel a strange, nameless sensation bubbling in his chest.
“Se défendre.”
It came out as nearly a whisper, but his next punch hit far harder. The hologram mostly blocked it with an arm, but still stumbled back. He didn’t give it the opportunity to come back to him, instead taking a step over and winding up his other arm.
“Se défendre.”
With the lack of space, his doppelganger shied away before the next hit could be thrown. It inched back across the practice ring, cowering and throwing up its arms, and reeled back further as it failed to properly guard the jab to its ribs.
“Se défendre!” The man snapped, taking another wild swing and nailing the hologram in the jaw. It fell off-balance and landed on the ropes, awkwardly sliding down to end up as a pile on the mat.
It made no effort to stand back up. It merely trembled, terrified face half-hidden behind its gloves.
Was this what the other boxers saw? Was this what he was to them?
“Ehe. Ehehe.” Another smile twitched on his lips, but the sound that escaped his throat was more manic than joyful. “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
And his copy only continued to cower.
“Fight back!” He full-on shouted, vainly hoping it was some command Doc had neglected to mention. “WHY WON’T YOU FIGHT BACK?!”
It offered no reply. With a growl, Joe picked up a leg and swung it. He aimed the end of his boot right into its stomach and kicked as hard as he could muster.
Even without needing to really breathe, the hologram’s expression twisted like a man who’d had the air knocked out of their lungs. Both arms grabbed onto the spot to guard it, but once again, just as it had been with their firsts, it left him open as another kick smashed into the middle of its face.
Some part of him knew he couldn’t make it bleed, and yet there was an indescribable dissatisfaction as he watched it try to guard its face- his face, the one that everyone in the WVBA had looked down on at least once before- and found no tangible damage that he had done. He let out another ugly snarl, picking up his foot and stomping on the hologram as it pitifully curled on the floor.
“Pathétique! Pathétique! Tu es pathétique!” Joe screamed, punctuating every word with a blow. “Stupid, stupid, worthless, pathetic waste! Se défendre! Se défendre! Pourquoi! Es! Tu! Si! Faible?!”
After a few more final kicks, he had no more energy left. The man’s chest rose and fell with heavy, labored breaths as he looked down at the mess before him. He hadn’t managed to leave behind a single bruise or bleeding wound on the thing’s body, but that didn’t make the sight any less devastating. At his feet, his mirrored self trembled, face hidden in its hands. Though it was silent, the heave of its shoulders told him that it had started to sob.
“Pourquoi…” He muttered, feeling something sting in the corners of his eyes. “Pourquoi suis-je si faible…?”
Everything moved by in a blur. He didn’t bother changing out of his gym clothing, instead tossing his winter clothes on right over them before hauling the bag over his shoulder. The locker room door didn’t have enough time to slam shut behind him before the door to the little side room was thrown open too.
Mac and Doc had gone back to their individual tasks, but both immediately stopped at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Mac tried to approach, signing something incomprehensible to his quickly-blurring vision, but Joe pushed past without slowing.
“I-I...I am sorry, Macet. I must leave now. Thank you for the invitation.”
The winter wind hit him like a truck as he shoved the front door open and walked into the street. For a moment, he tried to recall which way the bus station had been, before choosing a random direction to run off in. If he was lucky, he would freeze long before getting there.