Ryan Anderson, Devonte, and several of his gang members rode in Devonte’s beat-up car towards the Smoothie King Center, home of the Smoothie King himself. Turning the flamethrower over and over in his hands, Ryan was lost in thought. How did he know that the Smoothie King wasn’t controlling his own thoughts right at this very second? What if he was simply being led to his own doom under the guise of revenge?
Feeling a growing sense of dread, Ryan shook his head to dispel these ideas. Even if his own free will had been compromised, Devonte was free from the enchantments of the King. And Devonte seemed to know what needed to be done to finally dethrone him. Ryan had to trust that this street-smart man knew what was best, and apparently, the best thing to do was to infiltrate his compound with a gang of heavily-armed thugs.
Maurice, seeming to read Ryan’s thoughts, spoke up from the back seat. “Let me get this straight dog. You killed all your Pelicans teammates with a flamethrower attached to your arm, I got that part. But if you think that SK was controllin’ you or whatever, which I believe you, since you ain’t the kinda dude to jus’ up and kill a buncha peeps, why wouldn’t he be controllin’ you right now? He’d just have you kill all of us, dog, and then keep right on using you for his plans.”
Feeling relief flood his body, Ryan nodded weakly. “You’re right. I am my own man, for now. But we have to hurry. From what you guys are telling me, nobody can predict the whims of the mercurial, ruthless Smoothie King. Who knows how long my mind will remain free?”
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The car pulled up to the service entrance of the arena. As Ryan eyed the security cameras with unease, Devonte tried his luck at picking the lock. Finally, after much muttering and swearing, the door swung open. “Hurry, get inside! Hopefully ain’t nobody watchin’ those cameras,” Devonte hissed, ushering the rest of the group inside.
“Where do we go?” Ryan asked.
“SK lives at the center of the whole place, right underneath the court,” Devonte answered. “But I ain’t never figured out how to get there. I’ve only fought against this mofo on my home turf, and only against his proxy soldiers.”
“Like me,” Ryan said sadly.
“No, not like you dog,” Devonte responded in a serious tone of voice, looking Ryan right in the eyes. “Because you were strong, and you knew that what you was doin’ was wrong.”
Ryan took a deep breath. “Okay. I get you.”
Devonte scratched his bearded chin with the barrel of his gun. “There’s supposed to be tunnels underneath this place. That’s probably how you get to where SK’s at. We gotta find some stairs.”
Maurice pointed down a hallway. “I think there’s some down there, boss.”
Laughing heartly, Devonte said, “Now we’re in business! Let’s get down there before someone sees. Remember, everybody working here is being controlled by SK, and if they realize what we’re plannin’, they’ll raise the alarm.”
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The group walked cautiously through the unadorned cinderblock hallways underneath the Smoothie King Center. Every time there was the clanging of pipes or a rush of air from the HVAC system, they jumped. As they walked, the character of the building began to change; the air became more oppressive and the fluorescent light fixtures gave way to wall-mounted torches. The cinderblock walls turned to rock, and then, finally, dirt. The floor likewise changed from smooth cement to roughly-placed wooden planks. They were getting close.
“I heard rumors…” Devonte started, before pausing, as if not daring to believe his own words. “I heard rumors that the arena was built on the grave of old voodoo lady, one of the last who could do the real Louisiana voodoo, way back in the 1800’s. This must be what was left of her house.”
“That means…” Ryan started, but he was interrupted by a voice that came from all around them.
“You’ve made a very bad choice by coming here, boys!”