"This is magic, yeah, it is
Being Black like this, Black like this
So fantastic, yeah, it is
Being Black like this, Black like this
It's amazing (It's amazing), yeah, it is
Being Black like this, Black like this
Wouldn't change it, I can't change
Being Black like this, Black like this, like this

Kamehameha
Going Super Saiyan
And I'm undefeated
Call me One-Punch Man
They say melanin
Is worth more than gold
Think how much they owe us
For everything they stole"

Muni Long – "Black Like This"

Eleven men dropped from Hell Week.

Erik's core group that partied with him at his condo survived like him. Hell Week was twenty-four-seven training. Lack of sleep, lack of rest, lack of time to eat properly, or even focus on failure turned Erik lean and mean. He took charge of his leadership role like a pit bull clamping down on a human leg. His dogged pursuit of making it through the week paid off.

Week after week it continued to pay off until he returned home for one quick weekend after SCUBA training blindfolded to put together his gear purely by feel and practicing underwater bomb detonating on enemy submarines. Disa sat at their kitchen table with a formal letter in her hand. An invitation to leave the states for a six week artist residency in Amsterdam.

"I forgot all about it," she said.

She wanted to leave him.

It was only for six weeks, but it was a crucial six weeks in his training and Disa decided to take the opportunity.

"I need you here," he said.

His tone came off paternalistic and final. She arched an eyebrow.

"It's only six weeks. It will give me something to do and make the time go by faster—"

"I don't want you to go."

"Erik, you barely come home on the weekends. I'm sitting around here doing nothing when I could keep busy myself."

He tossed his duffle on the floor and pulled off his navy cap and jacket.

"You know how many women would cry to have all the free time to do whatever they want, like you?"

"I appreciate the freedom and comfort you provide, Erik, but I would like to do something exciting with my life, too. I can work on my portfolio, make contacts—"

"I want you here. With me."

"But you're not here."

"I'm here now."

"Only because I begged you to come home instead of playing war games all weekend."

"Playing?"

She cut her eyes away from him.

"It's only six weeks."

"That's a long time for me."

"We did six weeks before and shit, you were gone for weeks in Illinois. No big deal."

She paced in front of him with shorts and a halter top on. All he wanted was for her to rub his back, feed him, and ride his dick so he could sleep and recharge his body.

"I want to do this, Erik."

He patted his thigh, and she brought that lush ass to him and sat it on him. Nuzzling his nose and lips into her neck, he rubbed his crotch into her backside.

"Can we talk about this later?"

He made his voice seductive.

"I just want you to sit on my face—"

"That's all I've become for you. A comfort pillow. A maid. Personal chef. Warm pussy. I guess becoming your fiancé meant something different to you."

She jumped off his lap. His dick sat up in his fatigues. Irritation filled his mind, but his body ached for her touch. He wanted her naked and in bed with those big thighs open. Ejaculating raw and hot inside her was the goal. His dick jumped in his pants with the thought of parting the curtain of her folds. It had been a stressful week, and he cultivated nerves of steel working with bombs all week.

Erik stood and wrapped arms around her. Thrusting his dick into her ass, he humped her cheeks and his erection grew.

"Take care of me and we can argue all day if you want."

"I'm not arguing with you about this. I want to go to Amsterdam. I'll be back for your graduation and I'll have a refreshed CV—"

"It's too dangerous for you to be going overseas right now."

"It's Amsterdam."

"No."

"It's dangerous everywhere, and in case you haven't noticed lately, it's America that's being targeted. You're just mad because I get to smoke weed all day over there and you don't."

"I said no."

She shoved him away from her. He rolled his shoulders and took off his shirt.

"I'm going, Erik. They chose me because I'm the shit."

He unfastened his pants and released his throbbing dick.

"Everyone else's woman is staying by their side and supporting their men—"

"I'm not everyone else. They have no choice but to stay and wait. I can't believe you're being a dick about this."

He pursed his lips and stepped to her. She tried to act tough but backed up from him.

"I'm on edge every day, and now you want me worrying about you in another country? Adding more stress to my day," he barked.

"Baby, you are the best soldier out here—"

"That's not enough."

He cradled her neck with his hands and kissed her soft lips.

"You can't just up and leave me now…"

He used every seductive line in the book to overwhelm her. His lips on her mouth and neck brought sighs out of her. He gripped his dick and forced it into her hand. The hot, heavy length made her moan. Palming her breasts, he lifted her top and suckled each plump nipple.

"Give Daddy what he wants…"

She whimpered and walked backward. He steered her into their bedroom, where big fluffy pillows and buttery soft blankets waited for him to pound some sense into her head. He unzipped her shorts and pulled down her panties. Shoving her halter above her breasts, he didn't bother taking it off all the way. Her glassy eyes and mewling voice caved into his big lips trailing up and down her vulva. Erik manipulated her pussy into a creamy delight before he inserted his erection deep within her. Pushing her legs back, he held them and beat her pussy up with death strokes. She wasn't leaving him. He was going to make sure of that.

"Watch Daddy give you this cum," he whispered in her ear.

He pulled back and let his balls do all the work. His scrotum drew up close and throbbed, forcing the root of his dick to move in her pussy. The rush of warm semen flooded her opening and her orgasm clenched around him as he stroked her clit. She moaned his name over and over and it pleased him.

Erik pulled his dick out and stroked it hard, climbing across her body. He pressed his wide tip against her cheek and let another eruption of cum drench her face. Slipping his fingers in her mouth, he made Disa suck on his digits while he fucked her again to keep her quiet.

"You ain't going nowhere. Hear me?"

She tried removing his fingers, but he jammed them deeper against the inside of her cheek. Disa twisted her neck to the side, and he released his fingers and gripped her throat instead.

"Hold still!" he shouted.

She grabbed his wrist, and they struggled to control the situation. Her mouth twisted up into a scowl and he let her go when she clawed his arm.

"You are such a spoiled brat!" she yelled.

Rolling away from him, she sat up on her knees. All he could see were big ripe titties that needed his mouth on them and an engorged vulva that glistened with his cum and her cream. His dick bobbed, still hard, still ready. Her pussy twitched, too. She was hot for more, but her anger took over.

"I just want to do this one thing, and it doesn't even affect you," she said.

"It affects me!"

He wanted what he wanted, and that was that.

Disa yanked open a dresser and grabbed new clothes to wear. She stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals and grabbed a sweater from their bedroom closet.

"Where you going?" he said.

"Away from you!"

"You serious right now? Leaving?"

"I don't want to look at your selfish face!"

"Disa…Disa… c'mon…"

He lifted from off the bed and pulled her arm gently.

"Let go of me!"

"Disa!"

She stalked out of the bedroom and he chased after her.

"Wayment! Baby! Lemme talk to you—"

"You don't want to talk. You want to command like I'm one of your little E1s."

"That's not true."

She glared at him.

"You're steeped in sexism and can't even see it."

"Fuck outta here. Me? Sexist?"

"Yes, Erik. You can like women and still treat them like shit because you have a dick."

"I'm not tryna hear that bullshit."

"Exactly. Give me one good reason you don't want me to leave?"

"I told you."

"And it all revolves around me catering to you and your needs. Keep a nice house and my legs open when you want me."

"Don't say that, girl—"

"It's true though. When was the last time you asked me about my interests or desires? You come home, eat, fuck me and sleep. Then you're gone. I love you and I want to make you happy when you come home… but dammit, Erik. Ask me about my life too! Talk to me about my goals and what I want."

"I do."

"When? While you're knee-deep in my guts, or when you're sleeping on my stomach? When I'm rubbing your feet? Heating up food for you when you drag in here late at the last minute? Or not at all?"

"You knew what it was coming out here."

"I did. But I expected some reciprocity."

He pulled her closer to him, but she flinched.

"No! You always think that will shut shit down. I want more than great dick and fucking all the time. I need mental stimulation outside of you and me. Baby, I can't thrive if I'm only filling you up all the time. I need replenishing too."

She grabbed the front doorknob.

"I need a break. I'll be back."

He watched her leave the condo, and his anger blossomed in his stomach. Sexist? He scoffed at the idea. In his mind, he gave her more than the average woman could ever dream of from a man. Isn't that what women wanted? A grown-ass man with resources and the power to let them flounce around on their whims? How was she going to act when he became king? Complain that she had a whole ass high-tech kingdom to rule by his side?

Fucking women. Never happy about shit, even when it's perfect.

A tension headache throbbed in his right temple, but his arousal was up. Women screaming at him excited him in a way that shouldn't have felt sexy. Disa ran her mouth and all he wanted to do was lift her up and take her back to bed and make love. Shit was crazy. The madder she got, the hotter she looked to him.

Erik thought she'd be gone for an hour or two, but four hours went by and she hadn't returned. He grabbed his keys and left their home annoyed and slightly concerned. Checking the underground parking first, Erik noticed his car was still there. She was on foot somewhere.

Taking a brisk walk down their street, he kept his eyes on alert for her. Crossing the street after clocking four blocks, he headed toward the beach. The sun had disappeared and only the faint magenta-orange color of the evening sky greeted him. He forgot his cell phone and the darker it became, the more worried his walk down the beach sidewalk became.

"Disa!"

Erik glimpsed her sticking her feet in the water after he passed a crowd of older tourists enjoying the summer air. He ran to her. Puffy eyes latched onto him and the red of her lids weighed his heart down. She wiped her eyes and walked past him.

"I'm sorry," he said to her back.

He followed her toward their condo.

"You think you are, but Erik, I know you."

"I am."

"But you still don't want me to leave."

"I don't. I can't help how I feel."

"Maybe it's time that you miss me for a change."

"I want you near me because you give me strength. You are my rock. Even if I can't see you in person, having you here in the city helps me stay focused. I'm scared I might fail if you're gone. I know I have prayers from my family, Ogum looking over me, and all the skills to push through, but… Disa, you give me solid ground. If you leave, I might falter or get weak from worrying about you so far away with all that's going on. If you're here, I know you're safe and I can get to you fast to protect you."

Her doleful eyes stared at him.

"Why couldn't you just say that to me when I told you my good news?"

"Men don't enjoy looking like weak pussies in front of their women."

"Pussies are strong. They push out babies and handle dick well. Jealous men should never discredit what they're incapable of doing with that type of language."

She smirked, and he smiled.

Disa stood next to him at a stoplight. Threading her fingers with his, she pulled him to face her.

"I've applied to this thing twice, and I never got it. It's mine now and I want to go. I acknowledge that you're worried and even scared about failing. But you are an incredible soldier. A hell of a man. We have a strong bond and you know I'll pray for your well-being and success, just like you'll do for me. I want this. I need this chance to show what I can do beyond M.I.T. and I've worked so hard to prove that I am worthy this time. Would you want me resenting you for the rest of my life over six little weeks? I've been here for you and your needs for nearly six months. Be here for me."

Her eyes shined, and Erik hugged her tight.

"Don't cry. You're right. I'm being selfish. You've done everything for me and I've expected it instead of being appreciative. Baby, I'm really sorry. Go do your thing. I'll deal with my feelings."

She held him for a long time and the stoplight turned green several times before they finally crossed the street and entered their building. The relief of having his blessing made Disa cry again, and he held her on their bed until she stopped. Making her happy meant letting her go do what she wanted. Six weeks wasn't a long time. He could man up and get through his last six weeks.

###

"I'm not about to end up living at camp stupid because you dumb fuckers forgot a step!"

Erik shouted so loud that a few instructors turned their heads his way. Frustration laced his voice like bullets and he shot out deadly words that made his demolition crew wince with the truth.

"How the fuck you not calculate the time properly? We're running around here not knowing when shit is about to blow up. The fuck? I'm not letting your bitch ass get me killed out here! You were two minutes off!"

Erik balled his fists up and slammed them together to keep from punching his roommate Mitcham in the mouth. The man was smug and careless, a deadly combo with explosives. His daisy chains often fell from buildings during combat scenarios, and his miscalculation of timing could've killed them. Shit wasn't a game anymore, and Erik was fed up.

DeMarco strolled over and chewed them out more, and it kept every ancestor in his corner to keep Erik from screaming and going off again. It was a reflection of his leadership, and Mitcham was jealous of Erik and often sabotaged his directions in subtle ways to rile him up.

"—there's no trust. When your fellow soldier can't depend on your accuracy, then you have essentially failed the mission and lost lives. Stevens expected you to do your test burn, and you didn't do it. Think he'll trust you in the future?"

Erik tuned out DeMarco reaming Mitcham and concentrated on the upcoming task. The third and final phase of BUDs was relentless. Seven days a week, no time off, just on all the time. It simulated actual combat and his weaker classmates were making the experience drudgery. He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sun. He needed Disa in the worst way. Needed to hear her voice. Smell her skin. Touch her.

Scarfing down an MRE and checking combat simulation coordinates on his notepad, Erik reeled in his anger and caught a five-minute nap crouched down on his legs while the instructors barked orders to another team.

Mad Max recapped armament instructions with their Land Warfare training. His favorite part of the training was coming up with small unit tactics, and he'd ditch Mitcham with that practice. Erik grew into his prowess as an exceptional soldier. From rappelling down the sides of a cliff, basic weapons, land navigation, patrolling, and demolition, he impressed his superiors and got plenty of overt praise in front of his classmates. San Clemente island allowed them to live out a real-life SEAL experience and Erik became the blueprint of the model SEAL.

"Here we go!" Silas shouted.

Silas was an E-2 who took a shine to Erik. A young dude from Maine who was wired for warfare and taking kills, Silas copied Erik in everything, right down to the bark in his voice. Erik was gung-ho, too. Close quarters defense training excited him. Anything to do with going indoors and sweeping for enemies got him off. All the war video games he played as a child couldn't prepare him for the hard-on he got from doing the real thing. The adrenaline rush was intense, and his killer instinct took over. Silas matched his energy, and that cemented their connection as a band of brothers with the men who bonded together during the last week of BUDs.

His six-man practice team comprised some of the best marksmen, and Silas was one of the best Erik had ever seen. He could shoot a mouse pissing on a flower from three miles away. What he lacked was self-control, which Erik had plenty of, and that made him a better shooter out of the two of them. Special warfare practice was drilled into them, and they had to master shooting and non-shooting scenarios. CQD techniques had Erik highly disciplined. His focus on detail was bar none. Controlled aggression was his forte now. He was dynamic during their CQD drills, taking out other teams, and racking up simulated kills. Once they left Coronado to do active drills day and night, other field instructors flew over on helicopters just to watch him in action. He could clear a CQ room like no other, and he knew it.

"He's a natural-born killer," DeMarco quipped during a visit from higher-ups.

Mad Max even conceded his superior techniques. "He's ready for war."

"Warmonger!" DeMarco snapped, and the instructors laughed.

There was awe in that laughter.

They spent the afternoon doing IAD drills and night raid practice, and it amped him to do the immediate action because he was ready for the night raid planned. An entire war scenario was mapped out. All of their tactical training would have to pay off. They would drop from a helicopter in the dark and complete a task against another team targeted as their enemy. There would be soldiers acting as hostages, too.

During a quick break to eat dinner, Erik was invited to join a CPO at Miramar airfield for a flight review after graduation. He was going to update his pilot's license. During his time at the Naval Academy, he worked on weekends to accumulate the hours he needed to achieve an aviation license. At sixteen, he thought a fighter pilot was the way to go until he attended a talk with Special Forces soldiers. He didn't know when it would come in handy, but he needed to be prepared.

Lying across his rucksack, Erik watched the sun go down and took a final catnap.

"Fall in!" Silas shouted to his buddies.

Erik stood and stretched his legs.

Showtime.

###

The scenario was simple.

A group of American politicians were kidnapped and held in an area swarming with insurgents and civilians. Combat Search and Rescue. Erik's team was charged with locating and securing the Americans and escorting them back to the beach for a pickup by a brand-new Sikorsky HH-60H.

Erik kept his M-4 assault rifle tucked close to his chest as he waved his team through a dark corridor as they quietly stormed up the beach after jumping into frigid water from their helicopter ride on one side of San Clemente Island. The lack of moonlight was a blessing, and they moved with stealth past sand dunes. His night vision goggles felt snug and comfortable over his face, and he kept track of his breathing. Nervous energy had him inhaling faster, and he calmed his jacked-up leg muscles that were ready to sprint. Using selective hand signals, he motioned for his team to spread out and keep their eyes open.

They found their targeted structure and kept track of security sweeps. Smoke grenades in hand, Erik ordered his team to sweep through the building. He took lead and through the haze of blinding white smoke, shouting, and screams, Erik took down insurgents like they were ants under his shoes. His rhythm set the tone for his team and they worked in tandem, securing the civilians, and setting up bombs to go off in their absence.

An enemy attack was expected, and when it came, Erik eased seamlessly into battle mode, passing his secured civilians to underlings that made haste toward the beach under protective extraction teams that he made to stay behind in case of surprise attacks. He took a chance leaving a team behind, but he was confident that Silas could pick off enemy fire in his sleep. They kept radio chatter to a minimum, which Erik liked with his men.

Running back to the sea, a rush of energy swept through his body. He didn't lose any of his men or civs, and their explosives blew on time. Their helicopters swooped in and he exhaled at a job well done under his orders.

"We're missing an interpreter!"

Howell was an officer in charge of headcounts.

"He must've got mixed up in the smoke when we passed the last structure. He sent me a signal."

"Dammit," Erik snarled.

"We need him," Howell said.

"Give me ten, then bounce!" Erik shouted.

Running with a stiff wind against his back, Erik searched for the missing interpreter. The enemy blasted flares into the sky, and he streaked through the darkness to keep from being seen. He took out men left and right until he found the interpreter trapped between the open beach and a small hovel. The man was injured as part of his role-playing, and Erik lifted him as he searched for an escape route.

"We can't wait here, boss," Silas whispered over the radio.

Erik helped the limping man through the dunes. He became a one-man hit squad, holding off the enemy fire as he fought for every inch back to the sea.

"Take him!" Erik yelled.

Men aboard the helicopter secured the interpreter and Erik fired back more rounds until his gun jammed. He hopped into the helicopter.

"Incoming!" Silas shouted.

From the land, they witnessed their enemy lobbing attacks toward them, and the helicopter rose high. Mitcham started catcalling and heckling their classmates that lost to them.

"Sitcho ass down!" Erik yelled.

He hated men who celebrated too soon. They weren't out of harm's way yet in their exercise.

"Shut up!" Mitcham said.

Erik reached out to snatch Mitcham by his collar, but the helicopter shifted at an odd angle to avoid a simulated rocket launcher. Mitcham wasn't buckled up or hanging on to anything. He waved his arms comically like a cartoon buffoon before falling out of the HH-60H. Silas grabbed for him, but it was too late. They watched him freefall and land with a wet smack on the water below.

"Fuck!" Silas said.

A boat crew down below swarmed to get Mitcham. As grim as it all was, Erik smirked as he sat back, secure in his own seat. The man played around too much. Slacked when he should've stayed on task. Made jokes and preened to be the big man of the class. He got what he deserved. The rest of Erik's team stared at him and received the message well. Fuck around and find out.

###

Mitcham had fractures all throughout his back. Luckily, they weren't high enough in the air for him to kill himself. A bruised spinal cord was touch and go for paralysis, but the man pulled through enough to have serious nerve signal issues that would last a lifetime. He'd have years of physical therapy to get through and wouldn't become a Navy SEAL. Tough titty.

It was just as well.

Some men didn't deserve to be a SEAL, especially with the type of attitude Mitcham carried around. Sloppy with the desire for power and crushing people, he ended up crushing himself. An initial investigation cleared Erik and the rest of his team for the man's career-ending injury. Their instructors carried on with the night raids, and Erik was back on the ground with the rest of his crew doing another intense exercise. Shouts of "Warmonger!" from his instructors turned into "Killmonger" when the night was finished at three a.m. His kill shots were beyond average. A glint in Mad Max's eyes sealed his new nickname.

"Helluva job, Killmonger. That was the best night raid exercise I have seen in my ten years of teaching."

He held out his hand to Erik. There was pride in Mad Max's eyes. Begrudging respect for an advanced warrior who had yet to test his skills overseas. The older man recognized a true killer when he saw one. Erik shook his hand and accepted the praise. Another puzzle piece slipped into place. He would become a SEAL and closer to his goal. Wakanda and King T'Chaka.

Erik slept on the beach with his rucksack inside a tent with twelve other men on their last night of San Clemente training. Their return to Coronado would herald in a new SEAL Class. Forty-two men made it. Only thirty-eight percent of their initial class from Illinois made it.

The ride back to the Amphib base was solemn. He slept for the one-hour bus drive back down the coast. Disa was due to fly back in from Amsterdam in an hour. His mind, body, and spirit anticipated her return. He survived without her by hook and crook.

Waking up as they pulled onto the base, he grabbed his dark olive rucksack and gazed out at the water. He slipped his cell out of a pocket from his bag and checked the time and any messages from Disa. There were two. One from when she left Europe. One from when she arrived in Atlanta. He expected another soon from the San Diego International Airport. He sent her a quick message:

Just got back to the Amphib Base. I get a two-hour break, so I can pick you up. Text me when you land and I'll be on my way.

Erik wiggled his toes in his boots.

His eyes shot down to the pavement as his ears grappled with a deep buzzing noise. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice the sound or even feel the vibrations under their feet like he did.

A siren rang out, startling the surrounding men thirty seconds later as a blinding white light lit up the water and several explosions toppled them all to the ground. Erik crawled behind their bus and directed the other men to do the same. Confused soldiers near the barracks had no time to scatter before the building exploded. Blood and debris rained down on them. Erik shut his eyes, thinking of Disa, and then he ran toward the collapsed building.

###

Disa swiped her fingers across her cell phone the moment her flight touched down in San Diego. Giddy excitement rippled through her. Six weeks in Amsterdam had been outstanding for her confidence and re-igniting her passion to work on what she loved. She had been a success with her residency and spear-headed the seeds of her own design firm with two guests that she invited to guest speak during her time there. Amsterdam solidified her need to stand as a Black Muslim woman working in a field that had little of both.

The moment her cell became fully functional, Erik's text popped up. She grinned and sat her index finger on the screen. The plane rolled toward its gate and someone shrieked behind her.

"Oh, my God. Look at that!"

An older woman three seats back shouted loud for everyone to hear. Disa peeked out of her window seat and saw a large plume of dark smoke rising from the direction of the water. A rumbling in the ground made the plane shake, and she gripped her armrests, dropping her phone.

A thunderous explosion brought her attention back to the window, and she gasped as shock waves shook the plane. Reaching for her cell, she checked a news feed.

An attack.

The military installations throughout southern California were suffering bombings. The news spread throughout the plane and she tried calling Erik. He was still on the base.

No answer.

Disa tried calling her military phone tree of wives and girlfriends of men Erik trained with. Busy lines. She texted Erik with an urgent message and resisted crawling over her seatmates to get out of the plane. The captain of their flight gave a brief speech that they were to stay seated on the plane until further notice. Attacks struck the arrival terminals, too.

A flash of light blinded Disa and she covered her face as a new bomb attack damaged the runway behind her. Passengers panicked and jumped from their seats, rushing to get off the plane. The stampede injured several people, including flight attendants. She held back from being trampled as screams of pain ricocheted from front to back. The airport faced another attack and the newest bombing forced the plane to slide sideways and their left wing slammed into the aircraft next to them. The sound of screeching metal and the stench of oil and gas stung her nostrils. Disa rose from her seat then. She was two seats away from an emergency exit. A flight attendant opened that escape and Disa dove to be one of the lucky few who escaped before their plane was blown to bits. Sliding down the inflatable ladder, she spent two seconds glancing behind her before she ran past the airport ground crew. A man grabbed her and led her away from flying debris as her jumbo jet went up in flames.

Disa kept running until airport mechanics flagged her toward safety. The few people who reacted the way she did, and saved themselves, endured the chaos of not knowing what was happening. She lost her phone in the scramble to escape, but an older Black man kept his phone in his pocket. They were attacked by enemy subs and watercraft that couldn't be identified. The Coronado Amphib base and the Naval base at the thirty-second street pier were destroyed. The east coast also had its own attacks and Fort Bragg was decimated in North Carolina. Targeted attacks took out all major military installations throughout the U.S.

"We have to get out of here!"

The older Black man linked his hand with Disa's and she ran with him and a few others who risked it all to make it to the fenced barrier that led to the Pacific Coast Highway on the other side of the airport. Planes were diverted from landing, so there was nothing stopping people from making their own escape.

She chanced it with the older Black man and helped other women with children scuttle across a minefield of explosions, screams of terror, and the promise of safety.

A chain-linked fence blocked their escape. Three mothers who ran with them with their kids couldn't make the climb with infants in their hands, too. They ran along the fence to find another way with other passengers, and Disa slipped her fingers through the links and climbed. The risk was too great to take a chance searching for another route out. Once she scrambled to the top, the barbed wire didn't stop her from climbing to the other side. She dropped ten feet to the ground and bruised her right knee. She ignored the sharp pain in her legs and the bloodied hands that battled the barbed wire. Disa kept moving until she reached the highway. Cars slowed down and helped people who escaped. She climbed into a car of a small family headed to Seaport Village. Shaking all over and disoriented, Disa thanked them. The mother in the car, a soft-spoken Latino woman with enormous hazel eyes, handed her a cell phone.

Disa dialed Erik's number again, and he answered.

"Disa!" he shrieked.

The fear in his voice shook her to her core.

"The airport was attacked. Are you okay?!"

"We don't know what the fuck is going on—"

The line went dead.

"Erik! Erik!"

"We have to get you to a hospital!"

The woman driving the car was a gray-haired older Latina with hard brown eyes determined to help Disa.

"She's bleeding everywhere!" the younger woman in the passenger seat said.

"My fiancé!" Disa wept.

The shock knocked her out then.

###

The soldiers in the barracks were beyond saving.

Erik took in the horror before him and quickly took charge of pulling out bodies. A triage was erected near the fallen common area, and he hustled into soldier mode automatically. Part of his brain screamed to call Disa again, but he had to take care of what was in front of him first. SEAL training kicked everyone into high gear and he placed Disa on a mental shelf. He heard her voice. She was alive. He clung to that as he worked. Five hours in, he fell against an intact galley wall and rested. Food was passed around, and he forced himself to eat food and drink water.

They only had themselves to rely on. Even Camp Pendleton was attacked. The marines had to take care of their own, too. The technology and resources to coordinate an attack like that could only come from two sources: Wakanda or Atlantis. T'Chaka was on his goodwill tour to kick off his upcoming book. He wouldn't be that blatant assaulting the U.S.

Not yet.

It had to be Atlantis and their unknown allies.

A soldier wounded near Erik's bus loaned him a cell to use. Disa's phone kept going to voicemail. His gut told him she was safe. He kept trying to call her, then gave up and phoned his grandfather. He gave simple and precise instructions. Grandpop knew how to relay info to the rest of the family. They'd been through terrorism like this before. One call and the rest of his extended family globally would be contacted and updated. He gave the phone back and covered his face with his hands.

Keep it together.

He had to stay strong and alert for her. Wherever she was, Disa was smart enough to know that he would get to her without her trying to find him in the madness that was happening all around them. Sirens, helicopters, and jeeps raced around the Amphib base. All Erik could see was acrid smoke that irritated his eyes, flaming buildings, and covered bodies.

What a way to graduate.

"Killmonger."

DeMarco jogged up to him.

"Yes, sir," Erik said, standing.

"We need able-bodied men to help us move triage."

Erik nodded and followed his superior.

The nickname rested on his shoulders lightly, like an unfastened coat fluttering open, but Erik fully embraced it. Buttoned down into it. Got real cozy with the feel of its power enveloping his spirit. He was ready to kill all enemies near and far.

Killmonger.

It fit him. Perfectly.