Victor Lee (call him Victor from now on) was out cold.
Victor felt himself floating in darkness.
Not regular darkness—this stuff was thick, almost solid, like tar clinging to every inch of his skin.
His brain felt like it had been shattered into a million pieces and then crudely glued back together. It hit him hard: This is bad. My brain was already too slow to get into high school, and now it's been smashed again?
Pain?
Nah, this was deeper—like someone was rewriting his DNA from the ground up.
"Hang in there, kid."
A faint voice echoed deep in his mind. "I left you a little parting gift."
Victor tried to ask what it meant, but his lips—if he even still had lips—wouldn't move.
The voice kept going: "Iron bones, steel kidneys, super-fast metabolism… enough to keep you alive in this messed-up world. I'm out. This place is dead! …I see a torch of light up ahead!"
The voice faded, replaced by a screeching metal grind.
Victor felt something yank him through layer after layer of darkness until—
BAM!
His back slammed onto a hard surface.
Victor's eyes snapped open. Blinding light forced them shut again.
He gasped for air, lungs burning like they'd been sanded raw.
"Damn it…"
When his eyes finally adjusted, Victor realized he was sprawled inside a cramped, converted shipping container.
Rusty metal walls were plastered with faded posters. A ratty mattress sat in the corner—he was lying on it.
Rain hammered the roof like a drum solo. The air reeked of mold and cheap cleaner.
Victor tried to sit up. His body felt like it weighed a ton.
He looked at his arms—still thick as ever!
Same gut, same tree-trunk legs.
But now, under every inch of fat, he could feel solid muscle—muscle strong enough to throw around his nearly three-hundred-pound frame like it was nothing.
"What the hell…"
He dragged himself to a cracked mirror in the corner. Even the second time seeing it, he barely recognized the guy staring back.
Same bone structure, but his face was rounder—round like a damn pig.
Memory fragments clicked into place:
Victor always came off slow, like his brain lagged half a second behind. Truth was, Lee Shengli had been buffering for years. Eighteen years ago, a system called "Red Flying Cry" bailed, leaving Victor with a freak-of-nature body:
- Super-fast metabolism: He could grow on scraps.
- Iron bones: Took beatings like a champ and packed on fat like armor.
- Steel kidneys: Gave him a nine-inch… asset… which meant his uncle kept pimping him out to lonely aunts for free meals.
"Son of a—I used to be a dragon?!"
Victor punched the container wall. Metal crumpled with a teeth-grinding screech.
"Hiss…"
He stared at his fist—hurt like hell. Iron bones didn't mean Wolverine healing.
But the power? Real strong.
The rain outside roared louder. Hunger hit like a freight train, throat dry as the Sahara.
His stomach growled like thunder. Quick metabolism meant food didn't stick around.
He scanned the container: mattress, plastic bin of dirty clothes, nothing else.
Victor shoved the door open. Cold rain slapped his face. South Side Chicago sprawled out:
Muddy paths, rusted-out cars, crumbling apartments in the distance.
Most eye-catching? The deep-red house on the right, porch sign crookedly reading "Gallagher House."
Rain soaked his collar. Victor checked his pockets—empty.
No wallet, no phone, not even a damn quarter.
Uncle dumped him here to fend for himself, like tossing out old furniture. Survive, and maybe he'd get to hustle.
Victor knew his uncle. The guy was a dock foreman, night shift. Aunt's house was locked tight after dark.
Hunger clawed again—worse this time, like ants devouring his gut. Fast metabolism meant his tank was always empty.
His eyes locked on Gallagher House. Lights on, smell of food drifting out.
He licked cracked lips and made up his mind.
Rain pounded him, but Victor barely felt cold—his body locked at 99.0°F.
He slogged through the mud, each step sinking deep.
Nearing the house, he heard the chaos inside: TV blaring, yelling, kids laughing—a messy, alive symphony.
Victor took a deep breath and knocked.
The door flew open. A white kid with dirty dreads eyed him warily.
"Hey…"
Victor's voice came out gravelly. Seeing the dreads kid, it shot up an octave: "It's YOU!!!"
He froze. Behind the kid stood Nick—the big Black guy.
Nick's eyes bugged out, lips trembling.
"Victor, chill. You've known me since you were twelve."
Dreads kid—Carl Gallagher, name clicked—raised a brow: "Fatso, today you're my hero. You knocked 180-pound Mark clean across the yard with one punch!"
Before Victor could beg for food, Frank appeared:
"Jesus Christ, you look like Godzilla fresh from the lake—and your junk's practically waving hello!"
He swallowed. "Victor, get in here!"
Victor glanced down. Yeah, the outline was… obvious.
And just like that, Victor stepped into the Gallagher chaos for the Nth time.
Warm air hit him, thick with frying bacon, beer, and cheap perfume.
Living room was packed:
A Black woman next to a sharp-eyed brown-haired guy—Fiona's ex, Sean. Debbie stirred something.
"Fiona, can you feed my two buddies?"
Carl yelled. Fiona Gallagher sighed:
"Victor? He owes me a week's worth of meals! Dry the floor first. Carl, grab a towel. Nick, stop messing with that in the living room—you'll filth up the place!"
Victor stood awkwardly on the mat, dripping.
Nick leaned in, whispering: "You good, man? You looked ready to kill me earlier."
"I'm fine."
Victor peeled off his shirt, revealing ripped fat-guy muscle and a round gut, wrung it out, put it back: "I was pissed, didn't recognize you. Why're you guys here?"
"You got expelled. Six-on-one counts as self-defense."
Nick shrugged. "I tried telling the principal the truth, but you know—South Side Black kid's word don't mean squat. So I got booted too."
Frank tossed him a faded towel. Victor mumbled thanks and scrubbed his hair.
His stomach roared again—loud enough for the whole room.
Fiona raised a brow: "Somebody's starving. Carl, check the kitchen."
Sean headed in, whipping up slop fast.
Victor caught Sean's sharp stare as he passed—like the guy could see the steel under his skin.
Construction guys fear one line: "Gambling dad, sick mom, kid brother in school, broken home." They don't fear a stare-down. Victor met it head-on.
Sean broke first, voice stiff:
"Two months from graduation—why pick now to swing?"
Victor didn't answer. Grabbed a half-gallon of milk, chugged it.
Minutes later, he sat at the crowded Gallagher table, food piled high:
Leftover pizza, half a box of cereal, bread slices, and a sketchy stew.
The Gallagher kids circled, staring at the "stranger."
"So, two months from graduation, you punch your diploma goodbye!"
Fiona leaned in the doorway. "What got into you?"
Victor's mouth was stuffed with pizza.
Food tasted better than anything in memory. His teeth crushed the crust like cardboard.
"Was gonna die if I didn't."
"Hahaha!"
Debbie cracked up: "You're unkillable. Last gang shootout, you took two bullets—didn't even hit organs."
Victor gave a bitter smile: "Beat someone up, got expelled. End of story."
"Your uncle took two grand in rent from you,"
Carl cut in, "planned to blow fifteen hundred on a car, then have you unload ships at the docks with him."
Victor nearly choked—two grand?
Cheap.
Nick slid him water. Victor downed it.
He felt every Gallagher eye on him—especially Sean's dissecting stare.
Victor realized he was inhaling food too fast. Normal people would explode.
But the hunger raged. His body sucked up every calorie like a black hole.
He slowed down, tried to act human, but still demolished the spread.
"Whoa,"
Debbie's eyes went wide, "with you around, we don't need a garbage disposal!"
Fiona frowned: "Debbie, don't be mean."
Victor flushed, looked at Fiona and Sean: "Getting expelled might be a good thing. Now I can hustle legally."
Carl burst out laughing: "No more risking jail for your… clients!"
"Hahahaha!"
"Chicago's own typing chicken!"
trivia :
Book Background, Part Two
3. The Conglomerates
America's big-money conglomerates are basically a mix of giant financial institutions, asset-management firms, and old-school family fortunes. They've got their fingers in everything: finance, tech, defense, energy; you name it. Here are the heavy hitters and what makes them tick:
1. The Asset-Management Giants (aka "Wall Street's Big Three")
- BlackRock: The world's biggest asset manager, with over $10 trillion under its belt. They own huge chunks of Apple, Microsoft, Amazon, and more. They've also cashed in big-time on the Russia-Ukraine war through defense investments, buying up Ukrainian assets, and setting up post-war rebuilding funds (raking in a cool $47 billion).
- Vanguard: Manages around $8 trillion. They cross-own shares with BlackRock and together control a massive slice of the S&P 500.
- State Street: Handles about $4 trillion and rounds out the trio that basically runs the passive-investing game.
These three use index funds and ETFs to own a huge chunk of the stock market, which lets them sway corporate decisions and even government policy.
2. Old-School Finance & Banking Empires
- The Morgan Group (J.P. Morgan & Co.): Calls the shots at JPMorgan Chase and Morgan Stanley. They've got deep roots in finance, law, and accounting.
- The Rockefeller Group: Built on oil (ExxonMobil), defense (Lockheed Martin), and pharma. They also shape global policy through foundations like the Rockefeller Foundation.
3. Tech & New-Industry Players
- Silicon Valley Tech Titans: Think Meta (Zuckerberg), Google (Alphabet, Sergey Brin), Amazon (Bezos), and Tesla (Musk). These guys don't just rule tech; they lobby hard and pour money into politics to steer government decisions.
- NVIDIA (Jensen Huang): Thanks to its near-monopoly on AI chips, it's the most valuable semiconductor company on the planet.
4. The Military-Industrial Complex
- Lockheed Martin, Boeing, Raytheon, etc.: These defense giants live off massive government contracts. Guess who their biggest shareholders are? BlackRock and friends.
- Trump-Era "MAGA Crew": Guys like Peter Navarro (the trade-war mastermind) and defense lobbying groups pushed tariffs on China and military buildup.
5. Family Fortunes & Shadowy Players
- The Rothschilds: Super low-key these days, but rumors say they pull strings behind the scenes through outfits like BlackRock and Vanguard.
- The Koch Brothers (Koch Industries): Oil, chemicals, and a massive conservative political network; huge sway over U.S. energy policy.
4. The Military-Industrial Complex
The Military-Industrial Complex (MIC) is this giant web of the Pentagon, defense contractors, Congress, think tanks, universities, and media; all locked in a cozy, profit-driven hug. They lobby, trade favors, and hype up "threats" to keep the war machine humming and the cash flowing.
The term was coined by President Dwight D. Eisenhower in his 1961 farewell speech. He warned it could grab "unwarranted influence" and mess with democracy. (Funny enough, Ike was a five-star general himself, and the MIC really took off under his watch.)
How It Works
- Symbiotic Cash Flow: The military needs cutting-edge weapons; defense companies need fat government checks. Win-win.
- Congressional Kickbacks: Lawmakers green-light sky-high defense budgets and arms deals in exchange for jobs in their districts and campaign donations.
- Revolving Door: Retired generals land cushy defense-contractor gigs; execs slide into Pentagon roles. It's a carousel.
War Profiteering & Arms Races
Critics call the MIC "merchants of death." They inflate threats (think Cold War Soviets or the War on Terror) to justify endless spending.
Example: During the Russia-Ukraine war, companies like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon scored huge contracts. U.S. defense spending blew past $800 billion in 2023.
Tech + Capital = Next-Level MIC
Lately, Silicon Valley's jumped in: Meta, OpenAI, Palantir; they've ditched AI military bans to build anti-drone tech, VR training, etc.
Venture capital firms like Andreessen Horowitz (a16z) and Y Combinator poured $31 billion into defense-tech startups in 2024 alone.
The Fallout
- Economy: Defense eats up cash that could fix roads or schools. In 2022, the Pentagon got $782 billion; Biden's "Build Back Better" plan? Just $175 billion.
- Foreign Policy: Pushes America into endless wars (Iraq, Afghanistan) and locks allies into buying U.S. weapons (NATO's hooked).
- Society: Critics say it hijacks democracy, kills oversight, and traps us in a "permanent war economy."
5. The Commercial Boom of American Boxing
Boxing's value in the U.S. has skyrocketed over the decades, thanks to mega-events, superstar fighters, and the rise of TV and pay-per-view (PPV). Here are the key money-making milestones:
1. 1920s: The Birth of Big-Money Boxing
- The Dempsey Era: In 1921, Jack Dempsey vs. French champ Georges Carpentier drew 80,000 fans and pulled in $1.7 million in tickets; the first million-dollar gate. It was also the first fight broadcast nationwide on radio. Game-changer.
- 1926 Tunney vs. Dempsey: 120,000 fans, record-breaking gate that stood for half a century.
2. 1930s–1940s: Politics & Culture Collide
- Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling (1938): An American Black hero knocks out a German champ right before WWII. Huge morale boost and cemented boxing's place in U.S. culture.
3. 1960s–1970s: TV Gold & the Ali Effect
- Muhammad Ali: The first global sports superstar. His fights went worldwide, and TV made boxing a household event.
- Pay-TV Takes Off: In the '50s and '60s, fights became prime-time staples. Sponsors and networks poured in cash.
4. 1980s–1990s: Tyson Mania & PPV Explosion
- Mike Tyson: Late '80s to early '90s; the face of boxing's commercial peak. His fights raked in tens of millions each. The infamous 1997 "Ear Bite" vs. Holyfield was a global circus but insanely profitable.
- PPV Becomes King: Tyson's bouts made pay-per-view the cash cow of boxing.
5. 2015: Mayweather vs. Pacquiao; "The Fight of the Century"
- Record-Breaker: $500 million total. PPV alone: $300–400 million (4.6 million buys). Tickets: $72 million (scalped up to $140,000). The fighters split $300 million; Mayweather took home $180 million, Pacquiao $120 million.
- Global Hype: Social media blew up. It was the 1 TV event in China that night. Biggest money fight of the 21st century.
6. How Money Moves in American Boxing
The boxing biz is a machine fueled by TV deals, promoters, sponsors, Vegas, gyms, and merch. Here's the breakdown:
1. TV & Pay Models
- PPV: The golden goose. Networks like Showtime and ESPN pay top dollar for rights. Example: Tyson once signed a 6-fight, $120 million deal with Showtime.
- Streaming Shift: UFC's $7.7 billion deal with Paramount+ hints at moving from PPV to subscriptions; could shake up boxing too.
2. Promoters & Agents
- Promotion Companies: Top Rank (Bob Arum), Golden Boy (Oscar De La Hoya); they book fights, lock in TV deals and sponsors, and take a fat cut.
- Sports Agencies: IMG, PROSERV; they handle fighter contracts and endorsements, pocketing 15–30% commissions.
3. Vegas & Gambling Money
- Sin City hosts the mega-fights (like Mayweather-Pacquiao), raking in ticket sales, betting revenue, and tourism bucks.
4. Fitness & Franchising
- Gym Chains: Mayweather's boxing gyms franchise worldwide; $25,000 upfront + 6% of revenue.
- Merch: T-shirts, trading cards; fighters get 6–10% of sales.
5. Sponsors & Brand Deals
- Nike, Under Armour outfit top fighters. Booze, car brands, and others sponsor events. Big money.