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Prince Adeyemi · (02-11-2023)

Do it, play the song - it's the only way to experience this. You know that's true.

A Voice Of Clarity.

Your screen flickers to life… Into darkness. There is a mechanical whirr in the background, like a whole lot of old desktop PCs struggling to load up. With a click and a flash – a light comes on to illuminate JUST Isaiah’s face, hugged by the darkness.

His skin is flawless, his gaze intoxicating. He takes a deep breath in and the left side of his lip twitches in the shadows of a snarl. When he speaks, you listen.

“Irreverent, unhinged, and aimless.

You talk just as big a talk as every rookie, every veteran, every washed-up pile of bones.

I guess that’s the business, right? Throwing ribbons on dogs that roll around in the mud.

That’s why they shoot these vignettes, it’s why they throw on the lights, the pyro, and the action.

To throw ribbons on a bunch of dirty, sweaty, fighting… dogs.

Our business is about blood and violence.

It’s about power and dominance.

Dolly Waters – you used to have that all, we can all see that.

I’ve got a dozen tapes in the backroom to prove it too.

You used to at least have the element of surprise; sure, you came from wrestlers – but what could this twelve-year-old possibly do to the big burly men of the XWF?

You used to have cunning, putting on 6 feet meat suits and completely overwhelming the strategy of unaware opponents.

You even used to have violence – I mean, you’ve held that X-Treme title three times? Maybe I shouldn’t count that, it really did hop about like a potato back in your day.

When did you realize it was all coming down? That your trajectory to the top had come to a halt? That you no longer had what it takes to stand on your own two feet?

When did you realize that the Waters name no longer struck fear in the hearts of opponents, but needed a literal vampire, or Knickles to maaayybee give you the chance at some glory?

When did you realize you needed to relegate to the competition dessert of our tag-team division to even feel some sense of achievement?

You’ve been away from Singles competition for so long that I had to revert to tapes to see how you fought without help.

Honey, I think all that swamp Water’s got in yer’ eye because while I’m fully aware I’m a mid-carder, it seems like you can’t see that you are too.

You’ve never been top – Hell, in recent times, you’ve needed some help from more talented wrestlers to get you anywhere in this business.

Might I give you some advice? You can take it or throw it away – it’s not like you’ve got much to lose anyways.

Take your pompous head out of your ass and finally see what you are.

I know I’m not THE KING. My past two fights reveal as much.

But I sure as hell am going to be.

You, on the other hand, you might still be leaving on the glory of yesteryear.

Strutting around like you own the place when you never have.

What’s the longest YOU’VE held anything? Whom have you had to face to “defend your castle”?

Stop riding on the… The glory of your partners and finally see that you’ve lost that spark.

You’re just as desperate to find it again as I am. I need it to take me up top, you need it just to feel relevant.

Listen to me, Dolly.

Let me be your voice of clarity.

You’ve got so much left to do.

So much life to lead.

If you’d only get your head out of your ass and see.

Dolly, darling, let me take you out of those muddy waters, and into your future.”

Isaiah spits that last darling out venomously. The spotlight on his face flashes white, illuminating the space around him. He’s standing in a concrete basement of sorts, old televisions stacked up against the wall behind him like some sort of security center.

The screens seem to be split into three sections, left, right, and center.

In the center each screen has one of Dolly’s matches, tracking her from her days as Buronan to her single-handedly carrying Charlie’s team to her tag-team exploits.

The left has street cameras displayed, tracking the wild streets of Harlem’s every movement.

The right seems to be following security camera feeds in some indoor buildings, but you can’t quite make it out.

Chae and a patched-up Ezekiel stand before the left and right sections respectively, with clipboards in their hands, taking notes carefully.

The room whirrs with activity, and Isaiah stands in the middle with his arms clasped behind his back. His chest muscles bulge from a recent workout, sweat glistening on his perfect brown skin. He has on a leather jacket, over a low-cut white t-shirt.

He turns almost… Militaristically on his heel to address his team. You notice a gold crown embroidered onto the back of his shirt.

“There’s a lot on our plates this week, thanks for being here… Thank you for sticking around.” Isaiah’s voice rings out with an air of comfort.

“You just focus on your match tomorrow, hun.” Chae returns his comfort with more, giving him a light wink before turning back to monitor the screens. She has her head tilted to her shoulder, securing her phone between her ear and shoulder, muttering something.

“Yeah, Iz, we’ve got Jer and the Empire covered, they won’t even see what hit em’” Ezekiel raises his fist up into the air, wincing at the strain it puts on his stab wound.

“Mm, neither will Dolly.” Isaiah’s eyes turn back to the screens with Dolly’s matches on replay, careful eyes taking in every leap, strike, and throw.

Jeremiah dove head-first into the gang life. He thrived in it. A couple of months dealing on the streets, some close calls with the police, and more than a handful of bloody fights later, the talented amateur boxer rose to one of the most talented street generals Harlem had seen.

He had a knack for getting the other street hoodlums on his side too, the ones who looked like him and felt just as disenfranchised.

And where Jeremiah went, the rest of us followed. Chae, Ezekiel, and I.

The life initially made us uncomfortable, the constant risk of imprisonment or loss of life. Not because they terrified us in and of themselves, but because it’d mean we lost each other.

You see, for as long as we could remember we only had each other. The four us versus the world. The original King’s Court versus all of existence.

We looked out for each other, we comforted each other, we fought for each other, and we lived for each other.

Until Pop’s decided to use us, use Jeremiah.

Four talented fighters, trained by his own hand, fully dependent on him for housing, sustenance, and a sense of purpose. He put us to work and controlled us like his war dogs.

He gave us roles in The King’s Court, and even let Jeremiah believe he was King for the longest time. Through abuse and training. But really – he was king all along. Playing with us on puppet strings to help him takeover Harlem.

Jeremiah’s success in the underworld meant his focus on the sport began to dwindle. He practically dropped the “King” title to me because he just didn’t care anymore. Sure Chae, Ezekiel and I would get involved in scuffles, and transport merchandise when we had to, but really our love was the ring. It was boxing. It was an honorable sport.

So, we had one foot in darkness, in the murky water, the other in the light – in the fight.

Our hearts, and our dispositions leaned us to honor while our love for Jeremiah kept us back.

It was a tough couple of years, living hypocritical, two-faced lives.

Well, up until I almost died.

Doc keeps shining his torch into Isaiah’s eyes, which now had both been bloodied internally. A steady drip of blood leaked out of his nose, and his mouth hung open loosely. He has on a stethoscope, shifting it across the boys chest.

”He gon’ be alright, yeah’ doc?” Jeremiah’s voice rang confidently, albeit slightly impatiently.

”W-what the fuck.” Chae comes bursting into the room, shoving Jeremiah off his squatted position and onto his ass. His eyes glisten with hurt at the sight of her.

”He’s gon’ be-“

“You sent him up there again didn’t you.” Chae wouldn’t let him finish.

“C’mon Chae, he just got picked up, it was those Empire fucks, y-“

”Both of you shut the fuck up, this ain’t looking good.” This time it was Doc’s turn to interrupt him. The large men begins to dig through a bag full of vials, checking labels and going back in.

”He’s fading out on us, I can jolt him up to keep his heart rate up, but we gon’ have to get him to a real doctor.” The man’s voice shook with some nervousness as his shaky hands filled up a syringe.

Chae had her phone out immediately, dialling an ambulance and sticking the phone between her shoulder and ear. She used her free hands to hold Isaiah’s head up.

”We’re out Jer’. For good, you’re fucked, this whole thing is fucked. This is not what we were meant to EVER be doing. He hasn’t ever looked this bad, no fight has put him down like this – you can either leave with us or…. Fuck.” Isaiah coughs up blood onto Chae’s old black Metallica Tee, spraying the skull with a fresh coat.

”Calm down Chaer. You don’t know what you-“

For the third time today, Jeremiah is cut off.

”You’re in too deep, head in your ass. All this King’s shit has fucked you up Jer. You aren’t seeing straight, and not sure you were ever thinking straight. You don’t have to listen to reason, but Iz, myself and Eze are out. They’re here Doc.”

The scene returns to the concrete room. Isaiah’s phone rings over the whirring machines. His eyes widen as he sees who’s on the line, hidden from the camera. The Heir Apparent raises the phone to his ear, surprise turning into a smile.

“Sounds reasonable.” He lowers his phone, looking back up into the camera, back at you.

“As I look at every path before me, each tug at my heart constantly.

The bloodshed of extreme.

The scheming of the powerful.

The disorder of the insane.

The light of the honorable.

Each a road to the top, each a way to overcome my failures.

A million different voices in my head.

But only one, a voice of reason.

It rang out to me as clear as the blue sky.

A voice of reason, to which I’ve always turned.

Though this time, from a source unexpected.

I extend that reason out to you, Dolly.

A voice of reason to pull you out from the mud.

A voice of reason to lift you up to the light.

A voice of reason to discard both our mediocrity.

To put you back on your own two feet.

Watch me as we go to war on Saturday.

Feel me as I tear your body down to nothing.”

The camera zooms out further, to reveal a ring in the middle of the room, away from the wall of screens. There are men everywhere in the ring, sparring on one side, loading up weapons on the other. The ring is empty, spotlights shining onto it. Isaiah stands with his arms still clasped behind his back. Still wearing his jacket, he now has his wrestling gear on.

He climbs up onto the ringside, slipping through the ropes. Walking to the center, Isaiah extends a hand to the camera.

”Dolly Waters, it’s time you listened to reason:
Fall at my feet so that I can take you up to glory. ”

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode A Voice of Reason.
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