“Put me down!” Devonte’ yelled, ruing (not for the first time) the undeniable disadvantage that his short stature posed. He started kicking his legs to free himself, but when a dangerous-looking automatic firearm was brandished in front of his face by one of the men, he stopped struggling and allowed himself to get dragged towards the forty-foot-tall globe which, at a moment’s notice, could be filled with flesh-incinerating tendrils of plasmatic death.
At the rear of the globe, was a metal staircase. It was up these stairs that Devonte’ was taken. Far below, Devonte’ could see Michael Jordan waving and smiling with evidently great glee. He pushed a button on his control panel and the top of the globe lifted off, causing whatever gases were inside to release with a loud hiss. Before Devonte’ could protest, he was grabbed by the arms and legs and rudely tossed into the newly-opened maw of the waiting sphere.
He hit the glass bottom with a thud, and was in enough pain that he barely cognized the fact that Michael had hit a button which caused the top of the globe to reseal itself.
“This next part will take a while,” Michael shouted through the glass. “I’ve gotta refill it with noble gases.”
The implications of this were not lost on Devonte’. “But I’ll suffocate!” he yelled, still lying on his back in pain.
“Don’t worry, you’ll only just be feeling the effects of oxygen deprivation by the time I turn this baby back on,” Michael said. “Then I can suck the life-giving plasma from your body and inject it into my own, thus transferring your youthfulness from your soul to mine and enabling me to make my NBA return!”
Devonte’ got to his knees, and then to his feet. He fruitlessly pounded the thick glass with his fists. “I don’t wanna die!” he wailed. How could he have been so stupid as to fall for Michael’s flimsy “help me film Space Jam 3” story?
“You aren’t gonna die,” Michael reassured. “I tested it on a squirrel and the little fella was totally fine.” He brought out a cloth bag and dumped the contents onto the floor. It was a small pile of thin bones with an easily-identifiable skull. “Oh wait, I forgot. You actually are gonna die.”
Devonte’ beat his fists on the glass some more. “You can make a comeback without taking my plasma! You’ve still got it, I know you do! Just let me out!” But even as he did this, he could feel his arms getting heavier. His thoughts were clouding over, too. Why was he in this spherical prison, again? It had something to do with Space Jam 3…maybe…?
Michael looked up from an analog pressure gauge and smiled. “It’s time, Devonte’. The plasma generated by the flow of electrical current through the exotic gases of my death-chamber will sap the essence of life from your bloodstream…” He paused to hook up electrodes and tubes to his own body. “…Revitalizing my own blood in the process. Any last words?”
Devonte’ could only stare dopily. Nothing made sense. He just wanted to go to sleep…
Michael flipped a large switch on his control panel, immediately sending thousands of volts of pure electricity flowing through the gas-filled sphere. The dim warehouse was instantly ablaze with a spectrum of neon colors as filaments of plasma burst into existence. Devonte’ detected a faint heat on his body; he looked down and saw that he was glowing with wondrous indigo light. His thoughts were suddenly clearer, as well. But if his soul-essence was being robbed of him, he couldn’t feel it.
“Relinquish your plasma unto me! Relinquish it!” Michael commanded from the other side of the glass, apparently frustrated that Devonte’ was still upright and alive. He threw an unseen dial to its maximum level, causing the light to grow brighter and brighter.
Oddly, Devonte’ noticed that he was now at eye level with Michael. His shirt was getting a bit tight, as were his shoes. Was he…growing? The searing plasma was surrounding his body, but not harming it.
“No! No!” Michael yelled, frantically adjusting settings but not succeeding in killing his player. Devonte’ continued to get taller, and taller, and taller, until his head was pressing against the top of the sphere. The glass cracked, then shattered, causing the plasma to weaken and then vanish into the oxygenated environment.
The two guards fled out the door. Devonte’ let them go. He would find them later. Easily destroying the remnants of the glass globe with a swing of his arm, he turned his attention to Michael, who was gazing dumbly at the giant in front of him.
“You wanted Space Jam 3? This is gonna be more like Space Jam 9000.” Devonte’ grabbed Michael and rolled him into a tight ball, severing his spine in multiple places and reducing his body to mush. Devonte’ threw this grotesque flesh-ball to the floor with all his force, where it splattered like a rotten egg.
Devonte’ chuckled to himself. “I guess I’ll have to be the GOAT now.”