A Focused Mind

Johnny stepped out of his room, fully dressed holding the side where Mango stabbed him. His memories still fresh with all that happened, Lea following close behind in her tight suit pants. Her face was calm, but her eyes scanned everything.

The moment they hit the living room, John stopped short.

His apartment had been transformed into a full-blown CIA command center now.

Chief Roman, Deputy Director Kate Stein, and Director Stan Hoffman were all huddled around some poor analyst, barking orders at a glowing monitor. The screen showed a warehouse down by the Boston Harbor, grainy in grayscale surveillance.

“Alright,” Hoffman snapped, “as soon as Agent One enters, I want a full recording. High-res. No glitches or we “lost power” or any of that bullshit!”

“Copy that,” said a chorus of analyst voices, scrambling like interns before a fire drill.

John stepped forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder.

“Hey, I know this might be above my clearance, but… what is the mission that needed MY apartment?”

Roman gave him that signature half-smile. “Well, technically… not your apartment anymore.”

“You talked to my landlord?”

“You know how it is,” Roman said, hands up like this was all perfectly normal. “Anyway, I’m just here for the pass-off.”

Roman tapped Stein on the arm. She looked up, then gave a quick signal to Director Hoffman.

“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” she said.

Next thing John knew, he was crammed inside his own bathroom like it was a bunker. Five people. One toilet. No windows. No space to breathe.

He looked around. “Seriously? We’re doing this in the bathroom? My bedroom is free.”

“It’s secure,” Hoffman said flatly. “No mics. No bugs. No echoes.”

“How’s your side holding up?” Stein asked, arms folded.

“I’m good,” John muttered.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Two assassination attempts in one week. It’s only a matter of time.”

He didn’t argue. They were right. And in the CIA, when they were right, it meant they already made plans to do whatever they wanted.

“So,” he said, “what’s next?”

Stein leaned against the sink. “Roman told us you’re not thrilled about fieldwork. So we’ve reassigned the main operation.”

John exhaled, relieved. “Thank you! Finally, someone with sense.”

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Hoffman said. “You’re off the duty, not off the hook.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Hoffman met his gaze head-on. “You went to your father’s funeral today?”

“You know I did. I had agents watching me. Everything was recorded. I walked in, laid the rose, shook my sister’s hand, kissed my mom. Peter gave me the finger from a distance and Jade gave me a business card. I gave that card to you the second I got in the car.”

“Right,” Stein nodded. “But this thing… this war between your siblings? It’s coming whether we like it or not. And since you’re riding with us, we’ve got to be ready.”

“We’re listening to your wire,” Stein said. “The one in your shoes. Smart move, by the way. Letting them think it was in your jacket. Brilliant misdirection. They never suspected a thing.”

John looked at Roman. He gave a tiny nod. The quiet kind that says ‘I got you.’

Hoffman took over. “Your brother wasn’t bluffing about that satellite. It went up. But we don’t know what it does, and we can’t get in. If it's important enough to mention, it means we need to be in the loop.”

“Can’t you hack it?” asked Lea.

“Not this one,” Stein said. “We need access codes. And we know who has them.”

John tilted his head. “Let me guess. You want me to find him.”

“Not find him,” Hoffman corrected. “Identify him.”

Stein stepped forward. “We have a codename only: Bailiff.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” John said, thinking.

“Well,” Roman cut in, “ all we know is that he was at the funeral.”

“Which means you’ve probably met him,” Stein said.

“If I don’t,” John said, “and my brother gets those codes…”

“Who knows what he’ll do,” Stein finished.

John dropped onto the toilet lid, elbows on his knees, palms pressed to his face. His brother was a live wire. His sister was calculating. Cold. If either of them got that satellite…

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. But only to destroy the satellite. This isn’t about loyalty, it’s about safety.”

“We’re aligned,” Stein replied.

“But I want something in return,” John added.

“No deal,” Stein said immediately. “You do it. Or we get creative.”

And when the CIA gets creative, people disappear.

John swallowed hard. “Got any leads?”

Roman grinned. “Funny you ask. Comes from the agent you’ll be paired with.”

He pulled out his phone, flipped to a picture. “This is Agent Hawk.”

Redhead. Freckled. Irish. Lean and mean. The kind of guy who could blend in anywhere.

“Bailiff’s on the Amtrak Floridian. Chicago to Fort Lauderdale,” Stein said. “You link up with Hawk, point the guy out, and get off at the next stop.”

“Easiest job ever,” Lea said. “You survived a five-story dive. This will be easy!”

“Yeah, sure,” John said. “That’s what you said before.”

“One more thing,” Hoffman said. “Since you're in the field now… we’re giving you a FOCUS.”

John’s jaw clenched. “So you do use my father’s tech.”

“We don’t buy it from him,” Roman said quickly.

“But you use it,” John barked. “That’s what matters.”

Hoffman raised his hands. “It keeps agents alive. Outside of the objectives, that’s the top mission.”

“And once it’s in my head, it’s permanent,” John said.

Stein spoke gently. “It helps. More than you know. Reflexes, memory, strategy—everything.”

John scanned the room. “None of you have one. So why me?”

“Because you’re walking into a warzone,” Lea said. “And I’d rather you enhanced and alive than stubborn and dead.”

John turned on her. “It’s not your life, Lea! It’s mine.”

“And if you die, don’t think that won’t matter,” she snapped. “You agreed to this.”

“This is why I left,” he said, almost whispering.

“Then go get yourself killed for all I care!” she said, storming out. The door slammed behind her.

Silence.

Roman smirked. “You really hate making her mad, don’t you?”

“We’re just friends,” John said, folding his arms.

Stein rolled her eyes. Hoffman laughed.

“Sure,” he said. “And workplace romances are strictly forbidden.”

John looked at the floor. “Just shoot the damn thing into my brain already.”

***

The lights were too bright.

That was the first thing he noticed.

Not the cold paper under his face. Not the fact that his mattress was gone and replaced with a slab of some hardboard table. No. It was the damn lights.

White. Unforgiving. Sterile.

His bedroom had been cleared. No laptops. No furniture. Just a pulse monitor and a tray of tools that looked like they belonged in a horror movie.

John tried to turn his head, and when he did, he caught a blurry glimpse of Chief Roman and Lea standing nearby. Watching. Waiting. Both of them out of place in a room like this.

Lea reached down and grabbed his hand. She didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

That made him more sure of himself than any words could.

Then darkness.

Total. Absolute.

He felt himself falling. Slow at first, then like gravity had decided to take things personal and he plummeted.

There was no ceiling. No walls. No floor. Just a drop. A void. The kind of black that swallowed your soul.

He reached out, arms flailing for something, anything. Nothing answered.

Then… something cold. A surface. He hit it hard. Rolled.

A voice stirred in his head.

<<<>>>

[Where… where am I?]

<<<>>>

“Where are you?” John asked the void, “Who are you?”

<<<>>>

[Connecting… Processing…]

[Host identified.]

[System syncing…]

<<<>>>

“Hello? Who said that?” asked John.

His fingers scraped along the ground, gritty and wet like a sewer tunnel, but there was no smell. No echo.

Just black.

Then a glow in the distance. Like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

A face appeared. Familiar. Too familiar.

His father.

Michael Nero stood there, all calm and glowing like some kind of divine screensaver. The warmth of his face made the blackness curl backward, like light pushing back smoke.

And suddenly, it was dinner.

His father at the head of the table. His mother, Ruth, smiled faintly. Jade to the left. Peter on the right.

The whole family. Intact. Together. They were at their old home on the outskirts of boston. The oak table, the crystal chandelier. Everything was just as he remembered. Except he had trouble reaching the table. It was bigger than he remembered.

He looked down at his hands. Small. Chubby. Baby skin. The hands of a five year old.

What the hell? Is this a memory or a dream?

John stared at his reflection in a wine glass. A child. No stubble. No scars.

“What is this?” he whispered.

“John,” his father said gently. “We love you.”

That voice. It always sounded like gospel and gasoline.

“I love you so much, son.”

“Shut up,” John said. “This isn’t real.”

“You know what you have to do,” Jade said.

John shook his head. “No. I don’t want to. There has to be another way!”

“There isn’t,” Peter said. “But don’t worry. We’ll be together again. Someday. After everything has moved on.”

His chair was flung back to the other side of the kitchen. He hopped out and ran. John ran toward them. Toward the table. Toward his family.

But the harder he ran, the farther it got. Like the hallway in a nightmare. Like a treadmill set to maximum punishment.

The table kept shrinking, like the whole memory was disappearing into a drain.

His chest burned. His breath choked. His eyes blurred with tears—

And then he gasped awake.

His body jerked upright like he was coming out of a drowning dream.

Back in the room. Back in the lights. Back in the pain.

Just one breath. One horrible, burning breath.

But he was alive.

For now.

The first thing John felt was pain. A low, sharp throb right at the base of his skull, like someone had tapped a nail into the top of his neck and just left it there.

He sat up fast. Too fast. The world spun in response.

Around him, the room was buzzing. CIA personnel hovered like ants over a dead wasp. Bright lights flooded the ceiling. Monitors glowed. Even his dresser had been moved. What used to be his bedroom now looked like the inside of a sterilized tech lab.

He was panting, sweat running down his face even though the AC was blasting.

“Is he supposed to be awake already?” Deputy Stein asked, arms folded, voice cool but clearly surprised. “We thought we had a few more minutes.”

“No,” said a voice from the side. A doctor. The one John recognized from the safe house. Still had that same weirdly calm energy, like he could deliver a terminal diagnosis without blinking. “He’s supposed to be under for at least another hour.”

“Then why’s he awake?” Stein asked.

The doctor hesitated. “Could be the FOCUS. Sometimes… they speed things up.”

John blinked a few times, dragging himself into reality. His neck felt stiff. Reaching back and touching his kitchen spot, he could tell it was tender, even as it was numbed up. He couldn’t find the scar though he knew it had to be there.

“That where you put it?” he asked, voice dry.

The doctor nodded. “Only two insertion points. Between the hemispheres… or right at the base of the stem. We didn’t have time for a full cranial route. So… brainstem it is. We closed up the area with light activated glue, unlike with your side wound.”

John groaned. “Feels like you used a crowbar.”

“How do you feel?” Lea’s voice broke through. She stepped closer, her concern buried under her usual composed tone.

“I don’t know,” John muttered. “Am I supposed to feel something?”

“Right now, the device is still fusing,” the doctor said. “Soon, you should feel a pop.”

John’s head tilted. “A what?”

“A pop,” the doctor repeated. “That’s when the FOCUS finishes melting into your nervous system. It’s subtle. But after that, you’ll be fully synced.”

“Yippee,” John said under his breath.

“With the fusion complete, we can make some fine-tuned adjustments,” the doctor added. “Little tech magic. Precision adjustments based on the CIA’s system.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “I thought the job was done once it was in.”

“Nope,” the doc said casually. “But KJ can explain the rest. Let’s move to the living room.”

John sat up fully now. The sheet beneath him was soaked—and not with sweat. Blood. Dried around the edges, still tacky in the center.

There was no IV in his arm. No drip. No post-op setup.

“Man, I’m thirsty. How long was I out?”

“Six hours,” Lea answered.

John looked at the clock. “Then it’s… what? Nine a.m.?”

“It is,” said Director Hoffman, appearing in the doorway like an ominous screensaver.

The op was clearly over. His apartment was buzzing with people packing up gear, closing laptops, pulling wires from outlets. Bright morning light spilled through the slatted blinds.

John shuffled to the door, holding the side of his neck.

“Right this way,” the doctor said, motioning him toward the living room. “Take a seat. KJ will get you started.”

“KJ?” John echoed.

He stepped into the living room and immediately spotted him. He was skinny and his glasses were too big for his face. He had pale skin and a frizzy afro that looked like it lost a war with humidity. Two goofy dimples and already crouching smile marks colored his face.

The guy was crouched behind John’s TV, fiddling with cables.

“This is John,” the doctor said. “He’s ready.”

KJ spun around, grinning like a kid who just found out recess got extended.

“Yo! You’re alive! Nice. I’m KJ.” He stuck out his hand.

John shook it weakly. “Sorry about the grip. Still climbing out of the underworld.”

“Hey, I get it,” KJ said. “What I don’t get is this TV. You’ve only got two HDMI ports? Not even a third for auxiliary? Who raised you?”

John blinked. “It was my first TV. From like, five years ago.”

“You still use this thing? Bro, I could build one better than this in my sleep..”

“Can we focus now?” Deputy Stein cut in, her voice sharper than usual.

“Ha! Focus! Get it?” KJ grinned wide. “That was a pun.”

Stein gave him a look so deadpan it could’ve frozen lava. He looked around the room and noticed no one else was laughing either.

KJ cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Right. Serious time. Got it.”

He grabbed the ottoman from the corner and dragged it into the center of the room. “Here. Sit. We’re about to tune your brain implant a little. Let’s boot this bad boy up.”

John barely had time to sit before KJ rolled in two clunky black suitcases like he was late for a tech convention.

“Alright,” KJ said, rubbing his hands together. “This is gonna take a little tweaking, but it shouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“What shouldn’t hurt?” John asked, already regretting the question.

“You’ll see,” KJ grinned. “Just take a seat.”

KJ unzipped two suitcases on the floor, hit a button on each side, and pop-pop, mechanical panels slid upward like a transformer. A second later, radio-like dishes extended from each case. They were spinning, adjusting, pointing directly at John’s head like a pair of metal bullseyes.

KJ nudged the dishes in, just close enough for John’s temples to be dead center.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said, like a kid about to launch a firework.