A modern retelling of David and Goliath, taking place in a modern day drill rap beef.

Hanging With Wolves

 

The air in the martial arts studio smelled like disinfectant, sweat, and that rubbery mat scent that never quite went away. Ten kids, all between the ages of four and six, shuffled around barefoot in oversized white gis. Their belts sagged and twisted, one dangling like a scarf, another knotted like shoelaces. David crouched next to the smallest boy, gently adjusting his front foot.
“Not like that, Javi,” he said, tapping the inside of the kid's ankle. “Turn it. Boom, there you go. You ready now.”
Javi nodded, trying not to grin. Across the mat, two girls playfully argued about who kicked higher during the last drill. Another kid spun in a slow circle, arms out, just to hear the swish of her pants. David clapped twice. “Line up! Let's reset the kata from the top.” They scrambled into something resembling a line. Crooked and chaotic, but a line. He moved down the row like a young shepherd checking his flock. A stance fixed here, a belt retied there, and the occasional gentle reminder not to dig for gold during horse stance. These lil niggas gon' get me fired, he thought, amused, watching one boy wipe his nose with his sleeve. They weren’t soldiers, but they were his, and he moved among them like they were carrying something sacred. The door opened, and Sensei Nate stepped into the dojo, broad-shouldered in his black gi, face unreadable. The room shifted. He bowed toward the shomen, and even the youngest kids straightened up on instinct.
“Yo, David,” Nate said, calm but commanding. “Your people out front.”
 David raised a brow. “Who?”
“Your brother and sister… they said it’s important.”
“Alright... thanks, Sensei.”
Nate clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Go 'head. I got your class.”
David nodded. Then he turned to the kids, squatting to their level. “Aight, y'all. Be good for Sensei Nate. Try not to make him quit on day one.”
The kids giggled, and Javi ran over to hug his leg before running back to his position. David bowed toward the shomen, threw on his hoodie, and padded barefoot into the hallway. Outside the studio doors, Abby, one of his older sisters, leaned on the wall scrolling her phone, nails clicking the screen. Dai, one of his older brothers, had one foot posted up, arms crossed, eyes scanning.
“What's up? Everything good?”
Abby barely looked up. “Yeah. You just gotta come back to the house.”
David glanced between them. “But is everything good?”
Dai shrugged, voice low. “Foenem asked where you was at, then told us to bring you back to the cookout.”
David wiped his hands on his gi pants. “But ain’t that some 3T shit? What they need me for?”
Dai tilted his head, like he'd been wondering the same. “Yeah, I don't know either tribe. But some old head pulled up not long ago, and the OGs got real quiet. On 3T, nigga outranked everybody.”
David squinted. “Old head?”
Dai nodded. “And I never seen him, or nobody like him before either. On 3T, tribe looked like he just left Bible study but still got the pipe on him.”
David blinked. “Nigga, what?”
“That’s the best way I could describe it bro, on Abe.” Dai replied.
Abby added, “And soon as he showed up, Dad started moving different.”
“On YahWay,” Dai said. “Had us all meet dude. But tribe just looked through us. Shit felt weird.”
They let the silence sit.
Abby finally said, “Yeah, then Dad asked where you were, and told us to get you. Jojo was supposed to come with us, but he’s off doing God knows what.”
David scratched the back of his neck, still sweaty. “Aight. Lemme grab my bag.”

The backyard smelled like charcoal, burgers and chicken, but the energy felt off. David stepped through the gate with Abby and Dai, passing the front yard where two more of his older brothers, Eazy and Sham, posted up near the porch, politicking amongst some 3T niggas David didn’t recognize, no way they’re from JayTown, David thought. He gave a collective nod and kept walking, there was music, there was food, most chairs were full… But the vibes were missing. No spades, no dominoes, no red plastic cops, no white styrofoam cups, no smoke twisting in the air. David slowed, like he’d walked onto the wrong movie set.
“Aye, David,” his father’s voice called. “Over here.”
His father, Jessie, stood in the middle of the yard, hand lifted. Beside him stood an older man David didn’t recognize. He was tall, brown-skinned, David thought he looked good for his age. Beard full and sharp, like he’d just stepped out the barbershop and into something serious. Black suit, no tie, collar cracked just enough to show a glint of gold. Black and gold Aviator frames sat on his face like he was watching and hiding at the same time. The only visible jewelry he had on was a thick gold ring that looked like it had history. David stared for half a second, and his chest tightened. This must’ve been who Dai was talking about. The vibe was undeniable. Dude looked like he could give out prayers and a warning in the same breath. Stillness in his stance like he was listening for thunder underground, or waiting for YahWay to say “go.”
“David, this is OG Profit,” Jessie said.
David walked up, dap ready. OG Profit extended his hand, and when they connected, he didn’t let go. For a moment too long, they held that grip. OG looked directly into David’s eyes. Something flickered in his chest, that was cold, but also electric. This is that staring through you shit David thought. Then OG let go, reached into his suit pocket, and pulled out a small glass bottle. David looked at it, not quite sure what it was.
“Olive oil.” OG said.
He unscrewed the cap, and pressed his thumb to the top of the bottle, and turned it over. The scent hit David’s nose first as OG lifted his thumb, it was rich and earthy, like church pews and incense. It wasn’t cold, but it felt cool as it touched his forehead.
“I put this on YahWay,” OG Profit said, voice low but clear, “creator of all, who watches over The Twelve Tribes. I mark you for purpose.”
The crowd stilled. David felt like every conversation stopped mid-word to look as he stood there with heart kicking against his ribs. His palms started to sweat as he felt the oil dissolve into his skin.  He didn’t move, didn’t speak, he didn’t know what to do. He just felt seen… too seen. He looked to his father, searching for something. Jessie gave a slow nod, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Not fear exactly, but not pride either. Like he knew this moment came with weight. Like he wanted to believe it was right... but wasn’t sure. OG reached inside his suit pocket again. This time, a thick gold chain emerged, glinting like sunlight off water. But it was the pendant that stole the show, a big,  bold, diamond-studded TTT. OG stepped forward and lowered it over David's head. The weight of it settled in the center of his chest. It felt heavy, and not just from the metal.
“This ain’t about where you from,” OG said. “It’s about what you’re here for.”
Murmurs rose like steam.
“That shit shining like a muh’fucka.”
“OG gave Eazy and them lil bro a TTT piece?”
“That don’t even make sense, folk. On 3T.”
“TTT piece? Might as well put a target on shorty’s chest.”
“Who still even rep that?.”
David caught another older brother, Dabz, across the yard, staring hard. Brows furrowed like he was working out a math problem with missing numbers. OG Profit turned, calm and quiet, and walked out the yard without another word. David stood frozen. Chain glinting, oil cooling on his forehead. His hands stayed by his sides, not knowing what to do with them. He didn’t know what any of this meant, and nobody else looked like they did either.

 

***

 

The studio smelled like secondhand smoke and cedar incense. The air was thick, and the lights were dim. The soundproof walls soaked up every echo, and the cables curling across the floor looked more like roots than wires. A soft metronome ticked in the background, steady and indifferent. David sat hunched at the desk, scrolling through his beat list with one hand while the other tapped against his thigh. The track playing was low-tempo, layered in muddy drums and distorted synths. It was the typical type of beat David made for his brothers. But David had another track, that was soft and delicate that didn’t usually work for these niggas.  But, Sham had kept asking about it all week, and said he was saving it for something legendary. On the couch, Sham was mumbling bars to himself, one AirPod in, one out. Dai and his nephew, Jojo,  sat nearby, both deep in their phones. Between them, two half-dead backwoods balanced on the lip of an ashtray. David had already turned it down, and like clockwork, the jokes followed.
“C’mon, you know Kung Fu Kenny don’t smoke,” Jojo said, half-joking.
David just smirked, the one that said, I’m not defending myself but go off. Sham added a joke about David sparring the gas, and Dai tossed in something about him blocking the high with chi. It was love. Roasting was part of the rhythm. David didn’t talk much, but here, in the studio, he didn’t have to. This was the one place where the silence between him and his family didn’t feel like distance. His raps didn’t move them much. But his beats? That was different, they bragged about those.  They even had other JayTown and SimCity niggas hitting him up for beats. As the track faded out, Sham looked up from his phone.
“Bro,” he said. “On Abe, what it feel like walkin’ ‘round with that chain on?”
David blinked. “Huh?”
“That TTT on ya chest, tribe,” Sham pointed.
David’s hand went to it automatically, brushing the pendant like he needed to remind himself it was real. Cold. Heavier than it looked.
Jojo sat forward. “On 3T, I been meanin’ to ask you that too.”
David shrugged. “I mean… It’s just a chain, right? I ain’t really ask for it.”
Jojo squinted, grinning. “Nahh, nigga. There’s shit that come with that.”
Before David could ask his nephew what he meant, the door opened. Rico, the engineer and owner of the studio, walked in first, wearing a faded JayTown x SimCity hoodie, with a gold watch that glinted in what little light there was.  As he was peacing everyone up, Honeycomb Jonny, a 3T rapper from BenjiWorld, walked in behind him, smiling wide, wearing a white bucket hat, with a huge BW.  Last through the door was Jerusalem Capone, another rapper from BenjiWorld. He stood taller than everyone, with slow and deliberate movements, dreads tied back with a white tee shirt, and three thick Cuban link chains. Each chain with a different pendant; a 3, Jeruz, and a BW. This was David’s first time seeing Jerusalem Capone in person, and David shifted when first seeing him.  Not out of fear, but because of the weight he held and the respect he’d earned.  Jerusalem Capone was one of those names you didn’t forget. Honeycomb peaced up the room, then paused when he got to David.
“Aye, hold up tribe, you got three Ts on?” pointing to his chest.
David nodded.
“That’s a nice piece, shorty.”
David reached for a dap, and without thinking, Honeycomb peaced him up. Their fingers moved swiftly, interlocking into the JayTown and BenjiWorld 3T handshake, chest tap and all. It felt natural, like he’d been rehearsing in silence his whole life.
“My boy,” Honeycomb said, grinning. “You might not talk much, but you in this now.”
Jerusalem Capone followed, “Yea, that shit fire, tribe,” he said, voice gravel-thick, before introducing himself “Jeruz” he said, while extending his hand.
David extended to meet Jeruz’s hand “David.”
The two peaced up, again it felt like muscle memory David never trained. He wondered what it meant, how easily it all came. Across the room, Dai and Jojo exchanged a glance, quick and tight-lipped, like they were thinking the same thing he was.
“Yo shorty,” Honeycomb said, snapping David out of it. “What made you get the TTT like that instead of 3T? Nobody been reppin’ that name in a minute.”
Jeruz nodded. “On foenem, I ain’t seen that since I was a lil' shorty.”
David’s fingers fidgeted with the pendant, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I didn’t get it made,” he said, voice low. “OG Profit gave it to me.”
Honeycomb blinked, his smile faltering. “OG Profit?” he repeated, leaning in a little like he hadn’t heard right. “On YahWay... I ain’t heard that name in years.”
His brother Sham leaned forward. “You know dude? I had never seen him before.”
“I know his name,” Honeycomb replied. “But I never met dude. He the one who put my pops on back in the day.”
Sham went quiet. He leaned back slowly, with his lips pressed together.
“Oh shit…”
Honeycomb nodded, “On 3T. I think some shit happened between them though, cause my pops don’t really talk about him like that anymore.”
He furrowed his brow and turned to David. “But, how you know OG Profit?”
David shrugged. “I don’t. I met him at that JayTown and SimCity cookout the other day. He gave me the chain and blessed me with oil. Then dipped.”
Honeycomb leaned back in his chair slow, eyes locked on David like he was trying to read between the lines.
“The only thing that make sense is that blessing.”
Jojo looked up. “Hold on, tribe. How that the only thing that make sense?”
“Cause they call him Profit for a reason,” Honeycomb replied.
“Yeah,” Jojo laughed. “Cause the nigga was gettin’ money, makin’ a profit.”
“Oh nahhh,” Honeycomb grinned. “Not profit like money. He a prophet, like a church prophet, he be telling people they future and shit. Foenem say tribe be speaking for YahWay and shit.”
David blinked, prophet hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d heard profit and thought money just like everyone else. But now? Thinking back on the olive oil, the look OG gave him, like he was staring into his soul, and that blessing? Yeah, OG Prophet made a lot more sense. David barely had time to sit with it before Sham stood up, brushing his jeans.
“Aight,” he said. “Rico, I’m ready.” 
Rico pointed at the screen. “Which one you want?”
“David,” Sham called, already headed to the booth. “Which one got the harp?”
Honeycomb started laughing. “This nigga said the harp, tribe?” He nudged Jeruz. “How this ignant-ass nigga even know what a harp sound like?”
Jeruz chuckled, shaking his head. “On YahWay.”
Sham just smiled, hand over his heart like a pledge. “On 3T, that shit cold.”
As he stepped into the booth, David leaned over to Rico. “Track five.”
Rico nodded and queued it up.
“Sham,” he said through the mic, “you ready?”
“You know it, tribe.” Sham’s voice sharpened. “Fire that bitch up.”
Rico hit play, and the harp floated in first. Soft and pretty like wind tracing water. The room stilled for a second, David noticed that even the smoke seemed to pause.
Jerusalem raised a brow. “Damn. This sound too pretty to be in here…”
“On 3T,” Rico muttered.
Then the bass dropped and everything shifted. The harp didn’t vanish, it transformed. That same softness twisted into something cold, like silk wrapped around a blade. The beat moved like it had a body count. Like it knew where to find whoever Sham was aiming at. David watched the room, to see noses scrunched, heads jerked back, and necks tightened. Nobody said a word, but their faces told the story, this beat was disrespectful.
Honeycomb held up his hand. “Nahh, hold up, tribe. On YahWay, I need to get on this shit.”
“On 3T,” Jeruz echoed, eyes still low, “I need parts.”
Honeycomb turned to David, stank face deep. “You made this?”
David tried not to smile. “Yup.”
Dai leaned over, knuckled his arm. “Respect, lil bro’nem.”
Honeycomb laughed, then reaching out his hand for a dap. “I’m gonna be hopping on this, but I need somethin’ like this too tribe, on Herc.”
David met his hand. “I got you, On 3T,” he said, still smiling.
Across the room, Sham’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Run that shit back! I need to see y’all faces again when the beat drop.”
They all laughed as Rico clicked restart. The harp returned, and heads started nodded, with all eyes on Sham in the booth. David didn’t speak, he just sat there, letting the moment press against his skin. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

 

***

 

The funeral was nearly over, but David stood still on the sidewalk, a little distance from the crowd. The air was heavy with heat, grief, and smoke from the incense clung to everything. People were filing out of the small church building, some dapping up, others walking silently toward their cars. Marco’s face was still fresh in everyone’s mind. His mama had cried so hard she collapsed in the front pew.  Although David and Marco weren’t good friends, he was in Dai and Jojo’s crew, so they saw each other often. But Marco was dead now, gone over a diss track and a chain of retaliatory events that David had unintentionally helped fuel with his beats. He thought of what Jojo said about wearing the chain, There’s shit that come with it, he was starting to understand.  He shifted his feet and adjusted the hoodie he had on, unconsciously tucking the weight of the chain back beneath the fabric. The pendant pressed against his chest like it was trying to remind him it existed. Like it was waiting.  Abby’s voice cut into David’s thoughts.
“Oh shit, Qing is here.” 
Jojo didn’t look up. “Yea, that makes sense. Marco was Honeycomb’s mans, he was over they crib all the time.”  
Abby leaned in, lowering her voice. “I heard Qing is like the top 3T. Like… across all tribes.”
Jojo, still didn’t look up, he just nodded his head.  Abby turned around, eyes locked on a tall man near the car,
“The nigga sure do look like royalty.”
David followed her gaze, Qing stood tall, dark-skinned, posture perfect, locks falling halfway down his back. A 3T chain sat heavy across his chest, a crown nestled above the letters. He wasn’t doing much either, just standing near Honeycomb and another man around Qing’s age. But David felt the presence, the kind that doesn’t ask questions twice. His instincts twitched with more awareness than fear. Like when he sparred with Sensei Nate and realized, without words, that Nate could fold him in half if he wanted. That was Qing. Still, unreadable, but sharp underneath.
David squinted slightly. “On Mo,” he murmured.
Qing’s head turned slightly, scanning the crowd. His gaze landed on David and for a half-second, they locked eyes. Honeycomb leaned over and said something in Qing’s ear. Qing kept looking, then nodded, impressed. David's chest tightened as he felt the gaze, it wasn’t fear, at least he didn’t think it was. His thoughts were interrupted as murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Aye, SOE on Live.”
 “They talking spicy.”
 David found himself beside his siblings, Abby and Dai, and their nephew, Jojo as Jojo whipped out his phone.
“I can’t stand these niggas” Dai said.
Jojo said nothing, just opened IG.  Seaside Gully was in the front passenger seat of a car, shirtless, blowing smoke O’s, with a gold chain swinging around his neck. The pendant gleamed, a diamond studded shark's head.
“What you smoking on over there, gang?” a voice came from off screen. 
“You know Hercules the forever pack, gang. Shoutout to the original Deli by the way.” Gully said between O’s. “But you know we had to mix him with the new pack today.”
“Aye, what you mixed it with gang?” the voice came from off the screen again.
“Oh, we mixed it with that Marco pack… it’s super fresh.” Seaside Gully smirked into the camera. “And this shit hittin’ gang, on YahWay.” Seaside Gully ended with a laugh as he said on YahWay.
A different voice this time from off the screen yelled, “And where these niggas at?! Niggas been in traffic all day and ain’t nobody outside. On foenem, these bitches scared!”
Seaside Gully took another hit, before passing the backwood. “Don’t trip twin, let me hit up this deli from that side, she know where everybody be at… On Marco.”  
The car filled with laughter. David felt the crowd tense. You could feel the disrespect crawling across people's skin. Seaside Gully stared into the camera, his voice venomous.
“This ain’t just for JayTown, this ain’t just for BenjiWorld, this ain’t just for D Block. Nahhh” He started shaking his head, “This for all yall 3T niggas.  It’s 3TK on this side, we don’t give a fuck what ya tribe is nigga, it’s UP!”
Then he shifted again, almost smiling.  “Oh, and by the way… I mean this from the bottom of my heart.” He said placing his hand over his heart.
“Fuck yo' YahWay, nigga!”
The words landed hard, louder in David’s ears than the actual audio. Jojo's fingers clenched around his phone and Dai sucked his teeth.
A voice off screen yelled “hold up… what’s going on over here?” 
Seaside Gully turned to look to the side, and his eyes went wide, the live ended. Seconds after the live ended, a loud commotion broke out further down the block. David looked toward the sound. People were starting to push and move. The street was filled with screams, as people rushed to get away. Pop. A single gunshot cut through the air and natural reflexes kicked in. David, Dai and Abby all hit the concrete, but Jojo pulled a gun out of his pocket, and tried to head towards the action, but Dai grabbed him, pulling him down.  Abby looked at David,
 “Our nephew is crazy! I see why Zuri stay going off on him.”
David barely heard his sister. His ears were full of pounding blood. Another shot, then another. Before a parade of gunfire went off. The streets were filled with screams of panic, running, and tires screeching.
Someone yelled, “It’s Seaside and them!”
David stayed still, his heart was pounding out of his chest. The shooting felt like it would never stop. Then silence, just sirens in the distance.  Until a high-pitched stream ripped through the silence, cutting across the street. David ran towards it with his siblings, but he skidded to a stop at the sidewalk; his breath stopped. There was a small body on the ground, covered in blood. A girl crouched over him, crying, with her hands smeared red. David's stomach dropped; Javi. One of his students, and only five years old. He loved spinning in his gi just to hear it swish. David had just taught him how to balance a front kick. None of this made sense, it couldn’t be real.  The girl’s cry broke him loose; he ran forward and dropped to his knees. Javi wasn’t moving, and his blood soaked the sidewalk around him. His sister’s hands were shaking and scraped up, like she’d tried to drag him somewhere safe. David touched Javi’s tiny wrist and felt the coolness of death for the first time. A line echoed in his mind, Fuck yo' YahWay, nigga. It repeated in his head like a song stuck on replay.  David’s eyes burned as tears of anger formed. This wasn’t just music anymore, this was war.

 

***

 

The beat looping through the studio monitors was mean; heavy kicks, thick bass and eerie melodies warping in the background, but David barely heard it. He sat in the corner, with his hoodie up and elbows on his knees, locked in on his phone screen. The glow lit his face while his thumb hovered above the same IG Story he’d been watching for the last ten minutes. A screenshot from Seaside Gully’s Twitter, reposted by SOE Philly:
“Wrd 2 da Sea, I Advise All Women n Kidz to STAY INSIDE Until Further Notice… On YahWay lmaoooo.”
David kept reading it over and over. The image of Javi’s small body was stuck in his mind. The blood on the concrete, his sister’s scream, her hands slick with her brother's blood. That haunting stillness was a memory that David would never forget.  And here these niggas were laughing about it. Not only mocking death, but also mocking YahWay, like none of it mattered… like there were no consequences. David’s fingers tightened around the phone as he looked up. Eazy and Jojo were both rolling up. Honeycomb was mumbling his lyrics to the beat that was playing, trying to get his verse down. Jeruz cracked a joke and Sham burst out laughing. The world had moved on, nobody else had to stand in front of five-year-olds asking, “Where’s Javi at?” David clenched his jaw.
“Aye,” he said, voice low but steady. “Why this nigga Seaside Gully keep sayin' 'on YahWay' like YahWay stamped him? I don’t like that shit, tribe.”
The room dipped. The chatter fell off like someone yanked the aux. Eazy looked up, smirking as he sparked his blunt.
“Hold on now my niggas, since when the Karate Kid care who YahWay stamped? Be worried about who Mr. Miyagi stamped.”
The jab stung, there was always a little less love in the teasing from Eazy. David sat up straighter, his voice sharper now.  “Wait a minute now, Eazy. I put this on the faith of Abe. Nobody from any of my martial arts events ever disrespected YahWay like that. And on 3T, I know how it’d get dealt with if they did. So I’m tryna see how it’s dealt with over here.”
Eazy's smirk faded a little. He sat back, nodding slow, like maybe he misjudged something. “Aight then gangsta. We in the middle of a war right now, lil bro. You got a pipe on you?”
David hesitated, “No.”
Eazy shrugged, relaxed. “That’s how we handle shit on this side, tribe. Stick to your karate shit.”
The words hung in the air, David felt them settle into his chest like a weight. He let the silence linger, then said quietly,
“Nah bro. You don’t understand. That little kid who got shot at the funeral? Shorty was one of my students, that shit hurt tribe.” Even the beat seemed to duck beneath the silence that followed. “And now these SOE niggas making jokes about it on IG and shit.”
Jojo turned his head, with a serious expression, “On Hercules, I feel you. But what we saying though, tribe... what you tryna do about it?” He leaned forward, eyes locked. “Cause we could take it wherever.”
All eyes moved to David, he looked down for a moment to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t a shooter, he never claimed to be. But he saw Javi’s blood in his head again, the screams. And the Fuck Yo YahWay, nigga.
“I... I don’t know...” He looked back up, “But Gully gotta go.”
Something shifted in the room, even Rico stopped adjusting levels and looked over at David. Jojo’s grin widened, Sham raised his eyebrows, studying David like he was seeing him for the first time. Eazy looked unimpressed, and David could no longer be bothered with his oldest brother. Jeruz cracked his knuckles,
“Trust me, tribe,” he said, voice low. “You ain’t gotta worry about that nigga. There’s a quarter on his head.”
David squinted. “A quarter what?”
“A quarter million.”
David leaned back, a bounty had never crossed his mind. He always knew the game was bloody, but this was a business with life priced out in digits. Honeycomb chimed in, voice quieter now.
“Yeah, folks. And 'cause of that funeral fuck shit, my pops also givin' a feature to whoever drop the nigga.”
David blinked, two hundred fifty thousand, and a song with Qing.  To keep it real, he didn’t even know which was worth more.
“Yo by the way tribe, speaking of my pops, he loved your beat for Tribe Talk.  He been going through it lately and said that beat just calmed everything for him.”
David was taken back, the last thing he had ever expected was for Qing to not only be listening to his beats but also liking them. But before David could speak, his nephew interjected.
Jojo cocked his head. “I see you over there pondering and shit unc. That bounty got you ready to slide?”
The room was still, as they waited for David’s answer. His thoughts were racing, two-fifty thou, a Qing feature, Javi's blood on the sidewalk, Gully laughing, and using YahWay's name like it was a hashtag. His hands curled into fists.  He didn’t know how to slide, but he was tired of standing still. Jeruz stood up and stretched out his arms.
“You don’t even gotta decide right now, tribe. We got target practice later anyway.” He looked right at David, “come fuck with us.”

 

***

 

The trees stretched tall, their branches weaving sunlight into the clearing like stained glass. Cicadas buzzed loud in the heat.  Somewhere in the brush, a squirrel dashed through dry leaves. David stood just at the edge of it all, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, taking in the scene. So this was the target practice. Beer bottles lined a fallen log like targets at a carnival, with shell casings gleaming in the dirt. It smelled like sweat, gunpowder, and pine sap. Honeycomb, Eazy, and Sham were huddled around a stump, arguing over calibers and clips; it sounded like another language. Dai was rolling a backwood on a flat rock. Dabz had already let off a few test shots, reloading like he did this every day. Jojo stood next to David, eyes scanning the group… and David.
"You good, unc?" Jojo asked. "I was antsy as fuck the first time I touched steel."
David nodded slowly. "Yeah, I’m good. Just... more used to using my hands."
He glanced at Jojo, both 15, but Jojo was knee deep in the streets. David couldn’t even remember when Jojo specifically jumped off the porch.  He had been stealing bikes since they were in first grade and stealing cars by fifth.  While some people were just built for this, it was all new for David.
“Trust and believe tribe, it’s never a bad thing to have hands.”
Jeruz said as he dropped a duffel ground on the ground between David and Jojo.  He dropped to the bag, unzipped it slow and laid out a folded blanket, then came the weapons. Chrome and matte black gleamed under the sun. Three guns, one in the middle looked like it belonged in a movie, massive, shiny, almost surreal. Jeruz picked it up with both hands, the sun danced across the polished chrome while he admired it for a moment.
"Desert Eagle," he said. "Don’t let the shine fool you though, tribe. This bitch bite."
He offered it to David. David hesitated, then stepped forward and took it. It was heavy as hell, the grip wide, the barrel long, nearly the length of his forearm. The cold metal buzzed through his skin. He raised it slowly, arms trembling just a little. He steadied himself by taking a deep breath, then locked onto a bottle, and pulled the trigger. BOOM! The recoil slammed through his wrist and up his arm. He stumbled two steps back and nearly dropped the gun.
“Got Damn!” David yelled.
His fingers felt like they’d been struck with a hammer.
"Sheeeeeeeeit," Jeruz whistled.
"Kung Fu Kenny got rocked," Eazy laughed.
David handed the gun back, shaking out his fingers. Jeruz chuckled, swapping it out.
"Yeah, that’s on me tribe.  That’s the big boy toy, here, try this FN."
He placed a sleek, matte black gun in David's hand. There was a huge difference in the weight of the guns, this felt way more manageable, but it still didn’t feel right. David aimed again. POP! Missed. Tried again. Missed again.
"Yo, we might need to get lil bro a Nerf gun," Eazy said, laughing.
“On foenem," Sham added, "get this nigga a Super Soaker."
"Chill," Jeruz cut in, eyes still on David. "Everyone gotta start somewhere."
David could feel his frustration building, so he took a deep breath to calm himself, before aiming a third time. CRACK! Glass shattered as the bullet crashed into the bottle, just not the one he was aiming for.
“We making progress tribe, do that again just a little to the right.” Jojo said.
David steadied himself again, before taking aim and firing. CRACK! As the glass from the targeted bottle crashed.
"OKAYY!" Sham shouted.
Honeycomb grinned. "Aight twin got a lil’ aim."
“YEAAAAA!” Jojo shouted while clapping his hands and nodding.
David looked over and saw Jeruz smiling and nodding his head.  Everyone was cheering him on now, even Eazy looked impressed. Although the fourth shot hit the intended bottle, David didn’t like the feeling of the gun or shooting it. He lowered his arms and didn’t speak for a moment. He was accustomed to hand-to-hand combat, but what he held in his hands was entirely too much power. He thought back to words learned from Sensei Nate, power without purpose is just chaos, that stuck and hit now more than ever. David looked up, as the trees swayed lightly in the breeze.
"Yo, I’m good on this tribe," he said, while handing the gun back over to Jeruz.
Everything stopped, even the birds seemed to hush. Jeruz tilted his head,
"Hold on, tribe. What you mean you don’t need it?"
David shrugged, calm. "My hands work good enough" He nodded at the guns. "But that kinda power? On 3T, that ain’t for me."
Silence from the his brothers as they all looked at each other in disbelief, but his nephew Jojo stepped forward, voice low.
"I get you, twin, but this ain’t that. This about just makin' sure you get home safe sometimes, you feel me?"
Jeruz nodded. "You don’t gotta go lookin' for trouble in this thing. Sometimes that shit come lookin' for you."
David listened, letting their words settle. But he didn’t reach for the guns again. As the group started packing up, Jeruz quietly slipped a small black pistol into the side pocket of David’s backpack. It was compact, and low profile. It looked more like a tool, than a weapon. All clean lines and matte black, meant to disappear until it was needed. Jeruz zipped the pocket shut, clapped David on the shoulder once, and kept it moving. No words. David had said he didn’t want the gun, but he also didn’t stop him. They walked out of the woods together, boots crunching dry leaves, sun slicing through the trees. The guns hadn’t fit, but something else had. And whatever it was, David was starting to feel it.

 

***

 

The studio was dim and warm, hazy with incense and Backwood smoke. David sat on a sagging leather couch, hoodie up, headphones resting around his neck, laptop balanced on his knees. His beat played low through the monitors, dark, hypnotic and  heavy. He scrolled, tapped through snares. His fingers moved on muscle memory, but his mind wasn’t on the music. Honeycomb was next to him, hunched over a notepad, spitting half-formed bars under his breath. Jojo sat on the other end of the couch, rolling up, eyes on the ceiling. Jerusalem Capone stood in the back with Rico, huddling over something on Jeruz’s phone.
“Aye! Y’all know what time it is,” Jeruz called, flipping his camera into selfie mode and recording. “Live from the studio, we cookin’ up some shit.”
He put the camera on Rico first, who was right next to him.
“Yall know the vibes. From JayTown to A-Block, 3T running shit all over Canaan” he said while throwing up the three.
The camera panned, first passing Jojo, who threw up the three with one hand, while balancing a half rolled backwood in his other. Then Honeycomb, who smirked and nodded. Then David. He smiled, and tossed the three up too, middle, ring, and pinky fingers raised, the index and thumb linked in a circle. The mark of 3T.
“Yo, nah, Honeycomb,” Jeruz laughed, squinting at the screen. “Why Mika in here actin’ like a deli? She said ‘Who dat back there with Honeycomb and Jojo? He cute.’”
Honeycomb laughed without looking up. “Block her, tribe. For real.”
The room laughed along, but David blinked.
“Who’s Mika?”
“My kid sister,” Honeycomb said, now grinning. “Matter fact, y’all probably the same age. You don’t know her?”
David took a second to think, he couldn’t recall any Mika’s. He shook his head. “Nah, don’t think so.”
Jojo leaned back, still rolling. “You gotta remember tribe, this nigga just started coming outside like two days ago.”
Laughter rippled across the room, even David cracked a grin. Jeruz raised his hand like he was preaching.
“Wait, Jojo right! Foenem don’t even know we got the best producer in the game right now.” He motioned David over. “Come introduce yourself, my nigga.”
David hesitated before setting the laptop aside and standing.
“And make sure you use your producer name.” Jojo said, teasing.
“I know nigga” David said smiling and shaking his head.
He adjusted his hoodie as he stepped into the frame.  He saw himself on the phone screen, chain gleaming and TTT pendant catching the studio light. There’s shit that comes with that, Jojo’s voice echoed in his head.
“Y’all was loving the beat for Tribe Talk, right?” Jeruz said, pointing at David. “This the nigga who made it.”
David smirked into the camera.
“What it do, everybody, it’s ya boy, Bethlehem DaVinci,” he said. “We in the studio cookin’ up some more fire. On YahWay.”
“Yeeeeah!” Jeruz hyped behind him. “We got heat! Just listen to this shit.”
He let David’s beat play through the live while he read comments.
“Oh, they talkin’ ‘bout you, tribe. Look.”
He handed David the phone as the comments flooded:
“Tribe Talk was FIRE!”
“He look like a kid lol”
“What other beats you got??”
“Mika was right, he cute”
David laughed a little, smile widening. He threw up the three again, until one comment from Seaside Gully changed everything.
“We told the women n kidsz 2 STAY INSIDE… why yall got this kid out here”
David froze as another comment from Gully dropped:
“Where his parents at? On YahWay, yall being bad examples lmaoo”
His heartbeat ticked up, as his smile disappeared. His jaw set. He leaned in to start scrolling up.
“Hold up,” he said. “Some goofy-ass niggas said something.”
“Who was talkin’ shit?” Jeruz asked, stepping over.
Before David could even start to scroll two new comments came through, the first from SOE Philly,
“On YahWay twin lmaooo. Dese kidz ain’t learnd dey lesson yet?”
And the second from Gully again,
“Wrd 2 da SEA, it’s time to get the belt.”
“Y’all Seaside niggas goofy as hell” David growled.  “Especially you Gully!”
Honeycomb and Jojo both immediately got up and rushed over to the David, Rico and Jeruz.  
“Be easy,” Honeycomb said low. “Foenem shooters for real.”
Jojo nodded. “No cap, tribe. Don’t start nothin’ you ain’t ready to finish. On 3T.”
David turned his glance towards Jojo and Honeycomb, acknowledging their warning. Jeruz stepped closer and leaned toward the phone with a smirk.
“Oh shit, Gully tryna join the live.” He said.
Honeycomb’s grin returned. “Fuck it. We here now.”
David looked down and tapped accept on the request. Gully’s face popped up on the screen. Shirtless, with his gold chain glinting, and his signature shark pendant dancing in the sunlight. Smiling like this was a comedy special.
“Where the kid at?” he asked.
David looked back in the screen. “I'm right here, goofy,” he belted out. “What’s hatnin’?”
Gully stared, then burst out laughing.
“Nahhh, you really just a shorty out here wearin’ your granddaddy’s chain. None of these niggas told you to stay out of grown folk bihness? Matter fact, how old are you my boy?”
David didn’t flinch. The age comments would’ve wrecked him a week ago, but not now. Not after Marco, Javi and the YahWay disrespect.
“It don’t matter how old I am,” he replied. “I always been able to spot a goofy when I see one.”
Gully leaned back, and started looking past David, at the others around him. “Word to the Sea, y’all gon’ get this lil nigga put on the news.”
Jojo started to respond, “Who da fuck—” but David cut him off.
“By who? You?” He leaned into the screen. “Your goofy ass ain’t got no aim, that’s why you need the women and kids to stay inside.”
Gully’s grin didn’t fade. “Shorty, I don’t need no pipe for you. I need a belt… to give you the ass-whoopin’ ya daddy never did.”
He clapped his hands together, imitating a child being beat with a belt. David just chuckled, more comments that would’ve had a bigger impact on him a week ago.
“If that’s how you feelin’,” David said, “drop the lo.”
The room froze.
“No pipes,” David continued. “Let’s run a friendly fade.”
Honeycomb put a hand on his shoulder.
“Hold on, tribe—”
Gully laughed harder. “Yea Honeycomb, come get ya young boy. Cause word to da Sea, the evening news about to put us on payroll the way we keep giving them stories.”
David didn’t blink.
“On YahWay, they don’t speak for me,” he said with a cold smile. “You want to run the fade? Or you the type of pussy who need a pipe to feel tough?”
Jeruz snickered at that, “Nah, on 3T I like this nigga DaVinci,” he muttered.
Gully’s grin stayed wide, but his eyes flicked serious for a second.
“Fuck it,” he said. “It’s your funeral. I’m on 63^rd and Gath, by the diner.”  He quickly shifted his attention to Jojo, “You remember where it’s at, right my boy?”
Jojo’s voice came sharp. “Fuck you and all them Seaside delis.”
Seaside Gully pointed at the screen with a huge laugh escaping his mouth, “Yup. You remember!”  Then back to David. “So yea DaVinci, pull up for your fade my nigga” he said with a grin. “It’s been a while since I beat a nigga ass.  Let’s bring it back to the essence.”
Seaside Gully left the live without waiting for a response. The Live was still on and the comments were going nuts, but David wasn’t reading them anymore. His mind spiraled. What if Gully brought a gun anyway? He probably would. But if he did, after all that? He’d look scared. Soft. Like everything he said was cap. Jojo’s voice snapped him back.
“Fuck all that fade shit, tribe. We shootin’ this nigga.”
David looked up as Jeruz replied. Not with words, but by scrunching up his face, and a point down to the phone screen.  Jojo expressed a look of shock, covering his mouth with his hand.  Jeruz took the phone back from David and ended the IG Live. Honeycomb glanced at the phone screen to make sure the Live was over, before he looked back at David
“Yo… fuck is you on, shorty?”
Jeruz slapped a hand on David’s back. “Nah, hold on. I like how tribe movin’ right now, on 3T.”
Honeycomb laughed. “Facts. But I’m saying, where that come from?” he asked again, pointing at the phone.
David exhaled. “I been told y’all,” he said. “Gully gotta go.”
Jojo tilted his head. “Why you wanna fade him so bad though? Why not just shoot this nigga?”
David paused, he thought of Javi’s blood on the sidewalk, Marco’s face in the casket, and Gully smoking packs on IG while mocking YahWay. He shook his head.
“Yo, no cap tribe… I know I could beat a nigga ass and sleep fine,” he said. “But kill a nigga? I don’t know how that would sit with me, on Abe.”
David expected to be clowned, but nobody laughed.  
Jeruz nodded slowly. “I feel you. That shit could turn you into a demon.”
David looked around, nobody called him soft or questioned him, they all respected it. Jojo stepped up, smiling wide. “So DaVinci…” he said. “What’s the word?”

 

***

 

The hum of the engine was drowned out by the bass-heavy beat of Tribe Talk, the song that had reignited a match in the never-ending war between 3T and SOE. It pounded through the car speakers like a war drum. David sat in the backseat with Jojo as Jeruz and Honeycomb were up front.  They were his brothers now, in bond if not by blood. The lyrics blasting through the speakers spit venom, name after name disrespected, disarmed and destroyed. The hateful energy buzzed through the car. But David wasn’t rapping along, his gaze drifted out the window, scanning every corner, every figure on these Seaside streets. Cold stares, crossed arms, and eyes tracking their car like a mark. He could feel the hostility radiating off the sidewalks. They didn’t belong here, not in Seaside, and definitely not by Gath and 63^rd, this was the heart of SOE territory. He was glad they came three cars deep. They pulled into the gravel lot of the diner and in the far corner, a sea of SOE niggas clustered like flies around a carcass. Right at the center, posted up like he owned the parking lot and everything around, was Seaside Gully. He leaned against a matte black Trackhawk, arms folded, wearing a white beater that clung to prison-bulked muscle, army green sweats and Olympic 7s. Around his neck, a thick gold chain swung low, capped with his diamond-studded shark pendant. The moment David saw him, his stomach flipped.
“Goddamn this nigga huge!” Honeycomb roared, “Nigga look like he do 800 pushups a day.”
“On 3T,” Jojo added, leaning forward to grip the headrest as the car stopped. “We sure we not just shooting this nigga? I mean like… yall see this nigga right? Big nigga like that, needs bullets, not fists.”
“On 3T” Jeruz said while turning towards David, half-laughing, half-dead serious. “Shorty, you got that Glock I gave you?”
David swallowed. “It’s at the crib.”
Jeruz let out a bitter, clipped laugh. “You left it? DaVinci, you walking into war and left your armor.”
“I wasn’t planning on using it,” David said quietly.
“No shit sherlock,” Honeycomb muttered.
Jeruz shook his head, “I guarantee you Gully got it on him.”
But it was too late, they were already here.  Gully was already pushing off the Trackhawk, striding toward them with the confident strut a man not expecting to lose.  The rest of SOE peeled back to let him shine. No weapons drawn of course, because this was a friendly fade. David drew a breath while dipping his hand into his pocket.
“I don’t have a gun,” he said, pulling out a matte black pocketknife. “But I have this.”
The handle fit neatly in his palm and he flicked the blade out with his thumb. It was jagged along the length, with a sharp point.
Jeruz gave a single nod, “ain’t a blick, but it’s better than nothing.”
David nodded, folding the blade shut to slide it back in his jeans. His breath came shallow as he placed his hand on the door handle. David’s world narrowed as they stepped out the car, the heat him first, then he felt all eyes of Seaside watching him as he took his first step. Gully stopped about twenty feet from the car, arms out like he was welcoming old friends.
“So y’all stupid muthafuckas really came,” he said with a smile spreading across his whole face.
David stepped forward with the heat shimmering off the pavement like waves as he scanned Gully like a blueprint. He was six-eight maybe taller, but his arms seemed even longer, that reach had to be at least seven feet. David knew he couldn’t stay on the outside, he had to get up close and personal for this.  But what stood out the most was Gully’s confidence, he was still taking all of this for a joke.  David shook his head in disgust.

“You talk too much nigga,” David said. “And that’s why this ass whoopin’ you about to get is straight from YahWay.”
All of Seaside started howling with laughter, but Tribes lit up, throwing up 3s, and shouts about YahWay.
YahWay Forever!
YahWay the only way!  
On YahWay!
From the corner of David’s eye, he saw Eazy participating in the chants.
Gully grinned. “He funny,” he said, nodding slowly. “Cute too, would’ve been my bitch back up in county.”
“The fuck?” David snapped. 
“Ohh! He one of them!” Jojo yelled from the crowd, causing laughter from the 3T.  
David didn’t smile though, he didn’t even break eye contact as his fists instinctually clenched, thumbs curled tight. Gully noticed and chuckled.
“So, let’s get it on then lil nigga” Gully said, lifting his fists.
David slid into his Muay Thai stance, not dropped, not crouched, just fluid. His knees were bent, with his elbows tight. Gully started walking him down, confidently… too confidently. This nigga thinks he already won, David thought remembering Sensei Nate telling him to have an appropriate fear of anyone who is confident enough to face you. David couldn’t reflect on the teaching for long, Gully was up on him quickly, swinging with wild abandon. He was fast for a man that size, but not fast enough. David slipped it, the air cracked beside his cheek as the fist missed. Another punch, this time David caught his wrist and turned with the energy, twisting his hips, and redirected it, using his jiu-jitsu training.  Gully’s own momentum carried him into a standing arm lock. The parking lot collectively erupted in gasps. David held him for just a moment, not enough to break anything, just enough to make a point, then let go. Gully staggered backwards, with his jaw clenched and eyes wide.
“What the fuck was that?”
 David smirked, “I told you, my hands work.”
Gully wasn’t smiling anymore. The noise rose from the sidelines, but David had learned to tune that out years ago, in tournaments, in training… in life. His world had always shrunk down in fights, it was just him and the opponent. David moved fast, striking Gully’s legs with repeated low kicks. Tap. Tap. Tap, like a drumline. They weren’t meant to hurt, they were meant to distract.
“Stop fucking kicking me!” Gully barked.
He launched a massive kick of his own, swinging a foot at David like a sledgehammer. David dipped low, swept the planted leg, and Gully went down, hard. David looks towards his crew for a moment. Jojo’s mouth dropped, Honeycomb laughed loud, Sham was yelling in excitement, Jeruz was recording, and giving commentary with a huge grin. David knew they were all enjoying the show.
“Yo, who is this ninja ass nigga?” David heard someone say from the SOE side. 
It reminded him that this wasn’t over.  He turned to see Gully standing slowly and breathing heavy, “Come here, boy. I’ma give you the ass-whooping your daddy never did” he said while panting.  David walked towards him, and started again with more kicks, but Gully ignored them and barreled forward. First punch, David dodged it and countered with a body punch. Gully walked through it, eating the contact, and threw a wild hook that caught David square in the chest. Air left his lungs like a balloon popped.  He stumbled backwards, with stars blooming behind his eyes. Gully came in for the kill, a left hook racing through the air. David spun, rolled the shoulder, and again, caught Gully’s force, and redirected it back, locked him in another standing hold.
“SHITTTT,” Gully screamed in agony as his arm twisted awkwardly until David released.
“Fuck this!” Gully roared.
He reached into his waistband towards his gun. David didn’t hesitate; he rushed in as soon as Gully’s hand touched the grip. He caught Gully’s wrist, pinning the gun against the giant’s own hip before it could clear the fabric. David felt the raw, terrifying power of this giant as he tried to throw him off. Gully used his free hand to hammer a punch into David’s ribs, then another. The pain was white-hot, but instead of letting go, David leaned into the chaos. He heard Sensei Nate’s coaching, Use his energy. Breathe in, breathe out. Control the situation. As Gully lunged forward to overpower him, David dropped his weight and reached for the pocket knife in his own pocket. The black metal handle felt cold and certain. With one fluid motion, he flicked the jagged black blade open. He didn’t try to wrestle for the gun anymore; he used Gully’s forward momentum to pull the giant toward him, catching him in a tight clinch. As Gully’s eyes widened, David drove the blade deep into Gully’s chest, slightly turning his wrist to twist the blade, before pulling out for two more quick stabs. Gully let out a wet, choked sound, his hands fumbling and losing their grip on the pipe, to grab his chest. The gun clattered to the pavement, forgotten. David held him for a heartbeat longer, feeling the strength drain out of the man who had mocked YahWay. As Gully’s massive frame began to sag, David’s hand found the diamond encrusted shark pendant. With a sharp yank, the chain snapped. David stepped back, the bloody chain in one hand and his jagged blade in the other. Gully hit the concrete hard, and for a moment, the entire parking lot went into a state of frozen shock.
“DaVinci! We Out!” Jojo’s voice broke the silence.
David wasn’t sure where the first shots came from, but they were followed by a barrage of gunfire that seemed like it was coming from everywhere at once.  David sprinted towards the car, sliding into the backseat as Jeruz floored it. He didn't look back as they peeled out of the lot; he just stared at the blood on his hands and the diamond shark swimming in his palm.

 

***

 

DaVinci’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he washed them in the bathroom sink of Rico’s crib. But that didn’t matter, he kept scrubbing, trying to wash away all the blood.  He looked in the mirror, examining his reflection, did he just kill a man? The thought haunted him. Sensei Nate had always taught him to not play with his food, he didn’t listen and now a man was left bleeding in the parking lot. He didn’t remember the ride back, everything happened so fast once Gully reached for his gun. He looked back down at his hands and scrubbed harder, trying to wipe away the guilt.  He didn’t head over to Gath to kill anyone, he went there for a friendly fade, it was Gully who escalated everything when he reached. DaVinci stopped scrubbing and took a deep breath examining his reflection again. His eyes fell from his face to the chain around his neck, and the three T’s sitting on his chest. It’s about what you’re here for, he heard OG Prophet’s voice.  What did he mean by that? DaVinci thought.
“Yo DaVinci, you good tribe?” Honeycomb asked as he knocked on the bathroom door. 
“Yea, I’m straight. Good lookin’.” DaVinci replied.
“Aight… The whole tribe out here when you ready” Honeycomb said walking away. 
Satisfied with getting the blood off his hands, he reached up to the counter above the sink, grabbing Gully’s shark chain to wash off the blood.  He scrubbed gently with a paper towel, careful to not displace the diamonds. Snatching the chain was an impulse decision as he saw Gully going down, but he sure was glad he snatched it.  He admired the chain while washing it, not yet sure what he was going to do with it.  After finishing up, DaVinci looked at his blood stained shirt on the floor. He picked it up, and threw it in the garbage, fuck it, he thought, Rico’s hoodie fit just fine.  He put Gully’s chain in his hoodie pocket, exited the bathroom and headed downstairs to the studio. The studio felt smaller than usual, not cramped, just louder. Too much energy packed into one room, bouncing off the walls, ricocheting between bodies that still hadn’t come down from the high of surviving. Music played, but nobody was really listening. Smoke was dancing in the air as backwoods were in rotation, and white styrofoam double cups sat on the table. Phones were out, thumbs flying, refreshing feeds trying to get the latest updates from the streets. Dabz was the first person to notice DaVinci was back in the studio. 
“Aye, you good lil bro?” he asked.
“Yea, I’m straight” DaVinci answered.
“Good.  Now let me see Gully’s chain.”
Dabz said while simultaneously extending his arm for the chain.  DaVinci took it out of his pocket, placing it in his brother’s hand.
“On Abe, this shit is FIRE!” He said holding up the chain to let the diamonds from the shark dance in the light.  Everyone in the studio gathered around to get a better look at the chain. Rico let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he looked DaVinci up and down.
“DaVinci beat this nigga ass, took his chain, and poked him up,” he said, like he couldn’t decide if he was more impressed or amused. “Foenem definitely spinning back tonight,” the laughter left his voice, “niggas better be tooled up.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jeruz said, leaning back against the engineer’s table, phone in hand. The corner of his mouth twitched first, then the smile spread slow and crooked, like he was enjoying something nobody else had caught yet.
“On 3T, DaVinci might’ve really got Gully up out the paint for real.”
 He turned his phone to the group, and DaVinci saw an IG post of a black background, with dove emojis, broken hearts, sharks, and a huge SIP Gully in the middle. The room erupted,
“NO WAY.”
“Damn, that was quick.”
“Seaside down bad.”
DaVinci didn’t say anything, he watched the screen for a second longer than everybody else letting it sink in. The posts didn’t feel real, not yet. His thoughts from the bathroom were now confirmed, and he waited for even more guilt to hit him. It didn’t. He wondered if he had washed it all away in the bathroom. Gully had been terrorizing the city of Canaan, laughing at death, shooting up funerals and mocking YahWay. Maybe it wasn’t peace DaVinci felt, but losing a man like that? It didn’t feel like a loss. Jojo grabbed a hat off the table and walked over to DaVinci, dropping it on his head.
“Well,” Jojo said, smiling wide, “I know you ain’t want it… but you got one now, tribe.”
Energy spread through the room again, between laughter and cheers. The hat felt strange, it didn’t quite fit, but DaVinci let it sit anyway, he earned it. His fingers slid down to his chest without him thinking about it. He pressed the TTT pendant flat against his sternum, feeling the cold diamonds, the weight of it.
“Yea, nephew, you told me there’s shit that come with this.” DaVinci looked up, “you wasn’t lying.” Jojo nodded. “On 3T.”
Extending out his hand to be peaced up. DaVinci caught and their fingers twisted up in typical fashion, but it was different than before, their bond had shifted. Honeycomb leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
“SOE really might be cooked tribe. I don’t even know if they got any other shooters besides Seaside.”
Jeruz agreed, “On YahWay. Like, I know they got niggas who pull triggers, but Seaside Gully was the only name I ever heard really laying shit down.”
Honeycomb chuckled, “Nah, tribe first hat about to make him a legend in Canaan.”
DaVinci let the words wash over him, it all sounded distant, like people talking through a wall. He wasn’t offended, but he wasn’t proud either. It just… was. For half a second, the room went quiet in his head. Everyone was still laughing, but the sound dulled. DaVinci looked around, really looked. He saw Dabz rolling up again, Sham pacing with too much energy, and Honeycomb smiling like today was going to be great story to tell later. He looked down at his hands, they were now the hands of a killer, but they didn’t look different… did he expect them to? He didn’t know.  Honeycomb interrupted him, bringing him back to reality.
“Aye DaVinci, AB just hit me.”
DaVinci looked up. “AB?”
 “Yeah, you seen him before, my pops right hand man.” Honeycomb said. “He said my pops wanna see you later.”
DaVinci blinked. “Ya Pops? Why Qing wanna see me?”
Jojo laughed. “Cause whoever dropped Gully getting a Qing feature my boy. You forgot already?”
DaVinci had forgot; not because it wasn’t important, but because it hadn’t been about that. Gully was treating the streets of Canaan like a game that didn’t have consequences and like nobody else was real. Sooner or later, someone was going to settle the score.  A smile crept across DaVinci’s face, he was glad it was him. 
“And two hundred and fifty K too, if I’m not mistaken.” he added. 
Honeycomb laughed, “Yea, a feature and the two fifty, that’s all you tribe… Oh, and my pops want another beat like Tribe Talk, he need that harp.”
“I got him!!” DaVinci said full of excitement.
He started rubbing his hands together “I’m about to body that shit tribe. Gotta let the world know we smoking on Gully.”
Jojo broke first, laughing so hard he had to bend forward, one hand slapped against the table. He waved vaguely in DaVinci’s direction, then around the room.
“Nah, tribe…” he said between laughs. “Who is this nigga?”
Laughter filled the room. Even DaVinci laughed as he crossed to the soundboard. He tapped a few keys, and a new beat spilled out; it was dark, grimy, and alive, but soulful.
“Ooooo,” Jeruz said, already bobbing his head. “This shit fire tribe. How long you been sitting on this?”
DaVinci smiled, “I been waiting for niggas to let me rap.”
More laughter. He sat down at the table and asked for the Shark chain that was now being passed around the room.  Once he received the chain he put both Gully’s chain and his TTT chain on the table next side by side.  One picked for him, the other taken by him. He took out his phone and opened IG to take a picture. His fingers hovered for a second before typing, “Word 2 da Sea? Nah. YahWay Forever”, story posted. It didn’t take long for the notifications to start coming in. He ignored them and put his phone on Do Not Disturb, before opening his Notes app to start writing. Behind him, Jeruz shook his head, smiling.
“From beats to bodies,” he said. “You built for this shit, DaVinci.”
DaVinci didn’t look back. He didn’t feel built, he felt chosen.