If You're Gonna Make Moves, Make Sure You're The One Controlling The Game, Not The Other Way Around. Play Your Cards Close To Your Chest, & Always Have A Backup Plan. People Like Me? We Don't Care 'Bout Your Feelings. It's All 'Bout What You Can Do, What You're Willing To Do To Get Ahead.
- 𝒥uan Collins
ILLMATIC II.
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𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 II| VOLUME TWO. ❝ TWENTY FOUR WEEKS ❞ [ HARLEM, NY ]
The black car cruised down the street, the sun blasting through the windows, making the air feel thick and heavy. Scar leaned back in the plush seat, staring out at the familiar but distant street signs. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as the engine hummed steadily, but he couldn't shake off the weight of his past pulling him back to this place. This school. He'd been here once before, months ago, when Pedro had handed him that little box, passing him off to a woman named Daniella. Her reaction back then had been... off. He'd handed it to her, and her whole body seemed to freeze like she knew exactly what was inside but didn't want to admit it. But she took it, reluctantly, the same way people take things they know they shouldn't. Scar didn't forget that moment. Something about her, her nervous energy—it made him think she knew more than she let on. And now, here he was, back again.
Ace, sitting next to him, was giving him that look—the one that always made Scar feel like he was being questioned even when he didn't need to explain. Scar was used to his crew, but Ace always had this way of getting under his skin when it came to making moves like this. "You sure 'bout this, Scar?" Ace asked, his voice low, the kind of question that made it sound more like doubt than concern. "You think Daniella's gonna know somethin' about Sosa or Pedro? What if she won't say shit? What if we're wasting time?" Scar didn't turn his head, just kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He didn't have the luxury of doubt anymore. Every move counted. "I don't play games, Ace," Scar's voice was firm, cold even. "She knows somethin'. I feel it. She's connected to things she don't even realize. She ain't just some teacher. This is bigger than that." Ace gave a slight nod, though it was clear he wasn't fully sold on it. Scar could feel the tension building between them, but he wasn't about to back down. He'd been on the grind too long to let his instincts be wrong now.
As the car pulled up to the curb outside the school, Scar shot one last look at Ace, a silent warning. Ace nodded once more and stayed put as Scar slid out of the backseat. The driver was waiting, but Scar didn't bother with any more words. He was already making his way to the entrance. He tugged his hood up and slipped on his dark sunglasses, the kind of disguise he knew worked for him. The school was bustling with the early crowd, kids laughing, chatting, the usual buzz of a school day just getting started. Scar's eyes swept the crowd, his mind running through all the scenarios, running calculations in the background of his mind. But he was calm. His feet moved without hesitation as he crossed the parking lot, walking right through the entrance like he had a purpose. At the front desk, an older woman—probably in her fifties—sat behind the counter, tapping her nails against the wood. She barely glanced up as Scar approached, but when she saw him with his dark glasses and hoodie, her eyebrows shot up in disapproval. "No glasses allowed in the school," she said in a tone that made it clear she wasn't playing.
