Chapter 29: Peter Pays The Piper - Part 4

The air at the stern of the ship was thick with salt, gunmetal, and sweat. The once-loud party was done. Gone were the dancers, the drunks, the decadent chaos. What was left was silence and steel. Mango stood beside Laz, hands up, eyes locked on the bruised and scowling face of Bullock. Around them, six guards held rifles, military grade.

Peter stood at the head of it all, his suit no longer crisp, his composure slowly unraveling. The yacht’s deck lights gave his sweat an eerie sheen. Behind him, Bullock cracked his knuckles. His left eye was swollen. One of his lips was split. Mango smirked. At least she'd left a mark.

“Give me the ring,” Peter said.

Mango tilted her head, voice syrupy with innocence. “Ring? You think I’d take jewelry from your pet ogre? Not really my style.”

“Bullock.”

With a grunt, the brute stepped forward and snatched Laz up like a doll. One hand wrapped around Laz’s throat, the other under his belt, hoisting him over his head like he was about to chuck him into the sea.

“You got a last word?” Bullock growled.

Laz’s face stayed oddly calm, despite dangling above open water. “Yeah,” he choked out, eyes darting past Bullock. “Goodbye.”

BANG!

A shot cracked through the air.

Bullock roared in pain and dropped Laz instantly, grabbing at his thigh as blood began to seep through his pants. Laz hit the deck hard but rolled away.

Everyone spun toward the source of the gunshot.

John stood high above them on the communication tower, one foot on a railing, pistol raised. His black jumpsuit flapped in the wind, and for a moment, he looked almost mythic.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Get him!” he roared.

The guards snapped into action, raising rifles and charging toward the tower’s base. Peter bolted after them, fury painting every muscle in his face.

That was the opening.

Mango and Laz instantly took it. They turned to Bullock, now staggering, blood pooling at his feet, and moved in tandem. Mango swept her leg under his, tripping him back, and Laz grabbed the collar of his jacket.

“I hate to litter, but…” Laz said.

Together, they hurled Bullock over the rail.

He flailed, roaring as he disappeared into the black sea with a massive splash.

Mango wiped her hands on her jumpsuit like she was done doing dishes. “I never liked that guy.”

Laz nodded, catching his breath. “You and me both.”

*****************************************

Down a hallway, the walls narrow and glistening from salt air, Peter caught sight of something strange just as he turned the corner. Discarded clothes. A guard’s uniform, crumpled on the floor outside one of the rooms.

He stopped. Glanced at it. Then, his face tightened like a pulled string.

“Check every room,” he barked. “He’s here.”

Guards scrambled. Doors slammed open. Rooms were overturned.

Peter didn’t care how long it took. His brother was back, and this time, he wouldn’t miss.

***************************************

Peter made his way toward the lifeboat mounted at the bow. The wind whipped across the deck, dragging salt through the air. He had a backpack slung across one shoulder and a duffel bag in his other hand. His red coat fluttered behind him like a villain’s cape in some twisted finale.

CLICK!

The unmistakable sound of a safety coming off.

Peter froze.

“Put it down,” John said from behind him. His voice was low, steady, and cold. “Drop the bags. Step away from the boat.”

Peter turned his head slightly. Not enough to see John’s face, but enough to recognize the seriousness in the voice.

“I can’t believe it,” Peter said. “Look who grew up.”

John stepped closer, his gun still raised. “I said drop it.”

Peter chuckled, then let the backpack slip from his shoulder. It landed with a dull thud.

“I gotta say,” Peter continued, “you don’t seem like a desk jockey. That whole ‘analyst’ thing was just a cover, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t lie,” John said. “I left this life. You people put me back into it.”

“You people?...” Peter turned now, fully, slowly. He took a few steps back toward the railing at the bow, arms loose at his sides. Circling.

John didn’t lower the gun. “Don’t move another inch. Hands on your head.”

Peter didn’t listen.

Instead, he tilted his head and gave a lopsided grin. “You know what always pissed me off, John? It wasn’t you leaving. Not really. It was how Dad reacted to it. It was that when you ran off and turned your back on us, on everything, Dad didn’t get mad. He didn’t threaten you. He didn’t send guys after you. You know what he did?”

John’s grip tightened on the gun.

Peter’s grin faded. “He told me he was proud of you.”

John gulped.

What the hell was he babbling about? Their dad hated him… right?

“I was standing right there. I’d just gotten done cleaning up some bloodstain he didn’t even ask about it. And he said, ‘Your brother’s got balls. What a true Moor’. Said it with the biggest smile on his face, can you believe that shit?”

His face twisted with heartbreak.

“I did everything, John. Everything that man wanted. I bled, I killed, I followed! And you-you ran and yet you made him proud! How?! Tell me… what’s the difference between us?”

John didn’t answer immediately. He stepped forward to the brother who used to carry him on his shoulders, who used to stand in front of monsters in the dark.

“The difference,” John said, “is you want to be the best at what you do. I have to.”

Peter’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

John lifted the gun slightly higher. “This ends now. You don’t get to disappear into the night again. Not with the codes. Not with that satellite. Not with any of it.”

Peter glanced behind him. One step back and he’d be overboard. But that wasn’t his plan. Not yet.

“You’re right,” Peter said. “I wanted it. I want this world. Because someone has to control it.”

“Then let’s see how much control you really have behind bars,” John said. “Step away from the rail.”

“Even now, you’re trying to save me, huh?”

Peter raised his hands halfway. Just enough to show John he was listening.

But his eyes told a different story.

“You’re not built for this world,” Peter said, chuckling. “You never were.”

John didn’t respond.

“I mean, look at you,” Peter continued. “You’re good with a pistol, I’ll give you that. And you’ve taken out a few guards, sure. You’ve done the dirty work. But you’re still not willing to do what actually matters. The big leap.”

John’s arm started to shake.

“That’s the real difference between us,” Peter said. “You hesitate. You always have. You care too much. About people. About rules. About the weight of things.”

Peter turned toward the edge of the deck, pacing slowly, casually. “I don’t care. I’m free. You’re still chained up by your conscience.”

John’s voice cut through. “You think this is freedom? Blowing up part of Tokyo? Killing innocent people? How the hell do you justify that?”

Peter stopped. Then turned.

“The arena was filled with underworld lords,” Peter said plainly. “Rival arms dealers, cartel leaders, private warlords, black market elites. You know what that means?”

John didn’t answer.

“It means I did what a big brother’s supposed to do,” Peter said with a smirk. “I protected my family. I cleared the board. Took out half our enemies in one move. That wasn’t tragedy. That was strategy.”

“And the civilians?” John said. “The innocents? The kids outside that arena?”

Peter shrugged. “Oh, don’t bring that up! There’s always casualties.”

John’s stomach twisted. “You sound like a monster.”

“No,” Peter said, stepping forward to John. “I sound like the real world. Open your eyes, John. Governments, mafias, corporations, gangs, intelligence agencies… every one of them operates the same way. Cold and calculated. Feelings just get in the way.”

“You think that makes it okay?”

“I think it makes me honest,” Peter said. “You want to talk about the CIA? Your bosses? The great righteous defenders of freedom?”

He let out a laugh.

“They’ve leveled villages over rumors. Funded dictatorships. Used drones to wipe out weddings. They’ve done worse than I ever have. Hell, worse than I even plan to. And you still clock in for them like they’re heroes.”

John felt something twitch in his chest. The words hit harder than he expected.

Peter pressed. “So why is it forgivable when they do it, but not when I do?”

John didn’t answer. He couldn’t because part of him knew Peter was right. The CIA was always hiding something. They even tricked him a few times. When he joined, they promised he would never have to rat on his family or go anywhere near them. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

“I’ll tell you what the difference is,” Peter said. “It’s not good and evil. It’s not justice and crime. It’s the check. Who signs it and who gets the deposit. That’s it.”

John’s hand clenched tighter around the pistol.

“You’re too soft for this life, Johnny,” Peter said, voice calm. “You still think we’re living in a story where the good guys win.”

John slowly lowered the gun.

Peter’s brow raised.

“You done?” John said as took a breath, slid the pistol back into its holster. “I’m not soft,” he said. “I’m just tired of being afraid of who I’ll become.”

Peter smirked. “Cute line. But it won’t mean anything without backing it up.”

John stepped forward.

“I’ve never beaten you in a fight,” he said. “Not once. Not in sparring. Not in training. Not even when I thought I had the upper hand.”

Peter chuckled, amused. John took off his holster and let it drop to the deck.

Peter grinned, cracked his knuckles.

“Fine,” Peter said. “Let’s dance.”

They circled each other. Rain started to fall, light at first, then harder. The deck grew slick beneath their feet. Peter moved first. A jab, fast and low. John ducked, sidestepped, barely avoiding the follow-up cross. He’d watched Peter fight a hundred times before, but he seemed faster than when they were kids.

Luckily, so was he. John swung, catching him in the ribs. Peter winced, but only slightly. His elbow came up and smashed John in the temple, sending spots across his vision.

“Still too slow,” Peter said.

John shook it off. Came back with a knee to the gut and a hook to the jaw. Peter stumbled. First time he’d seen that.

They clashed again. Peter grabbed John and slammed him into the railing. Rain poured over them now. The metal cold against John’s back.

“You know I thought about so many times of finding you and dragging you back into our fold,” said Peter. “But I knew you'd never go for it. If you're not with my family, then you must die!”

“You talk about something you barely understand! If that’s how you feel, then so be it!”

“Don’t you get it?! Do you know what a burden it is to be the oldest? The eldest prince? I didn’t ask for this! The first test child, destined to take all the hits so his younger siblings don't have to. Forced to carry the family’s responsibility instilled in him so the rest can roam free with unbroken backs.

I did it without thanks or praise because I loved you. When I win, people don’t cheer out of surprise because it’s expected–no, demanded of me! I have to win because I have to be the strongest! I’m not doing it all because I hate you, Johnny, I’m having to do what I have to so that you don’t!”

“So you tried to kill me?! Is it worth it? You’re my older brother! I… I looked up to you! You meant everything to me! EVERYTHING!”

John pushed off the railing and tackled Peter to the ground. They rolled, fists flying. Blood mixed with rain on the slick wood. Peter got on top and threw a haymaker. John turned his head, taking the blow to the cheek.

“Stay down!” Peter shouted.

John spat blood. “No.”

He wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist, twisted, reversed.

Now he was on top.

“You want to be the new king? You wanna be the boss?” John asked. “This is what it costs!”

FOCUS, he thought. Analyze!

<<<>>>

[Activating skill: Analyze]

[Processing…]

[Subject known as “Peter” has few weaknesses, but is easily distracted and flustered.]

<<<>>>

He punched once. Twice. Peter grunted.

This time, John didn’t stop.

Not until Peter lay groaning on the deck, clutching his side, unable to rise.

John stood over him.

Peter looked up at him, blood in his diamond-encrusted teeth. “You’re not the same little brother anymore.”

“No,” John said. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

For the first time, Peter looked… afraid.

Rain poured down in sheets now. Thunder cracked again. The storm was here.

But John was still standing.

The yacht swayed beneath them, thunder cracking overhead. John stood soaked, breathing hard, staring into the eyes of a brother he’d once idolized.

Peter rolled his shoulders as if he were just warming up. A drop of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, but he was smiling. Always smiling.

"You really thought you could beat me with a few tricks and a talent boost?" Peter asked. “FOCUS! Talent: Last Stand!”

Suddenly, Peter was back up on his feet.

Peter's first punch connected with John’s ribs. The second barely missed his temple. John stumbled, tried to counter with a left hook, but Peter ducked it and landed an uppercut that knocked John back against a deck chair.

The FOCUS lit up.

<<<>>>

[Warning. Damage threshold exceeded.]

[User stamina at 43%]

<<<>>>

John shook it off, wiped blood from his mouth, and dove forward, grabbing a pool skimmer from the side and swinging it like a staff. Peter caught it mid-swing and ripped it out of his hands.

John ducked under a haymaker and kicked the side of the lounge chair, flipping it toward his brother. Peter dodged, annoyed.

More objects flew. A life preserver. A tray. A bottle.

Finally, a heavy pool umbrella base.

Peter put up his guard, but it hit him too hard, and he staggered back.

John jumped forward, slamming his shoulder into his brother’s chest and letting off a rapid-fire combo: left to the gut, right to the jaw, knee to the ribs, elbow to the collarbone.

Peter ate it all as if he were invisible.

John took a step back, stunned. The lights behind his brother flickered. Peter’s body shook, and his face contorted.

He looked… wired.

More alive than John had ever seen him.

<<<>>>

[Enemy FOCUS Talent found.]

<<<>>>

What? thought John. You can detect other talents?

<<<>>>

[Total analysis of him calling “Last Stand” to his FOCUS.]

[Talent: Last Stand.]

[Warning: Subject strength, agility, and stamina increasing 65%.]

[Emotional volatility spiking.]

<<<>>>

“Forgot to mention my little talent,” Peter said. “When I’m about to die… I don’t go down. I get stronger!”

He flexed his neck with a loud crack.

John’s hands clenched into fists. His mind raced.

Peter charged, tackling John to the deck. They slammed into the wet wood. John tried to counter, but Peter was already on top, his hands wrapped around John’s throat.

John couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred. His limbs went numb. This was it. His brother was going to kill him.

On the edge of the deck, Laz and Mango appeared out of the mist. They froze at the sight.

Mango stepped forward. “We have to help him.”

But Laz held out his arm. “No.”

“What? Are you serious?!”

“He has to finish this,” Laz said quietly. “It’s his brother. His fight.”

Down on the deck, Peter leaned in close to John’s face.

“You really thought you could take me out?” he whispered. “You’re weak. Always were. And now I’ll kill you again.”

John’s eyes flared open.

He reached deep inside himself. Past the fear. Past the pain. Past the whisper of the FOCUS in his brain telling him that he’s dying.

John bucked his hips. Twisted. And threw Peter off of him with everything he had.

Peter flew back and hit the railing.

It gave.

Then Peter’s body teetered and tipped.

He fell back over the edge.

But just before he slipped into the dark, John lunged.

Their hands caught.

John's grip locked around his brother’s wrist. The muscles in his arm screamed as he held on.

Laz stepped forward, hand hovering near his pistol. “Let him go, John!”

But John didn’t listen. His knuckles clenched tight.

Peter looked up at him, rain streaming down his face.

“You still trying to save me?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “Damn… You’re really something else.”

“I’m not losing my family,” John said through gritted teeth. “Not like this. There’s another way! I know there is! There has to be!”

Peter looked down at the churning sea.

Then back at his little brother.

He smiled.

“I’ll do you one last favor,” he said. “As your big brother.”

He pushed his feet off the edge of the ship, and he let go.

“No!” John screamed.

Peter’s body dropped into the ocean with a splash, swallowed by the storm and shadows.

John collapsed to his knees, fists clenched on the slick deck.

Mango ran to him, sliding to the ground beside him.

“John…” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Laz stood behind them. Silent. Nodding to himself.

Peter was gone.

And John felt a piece of his soul crack.

<<<>>>

[Mission Complete.]

[Acquired codes: SUCCESS]

[Destroy uplink: SUCCESS]

[Stop Peter: SUCCESS. Status: Deceased.]

[Data gained...]

[Processing…]

[Skill Level Increase!]

[Combat Skill]

[Level 1 → Level 2]

<<<>>>