Invictus

[Captain Canada]

Nah, she's just a student with normal student issues. No sexuality finding, no hidden pregnancies, no ... sex work.

I thought this was a shot at Ms. Rosas because y'all keep saying she ain't straight and that is what she does for work but this must be throwing Skylar in there for that middle thing. Also, normal student issues? From WCW?

Zane still going there. We see the play.

Yes, normal student issues for Bianca. A lil drug experimenting, a little lost sense of self and NOTHING FURTHER. Typical shit.

Nah, she's just a student with normal student issues. No sexuality finding, no hidden pregnancies, no ... sex work.

I thought this was a shot at Ms. Rosas because y'all keep saying she ain't straight and that is what she does for work but this must be throwing Skylar in there for that middle thing. Also, normal student issues? From WCW?

I think this is the misdirection of the misdirection. He's going somewhere else.

yeah I didn't think he was going to Michigan to begin with, but now it's solid.

Ohio State gonna swoop in at the last minute

THE Ohio State Buckeyes, huh?

[Captain Canada]

Season IV | Chapter X - To Sir, With Love

The room is colder than Zane remembers. Not just in terms of temperature - the sheer temperament of it all.

Metal chairs scrape faintly against the floor as other visitors sit across from men in identical uniforms. The low murmur of conversations blends together under the fluorescent lights overhead.

Zane sits at one of the tables, hands clasped together, elbows resting on the metal surface. His foot taps once. Then stills.

He hasn’t been here in a while. At least since the playoffs started. Not since everything changed.

A door buzzes open. Zane looks up.

Rasheed walks in with the rest of the inmates, moving with a steady, deliberate stride. His posture is straight, shoulders squared. His face is set - not blank, not broken.

Hardened. Maybe even a little agitated.

Zane’s eyes track him as he gets closer. This isn’t what he expected. Rasheed spots him and something shifts - just slightly. His expression loosens, and he puts on something close to a smile as he reaches the table.

“Z,” he says, pulling out the chair across from him.

Zane nods. “Hey.”

They clasp hands briefly across the table. Firm. Quick.

Rasheed sits. For a second, neither of them says anything. Then Zane clears his throat.

“Took the morning off school to pull up on you.”

Rasheed nods. “Yeah? You just allowed to do that?”

“Yeah,” Zane says, rubbing his palms together. “There’s this ceremony later in the afternoon after lunch. Athlete commitment day and all that.”

Rasheed leans back slightly in his chair. “You committing today?”

Zane shrugs, looking off to the side for a second. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. I’ve got until the end of the day to decide, I guess.”

Rasheed raises an eyebrow. “You guess? I ain’t no expert considering I never went to college, but I think you should be a lil’ more certain about the shit. You leaning somewhere?”

Zane exhales through his nose, a bit sharper this time. “I hate that question.”

Rasheed studies him for a moment. “Why?”

“Because everybody keeps asking it,” Zane says, his voice tightening slightly. “Like I’m supposed to have it all figured out.”

Rasheed lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Of all the unfortunate things you’ve had to deal with in life, this one you asked for, boy.”

Zane’s eyes snapped back to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rasheed leans forward now, resting his forearms on the table. His voice lowers just a bit. “I thought you wanted to be a superstar, no? The best?” he says. “This what comes with it. Questions. Interest. Attention.”

Zane holds his gaze. “I get that,” Zane says after a moment. “Doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”

Rasheed huffs out another quiet laugh, nodding like he respects that. For a second, the conversation settles again.

Then Rasheed’s expression shifts. Subtle, but there. He glances around the room, then leans in a little closer. His voice drops.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” he says. Zane’s posture straightens slightly.

Rasheed’s eyes lock onto his. “You gotta here your ass outta here.”

Zane frowns. “I just got here.”

“Not here, here,” Rasheed continues. “I want you to pick a school far from here. Far from all this … shit.”

Zane blinks, caught off guard. “What you mean? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “Pitt is right there. I’m sure Grandma could really use me being so close by.”

Rasheed shakes his head immediately. “Nah.”

Zane’s brows knit together. “Ain’t nothing here for but pain,” Rasheed says, his tone firm now. “And suffering.”

Zane’s jaw tightens slightly. Rasheed keeps going. “You can’t stay here for us. Not for me. Not for Grandma.”

Zane looks down at the table for a second, then back up. “So what - you want me to just leave her? She’s been through enough, Dad.”

“I don’t remember saying all that,” Rasheed replies quickly. “I’ll take care of her myself. Lord knows I’m overdue.”

Zane pauses. That lands.

Rasheed nods toward him. “You should go to Michigan like Mom told me you wanted to go. Go be with that girl of yours. Start your own story rather than being stuck being a piece of my shitty one.”

Zane studies him carefully now. “You getting out?”

There’s a flicker - small, quick - across Rasheed’s face.

“According to my lawyer - if everything goes well - I’ll be out by the summer.” he says.

It’s not a yes. Zane notices that. But he decides it’s better not to push.

They sit there for a second longer, the weight of that hanging between them. A guard’s voice echoes faintly in the background, calling out times.

Zane exhales and leans back slightly. “I gotta get going.”

Rasheed nods. “Yeah.”

Another quick clasp of hands across the table - firmer this time.

Rasheed pulls him in tightly. “Whateve you decide, I’ll support you, my boy - just make sure its yours.”

Zane nods once. “Yeah, I got you.” He turns and starts toward the exit. Doesn’t look back.

The doors buzz open again, and he steps through, the sound closing behind him as he walks out into the daylight.

***

The Upper St. Clair gymnasium buzzed with noise that echoed off the rafters - sneaks squeaking against polished hardwood, reporters murmuring into recorders, camera shutters snapping in short bursts. Folding chairs lined the court, nearly all of them filled now with students in school colors, parents leaning forward in anticipation, and a scattering of local media setting up near the baseline.

A long table stretched across center court, draped in a dark cloth, hats from different colleges arranged neatly along the top. Behind it sat the players - some upright and composed, others bouncing their knees or tapping fingers against the table. A banner hung high above them, congratulating the state champions.

Cam sat near the middle, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped tight enough to turn his knuckles pale. His dress shirt fell too tight around his collar. He rolled his shoulders once, then again, trying to shake out the tension that wouldn’t leave his chest. His leg bounced uncontrollably, heel tapping against the hardwood in a steady rhythm.

Malik’s name was called first.

He stood smoothly, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as he approached the podium. The crowd quieted, leaning in. He didn’t take long - thanked his coaches, his family, his teammates. His voice carried clearly through the gym.

“...and I’ll be continuing my academic and athletic career at the University of Miami.”

He reached down, picked up the Miami hat, and placed it firmly on his head.

The gym erupted. Cheers, whistlers, clapping that rolled like thunder. Malik gave a small nod, a tight smile, before stepping off the stage.

Cam swallowed. Luke was next. Same process, but quicker - he had already been verbally committed to Penn State. Easy and clean. Applause again.

Cam barely registered Abdul announcing Rutgers, or Brock committing to Minnesota. The noise blurred together, like he was underwater.

Then the noise shifted. A murmur rolled through the gym - heads turning, whispers building. Cam glanced over his shoulder.

Zane.

He moved through the aisle without acknowledging anyone, shoulders squared, expression blank. No smile. No wave. Just a straight line from the entrance to the table. Unlike the rest of them, dressed in their Sunday best, Zane was in a simple black Nike sweatsuit. One could believe he was on his way to the gym.

He slid into the empty seat behind Cam. The space between them felt tight immediately. Heavy. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The crowd noise swelled and dipped around them, but at the table, it felt strangely quiet.

Cam cleared his throat. “You committing today?”

Zane didn’t look at him right away. He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes forward. “You’ll find out at the end just like everyone else.”

Cam nodded slowly, lips pressing together. Another pause.

“I’m going to Purdue,” Cam said, voice lower now.

Zane gave a small nod. “Congratulations.” But he still didn’t look at him.

Cam’s jaw tightened. He shook his head lightly, more to himself than anything.

“What happened to us, man?”

That got Zane to turn. His eyes were tired. Not angry - just worn down. There was something hollow sitting behind them.

“My grandpa died, man,” Zane said flatly. “And once again, guess who didn’t show up for me? Hell, even Malik made his way around and he started the year fucking hating me.”

Cam blinked, taken aback. “Man, I was at the funeral.”

Zane let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re going with.”

Cam’s mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders dropped slightly. The fight drained out of him in an instant. He looked down at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

Zane’s expression softened - just a fraction.

“I don’t hate you, Cam,” he said. “I’l always be cheering you on.”

Cam looked up at that.

“But what we had - being boys for life? That’s done,” Zane continued. “I can’t keep doing this shit. I can’t keep being let down by you, and you can’t keep being overshadowed by me just being me.”

The words landed heavy.

Cam nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Yeah. You’re right.”

They sat in silence after that. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that settles in and doesn’t move. A staff member stepped in front of the table, leaning down.

“Cam, you’re up.”

Cam stood, smoothing out his shirt instinctively. He took one quick breath, then another, before walking toward the podium.

The lights felt brighter up there. The crowd louder.

He gripped the sides of the podium, scanning the room - his parents near the front, his teammates scattered throughout. Rebecca off to the side, watching him closely.

He started talking. He thanked his coaches. His parents. His teammates. His voice wavered once, but he steadied it. When he mentioned Rebecca, he glanced toward her - she smiled, nodding.

“And I’m proud to announce,” Cam said, reaching down, picking up the black and gold hat, “that I’ll be attending Purdue University.”

He put it on. The gym exploded again - cheers, clapping, a wave of sound that crashed over him. Cam forced a smile, raising a hand slightly, soaking it in. For a moment, it felt good.

Back at the table, Zane watched without expression. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down. Bianca.

Zane stood quietly, stepping away from the table, slipping past the line of chairs and toward the exit. The noise of the gym faded behind him as he pushed through the doors into the hallway.

The sound cut off almost instantly. Just the faint hum of fluorescent lights overheard. It was still ringing.

Zane answered.

***

The hallway outside the gym felt like a different world. The roar of the crowd was muffled behind the double doors, reduced to a dull hum. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The polished tile floor reflected Zane’s shoes as he stood there alone, phone pressed to his ear.

He answered.

“Hello?”

“Zane - what are you doing?” Bianca’s voice came through immediately, sharp, urgent. No greeting.

Zane frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Darius is watching the Upper St. Clair broadcast,” she said quickly. “He just texted me saying you just showed up. What are you doing there?”

Zane’s jaw tightened for a second. He hadn’t even thought about that - Darius glued to anything football-related, of course he would be watching.

He exhaled lightly. “Yeah, I’m here.”

A beat. “Are you committing today?” she asked.

Zane leaned his shoulder against the wall, eyes drifting to the floor.

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Zane rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes for a second. “It means I don’t know. I was legitimately gonna decide when I got up there.”

On the other end, Bianca let out a sharp breath.

“You were gonna decide on stage?” she said, disbelief rising in her voice. “When were you planning on telling me that?”

Zane swallowed. “I didn’t know.”

Another pause. He could hear movement on her end - fabric shifting, maybe her pacing.

“Is your grandma even there?” she asked.

Zane shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it. “No.”

There was a short, incredulous laugh. Not amused - hurt.

“So you were just gonna do this,” Bianca said, voice evidently tightening, “without telling me, without even her being there?”

Zane straightened off the wall, shifting his weight.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “I was.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m really tired of the shit,” he added. “Everybody has an opinion. Telling me what I should do, where I should go, what’s best for me. I just want to make a damn decision and it be over with.”

“That’s fair, Zane, I really do get it,” she started, desperation plunging into her voice. “But, we’re a couple. What you do, where you go, what you decide - it affects me too.”

There was a long pause. When Bianca spoke again, her voice had changed.

Softer now. Shaking.

“Do you love me?”

Zane blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Zane, do you love me?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” He meant it. The answer came easy. It was the question that was unexpected.

Bianca let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in her chest for a while.

“I saw the news,” she said. “About Coach Moore. I would have understood if you told me that Michigan wasn’t the move anymore. I really would have. But, I can’t keep doing this.”

Zane didn’t interrupt.

“I can’t keep being on the outside of your life,” she said, emotion bleeding through now. “I feel like I’m always guessing what you’re thinking, what you’re gonna do next. I get you’ve gone through so much already, but fuck Zane.”

He stared at the floor, jaw tight.

“Just let me in,” she said, almost pleading now. “Please. Because I can’t keep doing this halfway. And if we’re at different schools next year and we’re still acting like this? We don’t have a chance.

The words hung there.

Zane inhaled slowly. “I understand,” he said.

“I know I’ve been … tough to deal with lately,” he added, voice low.

On the other end, Bianca sniffed quietly.

“I love you with everything I’ve got, Zane Jones,” she said. “I just want this to work.”

Zane closed his eyes. “I hear you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

A beat.

“I love you too.”

He pulled the phone away before he could say anything else.

Call ended. The screen went dark.

For a second, he just stood there in the hallway, staring at his reflection faintly in the glass of the trophy case across from him.

Then he moved. He scrolled, found a contact, and hit call.

He didn’t say much - just a few quiet words, his voice steady this time. A short conversation. A confirmation.

When he hung up, his shoulders looked a little more settled. Zane pushed off the wall and walked back toward the gym doors.

The noise grew louder with each step. By the time he pushed them open, the sound hit him full force - cheering, chatter, the echo of names being announced.

A staff member spotted him immediately, jogging over.

“You ready?”

Zane nodded once. “Yeah.”

He walked back toward the table, every step measured. Eyes followed him now - students, reporters, even some of his teammates. His name was called.

Zane stood.

The walk to the podium felt longer than it should’ve. The lights seemed brighter. The crowd louder, then quiet, then gone altogether as he stepped behind the microphone.

He looked out over the gym. Faces blurred together.

He adjusted the mic slightly.

“I’m grateful to be in this position,” he started, voice steady but not loud The gym quieted quickly.

“To have the opportunity to make a decision like this, it means a lot.” He paused, swallowing.

“I wish both of my grandparents could be here to see this,” he said, his throat tightening. “Because without them, there is no moment.”

A few murmurs in the crowd. A shift in tone.

He kept going. “I want to thank my teammates, my coaches here at USC, my girlfriend watching over in Ann Arbor,” he hesitated just a fraction, “and my father, who understood how to be a Dad even given his circumstances.”

Zane exhaled slowly. Then he looked down at the table in front of him. More hats littered in front of him than most of his teammates.

His hand hovered for a second. He reached forward.

“With all that out of the way,” Zane continued, fingers closing around the brim. “I’ve decided to commit to-”

The gym leaned in. Silence stretched.

He lifted the hat.

[Soapy]

i might be looking too much into this but are the past tense/present tense switch ups intentional?

[Captain Canada]

i might be looking too much into this but are the past tense/present tense switch ups intentional?

It's intentional, but now that I'm thinking of it - too much artistic flair with not enough return on the effort. Sticking to just past tense from here on in.

[redsox907]

Sheed acting like he gonna be taking care of his Mom, not in the streets putting in work

[Captain Canada]

Syracuse lands 4-star WR recruit Zane Jones

By Andy Villamarzo
December 5, 2025

During an event at Upper St. Clair High School’s athletic commitment ceremony - scheduled just in time of the Early Signing deadline - newly ranked four-star wide receiver Zane Jones has announced his commitment to Syracuse, sources told ESPN on Friday.

Jones, a 6-foot-3 receiver from Pittsburgh, is the No. 27 overall wide receiver prospect in the 2026 ESPN recruitment board. He joins the Orange after being projected to land with Michigan for the better part of the year. Penn State and Pitt were also heavily in on landing the upstart talent.

A significant acquisition for head coach Fran Brown this cycle, Brown has historically been one of the best recruiters in college football. During his time at Temple as a member of Matt Rhule’s staff, he was named the American Athletic Conference’s top recruiter by Rivals.com. Following Rhule to Baylor, he was again considered one of the team’s top recruiters.

Brown’s Syracuse Orange fell on hard times after a breakout 2024 season where they won 10 games and won the Holiday Bowl. They struggled to a measly 3-9 record, finishing dead last in the ACC standings.

“Getting a talent like Zane [Jones] is something that sets the tone for guys coming here,” said Coach Brown after Jones’ announcement. “He’s a fine young man with not only immense talent, but immense character. We’re excited to get to work with him.”

Jones initially dropped a top eight that included Michigan featured at the top of his rankings before his USC Panthers entered their WPIAL Playoff run, in which they came out on top as State Champions. The Top eight included local schools like Pittsburgh and Penn State, as well as Rutgers, Syracuse, Duke, Miami, and the defending National Champions, Indiana.

He only ended up taking an official visit to Michigan before tragedy struck. Jones’ grandfather and guardian, Felix Jones, was gunned down at his auto shop the day after their championship win in a shooting that left another person in a coma.

“To tell the truth, everything took a backseat after that happened,” Jones told ESPN. “I’m really happy and appreciative of the schools that stuck by me and kept in touch while I was going through it. That really means something to me.”

Jones credits a close-knit relationship with Coach Brown and still remaining in close proximity to home as to why Syracuse was the “only option for him.”

“Coach Brown and I had a few conversations over the last few weeks about what things would need to look like for me to come here. I want to be involved from the get-go. I want to win games. But, I’m obviously dealing with a tender family situation back home [in Pittsburgh], so being able to be a five-hour drive away is certainly better than being across the country.”

Jones becomes the Orange’s top recruit of the 2026 class, overtaking the spot of three-star running back Amani Armah out of Flossmoor, IL and three-star running back Jalen Cribbs out of Fort Lauderdale, FL.

[Caesar]

Left field decision that but we fucks with it. WCW about to let Darius punch all the dick in her now.

[Captain Canada]

Season V | Chapter I - Blackberry Brandy

Winter had given way to spring, and spring had began rounding second base toward summer. The air had lost its bite, replaced by a steady warmth that lingered longer each day. The trees were full again, sidewalks dry, and the sky - more often than not - held a clear, uninterrupted blue.

Zane had spent the last couple of months preparing for his move to Syracuse.

Boxes had come and gone through the house, some packed neatly, others reopened and rearranged as he figured out what mattered enough to take. New gear had arrived in the mail - team-issued clothes, paperwork, schedules - all stacked in careful piles on his desk. His room looked less like a permanent space now and more like a place in transition.

Malik had left shortly after committing. He had graduated early back in January, wasting no time getting down to Miami to start working into the quarterback room. Zane remembered the last time had seen him - car packed, engine running, that same determined look on his face. Always moving forward. Always chasing the next step.

Zane had thought about doing the same.

But he hadn’t. He had stayed.

Mary needed time. Not just to adjust to him leaving - but to adjust to everything. The house had changed after Felix was gone. It sounded different. Felt different. Too quiet some days, too heavy on others.

So, Zane stayed back, helping where he could.

The cemetery stretched out in quiet rows, green grass pushing through the last traces of spring dampness. The air had warmed enough to carry the scent of fresh earth and cut flowers. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees lining the path, their sound light and steady under the open sky.

Zane stood in front of the gravestone, his graduation cap resting against the base of it. The black fabric look out of place against the pale stone.

He kept his eyes fixed on the engraving.

Felix Jones - 1958-2025

The numbers didn’t sit right with him. 67 years. It felt too small. Too neat. Like everything his grandfather had been - every long day in the shop, every joke, every lesson - had been reduced to two dates and a line in between.

Zane shifted his weight slightly, hands at his sides. The breeze brushed lightly against his shirt, warm but not heavy.

He didn’t notice Mary step up beside him at first.

Her hand landed gently on his shoulder, grounding him. In her other hand, she carried a fresh bundle of flowers - white and yellow, stems wrapped in thin paper. She bent carefully at the waist, placing them in front of the stone, adjusting them until they sat just right.

Zane glanced down at her, then back at the grave.

“I know I’ve asked you a thousand times - but you’re sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asked.

Mary straightened slowly, brushing her hands together before folding them in front of her. She looked out across the cemetery rather than at him.

“You’re right - you have asked me a thousand times,” she said. “And I’ve answered a thousand times that I’m not going nowhere. This here is my home.”

She turned her head slightly toward him, her eyes not coming off the stone in front of them.

“Syracuse is where you get to start your story, not continue ours.”

Zane nodded once. He studied her for a moment. She looked smaller than he remembered - not physically, but in the way she carried herself. Quieter. The sharpness she used to have had softened into something more fragile.

She was doing better - no doubt about that. He could see that.

But, it wasn’t the same. Some pieces of herself had been buried right there where his grandfather had been laid to rest.

She still kept to herself most days. Still moved through the house like she was trying not to disturb something. When she smiled, it came quick and faded just as fast, never quite reaching her eyes.

Zane looked back at the gravestone.

“One foot in front of the other,” he said quietly.

Mary gave a faint nod beside him.

“Every day.”

The wind picked up just enough to rustle the leaves in the nearby trees. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed along the road outside the cemetery, the sound fading as quickly as it came.

Zane crouched slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned closer to the stone.

He let out a slow breath.

“Look after us, alright?” he said, voice low. “We could use the help, Pops.”

He stayed there for a moment longer, eyes tracing the carved letters one more time before pushing himself back to his feet.

Mary stepped a little closer, her shoulder brushing his arm. Neither of them said anything else.

They just stood there together, the sky wide and blue above them.

***

The stadium in Eugene buzzed with energy, a low hum of voices layered over the occasional burst of cheers as events cycled through on the track. The late afternoon sun hung high, casting long shadows across the lanes and glinting off the metal railings. Flags fluttered lightly above the stands, and the smell of fresh-cut grass mixed with the faint rubber scent of the track.

Bianca stood among the crowd, one arm folded across her stomach, the other resting against her side as she watched athletes warm up below.

It felt like the season had flown by.

From stepping onto campus back in August - wide-eyed, trying to find her footing - to now, standing at the NCAA outdoor national championships, it all burred together. Early morning lifts, long practices - meets stacked on top of each other. It had been a grind, but she had held her own.

She had qualified for the Big Ten meet in both the 200 and 400 meters. Solid performances. Respectable.

Not quite enough for nationals.

Darius had made it. Stephanie too, lining up in the 1500. The rest of the team had flown out to Oregon to support, filling sections of the stands with school colors and familiar faces.

Bianca shifted her weight, eyes tracking Darius as he jogged along the edges of the track, shaking out his arms. He looked loose. Focused. He had been dominant all season - especially in the 400 and 800 - and now he was set to run in the first heat.

Katie stood next to her, leaning against the railing, sunglasses perched on her head. She scanned the crowd more than the track, clearly less interested in the races themselves.

Bianca noticed it first - the looks.

A couple of college-aged guys a few rows over kept glancing over. One nudged the other, both of them looking in her direction a second too long.

Bianca looked away immediately, eyes back on the track like she hadn’t noticed.

Katie did.

She smirked, nudging Bianca lightly with her elbow. “You see them?”

Bianca didn’t respond.

Katie leaned in a bit, voice lower, teasing. “We going out tonight or what’s up? I know Darius is going to want to celebrate regardless.”

Bianca shook her head. “No.”

Katie blinked, temporarily caught off guard before resorting to rolling her eyes. “Why not?”

Bianca kept her eyes forward. “Because I know when you’re out of town, you become like a cat in heat, and I still have a boyfriend.”

Katie scoffed under her breath, a short laugh following it.

“Do you though?” she said, glancing sideways at her.

Bianca’s jaw tightened slightly. The question hung there longer than it should have.

Katie tilted her head, studying her. “I’m not trying to harp on the situation - I’m really not. It’s just-, you know, you guys barely talk.”

Bianca didn’t answer. Just swallowed and kept her stare going forward.

Something turned in her stomach - uneasy, sharp. She pressed her lips together, arms folding a little tighter across herself.

Down on the track, officials began guiding runners toward the starting area. The crowd noise swelled again, attention shifting back to the race.

Bianca focused on that instead. Anything but the conversation.

***

The front gate groaned as it opened, metal grinding against metal in way Rasheed had heard thousands of times - but never like this.

Not from this side.

He stepped forward slowly, the small clear bag of his belongings clenched tight in his hand. The sunlight hit him fully for the time in years, forcing his eyes to narrow. The air smelled different out here - cleaner, wide. Not recycled. Not stale.

For a second, he just stood there.

He couldn’t tell what it was he was feeling. His chest was tight, his pulse unsteady. It wasn’t pure relief. It wasn’t joy. Something in between. Something heavier.

He had hoped for this day.

But he had never let himself picture. Not really. Letting his mind go there back then had only made the days longer, the nights worse. Every imagined step toward freedom had stretched time out in a way he couldn’t survive.

So he learned not to imagine. And now it was here anyway.

“Car’s here,” one of the guards called from behind him, more casual than Rasheed expected. He gave a short nod without turning back.

A dark Hyundai idled near the cub, engine humming softly. He walked toward it, each step measured, like the ground might give out beneath him if he moved too fast.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror as he got in, but didn’t say much. Just confirmed the name and pulled away.

Rasheed leaned back against the seat, the bag still in his lap. He looked out the window as the world passed by - streets, storefront people walking without thinking about where they could and couldn’t go.

It all felt fast. Too fast.

He kept his hands still, fingers tightening slightly around the plastic.

The car rolled to a stop near the entrance of the cemetery, gravel crunching under the tires. Rasheed stepped out, the door closing behind him with a solid thud.

The sky was still bright - late afternoon light stretching across the rows of headstones. Wind moved gently through the trees, leaves rustling softly.

He walked in. Slow as first. Then even slower.

He tried to remember what Mary had told him weeks ago over the phone - the directions, the landmarks. Left past the old oak. Third row. Near the back.

He passed a few stones, reading names without meaning to. Dates. Families. Lives reduced to lines carved in stone.

Then he saw it. He stopped.

Felix Jones. Loving husband, father, grandfather.

Rasheed stood there, a few feet away, like crossing that last bit of space would make it real in a way he couldn’t undo.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he stopped forward. The bag slipped from his hand, landing softly in the grass beside him.

He stared down at the stone, jaw tightening, breath catching in his throat.

Then it hit. All at once.

Rasheed dropped to his knees. His hands pressed against the ground as his head lowered, shoulders shaking before he could stop them. The sound that came out of him was raw - quiet, at first, then breaking open into something deeper.

Years of holding it together. Years of keeping everything bottled inside.

No longer a requirement. At least for a moment.

“I should have been there..” he muttered, voice cracking, barely holding together. His forehead nearly touched the stone as he tried to steady his breathing, but it wouldn’t come.

Tears fell freely now, darkening the ground beneath him. He stayed like that for a while, time stretching without shape.

When he finally lifted his head, his face was tight, eyes red but focused in a different way now.

He wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand and looked at the name again.

His jaw clenched.

“I know there’s somebody out there right now, Dad - still breathing like nothing happened.”

Rasheed leaned in just a fraction closer.

“I know you wouldn’t approve, but I promise you,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, “I will tear the world apart to find who did this to you.”

He stayed there another moment, eyes locked on the stone.

“I’ll send them to Hell myself.”

He walked back the way he came, footsteps steady against the gravel path, the late sun casting his shadow long behind.

[redsox907]

I fuck with Syracuse, had a blast coaching there in the Nash Savage run.

Curious what that means for Bianca and Zane and by that I mean, how long until Bianca lives up to her WCW name and lets some rando punch dick into her on a coke binge

[Captain Canada]

I fuck with Syracuse, had a blast coaching there in the Nash Savage run.

Curious what that means for Bianca and Zane and by that I mean, how long until Bianca lives up to her WCW name and lets some rando punch dick into her on a coke binge

American Sun has caused a plague on the perspective of female characters on this board and it shows