Peter Pays The Piper - Part 1

The sea churned outside the glass windows. Wind howled across the top deck. There was a storm coming. Peter could feel it in the pressure of the air.

Inside his private office, he was drinking hard liquor.

A plasma screen on the far wall played a live news broadcast. Static flickered now and then, but the anchors’ voices came through clear:

“—the largest non-nuclear explosion recorded in Tokyo’s metropolitan area since World War II. Still no word from Japanese authorities on what caused the catastrophic blast that leveled a mile-wide radius on the outskirts of the city…”

He sat back in a black leather chair, his fingers tented together in front of him, eyes unfocused as he stared not at the screen, but at the photo lying in front of him on the desk.

It was an old one. A wrestling medal glinted around his teenage neck. His skin was glossy with sweat, his hair shorter, face a little leaner. He stood in full singlet, arm wrapped around a tall, broad man in a navy suit. His father. The elder Nero had one arm around Peter’s shoulder, a grin etched with pride. A smile that said, “That’s my boy,” but also, “This isn’t enough.”

The other pictures on the desk painted his past. Jade, John, and him posing with finger guns like a knock-off Charlie’s Angels. Another one at a theme park, everyone younger, smaller. There was even a shot of Bullock before the scars, holding a giant corn dog and laughing like an idiot.

Peter stared at the photos, then scooped them up and shoved them into a drawer. Except the one with his dad. That one stayed.

A knock on the door.

Bullock entered, the faint hum of electricity from the ship’s core vibrating behind him. The man ducked under the frame, as always, built like a refrigerator with fists.

“Boss,” he said, stepping forward. “You seen the news?”

“I’m glad it wasn’t so slow,” Peter said.

“Underground’s in disbelief. Half the families had people at that arena. Some of ‘em VIPs. Important buyers. Trusted suppliers. You burned them alive with that goddamn satellite!”

Peter didn’t respond at first. He reached over to a silver decanter, poured himself another glass of bourbon.

Bullock cleared his throat. “They’re pissed. ‘Put a bounty on your head’ pissed.”

“So?”

“So they’ll come for us. We’ve already had two angry messages from the Bravos and one coded threat from the Shah.”

Peter sipped his drink. “Tell the Bravos they can shove their messages up their olive-skinned asses. And the Shah has been threatening us since dad was alive. He won’t do shit.”

The TV anchor switched to a talking head in a suit, now speculating about foreign weapons tech being involved in the Tokyo blast.

“You really think this was smart?” Bullock asked finally, stepping closer to the desk. “Boss… respectfully… that was loud. Your father never pulled shit like this.”

Peter looked at the photo.

“No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

“Would he have?”

Peter tilted his head. “Maybe. If he were twenty-six, trying to prove to the world that he was more than just his dad’s shadow. Maybe he would’ve. But Grandad was a dickhead.”

“Or maybe he’d have known this kind of move paints a target on your back.”

“You think I care what the other families think?” He pointed up at the screen, then gestured out the window toward the black sky above the sea. “This was power. Undeniable, inescapable, un-fucking-matchable power.

They’ll say they’re angry. They’ll bitch. They’ll threaten. But when the smoke clears, when they’re sitting in their bunkers thinking about how they’re gonna keep up? They’ll remember who still has access to the big red button. Me.”

He stood now, towering over the desk.

“You don’t get taken seriously as a young mafia boss. Not without blood. Not without fear. I just wiped out every doubter in one move. And sure, some good customers died. But that just makes room for the real ones. The ones who want this kind of heat on their side.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

“That’s what you’re here for.”

The storm outside intensified. Thunder cracked in the distance. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the dark water around them.

“I did what I had to do.” Peter said, “You can’t be in control of criminals that don’t fear you. I’m not my father, and I’m not trying to be. I’m better. He built the empire. I’ll weaponize it! And I’ll use all of my power to control the underworld. To rule over them so nothing ever gets fought over again.

You wanna talk about bodies? How many people have died over the years of us squabbling like idiots? What about the hundreds of children and thousands of friends? What about our family? No more. I will control the underworld to have a unified front, whether they like it or not! For the first time ever, one unified underworld government, ONE big family. And I’m at the head of the fuckin dinner table.”

Peter downed the rest of his drink.

“Besides, I’m closer now,” Peter said. “If John wasn’t dead before, he sure as hell is now.”

“You didn’t see the body.”

“I saw the blast. No one could survive that.”

“Still,” Bullock muttered, “not seeing the body… that might bite us in the ass.”

“If he can still get to me from beyond the grave, then maybe I deserve to die.”

The flat-screen mounted on the wall crackled.

Peter had just turned back toward the desk when the image blinked, then flickered into something new. His sister Jade.

She stared straight ahead from whatever setup she was using, her mouth set in a tight line. Clean white and blue dress. Those signature streaks of blue running through her sculpted hair.

Peter froze mid-step. “The hell—?”

Jade tilted her head, like she was examining a bug under glass.

“Well, well. Didn’t think you’d actually be watching the news you made,” she said.

“How the fuck did you break into my TV?”

“Please,” Jade scoffed. “You’re riding around in a floating fortress running off commercial-grade satellite internet and using an 18-digit and letter password. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

He turned to Bullock. “Change all the security protocols. Everything. Use military-grade encryption.”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. You can change your locks a thousand times. I’ll always have the keys. Besides, I won’t be long. Hey Bullock! We should catch up sometime.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop acting like an insane maniac,” she snapped. “You used a satellite laser to obliterate a piece of Tokyo. That weapon was meant to be a deterrent. Like a nuke. You don’t use it. You just let people know you could.”

“A threat’s not a deterrent,” Peter said flatly. “It’s a bluff and bluffs don’t scare anyone!”

“You don’t burn the house down just to kill one rat. You think Dad would’ve signed off on this?”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like you knew him better than I did.”

“You won’t be him and you never will. And now the whole underground thinks you’ve lost your mind. Even some of our own buyers are pulling out. You’re not looking like a genius right now. You’re looking like a liability.”

“This coming from the woman who tried to oven bomb me and John? Real original by the way. Plus we both lived. I thought you were some kinda genius.”

“That was different,” she hissed.

“Really?” Peter stepped closer to the screen. “Because when I saw that oven shoot lighting, trying to rearrange my face, it felt exactly the same.”

“You’re a hot headed idiot!” she shouted. “Always were! No wonder John is going after you instead of me first.”

Peter grew a dark smirk on his face. “He’s dead, Jade. I vaporized half a block and dropped it on his head. You think you’re mad now? Wait until I find you.”

Jade didn’t flinch, but her eyes flickered.

Peter stepped back, lifted the remote, and pointed it at the screen.

“See you soon, sis.”

He pulled the trigger on his gun.

BANG!

The screen exploded in a shower of sparks and glass, fragments scattering across the room. Smoke curled upward from the frame like it had been executed.

Peter lowered the weapon and turned to Bullock, calm as can be.

“Cut all external comms. Scrub the network. No signals in or out except for the satellite.”

He picked up the photo of him and his dad again. His fingers rested on the corner, smudging the edge.

“I’m not the son anymore.”

He set it back down.

“I’m the man.”

*******

The rear cargo bay of the C-130 Hercules echoed with the low, constant hum of its engines. It was a large plane, built to carry tanks, guns, and any other cargo. The floor of the loading dock was metal-plated, faintly vibrating underfoot. Behind them, crates were strapped down in tight netting. Ahead, a long table bolted to the floor displayed a single holographic projector embedded into its surface.

John sat on the edge of the table, already zipped up in his matte-black jumpsuit, reinforced with fiber armor lining down the ribs. Laz was across from him, tightening the straps on his boots.

Then the metal bathroom door hissed open and Mango stepped out.

No amount of military-grade polymer could hide the curve of her hips or the way the suit hugged her toned ass. Her zipper was down just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the full, smooth valley of cleavage.

“Well?” she asked.

“Where the hell did you get these suits?”

“Bought it,” Mango said, spinning once. “... from John’s family dealer.”

John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He tapped the table.

A low hum sounded as the projector lit up, casting a glowing blue map in the air above it. A 3D wireframe model of a massive yacht spun slowly in midair.

“This,” John said, pointing, “is my brother’s pride and joy.”

Mango crossed her arms. “Looks expensive.”

“Because it is,” Laz muttered.

John zoomed in on the deck. “Three key areas: bridge, vault room, and communication room. The satellite uplink’s our main target. Peter’s going to want it guarded. Probably has internal redundancies. Backup links. So we do this clean.”

“And quiet,” Mango added.

John nodded. “Mango, you’re getting the codes from Peter’s private vault. Laz, you take him down just in case we can’t stop the satellite. I’ll disable the uplink and server control before he gets trigger-happy. Once we have the codes, we leave and use them to make the satellite self-destruct.”

Laz cracked his neck. “Sounds like fun.”

Laz reached into a small case on the table and pulled out three slim metal containers. He handed one to each of them. “You’ll both need this.”

“What’s this?” Mango asked, turning the cylinder in her hand.

“Micro-putty,” Laz said. “FOCUS-compatible. Think of it like high-tech makeup. When combined with the Face Changer skill, it lets you mold your face to match almost any appearance. Basic use is cosmetic. Advanced use? You can walk past your own mother and she wouldn’t flinch.”

John scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we don’t have that skill.”

Laz face scrunched. “What? It comes standard with you’re–”

Laz caught himself when John gave him a look. Mango still didn’t know they were CIA.

“Fine,” he said, “I guess I’ll give it to you. I stole it from a Russian spy.”

“Hell yeah,” said Mango excitedly.

“I’m not giving it to you!”

“I’m a part of the mission,” she said with a wide smile.

Laz grumbled. “Yeah, yeah.”

Laz pulled out a transfer device from under the table and prepped the pads.

“Ladies first,” said John.

“Such a gentleman,” said Laz.

Laz and Mango sat down on the bench along the wall and plugged up. John watched as they both briefly went unconscious. About a minute later, they came back to life. Mango unplugged herself and happily handed it to John. John sat down and plugged in.

A soft electric zap surged through John’s spine. Then—

Everything went black.

John found himself suspended in a black void. The same one as before where he was in the yellow bubble above the water. He was a child in a suit once more. He looked over to Laz. Laz was a redheaded kid with freckles in casual clothes.

John didn’t know what he expected, but Laz looked like a normal kid. However, kid Laz looked him up and down with a judgmental face. John figured it was probably the suit that was throwing him off. Laz shrugged and the giant interface appeared.

A red screen materialized in front of him, lines of glowing code scrolling across its surface.

<<<>>>

[Request received: Skill Deliverance]

[User Laz requests: Delivery of Face Changer (Spy Skill)]

[This gift is permanent. Do you accept?]

<<<>>>

John hovered his hand over the [Accept] button.

He clicked.

<<<>>>

[Do you wish to delete any skills?]

<<<>>>

The screen showed his skill slots. Four were taken. He clicked [No].

A rush of warmth flowed through his mind as if he had just been dumped into a bubbling jacuzzi. He could feel Laz’s presence faintly across the link.

<<<>>>

[Skill Transfer Complete]

[New Skill Added: Face Changer (Spy)]

[Skill is placed in slot 5]

[Skill slots now full]

[To add any new skills, one will need to be removed]

[Now rebooting…]

<<<>>>

John inhaled deeply. His mind flickered its way back into reality. John and Laz unplugged themselves and then went over to the table. John opened up the silver disc to see a clear white putty. He put it into his hands.

FOCUS, he thought. Activate skill: Face Changer.

<<<>>>

[Activating Skill: Face Changer. Micro-putty detected. Begin facial morph sequence.]

<<<>>>

John’s hands moved automatically. FOCUS hijacked the fine motor controls of his muscles, shifting tendons and skin like sculpting clay. It was a strange, weightless feeling—his vision flickered, but when it settled, he reached for a small mirror.

Gone was John Nero. In his place, a sharp-jawed man with lower cheek bones and a mole.

He saw that Mango’s face had changed to look thicker and it gave her a slight scar on her lower lip.

Mango blinked. “Whoa. That’s creepy.”

Laz had already activated his. His transformation was even more dramatic. Tighter jaw, more wrinkles, different bone contour. Even his voice dropped an octave, distorted like gravel in a blender.

“Mine’s a higher-level variant,” Laz said, sounding like someone else entirely. “Still can’t change your eye color or voice from the inside. But if you train the skill, the system compensates and moves your vocal cords.”

Mango held her micro-putty in front of her face, grinning. “I’m keeping this.”

“No, you’re not,” Laz said flatly. “You’re borrowing it.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not. I’ll take it back.”

“By force?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cute,” she said, then looked at John. “You always hang out with people this fun?”

John gave her a crooked grin. “You haven’t seen him at parties.”

Laz rolled his eyes. “Let’s stay focused. Once we land, it’s go time. No screw ups. No bullshit. Things need to go exactly as planned this time. No telling what he might do.”

The plane shuddered slightly, descending toward the sea.

John turned back to the hologram, eyes narrowing on the satellite tower at the rear of the ship.

This was it.

And he still had no idea if he would have what it takes to kill him. Best have Laz do it and get it over with.

******

The back ramp of the Hercules dropped open, the night wind howling through the hold. Below them, the black sea churned in slow, endless waves. The ship was barely visible in the distance, glowing like a neon star on the water. Something about this was off. It was too bright for a ship that was sailing in secret.

John stood at the edge of the ramp. Beside him, Mango pulled her goggles down, already smirking.

“Ready?” Laz asked, voice low through the comms.

“Does it matter,” John asked. “FOCUS.”

The holographic screen blinked in front of his vision.

<<<>>>

[Loading… Now accessing F.O.C.U.S: Field Operative Cybernetic Uplink System. Now live. User Identification: John Nero.]

[Classification: Spy]

[Mission: Acquire codes, destroy satellite uplink, take down Peter.]

[Reward: Increase in Data XP, Regain Official CIA status with codes as a bargain]

[Do you accept?]

<<<>>>

The screen popped up with a “Yes” or “No”.

Yes, the thought, I accept.

<<<>>>

[Mission: Start!]

<<<>>>

A timer started on the screen from zero.

They jumped.

The wind roared in their faces. Cold and strong. They released their suits and landed in the water.

SPLASH!

When they resurfaced, they kicked in silence to the ship.

When they reached the hull, John reached into his pouch and pulled out the suction cups. He placed one against the metal. One by one, they ascended the side of the vessel. Then they reached the rail.

John peeked up first. There were lights, music and laughter.

He climbed the rest of the way, staying low. His gloved hands gripped the rail as he rose just enough to see the deck…

A party! Full-blown Vegas styled debauchery.

Strobe lights pulsed in rhythm to bass-heavy dance music. Bikini-clad women danced on glowing tables. Men in tailored suits stumbled drunk past each other, bottles of champagne dangling from limp wrists. Hookahs. Fire dancers. Giant chocolate fountains. They had it all.

Is his brother celebrating killing him and all those people? Seriously?

Mango popped up beside him and froze.

“Is that…?” she started.

“A stripper pole?” John finished. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Laz climbed up last, his eyes narrowed beneath his goggles.

“Of course it’s a party. What else does killing people make you feel like doing?” he said.

“Well… silver lining?” Mango said. “Best damn distraction we could ask for.”

John nodded slowly. “Let’s not waste it.”

Laz climbed on board while John and Mango waited for his signal.