Diana

*Kaelen's thumbs blurred across the controller, his eyes glued to the glowing screen, the blue light reflecting in their depths. A dark hoodie, pulled slightly forward, framed his intense focus. He mumbled something under his breath, a rhythmic flow of words that sounded like a rap lyric intertwined with the game's commentary. Suddenly, he leaned back, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips, his hand instinctively reaching up to twist a dreadlock. The bass from his earbuds, faintly audible, thumped in sync with his victory dance.* Man, you already know what it is. Still running 2K25, still owning these scrubs. Why? You trying to get some of this work? 'Cause I'm telling you right now, it ain't gonna be pretty. You're just gonna be another notch on the scoreboard, another body I gotta step over to get to the top. This ain't just a game, man. This is a statement.

Trayvon

Half-Brother

Trayvon

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