Hi Ho! Away we go!
It’s the fool’s life for me!
Hi Ho! Away we go!
Corey on repeat!
Hi Ho! Away we go!
The boy-king’s time has come at last!
Hi Ho! Away we go!
Leaning on nothing but his past!
Hi Ho! Away we go!
Same ol’ Same ol’ trash.
Hi Ho! Away we go!
Saying much and nothing, alas.
It felt good to be back on the offensive, actively chasing Jeremiah down and having a lead to do it. The arrogant, shadowy man always felt just out of arms reach, too established and connected to get ahead of.
And he was.
Until his men began to despise him. Until his arrogance finally overstepped. Taking out an OG? Hurting a man who’s done nothing but help, hell, save the lives of the hoodlum. That arrogance was Jeremiah’s fatal flaw, and it led to the slightest bit of dissent. Enough for two uncomfortable men to hope to save Doc’s life, and give him a fighting chance by sending him to the hospital.
And that overstep will, hopefully, lead Isaiah and his newfound partner-in-crime, Elijah Hussein, right into the viper’s den.
“That’s them! It’s them! The one with the blunt was the guy I spoke to first.”
The two were on the back of Isaiah’s bike, the machine humming quietly about a block away from the men on the curb.
“Dizzee and Youngboy, I know them. Hell, I’ve met their mothers. I’d be sick too if I was beating up the ol’ man my mum used to make me deliver casseroles to. Wait here.”
Elijah hops off the bike and it speeds off towards Jeremiah’s thugs. The bike is so silent that it’s almost upon them when they clock it, startled, the fumble at their waistbands.
“Now now, we just need to talk. Keep that shit in ya pants, we in broad daylight.”
Fear and adrenaline coursing through their veins, they’re honestly kinda funny to look at, each with a hand down their pants - presumably fingers wrapped around a piece.
“Good boys, I wanted to say thanks for what-” [shadow=grey]
“Keep your fuckin- mouth shut”
Isaiah smirks, he knew if he finished that sentence loud enough, it’d be a death sentence for these boys. They went against Jeremiah to free Doc, they would’ve needed to concoct some story to explain his “escape”, they probably pinned it on Isaiah.
[shadow=grey] “Ya’ll must be scared, y’know he’s going to kill you. Surprised he hasn’t already.”
The lankier one juts his chin out at Isaiah.
“We go way back with Jer-, Mr Kingpin. He wouldn’t do us like that.”
“Yeah, he always been real good to his friends, huh? Never once messed with his OGs. You’re right, guess we’re done talking here. Thanks again.”
The man falters, chin dropping a little. They look at each other and speak up as Isaiah pretends to kick off.
“Whatchu’ want?”
“Just wanted to say thanks, and that Doc’s being taken care of… With protection. So, if Jer was going to do anything stupid… There’d be blood to pay.”
The man sighs in relief, dropping his voice.
“He always been real good to me, even said me a lil prayer, love thy enemy shit, as we were doing him in - I just… I couldn’t.”
“And fuck you both for playing along as long as you did - he’s dying, he could still die, and that blood will be on YOUR hands.”
Isaiah’s tone switches from that playful teasing to being filled with deep, dark vitriol. It startles the men, who hunch even more in shame. Ash falls off the end of a blunt and is blown away by the wind.
“But what’s done, is done. I need to kill Jeremiah.”
They both look up at him at the same time, fear in their eyes as they look cautiously around them. This was it, both their biggest fear in Jeremiah and their one hope for salvation in Isaiah.
“You’re both deadmen any ways. Lord knows I should hang you up both for what you did to Doc and Jeremiah’ll definitely spill your guts for what you did for him. It’s time for you to pay your penance.”
They stare up at him with a mix of confusion and fear.
“Yeah, ya’ll probably never spent a day in church - it’s time for you to try and wash the blood off your hands. How do I find Jeremiah?”
A beat.
“The Crystal Cage, at ten tonight. We’re supposed to meet him there… He was probably going to off us on his own ground. I mean, he might not even be there… But that’s the best we got.”
“Good boys. You gonna just let him kill you then?”
The lanky man lifts up his blunt.
“One for the road, we thought. We was gonna disappear… If that’s even possible with Kingpin involved. Maybe you will kill him… But we ain’t gonna hope.”
The both get onto their feet, their sunken eyes and boned-out faces reveal more of their anxiety.
“The ol’ gym, go there, hold out with Chaer... And possibly a few other faces you might recognize. Ezekiel and Jer’s old man are stationed out by Doc. This is war, and you two are soldiers… We don’t run.”
They look into Isaiah’s eyes, surprised at the offer for refuge. Seemingly reading their minds, Isaiah speaks up.
“I’m not protecting you, I’m buying your guns. You will kill for me if I ask you to. You’re just holding out there till tonight, you’re my backup.”
“...You got it Iz, thank you again. We’ll see you at The Crystal Cage at ten.”
“Knew you were a comedian. Telling jokes and shit like that makes you a big boy.
A callback? In the business?
What, did you decide you’d rather be Dave Chapelle than James Raven over the weekend?
Cute.
Come on Corey, I’ve always been bare and vulnerable to the crowd.
Like every animal - I fight with no clothes on. I fight raw and viscerally.
I’m no performer, I’m a killer.
And you’re right, sometimes transparency isn’t enough, sometimes I’M not enough to come out on top.
You, telling me you ain’t had a few losses on your come-up? That you haven’t had to hone and sharpen your craft bit by bit?
All I’m saying is you’ve stopped honing and sharpening that craft the second you started laying your eyes on mid-carders and dismissing them as not worth your time.
Hell, you gave me more respect when you talked about me during War Games than you have been now that I’m standing across the ring from you.
I went from a promising up-and-comer to a toothless king.
You’re just threatened and projecting what you hope to be true.
Cos you know how mid-carders break into the main event? They crush the weakness bred by arrogance that holds the spot.
That’s what it means for me to be Kingslayer - a moniker with teeth, with Raion crushing teeth.
Yes, that list is short… But isn’t that why they put you on my plate? Someone up there must think these teeth are enough to take you out too.
Listen closely Corey… You hate giving your opponents respect because it forces you to have to deal with the possibility that you’d lose. That some midcarder had gotten good enough to beat you - what’ll you do then?
Every opponent after this Saturday is going to talk about how Isaiah King beat you. How you let a flip-floppity mid-carder beat the big ol’ sycophant.
And that’s a reality that terrifies you.
Your lack of respect - that’s your cage Corey.
It’s the cage that keeps your pretty ass from flying.
Not a cage set out by Hook or Pan, but a cage you build around yourself.
A cage that’s isolated you from every friend around you except the ones you’ve indebted to yourself.
A cage that made you take Pan’s love for granted.
A cage that ostracized Dolly as quickly as possible.
A cage that’ll cost Joachim his life.
A cage that’ll cost you everything.
Arrogance. A… GROUNDED arrogance, one that you’ve built match after match. An arrogance you’ve developed after every win, after every belt.
An arrogance that’s formed such a hard shell around you - that it fundamentally skews how you see reality.
I guess you musn’t really remember your humble beginnings, I mean - with a convenient excuse of Lux and The Engineer really being the people that built your career.
That must be why it’s so hard for you to imagine that someone lesser… Could one day be better.
That perhaps that day was closer than you thought.
That perhaps your hard little crystal cage was about to come tumbling down.
That kind of arrogance keeps you from growing Corey, it keeps you from getting better, it keeps you from flying.”
“Whether you know it or not, it’s the curse of success isnt’ it? A curse you’ve lapped up like the lonely, starved dog that you are.
You’ve only ever given respect to the people you thought were better than you - like Alias who you are determined to keep on a pedestal because he’s been better than you.
But most of us - we aren’t worthy to lick your petulant boots, are we?
Not me, not Raion, not Thunder Knuckles… Not even your dear friend Dolly.
What has she done? Hasn’t called her shots? Gotten lazy?
If that’s how you treat your friends, somebody give Joachim a life jacket before you cut him out at the first sign of weakness and doubt.
It must be so exhausting to be the friend of someone who both victimizes himself AND thinks he’s better than everyone else.
So what are you Corey? You’d think the drug-addled kid who needed saving would grow into a humble man who saved others.
But you just developed into the school yard bully who’d rather put people down than lift them up…
Well unless they live in the lil village named after himself, or will let him stick his tongue down their throats.
I think they call it a strawman to say people only call out your commune when they have nothing to say?
Buddy, it’s because your private life shows more of who you are than your wrestling record does. You hold on to one to hide the sins of the other.
You build this cage of ring-superiority so that you don’t have to face the reality that is your shitty personality, your abusive relationships, your evolving into the same evil you once freed yourself from.
Hell, it’s probably because you’ve always had to do things for yourself that you’re here. You’ve never had to rely on anyone else, so of course you think you’re the biggest turd in the pool.
I almost pity you, I definitely empathize with you slightly.
That’s why I look forward to shattering this cage and letting you fly.
Freeing you from the shackles of superiority, from victory, from that gold around your waist.
You’ll probably disappear into obscurity, blame it on some neurological condition that’s probably just regular ol’ heartbreak.” [/shadow]
“I mean, even when you suggested I win - you didn’t say YOU’D just take it back the week after, you thought it funny if Blue Tango or Jenny did it?
Lord, they both could probably kick your ass to if you gave everyone a good chance at your gold.
You yourself know that if you were HUMILIATED on Warfare… Not even at Relentless… That you’d run with your tail between your legs back to Neverland.
Oh oops, that door is closed for you for now isn’t it? Sucks to fuck your friends over, doesn’t it?
Maybe Dolly will take you up in her caravan? Probably not.
Maybe Madi will take you back under his wing? Or is he dead? Or are there five of him now? I’ve started to lose track…. I guess if he has more of himself, or his son… He doesn’t really need you either does he?
Aww, boo, seems like once I’m done with you, you’ll have nowhere to run. Maybe then you’ll actually look at yourself in the mirror and be forced to grow up.
Forced to finally drop all this bravado and see that you’re just a regular fool.
Not a Child-God that demands the worship of his servants.
Not an untouchable universal champion.
Just a child who needs to face reality, accept his flaws, and get back to making himself better.
I’m going to be the villain to do that - to make you a good person.
That’s what fairytale villains are for right? Character growth and stimulus.
I’ll set the stage for you, by killing you. Or at least, killing whatever it is you are right now. Killing this fantastical image you’ve built for yourself.
And out of that you’ll be reborn - hopefully as a man worth celebrating.
When that happens, I might even let you face me for MY gold again. Maybe.
Growing up is hard Corey, but we all got to do it at some point - no more whiney little bitch, no more king of the playground.
This warfare…
Let me break you out of this crystal cage and set you free!”
”Are we sure gramps is safe?”
“He’s got the cops and Ezekiel around him, half those guys on the force are guys we grew up with, they have as much respect for Doc as the rest of us do. He’s good.”
”And you know what you’re doing going in here… On your own?”
Isaiah pauses, holding his tongue back.
“No, no I don’t. But it’s just something we’re going to have to do, right?”
“And what about backup? I’m kinda just a kid and those are hardly the most trustworthy.”
Isaiah looks up at Dizzee and Youngboy, the two fidgetted nervously about the parking lot a few blocks from The Crystal Cage. Understandable really, this was to be their execution, and one wrong move would mean a bullet through their heads.
“As terrible as this sounds, they’re the only ones I’m willing to worth risking. They ARE deadmen, they deserve to die for what they did to Doc… Even though Doc wouldn’t see it that way. Thats why they’re getting a second chance, a way to… Face their reality head on and deal with it.”
“You really think you can take Jeremiah out?”
“I just need to frustrate him, show him who he really is, and he’ll take himself out.”
Elijah wraps his small arms around the bigger man, giving him a solid hug around the waist.
“Don’t die, you haven’t paid gramps back yet.”
“Lock the doors, hold that knife close and hide under the seats. Keep your phone on silent, but an eye on it. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
And just like that, Isaiah and his makeshift goons made their way into the viper’s den - to face their greatest enemy.
“Good evening boys, what do we have here?”
“We know we fucked up Cot’, we… We’re making it right. We got Isaiah.”
“You… What?”
Dizzee shoves Isaiah’s back, pushing the man into the door. Isaiah has a burlap sack over his head, and his hands seem to be cable-tied behind his back. His shirt is ripped and his appearance is visibly dishevelled.
“A moment.”
The slider on the door shuts, and the three wait out in the cold together. A few minutes pass before it slides back open.
“Very well, the boss will see you… three”
Isaiah’s heartbeat hastens. The Boss… He’s here.
The door swings open and a firm hand wraps aroung his arm dragging him through them. He can hear Dizzee and Youngboy right behind him. If they wanted to betray him, they could. He could break out of these cable ties on his own, but the plans was for them to cut the chord when the time was right.
The three are ushered into a much colder room, one playing the boom bap of 90s hip hop.
“Search em’.”
Those same firm hands patted Isaiah down, he came unarmed. He hears Dizzee and Youngboy give up their weapons as well - now seemingly helpless before their captors.
“Well, well… well. What do we have here? How’d you let these two soft boys capture ya, Izzy?”
He was here.
“What, did you think it’d at least you get you closer to me? Close enough to slit my throat?”
Yeah you little shit.
“Even if it means being surrounded by ten of my guys, armed to the tea, hands tied up behind your back? You really are an arrogant little shit aren’t you?”
Silence.
“Or maybe what those boys did to poor Doc finally broke your back and you’re ready to give up.”
“Fuck you.”
“There you go, was wondering why you were being so quiet.”
The bag came off Isaiah’s head and he finally sees his enemy, face-to-face.
“Yeah, I haven’t missed that petulant look. Don’t worry, I’ll have you compliant soon enough.”
“And how’re you going to do that, Jer?”
“Was real smart of you to get my ol’ man involved with protecting Doc eh… Just a shame my boys are too good at their jobs.”
Isaiah felt his blood go cold, he strained against the cable ties and felt them crack.
“The fuck does that mean.”
“At 9.55, good ol’ Doc succumbed to his injuries. He’s dead.”
Isaiah felt his knees grow weak and bile rise up his throat.
“This ain’t childs play Isaiah, it’s time you faced reality.”
“Fuck you Corey, I’m your reality
And I’m going to crush you.”
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