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Prince Adeyemi · (11-20-2022)

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Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand(s) out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.

20th November 2022, Harlem Middle School, New York City

Your screen comes to life with bright sunflare, the camera pans down to a patch of decently maintained green grass and the squeals of middle-schoolers mashed together with the cheering of parents. A set of 22 kids run against each other, with little order or structure to their paths, chasing after a lone white ball. What some call real football, others soccer. No lingerie here, ya pervs.

The camera zooms in on a particularly talented child, zipping through the crowd, he has a white jersey on with the print "Harlem Middle-School" printed in large black font, with the name "Jameson" and the number "6".

The ball is glued to his feet as he dances between players, eyes flickering from his feet to the goal, glazing past the clearly inferior players running after him. He taps the ball to the side, eyes up the goal one last time and drives his foot towards the ball-

There's a sharp inhale of anticipation from the crowd- interrupted only by the sharp whistle of the referee.

BEEEEEEEEP

An opposing player in black has slid in sharp, taking the kids legs out from underneath him on what looked like a horribly painful tackle. Jameson goes down to the ground clutching his ankle as his coach storms the field yelling furiously at the opposing.. child.

Cue our hero. Isaiah King, wearing a tight black jersey that carves out every muscle on his championship body cuts into the frame. There's no hurry in his step, just a determined walk towards the opposing coach. His slow approach is enough to stop the other, rotund man in his tracks.

"Come on, that was totally a goal scoring opportunity, you better c-c-control your kids. He could've KILLED him!"

Isaiah ignores the man, walking past him without batting an eye and instead drops to a knee beside Jameson.

"You alright, kid? Lemme see that."

Isaiah reaches out to touch the kids ankle, seeing it red and slightly cut up but otherwise fine. He gives it a light squeeze and checks Jameson's reaction.

"You've got some fancy moves, I'd be damned if one of my kids ended your game. How you feeling?"

"N-n-not too bad, Mr K-King."

The kids face is starstruck as he stares at Isaiah.

"That's wonderful, I'll get the ref to cut you some time so you can take that freekick."

Isaiah gets back on his feet and turns to his own player, a young kid with a determined look on his face, a look that wavered as he caught Isaiah's expression. Around the kids arm is a gold armband that read "King."

"Did you think you could've gotten that ball, Kyrie?"

"H-he was in on goal, I had to stop him sir."

"Did you think you could've gotten that ball?"

Silence.

"We c-couldnt let them score, we'd have l-lost."

"Well we're going to lose with ten men on the field anyways. And with how good this kid is, he'd probably score this freekick too."

Silence.

"Get off the pitch, you're done for the day, Ky."

Isaiah walks up to the referee, apologising to him and the opposing coach.

"I'll teach my kids better, but don't walk up to them ever like that again."

Isaiah doesn't wait for a response, instead just walking off to the sideline.

Like he'd predicted, the Jameson scores the free kick, before scoring two more goals against a depleted ten-men side in as many minutes. The referee blows his whistle to end the match.

The kids in black, slump to the pitch, looking defeated. A cheery voice breaks the air as the opposing team celebrates Jameson's talent.

"Don't you worry about it kids! We'll get em' next time! What say we have some ice-cream on Mr King and me?"

A stunningly perfect woman walks onto your screen, of some sort of Asian descent. She's tall and slim, face glowing in the Sun and eyes alight with a kindness.

"Is ice-cream what you kids need?"

Isaiah's icy voice cuts through the sadness and rings out through the air and your speakers. Surely your skin tingles as you hear it. The kids all perk up, looking up towards Isaiah. They say nothing for a few second.

"Come on Iz, cut them some sl-"

"No sir."

Kyrie, the kid who'd been kicked out of the game and cost the team the match is on his feet.

"And why's that, Ky?"

"That's not what champions do."

Isaiah scans the little group of kids and tilts his head, cupping his left ear with a hand.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"That's not what champions do!"

The kids chorus out together, some louder than others, some sadder - yet altogether.

"That's right. Now line up, go thank the other team, yes even that coach, the refs, and then give me as many laps around this field as you think you deserve."

The kids all get to their feet, forming up into a line behind their captain - the kind with the king band.

"That's creeeeepy Isaiah."

Even her voice was angelic.

"These kids come from nothing, they need to learn the world owes them nothing, especially not pity."

"It's ice-cream.”

"If they don't learn now, who's going to teach them? Their deadbeat dads? Their minimum waged school teachers? Maybe the creepy 50 year olds masquerading as girls on fortnite?"

"This is supposed to be a fun extra-curricular activity, not the military."

"And all I'm doing is coaching, Chae."

"That's called brainwashing."

"You say potato, I say-"

The woman giggles, slapping Isaiah playfully on the shoulder, before sliding an arm around his much bigger bicep.

"Can weeeee, at least go for ice cream after? Does lil ol' Chae deserve it at least?"

Isaiah chuckles, rubbing her arm and nodding.

"Sure, but you're on your own there, can't afford the sugars before next week's fight."

Chae rolls her eyes, removing her arm from around his bicep.

"Damn, you're the worst Iz."

Isaiah ruffles her beautiful hair, before pointing a figure at the kids who’d formed two lines and started off on their run.

“Why don’t you go and stop them after their first lap – you can play the good cop. Let me just wrap up this vlog.”

Chae, glances at the camera, sticks her tongue out at it before running off the screen. The camera focuses in on Isaiah, who beckons it to follow him as he walks towards the scoreboard on the field. It read “Harlem Mid 3 – 0 Harlem Kings”.

“Well hello there.

I’m glad you guys got to see all of that – even if it wasn’t my Kings destroying a mid-tier opponent. It’s what I’d have liked, but I guess I can’t control everything.

I could’ve used it as a beautiful analogy for the crushing defeat I’ll hand to Marf soon. But alas – kids will be kids.

Instead you got to see a bunch of kids, determined to win, who decided that few shortcuts would get them there.

You got to see that a lack of hardword only leads to a firm loss.

You got to see that real champions are made from hard work and skill, character and determination – not rough play. You got to see the principles with which I run my team, the principles that have gotten me thus far in my career.

The principles that have earned me this title.

Last week I crushed John Madison Junior – giving him a ruleset with enough flexibility for him to show honor or deceit. Not only did he attack me before our match, he decided to introduce weaponry into a fair fight.

So I crushed him. Within the confines of my rules, according to what he opened himself up to. I helped his shiny head meet real gold – killed some of his braincells and showed him what earning a championship looks like.

God bless him. He now has a choice of repentance, or disappearing into oblivion. Regardless, what he did is not what champions do – and so he is not your Television Champion.

My next opponent, unfortunately, doesn’t seem too promising either. He just lost a title he barely got even with a friend in his corner. Yet after a disappointing loss, this federation thought it worthy to put him in another title shot? Now without a friend in his corner, against a real champion?

That’s what pity looks like Marf.

It looks like unearned opportunities.

Gobbling pity up like a starving child to ice-cream is not what champions do, though I’m sure you’re excited to get your paycheck all the same.

It’s not what champions do – and it won’t make you a champion, no matter how many titles you’ve held in the past.

Not only that…

After your loss instead of going back to the gym, putting in some work an taking advantage of this silver-plattered opportunity you have, what do you do?

You head to Anarchy and attack real wrestlers who put in the work. Like Junior, you took a steel chair to the head of wrestlers after a bout. You lack honor, you lack character, you like a spine – you lack the things it takes to be a champion Marf.

You can barely be called a wrestler, let alone a champion.

And I’ll prove that to you at Bad Medicine.

You and your kind – men and women with little to bring to the ring except for cowardice. You’re a disease upon this rotting company.

You are a disease that needs a vaccine. A disease that needs a cure.

And my cure is painful, it is definitive. It’ll knock you to your knees, to your mat and knock you out for good.

I don’t offer you redemption, I don’t offer you the cure. You are what needs to be destroyed so this company can recover.

That’s why I’ll face you in a last man standing match. I’ll beat you down, concuss you, and destroy you until you’re never comfortable standing in a ring again.

I will end you Marf – and make you an example to every forsaken wrestler that doesn’t deserve to call themselves a wrestler.

If you’ve got a modicum of wit about you, you’ll fight with all you have. You’ll make something of this pity-ridden opportunity you’ve gotten.

Take the opportunity to learn. Bend to my coaching and learn from my rule. Become better Marf.

I’ll see you soon Marf, I hope your knees aren’t weak.”

Isaiah winks at the camera, as it fades to black.

OOC: having some formatting issues, will fix soon sorry!
Edit: fixed.

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