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Prince Adeyemi · (05-29-2023)

Good Boy Part 3: “Friends close, Enemies Closer”

1 WEEK BEFORE WARGAMES WEEKEND

Tokyoloose Club.

Kabukichō, Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan

Note: Most Japanese has been translated to english for the sake of the reader.

A bottle smashes against a marble table.

The bartender continues to casually make his drink.

”Konoyaru, why is kokujin staring like he’s some big shit?”

The man spoke his english out slow and drawn out, malice dripping from his every consonant.

”Do you know where I can meet Kurasshu or not?”

”You come our bar, touch our women, drink our alcohol, THEN ASK US ABOUT OUR BUSINESS?

”Is that a no?

”Bakayaro, I’ll f*ckin’ kill you.”

The bottle comes swinging through the air…

… Before it dramatically crashes the floor.

The man finds himself lifted off his feet, and slammed into the marble table with a uranage out of nowhere! Ezekiel pulls the man back up onto his feet, now limp and certainly with ungodly pain shooting through his spine.

”Ask him again Iz.”

The bar is tense, there’s a couple of other men standing behind the angry Japanese gangster, they have loosely buttoned white shirts under well-fitted black suit jackets. One has a knife held loosely in his end, his eyes boring holes into Isaiah, a slit above his eyebrow identifying him for the less familiar foreigners.

Yet they didn’t make a move.

The man in Ezekiels arm is even more distinct, a garish tiger print shirt under his white suit made him stand out from his black-and-white clad backup. Isaiah walks up to him, running his hand through his hair before pulling it up for their eyes to meet.

”Kurasshu wa dokoda.”

Where is Kurasshu.

The man spits a wad of blood, and what could perhaps have been a bit of tooth at Isaiah before slumping back into Ezekiel’s arm.

Ezekiel inhales deeply and bends his knees slightly.

”Korosuzo, kuso.”

I’ll kill you, shithead.

Ezekiel responds by lifting the man back into the air…

”Stop, stop. I bring you to see Kurasshu,

please don’t kill brother.”

Ezekiel relaxes.

Isaiah gently pats the tiger-print’s face twice.

”At least someone’s a good boy.”

A sharp pair of knuckles connect with soft tissue, and the world goes black for one foolish Yakuza.

2 WEEKS BEFORE WARGAMES 2023

Somewhere in New York City, New York

Mr King, you’ve just been drafted by Ned Kaye for War Games 2023 in the third round.

A pained smile creeps across Isaiah face as a notification pops up on his phone. It’s hooked up to the front of his bike, giving him directions as he races down the street towards JFK.

The good little twerp knew what's best for him.

Isaiah has a new mission, a mission handed to him by Jeremiah himself. The Voldemort of Isaiahs life had set him a task.

They were setting up a drug and talent export connexion with the Yakuza. Jeremiah needed a regular source of heroin to keep his drug empire and the Yakuza needed a business interest out of Japan, where they were getting squeezed out by legitimate businesses.

A symbiotic relationship.

In Jeremiah’s world, it was the closest thing to friendship.

Jeremiah knew Isaiah was headed towards Japan for WarGames so when he needed to force Isaiah into a test of loyalty, this seemed ideal.

But if Isaiah knew anything about Jeremiah, this little mission had more to it than he was letting on, Isaiah had to keep on his toes but at least this time he had his best friend with him.

”We really gon’ go across the world for this little shit?”

”We’re going there for Chae, we have to keep playing along until we figure out a way to get her out of there. I was headed there anyways.”

Isaiah’s voice was curt, too curt for a friend.

”Right.”

And Ezekiel knew more than to push Isaiah when he was like this, almost sycophantly incessed.

”Sorry Zeke, I just really want to kill someone right now.”

When he was determined and obsessed.

WEEKEND OF WARGAMES

Before Flynn becomes a unicorn.

First National Bank Building - First Floor

Tokyo, Japan

How the hell did he end here?

Isaiah was dipping and ducking, bullets whizzing past his head and shattering the glass behind him. He had one hand on the back of his head like it’d do something against a BULLET, the other was waving around a BASEBALL BAT.

”KONOY-!”

Enemies really shouldn’t yell before attacking.

Isaiah swung his bat low, dropping into a knee slide and destroying the left knee of his very obvious assailant.

With a sick crunch, the Yakuza grunt dropped to the ground.

With a UMPH, the base of the bat slammed into the back of his head, knocking him out for good.

It was supposed to be a simple plan - find the connection, negotiate with the connection, prepare for the wrestling match, WIN at wargames. That was supposed to be JAPAN 2023.

How had he ended up in a Japanese bank, with three of his teammates, FIGHTING the Yakuza?

HOW THE HELL DO YOU CONFUSE YAKUZA AND THE KABUKI.

Isaiah shook his head to refocus, just quick enough to duck under a flying nunchuck.

AIN’T THAT CHINESE?

”No you racist ingrate, it’s most definitely Japanese, Okinawa.”

Now the voice of his definitely-once-racist-and-now-dead coach was some kind of Japanese cultural expert??!

”We gotta live, grow, adapt. That’s the way o’ the hunter.”

A leg sweep, before slamming the fist holding the bat into his jaw on his way down dealt with this one.

HELL WHERE ARE HIS TEAMMATES?

BOOOOOM

The explosion shook the walls and dropped Isaiah to a knee.

1.5 WEEKS BEFORE WARGAMES

Before Isaiah and Zeke’s brutal beatdown of Tiger-Print in a Shibuya Bar.

STILL IN TOKYO

When ⅔ members of The King’s Court land in Tokyo, they’re immediately both severely out of their depth and deeply enthralled.

Growing up in the New York hoods meant they were basically raised by anime. While reality was not quite the hyper saturated, maid-dressing, gender-bending chaos of the screen, it was still fantastical.

The buildings were a mix of in-your-face capitalism paired with the aged efficiency of the 1960s. Grey buildings with little character, dusty windows, plastered with ads for GLICO or BANDAI… Or some Host(ess) Club.

Ezekiel immediately got his hands on a pack of Japanese cigarettes from a vending machine, giggling to himself like a child that he could even do that. All he’d had to do was sign weirdly to a local to help him with age verification.

”Japan is sick.”

The cigarette was miraculously lit in his mouth already. Isaiah tried hard to fight his deep desire to geek out too. Chae was still in trouble, quite literally strapped to an explosive.

Right by the exit to the airport, stood a singular black man. He stood out obviously in the crowd, and stood with a stillness that would make your skin crawl. His eyes were piercing. He was dressed in a loose grey suit, with a pressed white undershirt. He tilted his chin up challengingly at Isaiah and Zeke as they met his gaze.

They approached him cautiously.

“The Boss says find Kurasshu. Start in Shibuya.”

”What’s a Kurasshu? What’s it look like?[/green]

”It’s a person, that’s all we know. He’s the connect in. Find him before your fight, set up the deal.

”What’s HE look like? Is he friendly or an enemy?”

”No clue.”

It was like he was TRYING to infuriate them.

[red]”You give us a single name, no last name or first name, just ONE Japanese name and expect us to find him?”

”Yup, Yakuza.”

Isaiah rubs the bridge of his nose, Jeremiah hated making things easy.

”That’s impossible, you have to give us more”

”Do it or your friend dies.”

The man abruptly turned away from them and approached a beaten up old bike, he slotted a helmet on his head and disappeared into the Japanese streets.

Isaiah had to physically restrain Ezekiel from murdering him.

Isaiah is back in the TOKYOLOOSE Bar. Sitting by his own with his back to the bar. He has a leg up on the high stool he’s sitting in, clad in a familiar tiger-print shirt almost fully unbuttoned and a white jacket with specks of blood on it.

A shirtless man is unconscious at his feet.

The bartender is casually shaking up a drink behind him.

“WarGames.

Truly a Pay-per-view crafted for Me.

A pay-per-view that allows the hunter to observe SO MUCH PREY.

A pay-per-view that allows a hunter to FIGHT TWICE in one night.

A pay-per-view where VIOLENCE, WARFARE, is encouraged.

And my first WarGames at that, oh and it’s about to be delicious.

Because before we can cook - we have to hunt.

And a hunt has two parts, the tools for the hunt and the prey itself.

So let's look at the tools shall we?

Are we not possibly the sharpest knives around?

The deadliest rifles, with the largest firepower in this tournament of sorts?

An Ex Universal Champion but one who lasted perhaps… Just a little bit longer than our prey. A man who's so chaotically idiotic that he's quite literally deadly.

Even with a chunk of metal in his head - Mark Flynn is more dangerous than any one from the queen of spiders to the mediocre spaceman incarnate.

We've got Crash, a living Samurai in his own right who will crush every single person in his way, for the sake of what he cares about. He will spill blood, if it means it'll get him what he wants. His biggest issue at wargames might be the lacklustre opposition we face, the lack of a true enemy.

And then there's Ned.

Ugh.

He's beat me and that's more than enough reason to fear him. He tapped me out, unified two of the most powerful belts in this industry and has taken the XWF into a new generation.

He's out captain, and as much as he has a 10 foot pole stuck up his ass and desperately needs the likes of Flynn and I to lubricate our weapons a little bit more with blood - if anyone gets things done…it's Ned.

And there's me. like the blade at the end of a spear, or the tip of a anti-rhino shell. I am the single-midned destructive force that we need to carry this stacked team to the top.

A stacked team that'll arguably get to the top undefeated, and unpinned - because while we have childhood friends and broken up stables hanging around… and even incredible individual talents.

Nobody is nearly as full of both friends and enemies as we are.

Good boys made up of the good and evil.

Well-balanced and well oiled.

We've got the tag stars AND the solo champions to lead the way.

And then there's our prey.

An eclectic group of their own.

A buffet spread that's more of an appetizer than the main course.

Cos we all know the four of our monkeys aren't making it to the the end.

The end will be full of other predators - your blood is just our aparatif.

Why? Because you're the most mismatched group of vagabonds I've seen.

A universal champion and queen that stopped being relevant almost as quickly as she got to the top.

A spaceman who I can't figure out is a good guy or bad, and who seems much more interested filling the universe with his seed than actually winning fights.

Vagabond… uhm. He's been torn a good one by Theo himself for demoting him in place of the irrelevant spider.

And who else? Whose the last one in that group…

Oh right. He hasn't been relevant in about 15 years. In a century.

The old man whose returned to enjoy glory once more, with nothing in his belt to prove why he should be.

Do y'all really think you stand a chance against the best men in this tournament?

I think not.

Now's about the time to quake in your boots.

I'm sorry folks, the appetizer course is going to be tough and chewy because fear renders meat bad.

But given the state of this business, we can't expect too much can we?

Sidney, you poor thing - it didn't have to be this way. But as you shoot for glory, as your arrogance has guides your way, watch as your group crumble in fear around you.

Crumble before these predators."

The bartender places a beautifully made negroni beside Isaiah, a drink that doesn't need to be shaken nor stirred - but for some reason has taken all of his promo to come up with.

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