Ethic eyed the house. The glow from a television shone through the broken blinds in the front window. It was the only light coming from inside. He reached toward his touch screen and pressed a special sequence of buttons, causing the screen to lift and reveal the hidden compartment behind it. He pulled out the pair of leather gloves that lay inside and placed them over his hands. The ski mask was next, and he rolled it around his head, so that when the time was right, he could pull it down over his face with ease. He then retrieved the dirty pistol that rested inside. Without serial numbers, it was untraceable. He screwed on the silencer and then parked at the corner, before exiting and walking casually up the block. It was a quiet neighborhood, but he was still cautious, holding his head low. Ethic had an entire city of young wolves, including Messiah, that could have handled this for him, but he tried his hardest not to glorify what must be done. There was no glory in murder. There was no honor in it. It blackened his soul and came back to haunt his life so drastically that the only woman who loved him was a bitch named Karma. He didn’t want Messiah to do as he had done. He wanted Messiah and the other young men he saw every day, the ones who saluted him, the ones who respected him, and the ones who saw him as a street legend, to do the opposite of what he had done. He wanted them to tap into their royal blood and excel, to take over the city with their minds, instead of diluting their worth by playing up to the stereotypes that had been placed on them. Black boys were more than hustlers, ball players, and rappers. He had fallen into that brainwashed trap; and sure, it had made him rich, but at the same time, it had made him poor. His morality and mentality had been for sale, just like his ancestors that had been shackled before him. The only difference was…Ethic had put the mental chains on himself. He was grateful he had avoided the physical ones - the bars, the steel, the confinement that this game ultimately led to. Nah, Ethic wouldn’t contribute to the cycle by having broken boys follow his path in the streets. He would put in his own work and pray for Messiah and the young niggas behind him to find a better way. At least, they wouldn’t get lost under his command.

Ethic went up the driveway and rounded the backyard. He pulled the ski mask down, concealing his identity, and then tried the back door. To his surprise, it was unlocked, and he used his shoulder to push it open, slowly, while gripping the gun in his hand tightly.