Fireworks 3 and 4

Fireworks: Forever Chapter Twenty-One

[QUEENOFTHEZOO]: What is going on with all of these entertainers dropping like flies? Why is it happening all at once?

[DAYESHA24]: You know what they say...it always happens in threes.

[ANGELDESTINYJOHNSON]: All in the same DAY, though?! It's getting real spooky out here.

[QUEENOFTHEZOO]: Whatever's going on, hopefully entertainers are being extra careful. Something feels wrong about all of this...

~~~~~~

    "Did you hear what happened to the indie rapper, Big Trip?" Oliver asked, dropping a file folder on Drake's desk.

    "Yeah," Drake replied, rubbing both eyes and leaning back in his chair. "The labels aren't just stopping at forcing storylines on us."

    Oliver nodded. "They're going after independent artists." He lowered into one of the chairs facing his business partner's desk. "They been business, Aubrey. I know that you and Chubbs are hungry for a war...I'm just not sure this is the right war you're wanting to engage in. You have Mia inflating your ego and cheering you on, Chubbs and Baka practically salivating over the idea of taking these guys down a notch, and SZA joining the fight, but it's going to take more than that to beat this guys."

    Releasing a frustrated sigh, Drake stood up from his chair and turned to peer out of the office window. A breeze rolled across the yard, causing patterned ripple in the pool water below. 

    "I'm just as frustrated as you are...but it's not going to take an eager group of hotheads to defeat these guys or to even throw a jab at them. It's going to take a fucking army, one that we don't have. Why? Because they have the power to eavesdrop on our fucking phone calls. We already know they as well as the rest of the public can track our travel." Oliver let out a half- pained, half-dismissive laugh. "In order to even get word out to other artists, we'd need to make fucking smoke signals."

    Drake turned his head to the side, silent for the longest time. Then he repeated, "Smoke signals."

    "I...didn't intend for you to take that literally," Oliver said, sounding concerned.

    Drake shook his head and raised a hand in the air. "Hold on." The wheels in his head were turning.

    In previous years, Oliver had marveled at watching his friend and business associate figure out a way to solve a problem. This time, that expression of concentration on Drake's face only caused Oliver to worry. 

    "You're right," Drake said, turning back to face him. "They're too powerful. We can't take them down alone. Our phones are tapped, so we can't communicate with other artists that way. But that doesn't mean we can't communicate with them at all. Whenever we attend an industry event, we can recruit people that way."

    Oliver's mouth set into a grim line. "Do you know how long an operation like that would take?"

    "We already said we're going to start living out the storyline," Drake said with his arms outstretched. "As we do, we recruit other artists here and there. Build our army."

    "To do...what, exactly?"

    A crease marked Drake's brow. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

    "They're shooting up people in broad daylight, flipping buses, and burning down concert venues," Oliver reminded him. "You want to take that chance that they won't be watching us all like a hawk at these events? Come on, man." 

    "I've challenged them before," Drake pointed out.

    "And they didn't hesitate to try putting you in your place," Oliver reminded him. "We've talked about this ad nauseam. There's still rumors that haven't died out, reputation-damaging rumors that will never go away, all because you didn't want to play the game."

    Drake tilted his head to the side. "How long do I play the game with them, Oli?" he asked. "Say that I play along with this storyline shit. You know it doesn't end there. It sure didn't end with the shit they asked me to do in the past. So, I play along this time, and then what? They're going to keep asking fucked up shit of me, and I keep playing along? No matter what?"

    Oliver ran a hand down his face.

    "No, that isn't a hypothetical question, man," Drake prompted. "I really want to know. We got into this whole thing for independence. We got into this whole thing, because nine-to-five jobs weren't for us. We didn't want someone to have the ability to tell us when to clock in and when to clock out, when we could be allowed vacation or a sick day when we needed it. That was the whole reason for all of this shit. Make it and have the freedom to live the way we wanted to live. How the fuck are we free if we're slaves to this industry? How the fuck are we free if there are people at the top pulling my fucking strings whenever the mood strikes them? Fuck all that, I'm tired of it." He shook his head and turned back to face the window. "They're out here telling us what to do, splitting up families and happy homes, causing all of this unnecessary drama and perpetuating a bunch of bullshit just because they don't want the spotlight to hit independent artists even a little bit? They're out here killing and injuring people who had the common sense to go against them? Nah. I'm all about making money. You know that. But this? This is fucking wrong."

    "You mentioned that freedom from nine-to-fives is what got us into this industry," Oliver said. "Where do you think we're all headed if we go against them and lose?"

    Drake's shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug. "All that means is we can't fucking lose," was his response.