It was easy to find people to patrol the narrow walkways of his small community. Surprisingly easy. Over the next few days, he'd get a knock on his door, and an introduction from the man, woman or child who walked in. They'd say they were sent by so and so, to help out.

He'd be tempted to say no, that he didn't know what they were talking about. But he still felt the sting in his knuckles. He remembered himself, and the exhilaration of taking the world in his hands. For once everything was in reach.

He'd ended up with 13 people, the youngest being 12 and the oldest 45, all normal, all willing and able to take his orders.

First, he could practically feel the steel of the machetes lining up on the back of his neck, so he had to make sure they were protected. He directed them to the four main entrances to the plaza at the center of the small neighborhood. They were to keep watch and update him with small phones he'd bought from the tribute he'd gotten. He didn't know what else to call it, payment?

So far, all was quiet, the traders were certainly happy, they didn't have him come around every day asking for protection money.

3 days later, shit hit the fan. He was at Sherry's where he'd taken to spending his days waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it did. One of his runners, the really young boys he depended on to slip their way through the market throngs and warn him of trouble, burst into the bar.

There was a whole flurry of words, but he eventually understood. There was a fight in the main square, a man was threatening the traders, destroying their stands, because they'd heard the Taliban were no longer around.

In an instant, he was on his feet. It wasn't until he was there in the middle of the crowd that he realized he didn't know what he was going to do. He came face to face with the man. he was large, surprisingly well dressed, moving around with arrogance he'd seen from the Taliban and their bigger better compatriots. He and his people must have been running a racket in one of the other small plazas.

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Initially he raised his hands. the man was already surrounded by excited, angry market people, who nonetheless kept their distance, but were baying for blood. "Do you know who I am?" The man screamed, foaming at the mouth. "We'll come for all of you, you think we're the same? I came today in peace" Nero held his breath, he knew what came out the man's mouth after would decide if he was going to walk out of there on his own today.

Nero knew that the way you held a territory was to make sure the aura of security you gave your people was tangible. He knew that if your people were threatened you had to make it impossible for your enemies to carry out the threat, for good or ill. So when the man continued " Tomorrow I'll come back. And we'll see what rotten fruit you'll have to throw then, we shall see!" Nero knew what he had to do.

The ground was littered with the remains of a roadside stand, presumably the vendor who'd pelted him with fruit for some reason or the other. While the man became increasingly irate, switching to a language Nero didn't understand, he picked up a sturdy piece of wood, swung it at the back of the mans legs, He collapsed with a scream.

The crowd cheered.

"We've all suffered from men like this" Nero started, to cheers, "Now we have to show them what happens when they come here. We protect each other."

He could see a young man drag a tire to the the sobbing man underneath. In the crowd, he head calls for diesel, or petrol, something to get the fire going. His stomach churned, he could feel his throat closing up.

"No today, we leave a message, for him to take back to these other dogs!" After a moment of consideration. He swung his makeshift bat like a hammer, aiming to swing through the mans right knee, and again his left knee.

He had to make the message clear, So he had two of the old men, toughs who were already around keeping the crowd in check, pick the man up, drag him to the edge of the plaza, drop him in a ditch. Somebody would come for them, and he wanted to know, who, and where they'd go.