Chapter 53: Plan D Activation
Silas scrambled for his tablet, abandoned mid-breakdance near Kandinsky’s angriest splotch. "Sparkle-call! Sparkle-call!" he chanted, jabbing at the screen with frantic energy. Cords snaked across the floor like technicolor vipers as he hooked it up to Karn’s massive wall-mounted monitor. Pete, still processing the warm, sticky mess cooling on his abs beneath the bunny pajamas he’d hastily pulled up, watched with dazed apprehension. Karn stood near his own desk, arms crossed, a faint, inscrutable smile on his lips.
"Connecting... connecting..." Silas muttered, tilting his head as if listening to invisible instructions. "Frequency locked! Encryption... sparkle-fied! Holographic handshake initiated! Prepare for Robo-Nova V3 transmission!" The screen flickered, resolving into the crisp image of Victoria Vongola, CEO of Nova Forge. She sat in a sleek, modern office, sunlight glinting off her immaculate silver-blonde bob. Her sharp eyes scanned the feed on her end, taking in Karn’s office.
A flicker of surprise registered on Victoria’s composed features. Her gaze swept past Karn, past the beaming Silas giving a double thumbs-up, and landed squarely on Pete. Pete, who was sitting flushed and dishevelled on the sofa wearing nothing. Pete, whose bare chest still bore faint traces of earlier tears, and unmistakably, a distinct, drying streak of pearlescent white across his lower abdomen. Victoria’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifted a fraction of a millimeter. Her lips pressed together for a nanosecond, a masterclass in suppressing immediate commentary. Her eyes, sharp as diamonds, flicked briefly to Karn, then back to Pete, holding his gaze with unsettling calm. Victoria," Karn greeted smoothly, stepping slightly into frame, his stance relaxed, confident. "Always a pleasure."
"Karn," Victoria replied, her voice cool and professional, though a wry glint had entered her eyes. Her focus remained primarily on Pete. "Pete Riverton. I must say," She paused, letting the observation hang. Pete felt his entire body prickle with heat. He desperately wanted to fold his arms over his stomach, but Karn’s presence beside him felt like a command to stay still. Victoria continued, smoothly shifting topic, her tone warm but firm. "I trust congratulations are still very much in order? I hoped you’d received your well-deserved promotion by now. Purple Tag suits you far better than red, wouldn't you agree?"
Pete managed a strangled noise that might have been "Yes, ma’am," his cheeks flaming.
Victoria leaned forward slightly, her expression radiating genuine appreciation. "My team at Nova Forge is still raving about your pitch, Pete. Truly exceptional clarity and vision. The Memorandum of Agreement wouldn’t be signed without your conviction. Titan snagged a rising star when they found you." She gave a small, approving nod. "Which brings me to my update. My... special mission," she emphasized the word with a subtle glance at Karn, "is complete. Mission accomplished." A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. "Expect an invitation in the very near future, Pete. An... unwanted one, I suspect you’ll find it initially. But," her gaze intensified, holding Pete’s, "attend it. Trust me. I have a strong feeling you’ll find the experience far more enjoyable than anticipated. Consider it part of the... perks." Her eyes darted, almost imperceptibly, to the evidence on his stomach again, then away.
She turned her attention fully to Karn. "Incidentally, Karn, I met your colleague Silas during the MOA signing formalities at Titan HQ. Quite the character." She gestured towards Silas, who was now attempting to balance the tablet on his head. "Titan has its own unique... charm. A certain adorable chaos."
Karn’s expression remained carefully neutral. "Plan D?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, the casual tone belying the weight behind the words.
Victoria’s face instantly shifted. All warmth vanished, replaced by a steely, focused seriousness that made the temperature in Karn’s office seem to drop. "Yes," she stated, the single syllable crisp and final. "Confirmed."
Karn let out a slow, controlled breath. "Understood. Excellent work. And thank you, Silas," he added, acknowledging the bouncing IT wizard. "For the updates, and the... connection." He met Victoria’s gaze squarely. "Keep the channel open this way, if you would. Direct lines carry higher risks at present."
Victoria nodded once, the CEO mask firmly back in place, though her eyes held understanding. "Of course. Calculated routes are safest. And Karn?" A genuine smile broke through her professionalism. "Do tell Silas I absolutely adore my new designation. Super Robo Nova V3 has a certain... je ne sais sparkle." The screen went dark.
The abrupt return to the office’s relative silence felt jarring. Pete sat frozen, the words "unwanted invitation," "secret mission," and "Plan D" colliding violently in his brain. "Karn," he started, his voice hoarse, "what did she mean by–"
"Clothes," Karn announced, clapping his hands together briskly, cutting him off. He strode over to Pete, grabbed his arm, and hauled him off the sofa with surprising strength. "Up. Now. We have an appointment."
Pete stumbled, bewildered. "Appointment? Where? Karn, wait, what was–"
"Department store," Karn stated, already propelling Pete towards the office door. "Grand finale attire. You can't wear bunny pajamas to your own coronation, partner." He yanked the door open.
"Grand finale? What grand finale? Karn!" Pete protested, trying to dig his heels into the plush carpet, but Karn was relentless.
"Lock up, Silas!" Karn called over his shoulder without breaking stride, shoving a flailing Pete out into the corridor.
Silas, who had been attempting to plug a USB drive into the abstract painting, saluted smartly. "Aye-aye, Sparkle-Captain! Office fortification protocols: ENGAGED!" He immediately began dragging Karn’s heavy mahogany desk towards the door with alarming, clattering force, humming the Super Robo Nova V3 theme tune at top volume, utterly oblivious to the chaos he was creating or Pete’s desperate, unanswered questions echoing down the hall.
The echoing clatter of Karn’s mahogany desk scraping across marble faded as the elevator doors slid shut, sealing Pete away from Silas’s discordant humming. He sagged against the polished steel wall, bunny-clad knees trembling. Karn’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on Pete’s upper arm, steering him not towards the bustling lobby exits, but down a deserted corridor lined with Titan’s private executive garages. The air smelled of cold concrete and expensive engine oil. Pete opened his mouth, questions boiling over. "Karn, Victoria said 'Plan D'! What–"
"Later," Karn clipped out, his voice low and tense, eyes scanning the dimly lit space. He stopped beside a sleek, obsidian sports car that seemed to swallow the fluorescent lights. The door hissed upward silently. "Get in." He practically bundled Pete into the low-slung passenger seat, the cool leather a shock against his flannel-covered thighs. Karn slid behind the wheel, the engine purring to life with a deep, predatory rumble that vibrated through Pete’s bones. The garage door rolled up, revealing the blur of city twilight. Karn accelerated smoothly, merging into traffic, the car feeling like a bullet leaving the chamber.
Pete stared out at the kaleidoscope of headlights, the earlier scene replaying in jagged fragments: Victoria’s knowing gaze, the drying streak on his stomach, Karn’s sudden urgency. He tugged self-consciously at the bunny-eared hood. "Karn," he tried again, voice small. "Where are we going? Department store? For what? Tomorrow’s the party, but Sean said…"
Karn kept his eyes on the road, navigating the sleek machine through traffic with effortless precision. "Saturday," he confirmed, tone shifting back to its usual calm confidence, though an edge remained. "Company throws your Tier 2 Purple Tag bash. Big deal. Sean mandated it." He glanced sideways, a flicker of amusement touching his lips despite the tension. "You can’t show up dressed like that, Pete. Silas already had his fun with the… fluff." Pete flushed, remembering. "You can borrow my stuff," Karn continued, "but that’s just for the party. There’s another event. The Grand Finale. Needs… specific attire."
Pete’s brow furrowed. "Grand Finale? Karn, what are you talking about? What event? I don’t have anything else scheduled!" Confusion warred with exhaustion. The city lights streaked past, painting Karn’s sharp profile in neon.
Karn drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. "Based on what Victoria just implied? Her ‘unwanted invitation’? It’ll land any minute." His eyes flicked to Pete’s bunny-pajama pocket where his phone rested. "Get ready."
As if summoned, Pete’s phone buzzed violently against his thigh. He fumbled it out, heart pounding. The screen illuminated his face in the car’s dim interior. The sender name alone punched the air from his lungs: DEREK POTTER. The message glared up at him:
> Hey Riverton! Me and the boys (your BEST FRIENDS, remember? 😉) miss seeing your face. Like, REALLY miss it. How about a little reunion? Tomorrow, high noon sharp, my office at Vantage Dynamics. Don’t be shy! Would hate for those special pictures to start circulating… you looked so… liberated. See ya there! Or else. 😘
The words blurred. White-hot fury surged through Pete, a visceral wave that made his hands shake. The phone felt cold, poisonous. A single, fat tear escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek before splashing onto the bunny pattern on his knee. "That absolute snake," Pete choked out, voice thick with rage and humiliation. He wanted to scream, to throw the phone through the windscreen. The memory of Derek’s smug face, the flash of the camera, the cold shame—it flooded back, raw and suffocating.
Karn didn’t flinch. He simply pointed towards a soaring, neon-lit department store facade looming ahead. "Pull yourself together, partner," he said, his voice low and steady, cutting through Pete’s fury. "We’re here. Forget Derek’s pathetic threats for sixty seconds. Trust me. We need to find something… remarkable for tomorrow."
Pete swiped furiously at his cheek, glaring at Karn through tear-blurred vision. "Remarkable? Karn, he’s threatening to publish naked photos! How is clothes shopping remarkable?!"
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Karn’s face, utterly devoid of humor. It was the look of a chess player who sees checkmate three moves ahead. He pulled into a VIP parking spot with predatory smoothness. "Because, Pete," he said, turning off the engine, the sudden silence amplifying his words, "when you walk into Derek’s little ambush tomorrow wearing what we’re about to buy? You won’t just be dressed. You’ll be armed. And trust me," he leaned closer, his eyes holding Pete’s, glinting with shared purpose and a flicker of predatory delight, "you are going to find it immensely amusing."
Pete stared, the fury momentarily eclipsed by sheer, dizzying confusion. Karn understood Victoria’s cryptic message. He understood ‘Plan D’. He understood Derek’s game. And Pete… Pete just understood Karn. He took a shuddering breath, the bunny pajamas suddenly feeling absurdly inadequate armor for whatever Karn was planning. But Karn knew. Karn always knew best. He swallowed the lump of rage and fear. "Okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse but resolute. "Show me."
The obsidian car slid through the neon-drenched city like a shadow. Pete gripped the phone, Derek's message burning his retinas. Karn navigated with icy calm. Pete’s knuckles were white on the bunny flannel. "Armored? With clothes?" he rasped.
Karn didn't look away from the road. "Specific clothes. Armor comes in surprising forms." He turned into the glittering maw of Luxor Emporium, the city’s most exclusive department store. Its chrome facade reflected the chaos in Pete’s chest. "Think less chainmail, more... calculated exposure."
Valets swarmed the car. Karn tossed keys with practiced ease. Pete scrambled out, the cool night air a slap. Inside, the scent of oudh and polished marble hit him. Karn strode past glittering displays, Pete trailing like a confused ghost in pajamas. He felt eyes. Whispers. His skin crawled.
Click. Derek’s voice echoed in his skull. ‘Get comfortable, Riverton. Or don’t. We prefer you don’t.’ Pete froze mid-step. The luxurious store dissolved. He wasn't on marble. He was on cold linoleum at Vantage Dynamics. Kneeling. Hands locked behind his head. Knees spread wide, forced apart. Stark naked under the fluorescent glare of Derek and Liam's office bullpen. Every employee circled. Laughing. Snapping pictures.
"Alright, Riverton," Derek had drawled, smirking. "Show us how grateful you are for Anya sending you our way. Beg nicely. Ask each person... politely... to use their toe. Right on your pathetic little twig." Liam added, "Yeah! Make it rise to the occasion!" Pete’s voice had been a broken whisper, choked with tears. "Please... please... use your toe... sir... ma'am..." Rough, uncaring feet scraped against him. Cold. Humiliating. He squeezed his eyes shut. The laughter was a physical weight.
"Almost done," Derek announced. "But the main event needs the main audience!" They hauled Pete up, still naked, into a meeting room. His heart stopped. Jason, Ball, Sarah, Boom, Thomas, Mia, Benji, Chris, Priya. His close friends. His best friends. Faces he’d trusted since childhood. Staring. Jason looked away, face red. Priya giggled nervously. Ball snickered. "Look what the cat dragged in! And left naked!" Derek shoved Pete forward. "Your old pal needs... encouragement! Show him how real friends help a guy out!" Their hesitation evaporated. Sarah pointed, snorting. Benji mimed tiny thrusts. Thomas called, "Not much to work with, is there?" Boom shouted, "Needs a jump start! Everyone pitch in!" They surged forward, not with toes, but with pointed fingers, jabbing, poking his thighs, his belly, his vulnerable cock. Priya flicked it hard. "Wakey wakey!" Mia laughed. Betrayal was an ice pick to his soul. Pete curled in on himself. Their jeers followed him long after they unfriended him online and in life. Never again, he’d sworn that night, shivering on the bathroom floor. Never their prey again.
The phantom laughter of his former friends still echoed in his ears, that icy shame clinging like sweat. Pete stood rigid on the cool marble floor of Luxor Emporium, Karn's steadying hand a grounding weight on his shoulder. Karn steered him past shimmering jewelry cases and mannequins draped in impossible fabrics, heading straight for a discrete, unmarked door flanked by velvet ropes.
"Savile & Stitch," Karn murmured, pushing the heavy door open. The air inside shifted instantly – hushed, thick with the scent of fine wool, starch, and cedar. Polished wood paneling gleamed under soft, recessed lighting. "Best in the city. Discreet."
A man with silver hair swept back and a tape measure draped around his neck like a ceremonial sash looked up from a ledger. His eyes, sharp as needles, flickered over Pete’s bunny pajamas without a trace of judgment. "Mr. Thorne. An urgent commission?"
"Extremely, Charles," Karn confirmed, his voice low and intense. "My associate needs custom two-layer tail suits. For tomorrow morning. Deadline is absolute." He gestured to Pete. "Thin, bold red for the external layer. Jacket, shirt, pants. Distinctive."
Charles raised a single, precise eyebrow. "Two layers? Tomorrow morning? That requires overnight miracles, Mr. Thorne."
"Whatever it takes, Charles," Karn stated flatly, meeting the tailor’s gaze. "Price is irrelevant. Failure is not. His presence at a... critical event tomorrow depends on it."
Charles assessed Pete again, his gaze analytical, professional. He gave a curt nod. "Understood, sir. Miracles can be arranged. For the correct motivation. Measurements first." He snapped his fingers. Two younger assistants appeared silently, holding clipboards and measuring tapes. "Please disrobe completely, sir."
Pete didn't hesitate. The ingrained reflex from his Red Tag year kicked in, overriding any lingering shyness. The bunny pajamas hit the plush carpet in a soft heap. He stood naked under the soft lights, the cool air prickling his skin. His focus wasn't on his vulnerability, but solely on Karn’s objective: the suit must be perfect. Karn’s plan depended on it. His fingers twitched slightly, a remnant of nerves, but his stance was calm, cooperative. He lifted his arms, turned as directed, held positions.
The assistants moved with quiet efficiency, tapes gliding over his shoulders, down his arms, circling his chest, waist, hips, inseam. Charles noted figures with swift precision. Karn watched, arms crossed, eyes sharp, missing nothing. The room was silent except for the whisper of cloth tape and the scratch of pencil on paper. Pete breathed steadily, the scent of fine wool filling his nostrils, grounding him. This was practical. Necessary. Part of Karn’s strategy. His trust in Karn was absolute, a lifeline in the chaotic sea of promotions, threats, and Victoria’s cryptic warnings.
"Excellent proportions, sir," Charles remarked neutrally as the assistants stepped back. "The bold red will make a statement. Now, the fabric selection..." He gestured towards a wall of sample books.
Karn shook his head. "Our own fabric. Pre-supplied." He pulled a tightly folded square of vibrant crimson silk from his inner jacket pocket. It shimmered like liquid ruby under the lights. "Synthetic blend. Lightweight. Durable. Specific properties." He unfolded it, revealing a bolt large enough for the entire outer suit. The color was electrifying – impossible to ignore.
Charles accepted the fabric, running it expertly between his fingers. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing its weight and drape. "Unusual. But workable. Very well. The inner layer...?"
Karn stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper only Pete and Charles could hear. He gestured subtly at the vibrant red silk. "Beneath this. The second layer. We need... a gimmick." His eyes flicked to Pete, then back to Charles, intense. "Something integrated. Invisible until activated. reveal."
Charles leaned in, head tilted. Karn whispered rapidly, outlining the mechanism. Pete watched, fascinated, straining to catch every hushed word. The concept was bizarre, audacious, perfect. A slow, incredulous smile spread across Pete’s face, replacing any lingering anxiety with pure, buzzing excitement. He understood. Oh, he understood exactly how this could dismantle Derek. Karn finished whispering. Charles stared for a beat, utterly still. Then, a slow, professional smile touched his lips – the smile of a craftsman presented with a unique challenge.
"Intriguing, Mr. Thorne," Charles murmured, his eyes gleaming with something akin to admiration. "Quite theatrical. And technically... feasible. With focused effort." He looked at Pete. "We shall require the model for final adjustments once the pieces are basted. Can he remain available?"
"He'll be here," Karn stated firmly.
"Then we begin immediately." Charles snapped his fingers again. The assistants sprang into motion, gathering the crimson silk with reverence. "The Riverton commission takes priority one. All hands. The deadline will be met." He gave Pete a final, appraising look, then Karn a respectful nod. "Rest assured, gentlemen. Your... gimmick will be executed flawlessly."
Karn turned to Pete, a fierce, satisfied glint in his eyes. "See? Told you we needed specific attire." He nudged the bunny pajamas towards Pete with his foot. "Get dressed, partner. We have a party to prepare for. And tomorrow..." His smile turned predatory. "...we have a Grand Finale to win." The hum of sewing machines starting up in the back room was the sound of a trap being meticulously set. Pete pulled on the flannel, the promise of crimson armor and Karn’s whispered vengeance warming him far more than the fabric ever could.