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Prince Adeyemi · (10-01-2023)

Please play the song as you read :)

“The empires of the future are empires of the mind.”
Winston Churchill

The mind is a dark, morbid place for some. For some blessed ones, a place of bliss and calm. For others, a place of frivolous self-indulgence and mind-numbing consumption. Who truly knows what runs through the minds of the next person? Have you ever sat on a train or a bus, and wondered to yourself… What is going on inside their heads? What’re the thinking? What drives them and motivates them? What scares them and what comforts them. What brings them joy?

What have they suffered?

Most live in complete cluelessness of what occurs in the heads of others, less the few probing questions and the assumption of honest answers. Most… Less those who are made to rule.

Some leaders might be able to intuit how their wards are feeling, others might be particularly better at extracting honest self-assessments. Yet, all leaders, all rulers, must be adequate at bending the minds of others into a suitable mold.

Rulers make you think, feel, care about what they want you to.

Rulers conquer minds.

That is their battlefield.

And your mind?

Belongs to me.

[Image: Erik-Killmonger-Black-Panther-2018-black...40-300.gif]

[Image: Erik-Killmonger-Black-Panther-2018-black...40-300.gif]

Continued from Bedtime Stories III

Isaiah’s mind began to race. Where, where had he gone wrong? When did he let Jeremiah… Lead.

For the benefit of you lazy dorks who haven’t been following good ol’ Izzy’s story. Jeremiah was Isaiah’s enemy, a New York gang leader who went by the uncreative moniker of Kingpin. They’d grown up together, started off in the underground together but parted ways as Isaiah found himself and his friends a mismatch for the dark world of drugs and murder. Jeremiah had spent a few years behind bars, but since his return has had his eyes set on Isaiah and his friends Chaeryoung and Ezekiel - determined to get them to submit to his rule once more. Most recently, he’d done this by kidnapping and hurting Doc Ilias Hussein, a retired war vet and close mentor of Isaiah’s.

Isaiah had just found out that…

“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 child's play Isaiah, it’s time you faced reality.”

The two thugs Isaiah had managed to flip saw the tides turning and made a split decision. Dizzee lunges forward, a ring on his middle finger flicking out with a sharp edge and slicing the ties that held Isaiah’s hands together. Youngboy tackles the both of them behind a couch for cover.

Isaiah’s startled into action.

“T-thanks guys.”

Silence. Odd.

“Cuuuuuuuute. What, did you think we’d have a gunfight? Ruin my pretty little club? What are you three going to do?”

”Fuck you Jer. Come face me and let me rip that tongue outta your mouth.”

“And why would I do that when I obviously have the upper hand here? Honestly, what did you three think you were going to achieve coming into MY den?”

A handful of loud cracks sends everyone in the room to half squats, covering their heads except for the unflinching Jeremiah. Right above his head are a couple of gunshot holes through the wall, the booming music of the room next door coming through them.

The dust of wall plaster drifts down.

“Ya’ll done talking there?”

“Yuh, Jer’ never really knew when to shut up, thought we’d help.”

Jeremiah’s henchmen turn their weapons to the wall, aiming towards the voices of Chaeryoung and Ezekiel in the other room. What were they doing here?

A raised hand eased the tension in the room somewhat, fingers vibrating right above triggers.

“I’d hate to ruin this reunion with a bullet storm. Put your guns down, they’re free to go.”

“F- What?”

“Looks like your friends came in [i]just in time[i] to drive your ass home. Wonderfully timed. Off you go now.”

Jeremiah’s voice reeked with the whimsicality of Dr Seuss but if he was raised in Harlem.

“Why would you let us leave?”

“Because if I wanted to kill you, I already would have, and you certainly aren’t going to be able to kill me… So it seems like our little date has run its course. I just wanted to see what you had, and you my friend… Have nothing.”

Isaiah’s shoulders slump, still behind the couch for cover. He did have nothing, what was he thinking coming here?

“Also, you probably have a funeral to plan.”

Dizzee and Youngboy look at each other with relief before helping Isaiah up onto his feet. Isaiah smiles at them in thanks.

POP. POP.

Hot blood splatters across Isaiah’s face.

“Funerals. Leave them outside won’t you? I’ll get someone to take out the trash.”

[Image: tumblr_obo236QKSg1ug9vaqo5_500.gif]

[Image: tumblr_obo236QKSg1ug9vaqo5_500.gif]

Isaiah toys with a metal wrench in his head, polished clean enough to see his reflection on. He hums an odd song, one only recently heard again in the XWF - the jarring anthem of North Korea.

“Let the morning sun shine on the silver and gold of this land. That’s what them unfortunate slaves have to sing everyday while eating the rats in their homes and deciding which kid is worth saving from starvation.

Let us glorify together this Korea, limitlessly rich and strong. That’s what they have to sing while they build facades of buildings to trick the tourists into believing their spiel.

Damn Tommy, you muscle-brained America-loving whore - you had one shot at humiliating them cucks, giving those sad kids something to rejoice over and you did what… Die?

I’m sorry.

Are you dead?

A million volts of lightning to the heart either kills you or turns you into The Flash right?

I’m going to hope you’re still kicking because I’m not sure if I know how to strategize against a corpse.

But let’s be honest, it’s not really like it matters if your heart is beating or not. Has it been like two years since you put any effort into the ring?

Theo basically has had a corpse running his security for years now.

How many times did you let me sneak through to a match and screw with things? Shooting pyros at Bobby, caving Raion’s skull in… Hell, even knocking Corey clean out.

Our biggest stars, left in a pile of their own spit and blood - on your watch.

That’s just me, and I’m hardly the biggest schemer of the lot. I try my best to keep my shenanigans limited to people who disgust me.

I try my best to not underestimate my opponents, but you’re really not making it this easy when the coolest, scariest thing you’ve in the last two years was crush a metal canteen before getting defibrillated on live television.

Yeah, your cool walk out is the most badass thing the HEAD OF SECURITY has done.

You’re barely a side character, you’re a sound effect.

You’re the lackluster blip in the middle of a show to let the kids and elderly take a piss break.

Nobody wanted to watch that Northie fight anyway so it made perfect sense to have you be the one to kill time.

Nobody really expected you to SOLVE anything.”

Isaiah holds the wrench up to his head like a pistol.

“The quintessential patriot - not a thought in their head, rushing out with a sense of duty, and getting their brains blown off by some commie.

Blam!

I’d clap for you, but your white ass would probably think that was a sign of violence and try and choke me out.

I hate your kind Tommy.

I hate idiots who step outta line, and give themselves lil weapons to make them feel dangerous.

Thoughtless lil dogs, don’t do things on their own, they don’t fix real problems. They stand outside of clubs and make sure the guy-to-girl ratio is good.

You don’t give them guns and put lives in their hands.

No sirree, that there is what we call responsibility.

And responsibility is given to leaders who aren’t just intelligent.

No, responsibility is given to kings who make people like you do what they want.

Tommy you ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

You’ll never amount to anything bigger than that - and if you knew any better, you’d stay on whatever hospital bed they stuck you on after your humiliation last week and not even show your face on Wednesday.

Because honestly, I’m sick and tired of the weakness this company puts out and gives time to in the ring.

Weakness that the ring sweepers dont need to be cleaning up after.

Weakness the fans don’t need to be paying for.

Weakness that won’t even sharpen the edge of my blade before I take it to the throat of a real king.

You ain’t even worth warming me up for Thunder Knuckles, Tommy.

A Macy’s mannequin might do me better.

Nevertheless… You are who I’ve gotten and so I’ll concede to the shadowy fingers of power and fight you.

I’ll run my blade across your throat.

I’ll behead you right down the middle.

And get back on my road to the throne without breaking a sweat.

I am the Kingslayer.

The peasantry are not of my concern.

But when the peasants step outta line…

The King must restore justice.”

The two men on either side of Isaiah slump into his arms, a clean shot to each of their foreheads. The wounds started to bleed.

Isaiah’s mouth hangs open, the hot splatters of blood and brain on his face start dripping down.

“What, I said you could leave… But you didn’t think I’d like some bitch-ass traitors walk out of here alive, did you?”

“We… We grew up with them.”

“Yeah, and what sorta friend… What sort of leader… Would I be if I didn’t put down rabid dogs every once in awhile. A mercy killing, you can call it.”

“They wanted out.”

“Just like you… But honey, this is life, there’s no tapping out. Now hurry along.”

Isaiah wanted to, tried to sneer… But he couldn’t. Inhaling deeply, he lifted his two dead friends, dragging them out of the club’s back room.

“Leave them there.”

“Fuck you.”

Chaeryoung and Ezekiel meet Isaiah outside, automatic pistols in each hand aimed at Jeremiah and his thugs. They flank their friend as Isaiah makes the slow, painful hike back to his car.

As they approach the vehicle, and see the young Elijah gripping his knife tightly, Chae quickly goes to cover his eyes.

“He’s old enough. He knew blood would be spilt today, let him see.”

Elijah sees the two bodies and struggles to settle his stomach, he pushes open the car door and throws up what little food he’d had all over the pavement. He didn’t even know about his grandfather yet.

Isaiah and Ezekiel get the bodies into the back seat while Chae brings Elijah to her own bike, parked nearby.

“Want me to ride with you?”
“No, ya’ll take the boy back to the hospital. Doc is dead-”

“We know, he was fading and I immediately came down here. There was no use protecting him, he was too hurt.”

“Thanks Z, the kids not going to take it well. And I need to do this on my own.”

Isaiah gestures towards the two bodies, the same two who’d inflicted the now-fatal torture onto Doc.

“It’s not on you.”

Isaiah looks down at his blood covered hands.

“Yes, yes it is.”

Isaiah walks over to Elijah, squatting down to get to his eye level. He tells him what he knows about Doc, and takes the rapid fists to the face without flinching.

“Doc is dead, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

[Image: giphy.gif?cid=82a1493bcqco6yljpbklyy7gbv...y.gif&ct=v]

[Image: giphy.gif?cid=82a1493bcqco6yljpbklyy7gbv...y.gif&ct=v]

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