O.G. Knight: Between The Sacred and The Profane (Prologue)
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Presenting original in-universe fiction from Damion Gonzales' T.A.S.K. and written by Thaddeus Howze. This series focuses on the magically empowered street vigilante O.G. Knight.
My bad. You don't know me, but I suspect on this warm September night, you want to know how I came to be in this position. Yes, landing face down in your engine block. No. This probably won't buff out. If I had the time to explain, I'd tell you about my previous state of employ and how I came to hate it so much.
It boiled down to protecting my family from my job's multiple occupational hazards. Which brings me to this guy. Yes, the one hitting me in the face with fists the size of Black Forest hams. He's my former boss. He does seem to be taking this quite personally, I agree.
No, I don't know what he's talking about. He stopped being coherent about two minutes ago. Now he's just throwing me around this parking lot. Yes, I used the right verb. Throwing. I am landing with cars crumpling up around me. No. I'm not clear on why I'm not dead yet, either. It's not for a lack of effort on the big guy's part.
Given our history, I can understand. We didn't have such a good working relationship. Being fair, I can understand his position. I was an employee. He did pay for my services. I did agree to work with him delivering the city of Miami and the surrounding counties under his heel.
But even the worst bastards have limits. Or in my case, a reformed bastard. I had a family to protect. Going back to prison wasn't going to be part of my lifestyle ever again. I swore it.
Somewhere between all the planning I came to realize he would kill thousands before the year was out. I didn't agree to kill for him. More importantly, I couldn't let him hurt my baby girl. We did whatever sane parents would do once we realized how deep we were in.
We ran like hell.
Didn't work. I was in too deep. I couldn't make it out of the state before the FBI were convincing me of my impending choices due to my involvement in so many deaths. Unwitting involvement which could be mitigated if I turned State's evidence.
Slow your roll. I'm no rat. Marks is a monster. Literally. Complete with goddamn fangs. Before you get all judgmental, I recognize the hypocrisy. In my line of work, you may have to do reprehensible things to make ends meet. Things you justify with the idea everyone you work with is a bastard and sooner or later they'll get what's coming to them. Things you can't tell your mother about. I've done all three.
I have done enough time to have to shank someone to get the point across. The difference between Marks and me is he would poison everyone in a cellblock to deliver a message. My level of criminal activity was stealing candy from babies as far as he was concerned. A collection of misdemeanors, with the mitigated felony here or there. I thought I knew his rep when I came into his employ. I was wrong. Marks skipped over the petty crime and just ate the babies ...
Which is why I agreed to turn states evidence, realizing with what I knew I should have been able to put him behind bars for life, if the Justice system was worth a damn. But it ain't.
He somehow managed to have key evidence thrown out of court. I heard several witnesses disappeared, the judge was probably bought, so even though I turned over on him, they didn't hold him for more than a month. During that time, my family was sent into hiding.
Where? I don't know. Why don't I know? Because I was afraid of this very thing. Him beating the answer out of me. Yes, he's going to use your former engine block as a cudgel and beat me to death, so you probably want to get out of the way. Why is he hitting me with an engine block? Why am I trying to cut it in half with this short sword? Why do I think you're still standing too close? If you're not going to move back, I guess we better start at the beginning.
My name is Malachi Gaultis, my friends called me "O.G. Knight," cause my given name's a mouthful and I did have a code of honor of a sort... Even among thieves, I managed to keep my word. As a fixer I had to stretch the truth, sometimes more than a little bit to get the job done. In essence, that's how I got here ...
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