The Original Beefcake

It was one of the great battles of our time, man versus machine. Metal versus flesh. A titanic struggle that could know only one victor.

Marcus stared at HIS chocolate bar stuck in the vending machine. He gently pushed against the vending machine but in contrast to movies and TV, the thing was actually bolted to the floor and did not budge. Marcus looked down the long, empty hallway of the airport terminal. It was late at night, and only a few people were in the waiting area. He gave the machine a smack on the side and the sound filled the empty hallway for a few seconds. The chocolate bar did not move.

Intellectually, Marcus knew the right path forward was to buy a different snack and go on with life. But he did not become a class holder to walk away from a challenge. Once more he peered down the hallway and carefully placed his right palm on the side of the vending machine. His hand had healed in only three days, but until now he had not used his Impulse Hammer again. Nevertheless he was full of confidence. He moved a small package of red energy down his arm.

BANG!

The vending machine shook and Marcus' great prize was freed from its prison. He quickly grabbed the snack and moved away, before somebody started to ask questions about the cracked glass and flickering lights.

Back at his belongings he enjoyed his sugary loot while skimming through the latest news on his tablet. He had about half an hour left before boarding his flight to Helsinki. The LCPS had decided to send him to Finland, to a small unit near Helsinki. Marcus was not thrilled. It was not the distance or the low population that bothered him. Marcus just hated the cold. But beggars can't be choosers, and so he had packed his few belongings into two big suitcases and embraced the adventure.

He flipped through some news articles. America's Raid Team 6 had returned from an expedition and it seemed like they found ruins of yet another unknown civilization. The incursion of giant spider-like creatures had been stopped and pushed back in Bolivia after they had overrun two villages and a small town. Casualty rate still unknown. Vivian Shan had presented her new masterwork lance 'Seeker of Doom'. Marcus continued until a large picture covered the whole screen.

A tall, blonde woman in white armor standing on the head of a giant, winged beast, surrounded by flames and destruction. Marcus had seen the picture many times before but scrolled down to read the headline anyway. 'Grace Taylor, the top Paladin leads the way for a new generation of class holders." Marcus shook his head. What a load of rubbish, he thought. Top Paladin? Says who?

Anybody with even a bit of knowledge about the topic knows the top Paladin is Kim. Heck, many believe that Kim is the top class holder in the world, and Marcus agreed with that notion. Not to take away from Taylor's achievement and skill. She had become a symbol of hope for England in the middle of the dragon raids five years ago. As London burnt, her victory over one of the gigantic beasts gave back hope to the population.

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She is definitely extremely capable and courageous, Marcus thought. But Kim is a total beast. Solo-Kim, Raid Boss-Kim, Grandmaster, he had earned more achievements and 'world firsts' than anybody else. Kim basically wrote the book on Paladins and if rumors are to be believed, has just recently broken through the level 130 threshold. Another first.

Endless scrolling eventually ate up enough time that the boarding light went green. The flight itself was fairly short and without events. It was still dark when he stepped out of the gate in Helsinki airport in search of his contact. A small man with black hair wearing a long, dark blue mantle waved in his direction. "You were not kidding when you said you would be easy to spot Mr. Freimann," the much smaller man said with a bright smile.

Marcus had short contact with the man, Pavel Czerniak, per email before. He was one of the class holders at the base. After a short hello they went directly to the car. "Take a seat. I will put your bags in the trunk." Marcus sat down in the passenger seat in the heavy off road car. With great joy he found the inside nice and toasty, a complete opposite of the cold and snowy Helsinki.

Pavel joined him and started the powerful engine. "We will need about an hour, are you hungry?" Without waiting to hear Marcus's reply he opened the glove box and a small treasure trove of chocolate bars and other sugary snacks became visible. "You need a lot of energy to keep warm in this weather." The man smiled and Marcus returned it in kind. He and Pavel would get along just fine, Marcus was sure.

By the time they had reached the small base in the middle of nowhere Marcus had learned pretty much everything about Pavel's rather large family. If the man could fight like he talked they would be able to hold off an invasion without any problems.

Pavel showed him the barracks and promised Marcus to give him the full tour later. "As you can see, everything is really new and nice. But we are the only team here right now. Normally it should be up to five teams, but they just can't find enough people willing to do the job. Not me of course, as I said before…." Marcus watched Pavel and was not sure if he even drew breath or needed air at all.

The sun was finally up and it promised to be a nice clear day with -10°C. Pavel led Marcus to the canteen, where the rest of the team was at this time. They entered the small building and found a warm room with several tables and a counter full of food. Three people stopped their breakfast and openly checked him out. The oldest of the three, a man in his 40s, stood up and shook Marcus' hand.

"Welcome Mister Freimann. I'm Luca Russo, the team leader." Marcus nodded. "Marcus is just fine for me," he answered, trying to control his nerves. One after the other, the team members introduced themselves. The young woman with the short blond hair was Janette Brown from England. Lars Nilsen was a tall, reserved man from Norway, with striking blue eyes.

After the introduction everybody went back to eating and Marcus also got himself something, that was for once not purely made out of sugar. "Now spill the beans big man. What is your class?" Janette went right for the jugular, while Marcus still had a piece of bread in his mouth. "Janette, you are rude. You can not just ask somebody for their class." The tall blond Norwegian scolded her. "Alright," she sighed. "My name is Janette and I'm a level 4 Hawkeye. And what are you?" She asked, playing the role of a grade school girl. Everybody laughed but their eyes rested on Marcus anyway.

The moment he had dreaded for the whole journey had come, and it was the worst circumstance. Marcus swallowed a few times and cleared his throat to gain a few more seconds. "Ehmm. I'm a Fighter, level 1."

"YEESS!" Janette jumped up from her seat and struck a victory pose. "I'm no longer the arse of the trash caravan. Somebody with a worse class than me has finally appeared." The room erupted in laughter.