Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7859
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7859
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season III | Chapter XVIII - Lost
The gym was quiet in a way Zane wasn’t used to. This wasn’t the typical team lifts at school that was full of bravado and screaming. No music blasting either. Just the low hum of treadmills in the corner and the occasional clang of metal meeting metal.
Zane lay flat on the bench, eyes locked on the ceiling as he gripped the bar. The weight sat heavy in his hands. Not unfamiliar, but still present.
It was just him and the weights. No hype, no noise, no distractions.
He unracked it. Lowered. Paused the bottom, his breath hitching for a moment. Then, he exploded upward. Mentally, he counted one. His breath was sharp and controlled.
He repeated until the burn began creeping in the corner, the picture beginning to blur at the edge. But, that’s why he was here. Not just for the lift. But for the silence of it all.
He craved silence because his life had unexpectedly become deafening over the last few months. The season. The expectations. The endless conversations about where he would be playing next year.
Between Bianca and Detroit, things had grown more uncomfortable. They had escaped with the win and he had his best performance all season. But, the weekend had taken its pound of flesh in return.
He couldn’t help but remember the look on her face. His jaw tightened as he racked the weight with a sharp exhale and sat up slowly, elbows resting on his knees. Sweat beaded down his temples.
He wiped it with the bottom of his shirt, waiting for his pulse to return to normal, trying to settle himself. His phone buzzed on the floor beside the bench.
He ignored it. Probably another dry, annoyed response from Bianca or another feeler from some school he hadn’t even thought about.
It buzzed again. Zane glanced down, mildly annoyed.
Unknown number. He started it for a second. Considered letting it die. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, pretending to be genuinely interested in what they had to say.
Zane signed. He reached down and picked it up, swiping to answer. “Hello?”
A voice came on - calm and professional - “Is this Zane Jones?”
Zane picked up his posture unconsciously, sitting up a bit straighter. “Yeah, this is him.”
“Zane, this is Sherrone Moore, head coach at Michigan.”
Zane froze. For a split second, his brain didn’t process it. Then it hit him at all once.
“Yeah, Coach - hello-” he stumbled, shaking his head at himself, trying to get his head out of his own ass. “Yes sir. I appreciate the call.”
He stood up without realizing it, pacing a couple of steps beside the bench.
Coach Moore’s voice remained steady. “I’ve been watching your film, Zane and I like what I see. A whole lot.”
Zane swallowed. “Thank you sir, I’ve been working hard.”
“It shows. We here in Arr Arbor think you’re a special player,” Moore continued. “And we would like to formally offer you a full-ride to Michigan.”
Zane stopped pacing. Everything went quiet again - but not like before.
His grip tightened slightly around the phone. He had been offered multiple scholarships at this point; coaches insisting that he’s enough as a player and as a person.
But, this was Michigan. This was Bianca. This was the big leagues.
All the noise, all the questions suddenly crashed into one moment.
“Yes sir,” Zane said, voice more composed now, though his chest was pounding. “That means a lot. I really appreciate the opportunity.”
“Listen, I don’t expect you to make any decisions right now,” Moore added. “This doesn’t have a timer on it. I know you’ve got a lot to think about.”
“I appreciate that sir,” Zane nodded, even though the coach couldn’t see him do it. “I do.”
“What I would like,” Moore continued, “is to get you on campus for an official visit as soon as we can. Let you see everything up close.”
Zane nodded again. “Absolutely,” he said. “I’ll talk to my grandparents and we’ll figure out a time that works.”
“Sounds good,” Moore replied. “I’m glad you picked up, Zane. Looking forward to getting to know you better and get you to be a part of a bright future we’re building here.”
“Thank you, Coach. I appreciate it.”
The line clicked. Zane slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He just stood there. Breathing, taking it all in.
Then he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his hand. He looked down at the phone again.
Michigan. Of all days. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling. The weight room suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Everything had just changed.
The kitchen was quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful.
Malik sat the table, elbows resting beside a bowl of cereal that hadn’t been touched in at least 20 minutes. THe flakes had gone soft, sagging under the weight of milk, forgotten just like everything else in front of him.
His phone now sat face down, offers and messages littering the screen. Emails from coaches trying to sell him futures he wasn’t sure he could see clearly anymore.
He flipped it over, thumb dragging across the screen, opening the spreadsheet he had built - columns color-coded, rows organized with obsessive precision.
School. Offensive fit. Depth chart. Coaching stability. NIL potential. Distance from home.
Clean, controlled, and logical. The way things were supposed to be. Kwon had laughed when he saw it.
”Man, you’re treating this like a damn science project. Pick somewhere warm, with bad bitches and a good QB room, you’ll be aight.”
Malik had rolled his eyes then. Now? He almost wished his brain allowed him to see things that simply.
Footsteps creaked from behind. He didn’t turn right away, but he knew who it was. His mother didn’t make noise like anyone else.
Anita stepped into the kitchen, taking everything in with one sweep of her eyes. The bowl, the phone. Him.
She walked past him toward the sink, shaking her head slightly. “You gonna let that get soggy like that?” she said, matter-of-factly. “Food cost too damn much for you to be wasting it.”
Malik leaned back in his chair, running a hand along his jaw. “I’ll eat it.”
She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him but opted to let it go. That was her way. Pick your battles. Win the ones that matter.
She turned, leaning lightly against the counter, arms folded. “What you working on?”
Malik lifted his phone slightly. “Just comparing schools, figuring this stuff out.”
She nodded once. “Mm.” A beat. “How Penn State looking?”
He knew that was her preference. Always had been. Stay close and grounded, where people could see you.
Malik shrugged, trying to sound neutral. “Not as good as some others.”
“Why’s that?”
“They struggling,” he said. “Season ain’t going how they thought. People are talking about Coach Franklin maybe getting out of there.”
She exhaled softly, something like disappointment flickering across her face before she smoothed it over. “People always talking,” she said. “Don’t mean nothing.”
Malik didn’t respond. The silence stretched just long enough for her to notice something was off. She tilted her head slightly, studying him now.
“What’s going on?”
Malik’s jaw tightened. He stared down at the table, at the bowl, at the reflection of himself in the spoon. He could feel it sitting in his chest.
Heavy and uncomfortable.
“I went to see Rasheed Jones last week.” The words landed like a brick. Anita froze.
Not visibly at first - but he saw it. The way her shoulders locked at the mention of his name. The way her fingers curled slightly against her arm. Like it was the last thing she thought her son was capable of saying.
“Why on Earth would you do that?” she asked, slower now.
Malik didn’t look at her. “I needed the truth,” he said quietly. “Not what we wanted it to be.”
That did. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering - not softer, even sharper.
“I don’t know what he told you,” she said. “And I don’t want to know.”
A pause came.
“But you better not let your cousins hear you talking like that.”
Malik’s eyes lifted for the first time since she walked in. “You guys been feeding me lies.”
The words hung there.
Anita blinked once - caught off guard - but recovered quickly, her expression hardening. “Your family comes first,” she said firmly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Something in Malik snapped. Not loud.
But deep.
“We’re supposed to be better than this,” he said, his voice rising despite himself. “All this time we been looking for someone to blame-”
He pointed to his chest.
“- we forgot who Ronnie was.”
Anita’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Malik leaned forward now, emotion bleeding into every word.
“You really gonna sit here and act like you don’t remember how he was?” he pressed. “How quick he used to snap? How he would break shit over nothing?” His voice cracked slightly, frustration bubbling over.
“You really gonna tell me it’s impossible he pissed somebody off? That maybe—just maybe—what happened wasn’t some cold-blooded hit like we been saying all these years?”
Anita stared at him. Like she was seeing someone she didn’t recognize.
For a second, Malik thought she might yell.
She just stood. Her chair scraping lightly against the floor. She didn’t say anything.
She just looked at him one last time - something unreadable behind her eyes - before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
The gym was quiet in a way Zane wasn’t used to. This wasn’t the typical team lifts at school that was full of bravado and screaming. No music blasting either. Just the low hum of treadmills in the corner and the occasional clang of metal meeting metal.
Zane lay flat on the bench, eyes locked on the ceiling as he gripped the bar. The weight sat heavy in his hands. Not unfamiliar, but still present.
It was just him and the weights. No hype, no noise, no distractions.
He unracked it. Lowered. Paused the bottom, his breath hitching for a moment. Then, he exploded upward. Mentally, he counted one. His breath was sharp and controlled.
He repeated until the burn began creeping in the corner, the picture beginning to blur at the edge. But, that’s why he was here. Not just for the lift. But for the silence of it all.
He craved silence because his life had unexpectedly become deafening over the last few months. The season. The expectations. The endless conversations about where he would be playing next year.
Between Bianca and Detroit, things had grown more uncomfortable. They had escaped with the win and he had his best performance all season. But, the weekend had taken its pound of flesh in return.
He couldn’t help but remember the look on her face. His jaw tightened as he racked the weight with a sharp exhale and sat up slowly, elbows resting on his knees. Sweat beaded down his temples.
He wiped it with the bottom of his shirt, waiting for his pulse to return to normal, trying to settle himself. His phone buzzed on the floor beside the bench.
He ignored it. Probably another dry, annoyed response from Bianca or another feeler from some school he hadn’t even thought about.
It buzzed again. Zane glanced down, mildly annoyed.
Unknown number. He started it for a second. Considered letting it die. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, pretending to be genuinely interested in what they had to say.
Zane signed. He reached down and picked it up, swiping to answer. “Hello?”
A voice came on - calm and professional - “Is this Zane Jones?”
Zane picked up his posture unconsciously, sitting up a bit straighter. “Yeah, this is him.”
“Zane, this is Sherrone Moore, head coach at Michigan.”
Zane froze. For a split second, his brain didn’t process it. Then it hit him at all once.
“Yeah, Coach - hello-” he stumbled, shaking his head at himself, trying to get his head out of his own ass. “Yes sir. I appreciate the call.”
He stood up without realizing it, pacing a couple of steps beside the bench.
Coach Moore’s voice remained steady. “I’ve been watching your film, Zane and I like what I see. A whole lot.”
Zane swallowed. “Thank you sir, I’ve been working hard.”
“It shows. We here in Arr Arbor think you’re a special player,” Moore continued. “And we would like to formally offer you a full-ride to Michigan.”
Zane stopped pacing. Everything went quiet again - but not like before.
His grip tightened slightly around the phone. He had been offered multiple scholarships at this point; coaches insisting that he’s enough as a player and as a person.
But, this was Michigan. This was Bianca. This was the big leagues.
All the noise, all the questions suddenly crashed into one moment.
“Yes sir,” Zane said, voice more composed now, though his chest was pounding. “That means a lot. I really appreciate the opportunity.”
“Listen, I don’t expect you to make any decisions right now,” Moore added. “This doesn’t have a timer on it. I know you’ve got a lot to think about.”
“I appreciate that sir,” Zane nodded, even though the coach couldn’t see him do it. “I do.”
“What I would like,” Moore continued, “is to get you on campus for an official visit as soon as we can. Let you see everything up close.”
Zane nodded again. “Absolutely,” he said. “I’ll talk to my grandparents and we’ll figure out a time that works.”
“Sounds good,” Moore replied. “I’m glad you picked up, Zane. Looking forward to getting to know you better and get you to be a part of a bright future we’re building here.”
“Thank you, Coach. I appreciate it.”
The line clicked. Zane slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He just stood there. Breathing, taking it all in.
Then he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his hand. He looked down at the phone again.
Michigan. Of all days. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling. The weight room suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Everything had just changed.
***
The kitchen was quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful.
Malik sat the table, elbows resting beside a bowl of cereal that hadn’t been touched in at least 20 minutes. THe flakes had gone soft, sagging under the weight of milk, forgotten just like everything else in front of him.
His phone now sat face down, offers and messages littering the screen. Emails from coaches trying to sell him futures he wasn’t sure he could see clearly anymore.
He flipped it over, thumb dragging across the screen, opening the spreadsheet he had built - columns color-coded, rows organized with obsessive precision.
School. Offensive fit. Depth chart. Coaching stability. NIL potential. Distance from home.
Clean, controlled, and logical. The way things were supposed to be. Kwon had laughed when he saw it.
”Man, you’re treating this like a damn science project. Pick somewhere warm, with bad bitches and a good QB room, you’ll be aight.”
Malik had rolled his eyes then. Now? He almost wished his brain allowed him to see things that simply.
Footsteps creaked from behind. He didn’t turn right away, but he knew who it was. His mother didn’t make noise like anyone else.
Anita stepped into the kitchen, taking everything in with one sweep of her eyes. The bowl, the phone. Him.
She walked past him toward the sink, shaking her head slightly. “You gonna let that get soggy like that?” she said, matter-of-factly. “Food cost too damn much for you to be wasting it.”
Malik leaned back in his chair, running a hand along his jaw. “I’ll eat it.”
She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him but opted to let it go. That was her way. Pick your battles. Win the ones that matter.
She turned, leaning lightly against the counter, arms folded. “What you working on?”
Malik lifted his phone slightly. “Just comparing schools, figuring this stuff out.”
She nodded once. “Mm.” A beat. “How Penn State looking?”
He knew that was her preference. Always had been. Stay close and grounded, where people could see you.
Malik shrugged, trying to sound neutral. “Not as good as some others.”
“Why’s that?”
“They struggling,” he said. “Season ain’t going how they thought. People are talking about Coach Franklin maybe getting out of there.”
She exhaled softly, something like disappointment flickering across her face before she smoothed it over. “People always talking,” she said. “Don’t mean nothing.”
Malik didn’t respond. The silence stretched just long enough for her to notice something was off. She tilted her head slightly, studying him now.
“What’s going on?”
Malik’s jaw tightened. He stared down at the table, at the bowl, at the reflection of himself in the spoon. He could feel it sitting in his chest.
Heavy and uncomfortable.
“I went to see Rasheed Jones last week.” The words landed like a brick. Anita froze.
Not visibly at first - but he saw it. The way her shoulders locked at the mention of his name. The way her fingers curled slightly against her arm. Like it was the last thing she thought her son was capable of saying.
“Why on Earth would you do that?” she asked, slower now.
Malik didn’t look at her. “I needed the truth,” he said quietly. “Not what we wanted it to be.”
That did. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering - not softer, even sharper.
“I don’t know what he told you,” she said. “And I don’t want to know.”
A pause came.
“But you better not let your cousins hear you talking like that.”
Malik’s eyes lifted for the first time since she walked in. “You guys been feeding me lies.”
The words hung there.
Anita blinked once - caught off guard - but recovered quickly, her expression hardening. “Your family comes first,” she said firmly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Something in Malik snapped. Not loud.
But deep.
“We’re supposed to be better than this,” he said, his voice rising despite himself. “All this time we been looking for someone to blame-”
He pointed to his chest.
“- we forgot who Ronnie was.”
Anita’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Malik leaned forward now, emotion bleeding into every word.
“You really gonna sit here and act like you don’t remember how he was?” he pressed. “How quick he used to snap? How he would break shit over nothing?” His voice cracked slightly, frustration bubbling over.
“You really gonna tell me it’s impossible he pissed somebody off? That maybe—just maybe—what happened wasn’t some cold-blooded hit like we been saying all these years?”
Anita stared at him. Like she was seeing someone she didn’t recognize.
For a second, Malik thought she might yell.
She just stood. Her chair scraping lightly against the floor. She didn’t say anything.
She just looked at him one last time - something unreadable behind her eyes - before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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Captain Canada wrote: ↑25 Mar 2026, 18:22She just looked at him one last time - something unreadable behind her eyes - before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7859
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Everybody a hoe to y'all huh? AS really did a number on the community
Essentially, yeahdjp73 wrote: ↑26 Mar 2026, 06:48Captain Canada wrote: ↑25 Mar 2026, 18:22She just looked at him one last time - something unreadable behind her eyes - before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Don't use AS as a shield for W.C.W.Captain Canada wrote: ↑26 Mar 2026, 08:44Everybody a hoe to y'all huh? AS really did a number on the community
Also, Moore saw W.C.W. walking across campus and boy was fiendin' so he had to get Zane to Ann Arbor.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7859
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
This is quite easily the least horny RTG on the siteCaesar wrote: ↑26 Mar 2026, 09:07Don't use AS as a shield for W.C.W.Captain Canada wrote: ↑26 Mar 2026, 08:44Everybody a hoe to y'all huh? AS really did a number on the community
Also, Moore saw W.C.W. walking across campus and boy was fiendin' so he had to get Zane to Ann Arbor.
Sherrone Moore the horniest of them all, and he just showing up now