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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

A/N

This is Death Note meets Black Panther. So if you like the idea of Erik as Light Yagami, you're in the right place.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

My fics have no READ MORE option because I do them all from mobile. :/ so sorry about the forever scrolls. 😫 Good thing is I'm keeping chapters to about 1500 words.

1. BEGINNINGS

Dear Journal,

I've written of much in my lifetime and now I continue this in my afterlife. But, Journal? How can I accurately describe this VAST realm where the ghost of my former self now exists? That is all I am.

I'll start with the sky for it has demanded my attention. The contrast of the deep purple and rich blue against blindingly white flashes of light make the starry sky of this ancestral plane the most majestic to behold, even greater than that of a Wakandan sunrise, and for that I am grateful. Under this realm’s sky which is so undefiled, so splendid, so divine that no mortal can look upon or stand under it without first forfeiting their very lives and human shells.. we souls of the past run free in our transcendent forms.

But are we truly free within this elaborate repetition?

When we are not running, we write. I'm sure you're beginning to understand. As ancestors, our words bind the earth realm to our own. We are accountable for recording the events in the earth as well as names.

“N'Jobu. Are you going to run?” Chika paces below on the ground, his jet black fur shining blue under the dramatic sky. Life in the ancestral plane is akin to a vivid dream that never seems to come to a point or an end. “What are you pondering so intently? Give that journal a rest, you are free, N'Jobu. You are meant to run on.. forever,” he spoke, each word echoing in my ear, a cement block sealing my monotonous fate. Is that all there is? Running?

“..I’ll remain here.”

Another omen. The curse of eternal disappointment. Chika runs, striding through the soft green grass, toward eternity. He won’t be back for a millennium and it will still be too soon in the scale of forever.

As I perch atop my branch inscribing these entries, I watch the living trapped in the sinking wheel which is humanity.

I see Wakanda entering a new era. I see impending war waged by the unjust. My claw moves on it's own, inking the names of the innocent and the young. They come everyday before their time. I cannot hold back my–is it sympathy? No, sympathy is invalidation. I’ve been removed from mortality for entirely too long to care. The thing I feel–is intrigue.

-N'Jobu

Sinking wheel aside, the human world has its interesting moments. The human mind is an interesting machine. Humans with the capacity to choose their destiny on a small scale will often cling to life for the sole purpose of defiling it. Tooth and nail, they fight to defy and delay the inevitable, still meeting the same fate they struggled against. Humans pursue the end of a certain evil only to be overcome by the specific evil they’ve created.

Humans as a whole? Predictably ordinary and violent. However, the most interesting things pertain to the actions of individuals. Individuals are the wild cards.

That's what I'd like to explore.

---------------------------------------------

Erik slid his phone from his pocket, sliding it in his line of vision as he walked briskly down the city sidewalk toward the block where his office building stood tall. Yahoo news had a few ridiculous articles, pointless in the nature. He considered putting in his earbuds to listen to his playlist until he reached his building. Or maybe he'd pick a research to dive into absorbing it for no other purpose than regurgitating it to the easily impressed. His business partner would be impressed for sure. Decisions, decisions. Clicking quickly through the internet, he stumbled on a title.

17-year-old Isaiah Mark Lewis was unarmed when he was shot after fighting with two officers who first used a stun gun on him.

Disgusting. Another senseless death at the hands of the morally corrupt, the third he'd heard of in two weeks. He hit the back button searching for something different, something lighter.

Marzeus Scott, an unarmed 35-year-old killed by police in Blytheville, Arkansas.

He exited his browser, pocketing his phone and looking ahead to the silver sky and concrete jungle which enveloped him. Black man with a bald fade and suit up ahead, 2:00. Black woman with a long skirt and blazer behind him, 6:00. He couldn't help but see clear targets on their backs as well as his own. It was an unspoken phenomenon, this fear of blackness that became the black soul's burden to carry. Like ants, black people were expected to work pointless 9-5's for CEOs that cared more for dogs and money than human life. Everyday there was the dark aura of the capitalistic, racist shoe hovering above, playing god.

His calf-skin Armani loafers hit the ground at a steady pace and the Harlequin Jacquard wool blazer he wore moved with him like a thick second skin. A police car rolled along with the traffic to his left as he kept his eyes forward.

2:00. Black man sitting on the ground. Elderly. Homeless. It was only a matter of time before he'd be chased away by some pompous authority. Erik took out a few bills folding them into his palm to quickly pass to the old man.

"I can't take this," he rasped. "I can't-- I-- Thank you so much. Thank you." He grabbed Erik's hand which held the $300 and shook it, not letting go. "Thank you so much," he repeated before Erik pulled his hand back.

Great. Now he had to wait at the crosswalk because he'd missed the break in traffic.

He checked his watch impatiently, a rose gold Patek Philippe Nautilus gifted to him by his team at 2K Security, Inc. Having fattened their pockets over the years, he was their hero. And now he was on his way back to his office for a virtual meeting with Samsung.

"Good morning, Mr. Stevens," Gloria, the receptionist perked on his arrival to the ground floor lobby. Nodding in greeting, he could feel her eyes scrolling over him but like every time before, he ignored this--stepping into one of the four large elevators which took him up smoothly to the very top where his spacious office resided.

Large floor to ceiling windows lit the white painted room naturally and his computer awaited, ON but sleep. He could practically see the seconds ticking quickly by, but luckily he was just in time for the meeting with Sandeep.

"Password and login, okay.. 2kMeetings.com. Input access code," he mumbled punching keys all to see the brown skin man with a pompadour of thick straight jet black hair staring back at him. He started the recording.

"Can I say this the best web conferencing software I've used thus far? And I've used a lot," Sandeep commented seemingly impressed. Erik wasn't surprised having been named in Forbes, but he smiled nonetheless giving humble thanks. This software was his own creation. The company overall was his baby. He nurtured it like one would nurture an actual child.

The meeting began and as it progressed, Erik had new projects to undergo, features that Samsung wanted to incorporate into their products and even into their own security and data systems. They began to talk user privacy, security VPNs, and MDMs. Soon after, it was time to disconnect and implement some of the changes discussed.

Hours later, Erik had not ceased in his work. He would not stop until he absolutely had to, it was a thing about him. When it came to his baby he was totally engrossed.

"Baby," Erik spoke into the phone catching it on the second ring when he saw the name Mika flash on the screen with a picture she'd taken and set as the icon herself. "Oh, uh--Dinner? I don't know, I've got a lotta shit to do today." He started typing a code and nearly forgot to continue his call. "Uh--Mika," he paused to type another line. "I may be late tonight."

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something had fallen through the sky.

"Hm? Oh. What happened?--Nah, I ain't hear about that story, but I just read about two more today. They're just out here killing niggas left and right." He stood looking through one of the tall clean windows to see what had dropped from the sky. No one on the ground seemed to notice. Was he buggin? "Hm? They what? His hands were up and they shot him? With cameras recording?" He listened to his girl's angry report. She was right, they'd probably get off regardless of the evidence. She would know, she was a cop. Well, a detective.

He headed back to the elevator, cellphone in hand while his girl gave him the entire story, venting her frustration simultaneously. When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building, there was no disturbance. No one seemed to be glued to the area for any particular reason. He looked in every direction including up finding a black leather bound journal on the concrete with its spine in the air. If he hadn't seen it fall from the sky, he'd have assumed some random passerby dropped it and he'd have ignored it. Picking it up, he shook and dusted it, turning it this way and that. "No. No protest." Mika was bent on being front line, but it was dangerous. She could get hurt. "You're not going," he asserted. "I understand, but I want you to be safe, okay? Hm?--Aight. I'll see you tonight. Love you," he said hanging up and pocketing the phone, both hands now gripping the worn journal. Whose was it?

The deafening whir of a siren broke through the city noise before a police car appeared from around the corner up ahead. The stories of the three recently murdered men swirled in Erik's head. With the police's extreme prejudices, the results were never favorable for those who looked like him regardless of what they wore, did, or their level of innocence and involvement. He could only imagine the violence that would come from the driver when he made it to his location. Would there be another bad report?

There he was again--anticipating the drop of the sadistic shoe overhead. An ant's mentality. As an ant, this world he was chained to was nothing but disappointment.

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