Sunrise.. Dawn... Day break... A magical time for those that were awake to watch it. Countless poems and quotes attributed to the small window of time to watch the darkness of night fade and the sun to crest in the east spilling golden illumination across the landscape. Miraculous... Magical... Perfection...
Within his observation room the glass walls facing eastward Patrick James Pierce IV sat in deep meditation. The room cutting off the sounds that would accompany the view he now looked over. The limitless horizon of Northern California Wilderness he looked over mere outlines of infinite trees, bush, boulders, and hills shadowed in the grey of pre-dawn... His naked form sitting cross legged on a cushion as he meditated and watched. He had been up all night taking cocaine, and various other chemicals he had taken during the evenings revelries tapering off thus allowing him to embrace this moment of zen mostly clear headed.
Were he outside beyond the glass and steel buffering him he would hear the rousing songs of birds, the soft sway of branches in the breeze, and perhaps the sounds of the stream running nearby. The sounds of nature waking from it's night's slumber for another day.... Instead he only had silence.
Contrary to belief silence itself was not deafening Patrick knew that the mind in absence of stimuli would become hypersensitive so that the sound of breathing, the slightest shift, even the slow rhythmic heart-beating in his ears would be detectable not to mention the subsonic ringing one could hear in the absence of noise when focusing... To counter that Patrick had let his mind fully relax and enter a meditative state where he thought of nothing, and in essence was nothing in the universe.... No different to dreamless sleep he let himself detach from all the bindings of the physical planes and drifted.....
Or perhaps the drugs had not fully tapered off....
Either way his consciousness at this moment was more a waking dream than anything else, body fully relaxed, breathing slow and steady, eyes caged on the horizon... And as the first golden edge of the sun rose so too did Patrick's awareness the warm light bathing the wilderness in a slow stretching reach til it hit Patrick the warm glow of the light magnified by the thick glass in which it shined through he had to squint his eyes as the harsh glare grew brighter and brighter with each inevitable bit of the star breached the eastern horizon and dominated the view.
Perfect... It was a perfect moment as his tanned flesh humming with life and vitality bathed in the brilliance of the heavens. The silence only adding to the ethereal experience....
And just as the moment reached a climax an echoing scream filtered in from the dark stairs below. Patrick, who had been on the verge of tears at the almost religious experience he was having now sighed in frustration when the noise broke the magical moment.
Down the stairs below were the cells of his Warehouse where his pets were locked away for his enjoyment. The new girl whom he had spent the entirety of the night breaking in clearly still had some fire within her. Like a wild mustang she would need to be broken before he could properly train her so with a growl of the most sinister intentions he rose. His naked form still bathed in the sunlight though now he no longer felt the warmth. The ice cold venom of his inner demons returning to him, and from a vial he had left at the door he tapped a small pile of powder it held within on the outer edge of his hand between his thumb and pointer finger bringing it to his nose he inhaled it with a snort a shiver offered as the slow drip and narcotic euphoria returned to him.
The new girl will need to learn some manners... She will need to learn her place... And she will need to learn not to draw the ire of Mr. Pierce.
But she will learn... One way or another she will learn.
So from atop the warm golden peak of his Warehouse Patrick once again ventured into the darkness within. The concrete and shadows welcoming him as he descended deeper...And deeper... And deeper into his personal hellscape where he was the Devil himself.
His voice filled the air as he spoke with each step down.
~ Fe..Fi..Fo..Fum... A scream doth echo so here I come.....~
Elmont, New York... The city itself was far from anything special in fact it would be nothing but a New York city as forgotten as the thousands of others not named NYC, Buffalo, and Albany but for one key location... Belmont Park. The Track old and in some ways out dated and the regular races it holds for the lower level horses were anything but fodder for degenerate gamblers, and the elderly.... Except during that week in June when it becomes the focal point to all Equestrian Racing within the western world. Where the final race of the Triple Crown is held at the traditional Belmont Stakes.
Like The Kentucky Derby the upper crust from around the world with invested interest in Thoroughbreds and the fine bloodlines that could be traced back centuries to the days when men rode such beasts into battle not just for show of wealth and bragging rights.... The Track pulled all the stops and ensured the location looked it's best as the eyes of the world focused on the sandy tracks of the last oval track which was the longest of the Triple Crown and rightly earning the title "The Test of Champions".
Today was the big day for the 3-Year old group where the best in the world would race to see which beast was fastest, which rider was best, and which stable the most prestigious. Press filled the pit clicking pictures of the local stars, politicians, and of course the wealthy elite and their chosen trainers.
By the size of the crowd people would be hard pressed to believe that there was such a thing as a 1% indeed most of the wealth in the mass of people was concentrated into fewer hands. Most of the richly dressed spectators of the event were little more than profit speculators.... Trainers, and Stable Managers for countless locations around the globe here to see the current crop of Studs and Dames that they might buy breeding rights to, to mingle with their peers, to woo trainers, riders, and managers away from some to their own, or to sell themselves to would be investors.... These races were more social events than sport, or entertainment. Like all things the wealthy did they turned leisure into status, and ways to expand.
As it was Patrick James Pierce IV was among the crowd of people within the upper deck where the VIPs ventured above the lesser mortal baking in the afternoon sun. The weather was unseasonable warm for this time in June well into the Mid 80's with no cloud in the sky. Easily enough to draw beads of sweat from the people slow roasting beneath them. The Upper Deck at least held a series of fans that offered a soft breeze, and constant shade. Nevertheless like most of his male peers Patrick was dressed in a light colored summer suit, Tan almost khaki in color, the shirt a crisp sky blue just a shade or two lighter than his glacial blue eyes that skimmed the crowd.
The women all wives, girlfriends, mistresses, daughters, and siblings of the various men about. Few would resist the urge to show off the various trophies they acquired over the years, even the wealthy older women showed off their boy toys. All the ladies old, or young took the moment to dress for the event. Dressed in the finest sundresses, and elegant summer outfits with the required large decorative hat. An event like this one of the few times in the year women were able to sort such items without garnering some form of sneering remark. At Belmont like with all the Triple Crown races, the more decorative, the more elaborate the better.
As Patrick mingled through the people next to him his Trainer, and Managers to the Massachusetts based Pierce Farms the original vestige of the Pierce family when they came to the new world and eventually rose from there. The Stables and Horses nearly all that remained of the once bustling agrarian venture. Now the land is kept, and maintained for the horses and posterity of the family. Having since settled into their traditional seat of power Pierce Estates in Salem.
Standing he mingled here and there with men and women he recognized or who recognized him. Eventually though he separated from them his phone ringing he moved from the crowds and clustered groups that moved to and fro with a nebulous fashion single or doubles breaking off to join others the soft rabble of lowered polite conversation and friendly banter given only interrupted by the occasional announcement over the loudspeaker.
His phone to his ear he moved to the refreshment stand motioning for the uniformed server to pour him a drink.
Each of the Triple Crown events had traditions that were upheld drinks were the main ones.... The Kentucky Derby had the Mint Julep, The Preakness had the Black Eyed Susan, and the Belmont Stakes had the Belmont Jewel. So with a motion the server poured the juices together adding the bourbon and shaking with ice before pouring over ice as well... It would be a brisk, sweet, refreshing beverage the lemonade base with the juice warding off any foul tastes a hot dry mouth might offer. When the drink was handed to him Patrick turned the phone to his ear he listened to the issue.
His Uncle Joseph on the line explaining the situation that was rising. He remained silent and stoic before nodding and replying simply.
~ I will handle it.~
He clicked end on the call cutting off any desperate questions his uncle might have had. For a US Senator his Uncle was quite the panicking sort. He knew how slow politics moved yet for some reason whenever an event happened he was hopping like a rabbit with a flaming tail in panic. Taking a long sip from his drink he took a breath and let his mind roll through the various names that he knew would be at this event. He was here for business as much as anything else as were most of the people here and until the race he still had work to do..... That is unless something caught his eye.... Even a Pierce needed time to unwind and there were many ladies in lovely easily accessible dresses here.... With a shrug he trusted fate to present an opportunity. If not he would simply call the escort service for company.
With his drink in hand, and mind refocused he walked back to the groups. Once more into the breach as they say.
It all began with a dream... That is what is so often spoken of when great feats of wonder are fulfilled. A dream of a man and that dream turned into a reality through his will, his guidance, and his determination. From the Pyramids, to Space Travel it supposedly all started with a dream.
Aeon though... She started with a nightmare.
The Nightmare was years before the Millennium when internet was still dial-up, Patrick was still in high school doing a summer internship with security learning the myriad of threats and enemies Pierce Inc. had lurking in the background. Then it happened... Hackers hit the mainframe and threw the company into chaos. Files were deleted, the system corrupted, information stolen, patents ruined, and prototypes leaked to the various media outlets.... It was the first major hack in US history and Pierce Inc was the victim.
Patrick being only an intern and a teenager was scapegoated for the issue. His father stated that he would need vigilance for such things in the future, and he should have known something like this was possible as it was another series of mischievous teenagers Patrick's age that actually did the hacking... A nightmare that haunted Patrick every night since then. How he had been bettered by people his own age, how he learned he could be beaten at his own game, and that there was a world he would never know of or be a part of.
Patrick tried for years after to try and learn the code, and become a member of this world. But the internet and Hacking was an art. A basic peon could hack an unprotected server but it took a cunning, quick hand, and natural talent to be a proper hacker.... Patrick did not have it in him. One of the few things he had ever tried and failed at.
So for years he pondered on solutions... While he was in high school, in college, in grad school, and when he was working one of the constant security threats he always focused on was Web Security. But all it takes is one flaw in the system, one weak employee who was bribed or coerced, one person with a grudge or a penchant for chaos and the door to another invasion could be opened.
Patrick's mind always pondered how to stop such threats and instead to become a threat himself. The easiest of solutions would be to hire the best of the best and put them to work for him.... But Hackers are a unique breed and they have a suspicious, some might say conspiratorial mindset for the most part. So the truly best ones never wanted to be a part of a Multinational Conglomerate like Pierce Inc, nor work for a man like Patrick.
Patrick was after all the archetypal douche-bag that picked on them all their lives, slept with the women they only dreamed of, and lived a social and private life through a trust-fund that could feed a nation for a decade.
So with the Hacker Army idea a mere pipe dream Patrick considered option after option.
Hire a Contractor to do the Army? But these hackers would easily find out who funded them and then it would be the plot to Mr. Robot on Patrick and Pierce Inc.
Close the server? But that would only present the ultimate challenge for Hackers looking to make a name for themselves, and closed servers are inaccessible when not at a HUD and Patrick traveled too much for that to work.
Go solidly to Paper? Where all companies are going paperless have Pierce Inc cut the cord completely and stay with paper and filing... What is this 1982?...
Finally the only option that made sense was perhaps the simplest... Rig the system.
But how does someone rig the internet for god's sake?!... Patrick pondered his new issue finally when watching the movie Swordfish he got it... To beat a Hacker you have to be better than a Hacker... In that movie a man who hadn't touched a computer was able to make a multi-headed virus and with the bravado of John Travolta's character tap into the closed network mainframe (Thus proving the Closed Network redundancy Patrick feared). Then the Hacker set a program to have a countdown so if he did not get what he wanted in a set amount of time the program would set off and never stop so that even would be unable to stop it... The Program would move faster than the hacker could possibly catch it.... That was the key. Have the computer out hack the Hacker.
But Hackers always could outwit a computer who had predictable algorithms and patterns. In reality like with Wylie Coyote and the Roadrunner you just had to slow the Roadrunner down enough to catch it and not fall off a cliff in the process.
So you needed a program adaptable, learning... Unpredictable... You needed a Brain... Artificial Intelligence... Of course Patrick had seen enough dystopian movies like The Matrix, Terminator, Blade Runner and many more that all warned against such things.... But the answer to Patrick's nightmare spurred him on.
He called experts and over the next few months figured what it might take to even theoretically make an AI... But it was 2002, and the tech was just not there. Wireless was just in it's infancy, Cellular tech was basic at best, and the methodology in creating the network to cover such a task would be in the BILLIONS.... $3.3 Billion to be exact.
So Patrick went to school, went to college, took a job, and only after his father died and he succeeded to the helm of Pierce Inc did he broach the question again.
Oh how things had changed in the 10+ years since he originally quoted the notion... WiFi was plentiful, Pierce Tech had a State of the Art satellite in orbit with directed relays for secure connections. And best of all. Pierce Inc and its coffers were his to do as he saw fit.
So the quoting went out against new tech such as Quantum Tech that transferred data on a subatomic level thus faster than even the speed of light... He figured with experts, visited Tech conventions, and discussed theory with the greatest minds in networking, tech, and programming. Piece by piece developing a plan... To these minds it was all theory and simple hypothetical. They had no idea the Mogul they were speaking to was buying massive plots of land around the world and building super cooling structures into the building itself so it could house Supercomputers and link to the connection of the satellite above.
50 Warehouses that is what it took each with a supercomputer designed with state of the art Quantum based hardware, all linked to the satellite and sent to one location... A holographic screen on a secure device that is one of the only encrypted devices able to connect to the Satellite directly... A Gateway to the future.
The figures had changed in the years as tech got cheaper and land less valuable during the recession. What had originally been quoted as $3.3 Billion was in reality only 1/3 of that $1.1 Billion in land, materials, labor, and tech... But it had worked... At least theoretically. As of right now all the Supercomputers were running independently. They had yet to be united into a single stream... All were mere echos waiting for a voice.
The entire Project was code named AEON.. for Artificial Expansive Operation Network. All the people working on the project figures are data dumps as Pierce Inc was looking to get into the Cloud and info storage business. Basically sell bandwidth and storage on a series of secure servers to people that wanted a reliable network and secure connection.
The Techs in the system were and would continue to be ignorant. All contact to them would be through email so Aeon would be able to self repair through these people, and they were glorified custodians meant to ensure the equipment ran optimally.
So he had done it... The cure for his nightmare had been found and over the first 2 years of his tenure as CEO of Pierce Inc put into place... Now he had to simply wake up the Dragon and ride it into power.
So here he sat at his desk in the Penthouse of Pierce Tower looming over Los Angeles... It was 10pm, the moon glittered high in the cloudless night sky, the stars mere twinkling shadows as blinding as the lights of LA were.... With a flick the 3D hologram screen popped to life from the cell phone size blackbox that would be his lifeline to Aeon.
The screen was blank awaiting activation... An activation Patrick sat in silence looking at the blank screen for what seemed like hours before he spoke... The words that would be the last words ever spoken that Aeon wouldn't be able to hear... The words to activate his creating was the Old Testament verse from Genesis 1:26
~ Then God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.".....~
The screen blinked to life and all 50 of the supercomputers around the world united into one... Aeon was born....
The phone call he had received was a long awaited one. Ever since he had recovered from the blast from the bomb Antonio Medici had put in his home Patrick James Pierce IV had been on a mission. The papers across the world had reported about the terroristic activities used against Pierce Inc. Their various offices were destroyed. Employees killed, or having gone missing. Someone went so far as to suggest Pierce Inc. and the world renowned Pierce Family were targeted by Jihad Extremists, or Domestic Terrorists.
Only after the attacks stopped did the PR department of Pierce Inc. set to work claiming a disgruntled former employee had been recruited by a foreign competitor and funded to commit these crimes. The charges were false as was the extraordinary evidence against the man. He received five consecutive life sentences. Sadly the poor man was reported to have been assaulted and killed by a fellow inmate. The competitor that Pierce Inc. had accused of the acts saw a severe dip in stock and all too soon were bought by Pierce Inc. Patrick Sr was never one shy away from using a tragedy for his own gain.
As for Patrick Jr. during this time of chaos and lessee faire war he remained secluded doing his own investigation and realizing all too swiftly that the charred woman found in the rumble of his home was in fact no Katerina Medici. The dental records and the fingerprints matched. Hell even the DNA was a match, sadly they failed to do much with the baby in the womb of the prostitute they used to replace Katerina with. The DNA on the fetus was not of Patrick's. With these facts in hand Patrick took the helm of a Shadow War against the Medici Family.
He did not strike at them with force. No he knew better instead he set to work gathering the most cumulative data base ever attempted on a major Crime Syndicate. The FBI, the CIA, Interpol, MI6. All would kill to have the accrued data Patrick acquired. Spies, double agents, sleeper agents, hackers, bugged buildings, offices, cars, even a specific prostitute the Family liked to use. All were used to add to the growing list and infrastructure the Medici Family tried to hide away. The entire time their biggest secret was always eluding him. The location of his son, and the baby's mother Katerina.
Publicly Patrick eventually was forced to return to his old ways. Fast cars, loose women, elite status. All of it a rouse. A glamour used to distract the eyes of the public, the law, and the Medici's. He knew they watched him closely. Looking for his revenge yet as the year and a half drew on since the fire-bombing of his home nothing had happened. No return Salvo from the clever mouthed, cocksure Pierce. No declaration of war…. Nothing but the status quo.
It was not that the Medici's were ignorant of espionage. They were merely ignorant as to the depth, and the source. After all, they had a plethora of enemies. Both fellow Families, other Crime Factions, and every Government Agency in the World gunning for them. They were always subject to spies and enemies. The only difference is never before had their enemies been as focused, and single minded. The vast resources Pierce Inc. had available unlocking doors even the NSA could not unlock.
So it was over the last year and a half the spy network tightened like a noose overseeing the many outlets of the Medici Family, their various strengths and their perceived weaknesses. The ultimate goal being the Baby with the sapphire blue eyes that had been mentioned, that had been glimpsed, that had been photographed, but had never been tracked properly. Antonio and his ilk know all too well the source of the child and the price of growing too comfortable in the placement of him…. That was until the Family moved stateside.
Leaving their hereditary stronghold in the old country had been a game changer across the board. The other families swiftly toed the line to gain allegiance to the Old World Power of the Medici's. Patrick Sr. was no different having set up a trip for the Medici's representative to see the sights and enjoy the pleasures of Los Angeles before having a very public meeting. The one named Raphael would never see Patrick Jr. An "Emergency" had arisen in Hong Kong that required his immediate attention. It was the photo of Patrick James Pierce III and Raphael Medici that made Patrick Jr. see the truth. He was alone in this fight.
Patrick knew his father would be no help in this task. He had sat down and told him everything he had found only to be met with silence. The fact that this man's Grandson and future seemed a non-issue. In fact, he made it clear that he had washed his hands of the Katerina Medici matter. She was dead and that was that.
So when his agents that tracked every movement of the Medici's finally gained the Holy Grail word was immediately sent to the younger Pierce as he sat in the study with his Father and his father's long time best friend, Bodyguard, Hit man, and overall "fixer" Hugo Kingsley. They had been discussing the growth of various potential ventures in the Overseas Automotive markets. The Chinese are looking to bring the economic fight here to the USA and take on General Motors. Only after Patrick had hung up his phone and poured himself a scotch did he speak again.
~I found them…. In New York.~
Patrick Sr. rolled his eyes to his son, a long sigh offered before he went into a diatribe of how he was tired of this entire fiasco. How it was time for him to move past this Medici nonsense, how the girl was a bane to their family since Salem. Patrick listened stoically which in matters of Katerina and their child was quite unlike him. The Father and Son had screamed at each other dozens of times since he had impregnated Antonio Medici's daughter. So seeing his son so silent Patrick Sr. stopped looking at him oddly. Patrick Jr. took a soft breath sipping his scotch before responding in a soft voice just over a whisper. Eerily calm as he spoke.
~He is my son… He is our future. I know fighting with you is a forlorn venture and I am a good enough businessman to know better than to enter one of those……. Goodbye father.~
His final words were capped off with a series of soft tink tink tink sounds.
A silencer on a pistol made quite a different noise than the movies portrayed. They sounded more like the metallic pop of an opening beer can than the zipping sounds Hollywood offered. These sounds emanated from a pistol held forward by the cold eyed killer and closest friend of Patrick Sr. Hugo Kingsley.
It was not hard turning Hugo against his father. The simple evidence that Patrick Sr. had known about the fire-bomb on Patrick Jr.'s home, the one that had covered Katerina's abduction and killed Patrick's boyhood friend, and brother Jackson Kingsley. Hugo's only son. He had allowed the bombing to happen in order to put an end to the war with the Medici's and in the process sacrificed the only child of his best friend. Such was the cold utilitarian nature of Patrick Sr. Patrick Jr. needed time before moving against his father, but he promised Hugo that in time he would be the one to kill Patrick Sr. the term "forlorn venture" the signal.
Looking from the smoking pistol that had just fired into the form of his father who looked down to a trio of blossoming crimson holes in his chest. His eyes wide and shocked as he tried to speak, to rise, to move at all. All these attempts to no avail. The pair of Hugo and Patrick Jr. watched in silence as Patrick Sr. gurgled and twitched before stopping completely. The faint stench of his bowels released telling the duo that he was indeed dead. Hugo whispering to himself. Patrick daring to speak aloud what he was whispering.
Hugo looked at the young man he had watched go from baby to man in his service to his father. This young man who his own son loved, this young man who was all he had left in this world. A teary eyed nod was given before he turned to make the preparation needed to dispose of Patrick Sr. In three days the private jet he had chartered will suddenly lose cabin pressure and crash thus how the Business Guru and American Icon will pass from this world rather than being shot by his best friend on his son's orders… A lie Patrick Jr. thought he would appreciate.
Finishing his scotch he sat it down and stood walking from the newly made corpse moving to the vast vista balcony of his father's city apartment. The glittering landscape of The City of Angels offered a panoramic view for him to enjoy as he dialed another number on his cell. The ringing answered with the soft feminine voice answering.
~I found them…. New York. Make the preparations…..Also. Father takes his flight soon.~
He hung the phone up knowing the woman on the other line would understand the terms completely. She was after all his little sister, best friend, and since Jackson's death his right hand. Madison Pierce. The Hellion of Rodeo Drive, the Harpy of 5th Avenue. Patrick needed someone he trusted when he lost his world. Madison had been his North Star during it all. His advisor, his protégé, his drinking partner, his sister, his lover. It was she who had overseen the vast network of spies when he was off playing at being the old Patrick for the cameras.
Madison would be the procurer for the next steps. She would set up the flights, make the necessary calls, and use her infamous mouth to whip their underlings into a hive of activity. Pierce Inc. had become Patrick's officially now, and they had business in New York to attend to.
They remained quiet for the next few days as the plans were set into motion. Publicly all was well Patrick went to his office, Madison played socialite, and Hugo prevented Patrick Sr. from being bothered. A typical couple of days. Capped off with a pair of Pierce Inc. private jets headed in separate directions. The doomed flight with the body of Patrick Sr. flying west into the Pacific. The one with Madison, Hugo and Patrick flying east. Towards New York.
When they landed it was on a private field outside Buffalo, New York just before dawn, no flash, no fan fair, nothing just a pair of Black SUVs. Patrick offered Madison a soft kiss in farewell as she was to be taken to the Penthouse Condo they would share, while Patrick and Hugo entered another. A lone figure waiting inside for the two, his hard face nodding to Hugo in familiarity before shifting to Patrick.
The ride to New York was a swift affair, the SUVs eating up the Interstates as the early Sunday Morning offered little in the way of traffic. The man who had greeted Patrick and Hugo was an old associate of the Guard named Guy Parker. The two killers had met during a youth spent in the US Army Special Forces. When Hugo left the military and began working for Patrick Sr. his counterpart took the road less traveled. Joining Blackwater and becoming a Soldier of Fortune. The hard eyed man had since made a name for himself in certain nefarious circles. In the process he also gathered a team of specialists to work with him. In many ways, Hugo had said that the movie The Expendables had been based on this man's life.
As they drove Guy told the pair of the overall situation and how it would play out. Patrick remained silent. He knew that he was paying this man a small fortune to do a job he was considered the best at. He would not speak or even offer an opinion. That was Hugo's job, he merely knew what he wanted and where to get it.
What was it he wanted?
A word with the Head of the Medici Family. Not the hot-head brash Underboss Antonio. He wanted the Capo de Tutti Capi. Peiro Medici and unless he was foolish enough to try and knock on his front door there was only one way to do it. That was why the SUV pulled up at the Corner of the bustling centre that was Times Square. The morning had just come fully since they pulled into New York City Proper. The Streets were slowly filling with the vast numbers it was famous for. Sitting there looking on Guy picked up his phone dialing a series of lettered before hitting send.
Nothing… Nothing at all. No brilliant explosion, no blast of fire and smoke, not even a rattle of gunfire. Nothing at all. For minutes they sat in silence, letting the sounds of horns and commerce fill the time. The sounds of New York.
Only after nearly ten minutes had passed did Guy's phone buzz with a text. A nod offered he instructed the driver to pull up to the entrance of a dark silent building. One of nefarious reputation called simply "Club Risque". The famed club sleeping with the rising of the sun but promising the darkest of pleasures when the sun set. The trio of men climbed out of the vehicle one by one casually entering the dark building all so inconspicuously it was not noticeable for even the most skeptical conspires theorists.
While outside the building was quiet and dark inside was the remnants of a warzone. The glass from mirrors, lights, and bottles of liquor littered the concrete floor mingling with plaster from the walls and growing pools of blood from the myriad of bodies splayed out. The room dim now that the lights that once illuminated the massive main room were broken or flickering. Club Risque has seen hell and no one was the wiser. How did this all happen?
Guy Parker was an expert at various types of combat. One of those being Urban Warfare, and Tactical Insertion. From vans parked in the Alleyway behind Club Risque a team of supremely trained killers poured out into the Club. Armed with military issue gear and silencers they went from room to room reaping and killing any who their expert eye knew to be armed. A combination of suppressed fire, and flashbang concussion grenades cut through the surprised and inferior mafia guards like a scythe.
What few employees that might have remained in the Club were segregated with the efficiency only former Mussad, Spetnaz, SAS, Army Rangers, Delta Force Commandos, and Navy Seals could have.
Why Club Risque?
Patrick had been keeping a close eye on the movements of the Medici Family since they arrived in New York. The first avenue they took was shaking down more nefarious elements of the legal business community. Places like Club Risque would gain a higher clientele but have to pay and offer benefits for the privilege. This specific club became a Haven for one of the Capos of the Medici Family. The man had turned the place into his personal playground.
Patrick was silent as he observed from the entrance. Clearing his throat softly he straightened the cuff of his shirt licking his lips before moving forward. The Capo's office was his destination, his polished shoes crunching on the rubble and avoiding the spreading puddles of blood beneath each expertly executed Medici Soldier.
Hugo shadowed his boss, the young man's slim athletic build garbed in a black suit over a white shirt. Easy to distinguish among the tactically geared soldiers that leaned casually amid the mayhem. These warriors who had opened the door for Patrick James Pierce IV's Grand Return to New York.
The Capo's office was simple if not elegant. Large and open with supple carpet, and a large hand carved mahogany desk. The Capo himself was splayed in his massive black leather chair behind the desk. A bullet hole lodged between his eyes. A look of sudden shock on his face telling of the complete surprise the Soldiers had on him. His brains and gore having decorated the chair back and wall behind him.
With the toe of his shoe Patrick pushed the chair back casually not wanting to get the smeared brain matter on his suit. He had a breakfast meeting after all this and he needed to look good!
Opening the bottom draw he found the goal to this entire attempt on Club Risque. A look was given to Hugo who merely nodded and looked to his watch. Lifting the handle of the plain black landline phone he pressed the single button in the center of the dial. Knowing somewhere in response a phone rang in the mansion of Peiro Medici.
When the receiver clicked on the other end Patrick spoke preempting any greeting, or words from the other end. His smooth educated voice deep and playful to the ear.
~ Don't talk… There is no need. I know you are a busy man and I don't want to waste your time. You have Pierce Property in your possession and I want it back. If it hasn't been reported on the News yet I will let you know. My father is out of the picture. I sit at the head of the Table, and any deal your man might have made with him should now be considered null and void…. I want my boy. Offer him freely and I will be your friend and ally. Deny me and I will make New York my new home, and I will have just one objective. To burn you and yours to the ground… Now I am open to negotiate, I am willing to share. I am told you are a reasonable man of respect and honor. A man of the old style and class….. If that is the case I would love to sit down and talk. The boy can be something great… He can sit at the head of all tables.. Pierce, Medici, everything. I don't doubt you will know how to find me…. Goodbye Don Piero.~
The entire monologue took less than a minute to say. With it said Patrick hung the phone up and walked away from the desk his task complete. He would not wait for the Medici's to regroup. He would have his pieces moving again. But he would allow them time to respond "Yea or Nay". In the meantime he had business to do.
Walking back through the disaster that was once the Club Risque he offered a nod to Guy the nod returned in kind. Patrick walked to the doors he had entered. The SUV waiting for him. Slipping on his sunglasses as the vehicle jerked into motion a soft smile was given.
Patrick had become a King… He wanted his Prince back, and to do that he had to go through a Don…. New York seemed a fitting setting for this Tale to take place… Fate was indeed a fickle mistress. War might be on the horizon, or perhaps a proper alliance such things would be decided all too soon. Either way it didn't matter Patrick would be able to adapt. He always did.