I sit in front of my computer, editing highlight videos as I do every Saturday morning. When my phone rings, I have no idea how soon my life will change completely.
After trimming the current clip to the perfect length, preserving the audio while only showing a second of the player running back down the court, I pick up the phone. “Hello, this is DownT-”
“They’re coming for you, man! I heard them talking. They got me cornered, man, I got nowhere to run. It’s over for me, but you have to get out of there, man!”
Despite the lack of introduction and the frenzied tone of voice, I recognize the caller instantly. “Dawk Ins, what’s happening, what’s going on?”
Dawk Ins’ tears can be heard over the distance separating us. “The enforcers. The enforcers.”
My stomach drops and my vision momentarily fades as his terrified, desperate words reach my ears. This is our worst nightmare, as highlight makers. And it’s coming true. “Bastards,” I mutter. “Those god damn bastards.”
“DTB, you have to find somewhere safe. You’re not safe. Nobody is. The NBA is cracking down.”
I execute the final backup process on my computer, the process which encrypts my files and sends them to a remote server with an obfuscated location. Just as I do that, I hear the sound of van doors closing outside my residence. I can make out the muffled sound of barked commands and stomping boots.
“Stay strong, Dawk. I swear on my life, man, I’ll find the assholes who did this-”
“No, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I promise I’ll take down the videos!” comes Dawk Ins’ voice. Then, there is the sound of a commotion in the background, and the call is over. As I stare at my phone in disbelief, there is an urgent pounding on my front door, the front door I had replaced with solid steel for this inevitable moment. It sounds like I have some visitors.
“Squad, take down this door. DownToBuck is going down just like his little friend.”