The next sounds I heard were from the ground, the net, and the crowd. My shoulder hit the ground first. I turned to see Ock escort the ball into the net, that same grin on his face.
[DUEL MODE ACTIVATED]
[JAMAL VS Octavius]
[FIRST TO 11]
[0-1]
“Somebody tell Maurice to come get his cousin!”
“Gah-DAMN!”
“Don’t do him like this, Ock! He just got out!”
Ock extended a hand to me.
I took it.
He took his place on the other side of the line and passed the ball to me.
“Check the ball,” he smiled.
I held it up and inspected it.
“Seems alright to me?”
Ock busted out laughing.
“Oh, you are humorous! Pass me the ball, please. Check is like ehhh–handshake! Yes?”
I tossed the ball back to Ock. He dribbled between his legs, waiting for me to make my move.
I grounded myself and slowly approached him. The ball felt so close, yet when I reached it would be just far away enough to deny a touch.
“Oh! Ah! Oh! It’s right here! Take it!”
Ock pulled it forward and back again. I swiped at the ball, my fingertip just brushing against its texture.
“So close! I go this way, and now around–!”
Ock stepped.
I stepped.
Ock spun out of my sight.
I used my hand to catch myself from landing on the ground once again, but Ock remained uncontested. He jumped over the line and let the ball loose.
I didn’t even ear the rim.
[DUEL MODE ACTIVATED]
[JAMAL VS Octavius]
[FIRST TO 11]
[0-3]
“Oh! You stay up that time! Good! Check ball!”
[0-5]
I swear I almost had him that time. I wiped the sweat from my brow and continued.
[0-9]
In my mind, I knew where he was, I just couldn’t respond with my legs. I picked myself up and checked the ball.
[MATCH POINT]
[0-10]
“How do you feel?”
“What?”
“How do you feel, cousin of Maurice?”
I felt the blood pumping between my ears. The sweat rolled down every inch of my body, dripping onto the court. My breath trembled as I gasped to answer him.
“Alive.”
“Good. Being shot…it is a feeling I know as well. It does not feel good. Back home…”
Octavius lifted the right side of his shirt.
“Got in a bit of trouble. Stanlowe has been better than where I came from.”
“Were you ever able to trace the cur?”
“What? No. Not worth it. I am lazy!”
Octavius laughed before continuing.
“So much effort. So much violence! Ehh…not what I want.”
“What did you desire more than absolution? Than justice?”
“To live, my friend. I could lose my life chasing him like a dog, yes? But I move. He believed his life to be worth dead on the street. I do not.”
Octavius started to dribble the ball as comments from the crowd came in.
“Couldn’t be me. I’d pull up on that nigga–”
“Let a nigga shoot me, he’ll see how I get down.”
“Ey! Dribble the ball! Finish him off, Ock!”
“Ayo–finish him off? Pause!”
“Do you seek the man who shot you?” Octavius chuckled.
“Yes. And I will find him.”
“Even if you die?”
“I won’t. When the time comes, I’ll make sure to repay him in kind. Even if I have to do it the hard way.”
“Oh. I see. Allow me to pass–what they call–word to the wise?”
“Sure?”
“Death is easily obtained. But life? That is the hard way. I believe that is how it is translated.”
I settled into my stance and patiently watched Octavius. He did his usual routine of stepping one way, and then changing course midway. My body froze, knowing he was going to continue toying with me if I committed to a direction. I knew there would be a moment where the ball would be within my reach.
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I just had to find it.
Ock stepped right.
I stepped right.
He spun left.
I pivoted and kept my stance.
He feigned a charge.
I smacked the ball away.
I chased it down, turned, and immediately let the ball fly, anticipating Ock’s advance.
The rim denied my efforts with a hollow vibration. Ock had not moved from his spot. He chuckled as the ball bounced back to him.
He shot.
[JAMAL VS. Octavius]
[FIRST TO 11]
[0-12]
[VICTORY: Octavius]
I dropped to my knees. Then to my palms. The sweat dripped onto the ground as I tried to ignore my heartbeat between my ears.
“Good game.”
I looked up to see Ock extending his hand. I decided to use what remained of my strength to stand on my own. After taking a moment to stabilize, it was then I shook his hand.
“Not bad for a man fresh out of a hospital,” he smiled, “When you see Maurice, tell him to come by sometime.”
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: SURVIVE]
[MISSION PASSED]
[REWARD: REPUTATION UP!]
“Who has got next guys? I am here all day!”
Another rose to challenge Ock. I shuffled off the court and sat on the bench, drooping my head.
[TRAINING COMPLETE]
[STAT UP]
[FLOW 25 > 26]
[SLY 5 > 8]
[ATHLETICS 5 > 8]
[HIGHER STATS LEVELS REQUIRE MORE TIME TO IMPROVE]
Though the message had suddenly appeared, I was too tired to react. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and stared at the numbers. These small improvements were, well, small. But it was an improvement, nonetheless. If I could find a way to raise the [SLY] number, maybe I could finally peek at everyone else’s.
“You was the nigga that got shot at the gas station, yeah?” a voiced asked.
I looked up to see a couple of men talking to me. The one who spoke adjusted his braided hair in order to show his eyes. I summoned a nod with the strength I had left.
“Oh shit, gang. You up, out and about, insane. You know who did it?”
I shook my head.
‘Fuck, man,” another said, “Couldn’t be me. Shit, I’d slime they asses up as soon as I got out, gang. Like–”
He held two hands out and made clicking noises above me.
“–just straight up bodies, on my momma bro I wouldn’t let that shit slide.”
They celebrated among each other. Each took a turn on describing how they would carry out their brand of vengeance should they have met my fate.
I had nothing in me that could express how much I did not care at this moment. All I could think about was how I wanted to focus on breathing.
On living.
“Anyways, stay up.”
“Yeah–fuck whoever did that to you, just couldn’t be me, nigga!”
“Bro almost ended up like Quan–”
“The fuck you say?”
The group of men turned around to see a man in a full red outfit.. He stood with his hands in his pockets and cast a look of indifference toward me.
“Who the fuck said his name?
I focused on the man in red.
[SLY LEVEL TOO LOW TO INSPECT]
[SLY: 8]
“Dayleon, I don’t want no trouble, nigga.”
“Then don’t say his motherfuckin’ name.”
The man in red stepped between them.
“Sayin’ it couldn’t be you,,” the man in red responded, “You ain’t ever killed nobody. You won’t. I can’t stand niggas who front like they about. You just pussy.”
Another man in the group chimed in.
“Aight, nigga, we get it. You hard–”
“Pause,” another interjected.
The man in red stepped past them and stared at me.
“You not about it, either. I get mines, bitch ass nigga.”
He walked off without another word. The group that walked up to me held the same look of confusion as we watched him leave.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“Dayleon. AKA, Captain Crashout. Nigga is just begging for a situation.”
“Didn’t he do time?” another said, “Beat the first case. Didn’t beat the second. Something about self defense. I ain’t ever see a nigga seek out someone to defend themselves.”
“Yeah, I call bullshit,” chimed a third, “Fuck outta here.”
I snapped back to focus.
“He shot a Stan? The Stans of the West Side?”
“This nigga–Stans of the West Side!”
They all laughed before one answered my question.
“Yeah. Picked a fight with them and it got heated real quick. Swears they upped it on him and he dropped ‘em before they could get him. At least, the first time.”
“What about the second?”
“All we know is Dayleon went to a party where the Stans were gonna be at. Party gets shot up, Dayleon leaves in cuffs, and we don’t see his ass for two years.”
“Crazier? They got him on a drug charge,” chimed another, “Only reason we know is cause his girl never shuts the fuck up about who her man is.”
I glanced to see the man in red standing on the other side of the court.
“Who is Quan?”
The group looked behind them before speaking.
“Quan and Dayleon? They was like brothers. Quan fucked a hoe a Stan was dating and streamed it ON LIVE. They roll up at his house and air that bitch all the way out.”
“Closed casket,” another muttered.
“I’m sorry, on live?”
“Yeah. Instagram. Nigga showed that shit to everybody.”
“She’s bad as fuck, lowkey.”
The group of men gave a sly chuckle and exchanged handshakes.
“Bad? What caliber of crimes did she commit?”
“This nigga–bad? Like, beautiful? Hold up I got a photo, she was fuckin’ everybody, on my momma.”
The man pulled out his phone and showed me the naked photo of a tan woman. She was adorned in stylish tattoos and held a sultry pose.
“She looks most heinous indeed,” I stated.
“Heinous–the fuck that mean?”
“Bad,” I replied.
“Word of the day ass nigga,” he grumbled, “She’s still around but ain’t no one fucking with her. Not since Quan.”
The crowd at the court cheered in unison.
“Oh shit, it’s over already? I got next–”
“Can’t wait to watch your ass get cooked by Ock.”
“Yeah, this is going on the live. Be easy, Jamal.”
The group that had talked to me were gone with the crowd surrounding Ock. My heartbeat had finally returned to a bearable level. I found myself staring at the man in red.
Dayleon stood tall.
Nothing about him physically was impressive. If the rumors were true, then his build didn’t matter. The grudge against the Stans of the West Side meant he was an ally.
[TUTORIAL: PARTY MEMBERS]
Speak of the devil.
[YOU ARE ABLE TO RECRUIT PEOPLE INTO YOUR PARTY]
[PARTY MEMBERS MAY HAVE REQUIREMENTS BEFORE JOINING]
[CURRENT PARTY:]
[YOU (JAMAL)]
Why wasn’t Maurice listed?
No matter. If I was to find the man who did this to me, I would require aid. To ignore one with knowledge of the enemy would be foolish, especially if these Stans of the West Side were as formidable as Maurice said.
I made a mental note to come back here with Maurice. I took out my phone and selected the map, choosing home as my destination. The light blue line shot off in the distance along the ground, beckoning that I followed.
