Tales of Game's Presents Barkley, Shut Up and Jam: Gaiden, Chapter 1 of the Hoopz Barkley SaGa: Slamfiction

Barkley: Shut Up and Jam, Gaiden: The Steve Nash Khronicles

Warning: This Story is Canon

My name is Steve Nash. In the year of 2041 New York City was completely destroyed. Millions perished. Survivors fell into poverty and had to witness the remains of their former home fall into the hands of twisted leaders. Some came to call it Neo New York. I call it a crumbling reminder of a once-great city, where the strong bully the weak for what few Neo-Shekels they've got. My Name is Steve Nash. And this is My Story...

Act One: The Starting Whistle Blows

Steve Nash was no stranger to sprinting. As a former point-guard for countless NBA teams, a quick jaunt down the court was nothing more than a walk in the park. But this time he wasn't running to get back to his zone-defensive position, or even to receive a long pass that he would seamlessly transform into a game-winning layup. He was running from Wilt Chamberlain, the newly-minted head of the B-Ball Removal Department.

Things had changed a lot in the past few weeks, almost as much as they had after the Great B-Ball purge, or "B-Ballnacht". Nash cringed as the thought went through his mind. B-Ballnacht. The world-wide movement to rid the planet of all things B-Ball. It was a direct result of the Chaos Dunk his old colleague, Charles Barkley, had performed in 2041, twelve and a half years ago. The Chaos Dunk had killed millions; including Nash's own dear wife, Alejandra Amarilla.

Steve Nash ducked into a side alley and skidded expertly to a stop. He bent down behind a dumpster to catch his breath. The alley smelled of lost dreams and desperation, but Steve knew it hadn't always been like this. Neo New York used to be one of the finest metropoles on Earth. But years of neglect and mismanagement had left it in a state that was but a fraction of what it once was.

He held his breath as the sound of heavy boots thundered past the alley entrance. As he waited in silence, he noticed a large metallic cylinder resting against a grimy brick wall under a fire escape. He recognized the debris immediately. It was a piece of Necron 5, a galactic prison ship that had formerly orbited around Earth. But now bits of it lay scattered all over the planet's surface. Rumor had it that Charles Barkley himself had gone up and destroyed it, but he had never returned.

Nash waited for the footsteps to recede and pushed the thoughts of the past into the back of his mind. He got up and dusted off his Nikes. If they caught him wearing those they would skin him alive, he thought. But in truth, he was in trouble, Nikes or not.

He picked himself up off the ground. He had to keep moving, or his spondylolisthesis would act up again, and his muscles would severely cramp. But where would he run to? He couldn't go back to his rundown one-room apartment, since that was where the B-Ball Removal Dept. had found him earlier today. He couldn't go to the police, they were completely in Chamberlain's pocket. But maybe he could go to his brother's or sister's...

...No, no he couldn't. They were dead.

All dead.

Steve Nash sunk back down onto the greasy cobbles and buried his head in his hands. He couldn't let it get to him. He had to be strong. For himself, for the people he had lost. For the kids of the Steve Nash Foundation in British Columbia. He let a sob escape from his throat. He had tried to lay low, tried not to get involved. But ever since the events of the Space Jam, everything had just gotten so complicated, so... effed up. Living in the post-cyberpocalypse was as close as a man could get being in hell without dying first.

"Hey there." A gruff voice rumbled in darkness. Steve Nash opened his eyes and jerked into a defensive position.

"I swear, I haven't touched a B-Ball in years." Nash pleaded. "Just leave me be!"

"Ha, I ain't from the B-Ball Removal Department, man." A couple of newspapers ruffled as the owner of the voice sorted through the contents of the dumpster.

"I don't want any trouble, but I will not hesitate to slam and jam." Nash back away from the man. He certainly didn't look like he was from the BBRD. He was dressed in rags and a stained grey hat sat on his wildly-bearded head.

The head turned to look at him. The man smiled a toothy grin and laughed. "Looks like you got enough trouble as it is, boy." His gloved hand held up a half-eaten drumstick. "Chicken?"

Nash swallowed down a wave of disgust. "No-no thanks."

"You really can't be too picky about what you gonna eat for dinner here on the streets or Neo New York, boy." The man took a large bite of the meat. He chewed it and closed his eyes, obviously enjoying it immensely. Then his eyes popped open and refocused on Nash. "You look familiar, do you know that?"

"I have one of those faces." Nash started edging back toward the entrance of the alley. "Well, it was nice meeting you."

"I know you! You're Stevie Nash!" The hobo jumped off his little stool and turned to face Nash head on. He walked with a pronounced stoop and was barley 5 feet tall. "Stevie Nash! Why I never! One of the best white boys the game of B-Ball has ever seen! I thought you were dead, boy! I thought yous was all dead!"

"Shhh! Don't mention B-Ball around here! It's too dangerous. If the B-Ball Removal Department were to hear-"

"They ran past here long ago. They should be halfway to the Church of Clispaeth by now, my boy." He scratched his beard. "So Mr. Nash, what brings you to my humble home?"

"You live here? In this...filth?" Nash tried to hide is disgust, but was unable to.

"Absolutely!" The man waddled over to the large chunk of metal that was formerly part of the bulwark of Necron 5. He put his weight against it and grunted as it shifted, revealing a little hole in the brick wall. "You're welcome to come in and check it out."

"No thanks. I appreciate your hospitality but-" Nash paused. The sound of footsteps was getting louder. Nash shuddered as he heard the crunch of glass. "They're back!" He froze.

"In here!" The bearded hobo motioned to the hole. "Hurry, they'll be here soon!" He ducked inside and disappeared into the darkness.

Nash darted after him and slid into the gap between the bricks. He squinted in the dark and saw the hobo amble quickly back over to the entrance. The little man grabbed the back of the space prison debris.

"Give me a hand here, boy!"

Nash gripped a corner of the metal. He could feel his muscles straining, but with their combined effort the debris eked back into place, sealing off the entryway.

"That was close. They almost-" Nash was cut off by the hobo, who had clasped a hand over his mouth.

A voice from outside reverberated into the tunnel. "Dammit! I could swear I heard something coming from this direction." It was the booming voice that was commanded by Wilt "The Stilt" Chamberlain, new head of the B-Ball Removal Dept. He had replaced the old leader, Michael Jordan ever since his mysterious disappearance.

"I think we've lost him, sir."

"That may be. But rest assured, we will not stop looking for him."

"What should we do now, sir?"

There was a pause, and then Chamberlain's booming voice came back. "Regroup at headquarters. I've got to check on the progress of our new project anyways. Hopefully it will be near completion, and then nothing will stand in our way."

"Do you mean the project code-named KA-J?"

"Silence!" Chamberlain boomed angrily. "You're not to mention it by any name, understand?"

"S-sorry sir. I will not make that mistake again, sir."

"Good. Now let's head back to HQ and we can plan phase 2."

"Yes sir!"

The footsteps faded again, and Steve Nash turned back to the hobo. "Do you have any idea what they were talking about?"

"That sounded less like the B-Ball Removal Department talking and more like..." the man paused.

"Like what?"

"...BLOODMOSES." The hobo turned away.

Nash was shocked. "But...but I thought they were said to have been destroyed when Barkley took out Necron 5!"

"That's what I thought too...but all this talk of secret projects and KA-J just reeks of BLOODMOSES' fingerprints." The man began to waddle down a side tunnel that branched out from the little room they had been sitting in.

"You're pretty knowledgeable for a street-walker."

The man turned around and grinned through his massive black beard. "You have no idea Stephen. You have no idea." He continued down the dark tunnel and Nash stumbled after him.

"Where are you going?"

"You mean, where are we going. And call me Goose."

"Where are we going, uh, Goose?"

"We're going," The hobo paused again, and Nash just about rammed into him. "to see an old friend."