GUNJAM: A What If? Tale
Submitted for your approval, I give you this story that isn't about possibilities or consequences of actions that never take place. It's a story that ultimately is about the chain reaction of life being dictated by the succession of choices being made, and actions being committed.
Could a city's history change dramatically with one small change of luck?
Within the massive crowd of over a thousand boppers, representing over 200 gang outlets, a member of the Rogues is pulling up his blue jeans.
A .357 Magnum revolver is taped to the Rogue's calf.
He rips the taped-gun off his leg, grinding his teeth to keep quiet from the brief intense pain of the tape pulling hairs from his calf. He passes it to the hand of another Rogue. Then another, then another, then another…
Meanwhile, the would-be messiah is working his magic over the boppers in the park. They're silently eating from the fingers of Cyrus.
"The problem in the past has been the man turning us on one another. We have been unable to see the truth because we have been fighting for ten square feet of ground…Our turf…Our little piece of turf…That's sht, brothers, because its OUR turf…"
A final Rogue hand takes the gun, and grips hard on the handle. He lifts it up in the air and spins the chamber. Let him just lock eyes with Cyrus…
"The turf is our by right because its our turn. They kept us on the bottom long enough, centuries and centuries, and centuries…All we got to do is stick together. We keep up with the general truce. We take over one borough at a time, secure our territory. Secure our turf…Because it's ALL our turf!"
Cyrus looks deep into the crowd. He's got them. He has a united Army of the Night. He catches sight of a white man in Rogue gear with a gun aimed at his direction. Cyrus holds his breath.
Luther locks eyes with Cyrus. Party time.
Click
What the hell?
Click Click
Luther looks at his gun and is in deep shock. The Magnum is jammed. He keeps pressing the trigger, but nothing is happening. He looks back at Cyrus.
The Fox catches Luther aiming the piece at Cyrus and trying to fire.
"GUN!!!!"
The other boppers in that part of the crowd immediately turn heads at Fox's shriek of a desperate cry, along with Luther.
Fox was the man full of street Intel data for the Warriors as a Scout, but never a brainiac for Coney. He wasn't using his wits right now as he jumps on Luther.
A scuffle breaks out. The outright force from Fox's collision with Luther makes the hit man lose his finger tips on the trigger.
The other Rogues try to step in to aide their leader, but now the boppers in that area of the crowd instead, by instinct, jump into the fray. The Rogues only realize until its too late that they're cornered immediately 30 bodies to their 9.
The rest of the hundreds of boppers in the crowd either rush in the direction of the point of chaotic origin, or are confused. The Gramercy Riff cartel step into action. The bodyguards surround and enclose Cyrus in safety on his podium. The scores of Riff soldiers run into the brawl occurring.
But that doesn't help The Fox. He's in a death brawl with Luther.
Fox doesn't know why he's fighting for his life right now to stop this grease ball. But it must for something…
Luther gets his grip back on his gun. The Fox has a death grip on Luther's gun hand.
3 Rogues are down on the ground as the boppers continue beating them to a bloody end. Its now 70 against 6.
Cleon and the rest of the Warriors expedition realize that The Fox is missing. In the confused and now panicking hordes of boppers, they march through the bodies to find their comrade.
A Rogue falls and a steel-tipped boot bashes his skull in. 85 against 4.
The Fox and Luther slowly get up, still wrestling each other. With whatever extra strength is left in his bones, The Fox drives Luther through the crowd, still fighting him for the gun. The boppers beating up the dying Rogues scramble out of the firearm's way.
They're now in the open. Luther thrust kicks The Fox in the knee, forcing him to fall to the grass. Luther aims his revolver at him, and cocks it again. Maybe he can waste somebody today after all…
A bullet brutally blasts through Luther's back and exists through his chest, blood and bits of organs fly out into the open. Parts of Luther's left lung splash onto The Fox's face. The crowds run in fearful of panic of this gunfire.
He loses some control of his body, but he still tries to aim at The Fox's direction…
The second and third bullets are fired simultaneously. The second bullet smacks into Luther's back, and collides into his spine and breaks it. Thankfully, the third bullet spares Luther an agonizingly slow death when it pierces through the back of his skull. Luther's last thought for his life as the bullet lodges violent through his brain was simple. "This hurts-"
The lifeless corpse falls over as the boppers try to flee in every direction.
The Fox is in trauma of a person being blown to bits in front of him. After the body collapsed, Fox could see the Gramercy Riff patrolmen with their own revolvers, smoke still blowing from them. They were packed at the conclave?
His other immediate thought was, they were aiming at him. Uh oh.
Then bright white lights flash upon the scene, blinding Fox, the Riff patrolmen, and he other boppers trying to escape. They knew who it was before a booming voice echoed from the horn.
"It's the Police! Surrender-"
Fox used this opportunity to try to run, but the Riffs grab him and haul him away. Fox yells as loud as his vocal chords could birth, but he's its useless. Everyone has gone apesit and the police are laying the clampdown real hard on all the boppers. Fox tries to peer through the crowded sea of madness for his fellow brothers of Coney.
Then one of the Riffs straps a black hood over Fox's head, and he is blinded in darkness. The next thing he knows, he is thrown inside some sort of car, and it drives off in the ragefull fury of speed….
To be Continued