Ya boy CRAM did the damn thing brudda. I did exactly what I said I was gone do, and took da gold from dat Wish.com rappa Tommy Wish. Now CRAM gonna turn up and show out every other week and keep this gold. Dats ight tho, cause I’m gonna do just dat. I’mma keep this belt on me like I keep dat thing on me, twenty-four seven, three six five, ya heard me.

I know peeps gonna be coming for ya boy tryen ta take my winnings and my trophy. Sheesh sun, run and up and get done up, cause CRAM ain’t the one to play with ya heard? Da first victim in the reign of CRAM is dat scrub-ass Barney Green. Barney got more L’s than I roll up for one oh my studio sessions. Dis fool getten a crack at ya boi, them match makers must want Barney to get his head whooped.

Aigh, aight, so peep dis. As ya TV champ I get ta name the stipulation oh the match, and ya know there is only one way to kick this join off. Ya boi CRAM da king of the streets, and what better way to start my reign as champ than to show ya why I’m do king. What I’m sayen is Barney, you and me bro we like dem old ass doobie brother, we taken it to the streets.

A street fight against the king of the streets, the silverback guerilla of the concrete jungle, how ya gonna survive dat one Barney boy? Easy, you aren’t. Ya fate sealed brudda, and ya gonna get CRAM jammed on the concrete. Ya gonna kiss my converse when ya bow down to the king of the streets.  CRAM da man, aint’t none of ya bad as I am.

Barney, ya got no chance brudda. You don’t even show up, ain’t no body even gonna be mad at cha. Not wanting to fight CRAM in a street fight don’t make ya a coward, it makes ya smart man. Don’t look at it as running away, think of it as self-preservation. Cause believe me Barney, ya walk into dis street fight, they gonna be wheeling ya ass out to an ambulance.



~ As the beat fades away we fade into an interrogation room. On one side of the table sits two detectives. One is an overweight middle-aged white male, who looks like he is over the day already. The other is a much younger and enthusiastic Hispanic male. Both wear cheap suits, but the Hispanic man’s, Detective Sanchez, lookes better kept and cared for.

Detectives Miller and Sanchez sat across the table from CRAM, who looked as calm as he did confidently. CRAM leaned back in the metal chair, his dress much more casual, and conveying he may have been picked up late at night. His plain white wife-beater shirt looked pack fresh, his basketball shorts like they just came off the court, and his Jordans, fresh and uncreased.

The renowned street rapper and your TV champ say in the interrogation room of the Panama City Police Department. The room was tense, the air thick with suspicion. CRAM, known for his charismatic presence on the streets and his lyrical prowess, sat with an air of confidence, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern .~

"Mr. CRAM," Detective Sanchez began, his voice firm.

Sanchez: Mr. Tagaloa, we need your cooperation regarding the shooting that took place outside the recording studio a few weeks ago. You were seen in the vicinity, and several witnesses have placed you at the scene.

CRAM: Mr. Tagaloa was my pops, just call me CRAM.

~CRAM smirked as he brought his chair down from the leaned position. ~

“I was there, yeah," he admitted, his voice calm but guarded.


CRAM: But I didn't have anything to do with the shooting, man. I was just dropping some tracks, and vibing with my crew.

~Detective Miller, a seasoned investigator with a keen eye, observed CRAM's every move.~

Miller: You expect us to believe that you were merely there to drop tracks when shots rang out?

"Look, I know how it looks," CRAM replied, his tone serious.

CRAM: But I got no reason to mess with that drama. I'm all about my music, and building my rep. I ain't got time for beef like that, I got plenty of suckas tryen to beef with me and come at me in the XWF, da heck I needa be looken for trouble in the streets for?

~The detectives exchanged a glance, assessing CRAM's demeanor. They knew he held sway in the streets, respected by many and feared by even more. But they also understood the complexities of the rap scene, where rivalries often brewed beneath the surface. ~

"Can you tell us who might have had an issue with you or your crew?" Detective Miller asked, his voice steady.
CRAM hesitated for a moment, contemplating his response.

CRAM: We got our rivals, sure. But this ain't their style. Too messy, too public. They know better.

~ The interrogation stretched on, with the detectives pressing for more information while CRAM maintained his innocence. As the questions continued, the conversation delved deeper into the rap game's intricacies, touching on alliances, rivalries, and the unwritten rules that governed the streets.

Hours passed, and despite the detectives' persistent probing, CRAM remained tight-lipped about any potential suspects. Frustration simmered beneath the surface as they struggled to extract meaningful leads from the enigmatic grappler and rapper.

With little progress made, the detectives reluctantly released CRAM, though they kept a close eye on his movements, knowing that the streets whispered secrets and alliances could shift like the wind. Outside the police department, CRAM stepped into the night, the city lights casting an eerie glow on the streets. His mind churned with thoughts of the shooting and the escalating tensions in the city and the power scene within.. He knew that remaining silent had its risks, but in a world where loyalties could be fragile, divulging information could be equally perilous.

CRAM knew that as the days turned into weeks, and the investigation into the shooting outside the studio would hit dead ends. Witnesses remained elusive, and the motive behind the incident remained shrouded in mystery.
Since the night of the shooting, CRAM had been reaching new heights, capturing gold on his first night out in the XWF. With every passing day, the case faded from the headlines, and the detectives, Miller and Sanchez, revisited the evidence, hoping for a breakthrough. But the silence that enveloped the streets mirrored CRAM's reticence, leaving the truth buried in a tangle of alliances and unspoken codes.

In the heart of Panama City, FL, the streets whispered their secrets, holding onto the truth behind the shooting that had rocked the rap scene. And in that world of beats and rhymes, where allegiances ran deep and rivalries simmered beneath the surface, CRAM remained a figure both revered and enigmatic, his silence a testament to the complexities of street life.

Days had passed and it was now Wednesday before Weekend Warfare and CRAM was preparing to head to the airport to catch his flight to Phoenix. CRAM was running behind as he had a honey slide into his DM’s last minute for some TLC. After doing what he does even better than rappin and wrestling, he had a flight to catch, one that he couldn't afford to miss. As the clock ticked closer to his departure time, he hastily grabbed his bag and dashed out of his apartment. 

The airport was a good hour's drive away, and every minute counted as he knew he’d be harassed by TSA.
His flight from Panama City, FL, was scheduled to depart in a few hours, and he was determined not to miss it. With his bag in tow and excitement for his journey ahead, he hurried out of his apartment building.

As he approached the parking lot, the Florida sun cast long shadows across the pavement. CRAM's mind was filled with thoughts of the match awaiting  him in Phoenix. CRAM was excited to show the world that what he did to Tommy Wish was just the beginning. He was ready to show XWF he wasn’t a flash in the pan, and his win wasn’t a fluke. CRAM would prove why he was the TV champion and the champion of the streets. 

However, the tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. In an instant, chaos erupted around him. Bullets whizzed by, and CRAM instinctively dropped to the ground, his heart pounding in his chest. He heard the sharp cracks of the shots ricocheting off nearby surfaces. Panic surged through him as he realized he was caught in the midst of a drive-by shooting.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, CRAM's instincts kicked in. He reached for his gun out of instinct, only to receive the harsh reminder he had left it at home as he travled to the airport. He immediately crawled behind the nearest parked car, seeking cover and safety. His mind raced as he tried to process the terrifying situation unfolding before him. Fear gripped him, but he shook that off immediately, remaining remarkably composed, and focused on staying out of harm's way.

Moments felt like an eternity as the barrage of gunfire continued. CRAM's heart raced, and he prayed fervently that the shots wouldn't find their mark. Miraculously, despite the terrifying proximity of the bullets, he remained unharmed.
The shooting eventually ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. CRAM cautiously peered out from behind the car, scanning the area for any signs of danger. Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling the arrival of law enforcement.
Breathing a sigh of relief, CRAM slowly stood up, his senses on high alert. He was shaken but relieved that he had narrowly escaped being hit. Thoughts of the airport and his impending journey had been replaced by a sense of gratitude for still being in one piece.

As police officers secured the scene and bystanders offered assistance, CRAM took a moment to collect himself. The realization of how close he had come to danger lingered in his mind, making him acutely aware of the target on his back.

Despite the harrowing experience, CRAM's determination remained steadfast. He was shaken but undeterred. Gathering his belongings, he made his way to his car with a newfound appreciation for every moment of safety and the opportunity to continue his journey. As he drove towards the airport, he vowed to cherish each step of his travels and never take them for granted. ~