The Big Samoan ex-lineman from college was gonna go pro. Gonna go, but he tore his meniscus senior year. The league wouldn’t touch him. Moment is momentum. If you’re not in your moment on the Big Show, you’re losing your momentum.

Manny didn’t think too much about that anymore. He found a new enterprise. It let him use his body like he did on the football field. All he had to do was wear a Go Pro. The money was incredible. The hours were easy.

That’s all people were ever interested in. They’d tell him in their chatrooms

[Just make sure that you wear the Go Pro. I want to see it actually happen].

Did it bother him? Actually, yes. It did. Made him lose faith in the world a bit. But when you lose a chance at the Big Show, you tend to lose faith in a lot. Manny needed the money. It was as simple as that.

He took the train. They didn’t check your luggage on the train. You could walk onto a train with a nuclear bomb. There was ZERO security. Luckily, Manny just needed his P320 Sig Sauer. It was a good gun. His favorite gun. In Manny’s mind, he just had to get to his target, “do” the thing, and then get back on the train. If he could do that… the Bitcoin would flow in.

Last time Manny was in Eugene, Oregon, he was a monster college football star. Now he had a Go Pro… and what a town Eugene was. A collection of drunk college elites littering the streets. Mostly young white kids, short and hammered. These were the future owners of daddy’s company.

Manny’s dad was getting out of prison in 2025. He had no clue what it meant to “like” your dad.

It’s like this. Manny creeped and peeped through a triangle of bars. They called it the Bar-muda Triangle. Catchy, Manny thought. He wasn’t there for fun. He was working.

[He’s gonna be really easy to find] Manny’s chatroom friend said [Just ask around the Bar-muda Triangle for a tall black guy who wears a Go Pro].

Manny did what he did best: bullying. He found someone smaller than him. A crippled guy, with a crutch. As Manny approached the guy, his friends bailed. The cripple was alone. Manny was ready.

“Hey” said Manny, “your friends a dicks.”

“Yea”

“What happened to you?”

“Um… sprained leg.”

“Cool cool. Hey, you live here?”

“Um… yes”

“So, I have a thing I’m looking to do. But I’ll need your help. Have you seen a tall black dude? Super thin? Walks around with a Go Pro? Like all the time?”

“Um… Why do you ask?”

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Manny put up reservation. This little cripple (probably) wasn’t going to spill his beans. He might though. “I can’t really tell ya, if that makes sense.”

“What… are you like a hitman or something?” asked the cripple. Manny gave a long, gaze. He had a terrible poker face. “Oh… oh damn. You’re like a fuckin’ hitman.”

“I can’t really say anything more, or… well you know.”

“Yea… the whole kill ya thing. Say no more dude. That’s pretty… well, I’ve never met a hi… a man who does what you do.”

Manny was about to get out of the convo.

“You like doing it?” asked the cripple.

“Hah… you know. It is what it is. And I’m good at it.”

Manny got away quick. He didn’t get any good info from the cripple. That was alright. Manny had plenty of time.

That’s when Manny saw the tie-die brigade. A group of hippies. And they had a tall leader. A tall white boy with dread locks. Manny remembered what his sister said, “white boys have no business wearing dread locks.” He decided to intervene.

He approached the group, “Hey dude. Dread lock dude. What’s up with those?”

“Excuse me?”

“No you just excused yourself with that hair. What’s up?”

“Are you seriou-”

“SHUT up! Okay. I’m not interested in ripping these things out. YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Dude, let go of me man-”

“Shut it. I’m looking for a dude. A tall black dude. Wears a Go Pro. Always. You seen him? I need to talk to him.”

The group was trying to free their dread-locked leader. Manny made it impossible. Dread lock was petrified.

“Yo… Yo dread lock dude. You better give me some answers.” Manny clenched his meaty hand deeper into the dread locks. Manny’s size was pretty intimidating though. There wasn’t a lot to say. A simple no might have helped this white boy. Manny started to pull the guy’s locks off. The White boy started to feel them pull on his scalp.

It was about to be a horrific sight, and then, something beautiful happened.

“Waiwaitwait! Look. Stopstop, Look!” said dread lock, “down there. Right over there.”

Manny didn’t wanna trust him, but he looked.

He saw a guy walking across the street with a Go Pro. On his head. Skinny black guy, alone. Tight pants: Black. Skin-tight shirt: Black. Skin: dark as night. This Black guy creeped and peeped down the street. He looked like he was like CGI.

This had to be the dude. [You’ll know when you see him. He doesn’t look quite real]

Manny released. The hippies scattered like a pack of mice. It didn’t matter. He found his guy. He started to follow him, walking down the street. He reached into his backpack. Got out the tiny little box, and turned it on. He put the box on his head. It was a Go Pro. In order to get paid, Manny had to record everything. Then Manny pulled out his Sig Sauer. It was go time.

He skipped across and snuck behind some cars. Manny went over and bummed a cigarette, keeping his eyes on Go Pro. Manny started again, fishing for Go Pro and keeping pace. This man was tall. Lanky and tall, arching to-and fro, looking black as the night itself.

Manny stepped into shadows, in front of food carts, and behind gaggles of loud women. He followed the ghost into the darkness.

Go Pro walked into a small grocery store at the bottom of a hill. Manny waltzed on into the shop. He immediately headed for the meat section. He had to look casual. Blend into the world.

Manny wandered around, with his device on his head. The shelves in the store were low. Manny could see everything. He couldn’t see Go Pro, though. The guy disappeared. Surely, he walked in. Manny wasn’t going crazy. Right?

Manny checked over the store three times. He exited stunned, feeling a little like he was in the Twilight Zone. He certainly was angry, but he wasn’t lit.

He ran to the gas station across the street. It was the only thing in sight. He walked in, but only saw a bored redneck in hunting camouflage. “Where’d he go?” Manny whispered to himself.

He saw some apartments a little further. Music drained out of them. There was some kind of party happening. He went to investigate. Manny felt his knee crackle as he ran. The field he was cutting across was straight and even, perfect for football. For that game he loved… God he hated football. He really wished he could still be playing, and then he felt something new.

Manny’s knee exploded.

He let out a “yiP”. The giant landed on fleshy tendons above his kneecap. He wasn’t gonna walk on that again. His Go Pro fell off his head as he dropped.

Manny nearly threw up from the pain. He was trying not to move his flayed muscles, convincing himself that if the muscles fibers didn’t move, they wouldn’t hurt. Manny then saw his chest erupt in front of him, his armpit now a hole into his nipples.

Manny sank into that cold Football grass. A strong, thin leg kicked him onto his back. He saw Go Pro. It was Go Pro, aiming a silenced pistol with pitch black eyes (no white at all), and pitch-black teeth (not white nor yellow). It was a black, black man in a black-black night, blacker than anything he’d ever seen before or again… wearing a Go Pro.

“Boo” - clicked the bullet into his brain.