It was 2013 in New York City and crime was at an all time high. The streets were more dangerous than ever. Most New Yorkers were afraid to come out at nights because of the non-stop news coverage they viewed on TV about the violence. Street gangs ran around wild, drugs were plentiful, and a organize ninja gang called Purple Shadow terrorized the Chinatown area. News reporters knew very little of them. They informed New Yorkers that the Purple Shadow was perhaps the most dangerous gang in the city.
One night at South Street Seaport, two tall African-American men dressed in black clothes and Brooklyn Nets caps stood on a flood-damaged pier with brief cases in their hands. The breathtaking waterfront view did not impress them much. Their body language read they could not wait to get out of the area and go back to their 'hood.
"I hope these clowns hurry up! I don't feel like being out here too long!" Jack expressed.
Jack was anxious as he kept looking at his gold timepiece. He was not in the mood to fight a bunch of crazed ninjas. Jack just wanted to make fast money and sleep with young whores.
"We're in Chinatown and all you hear about is these ninjas wild 'n' out!" Loon continued. "You know they don't care about making dudes into Chop Suey."
Loon was a stone-faced, caramel-colored dude with no facial hair.
"Word." Jack laughed.
A dark colored Chevrolet Impala rolled up. Two Caucasian men clad in white T-shirts and Boston Red Sox baseball caps hopped out. The shortest one with red facial hair had a gold chain around his neck, and a nose piercing. His name was Marty, and he loved going to raves partying with a young crowd.
"What's up, bros?" He said. "Sorry, we're late. New York City traffic sucks!"
"Come on, let's do business." Loon said coldly. "We have things to do."
Marty pulled out a brown bag and opened it. "This is molly, the hottest drug in the clubs right now. College kids love this stuff! They cannot get enough of it!"
"Yes, this is some good stuff." Marty's tall friend confirmed.
While the four men were doing business, six ninjas moved quickly and fluidly through the shadows of the street easing in on their targets. They were members of the Purple Shadow. It was amazing how well they move without making a sound. The thugs still have not noticed them until they heard a wind-like sound. The sight of the ninjas stunned them.
"Oh, man!" Loon jumped back.
He reached for his gun. A ninja hit him in the hand with a razor-sharp ninja star. The pain was so intense that Loon dropped his gun, and screamed as he gazed at his blood-covered hand.
"You don't do business here unless we tell you!" One ninja warned them sharply. "Now, you young punks going to wish you stayed in your neighborhoods."
A ninja star illuminated in the night as it soared in the air and embedded in the Loon's head; killing him instantly. Then Purple Shadow devoured the other three men with their sharp weapons and fighting techniques. They left the four men on the ground in a pool of blood, gasping for air.
"What's poppin'? Somebody yelled.
The six ninjas saw five faceless hooded figures standing there stationary. It was the Street Knights and their body language read they were ready for a good fight. The ninjas slowly surrounded the hooded figures and then charged at them like deadly dark sharks seeing blood in the water.
The imposing yellow hooded man called Mussolini countered the ninja's kick with a spinning piledriver. The ninja lay motionless on the ground with one arm across his chest. Mussolini put his guards up ready to inflict punishment to any adversary coming his way. He was the muscle of the Street Knights. He was highly skilled in mixed martial arts and wrestling.
"My man is down!" Mussolini shouted.
Qaddafi hurled his sasi, which poked two ninjas perfectly in the gut. He smiled under his mask as he watched them dropped to the ground. Qaddafi wore a red hoodie and Black/Black-Cool Grey Nike ACG Air Max Worknesh Hiking Boot with red laces. He was Street Knight's bad boy and aggressive fighter. Qaddafi was highly skilled in ninjutsu and boxing.
"Two down!" He informed. "And I didn't break a sweat."
Khoemini, the figure in the baby blue hoodie and matching blue Nike Men's Air Goadome Boots took out his nunchakus and whirled them in the air. He was the shortest and youngest member of the Street Knights. He ducked a ninja's roundhouse kick, and knocked him out with a nunchaku blow to the head. Khoemini was highly skilled in Shotokan karate and kickboxing.
"Knock out!" Khoemini shouted.
Castro was the figure in the grey hoodie and matching classically styled Nike ACG Air Max Goadome hiking boots. He has a mastery of the bō and highly skilled in Aikido. Castro moved in a triangle motion as he attacked his opposition with his bō. He had the natural ability of making his fights looked like art.
On the roof of an abandoned candy store dressed in all black was Spy, another member of the deadly Purple Shadow gang. His attention was entirely on the Street Knights. Spy heard so much about them in the streets, but could never figure out their identities. Observing the way the Street Knights fight, Spy knew they were not a typical street gang. He took out a small video camera, and began recording the street fight happening below him. Spy wanted to show his master the Street Knight's fighting techniques.
"Who are they?" Spy mumbled to himself. "Are they Asians, Black, or White? I never saw a group of men fight so well together."
The Street Knights showed they have a mastery of different forms of combat. It did not take them long to overwhelmed the Purple Shadow. After taking them out, they heard police cruisers' sirens approaching the scene. Machiavelli tossed a ninja smoke bomb in the air. When the tiny bomb shattered on the ground, it released a cloud of red smoke and a flash of light. It created the illusion that the Street Knights teleported all together, which impressed Spy.
"We're out!" Machiavelli ordered.
The Street Knights jumped on their customized Suzuki Hayabusa motorcycles that matched the color of their hoodies, and sped up the street heading to the bridge with a thunderous roar. They were weaving in and out lanes, and performing awe-inspiring stunts.
Moments later, several police cars were pursuing Street Knights on the Franklin D. Roosevelt East River Drive. The Street Knights enjoyed this kind of adrenaline rush as they rode even faster.
"Y'all can't catch us!" Qaddafi shouted. "We run these streets!"
Waiting in the middle of the bridge was a barricade of law enforcements ready to open fire on them. The cops' presence did not nerve the Street Knights as they continued racing at a top speed.
At the same time, bursts of radiant light emitted from the headlights of the Street Knights' motorcycles, which temporarily blinded the cops. Then the Street Knights leaped over the barricade of cops, roaring high in the air. They landed on the street several feet away perfectly, split up, and took off in different directions to elude the police officers.
On the top floor, behind the glass walls in a steel tower, Spy entered the room and stared at a tall shadowy figure dressed in dark designer suit that was looking out at the city, the skyscrapers, moving vehicles, and the full moon. Virtually everything in the room was black from the marble floors, tinted windows, and bookshelf.
"Master!" Spy's voice echoed in the darkness of the room.
His sleepy glass-like gray eyes were small and thin. In his eyes, it was easy to see years of pain, torment, strength, and determination. The scars on his face represented history of violence and the rage that burns deeply inside him for world conquest. His short coal black hair was curly and crown-like, which symbolized power and status. The long black mustache above his full slippery lips that were like racing laps that led nowhere, prevented him from showing any kind of weakness. This man was Simon, but his followers called him Master.
"What?" Simon asked loudly.
"I finally got some footage of those bikers called Street Knights." Spy answered.
He set his iPad 3 on the steel desk and began playing the video. Simon was watching it distinctly. The Street Knights somewhat had him in awe how they fought his Purple Shadow gang effortlessly.
"I know their fighting styles." Simon continued. "Each of them has a mastery of a certain fighting technique. They are not typical thugs wearing hoodies. They are warriors! I cannot believe they overwhelmed my Purple Shadow so easily. It is going to be a pleasure finding out how good they really are when they battle me! I'm going to crush them!"
Inside a storeroom, beneath a loft on 122nd Street between Riverside Drive and Claremont Avenue, the Street Knight housed their motorcycles side by side. The room had dimmed lights and good air ventilation. Weaponry, equipment, and other vehicles filled most of the space. There were central passages where the Street Knights can enter and exit. They boarded an elevator and rode to an upper level, which were their living quarters. The bedrooms, kitchen, bar area, and game room were equipped in the area. The Street Knights pulled off their hoodies. They were African-American men with a youthful appearance.
Machiavelli and Qaddafi were twin brothers, and the eldest of the five. They were brown-skinned, clean cut, and had gray squinty hazel eyes. Castro was the third eldest, and a shade darker than Machiavelli and Qaddafi. He was also clean cut, and had sharp gray eyes. Mussolini was the fourth oldest, and the biggest of the five. His head was bald, and he had a caramel skin tone and amber eyes. Khomeini was the youngest of the five, and the Street Knight blessed with a baby face. He was light-skinned, and rocked a dark Caesar haircut. He had striking blue and brown eyes.
"We were not playing with the Purple Shadow! Wow, Mussolini broke that ninja's neck with that awesome piledriver!" Khomeini said, becoming more animated. "I love when we fight. We bad like that."
"Calm down, little brother, we did not defeat the entire Purple Shadow clan." Machiavelli smiled. "We did well out there, but we were lucky."
"Lucky?" Qaddafi laughed. "Nobody can handle us! We're too good."
"Yes, my piledriver is more lethal than "Mr. Wonderful" Paul Orndorff." Mussolini joked. "I love catching street punks with that move!"
"I heard that ninja's neck snapped." Castro said excitedly. "That piledriver is your best one."
Khomeini seized the Cable remote and flicked on the TV. News of The George Zimmerman "not guilty" verdict splattered on the screen. It was shocking and emotional to the Street Knights. They stood stationary for a few minutes in silence. Images of demonstrators hitting the streets of New York protesting the not guilty verdict were inspiring to the Street Knights. It made them think about the hoodies they proudly wear in the streets.
"Wow, we're living in a world that a hoodie is a death sentence." Machiavelli finally broke the silence. "This is crazy!"
"We make hoodies cool, but there are people frightened by them." Khomeini added.
"Zimmerman got away with murder!" Qaddafi shouted. "It's disgusting that the jurors let him leave the courtroom with his freedom."
"It's beyond sad, but that's the law in Florida." Mussolini continued. "Americans that are angry about this verdict should take the necessary steps to change the laws down there."
"I agree." Castro spoke. "If the Stand-Your-Ground law only benefits certain people, then it should be eradicated all together."
"Rioting is not going to solve any problems." Machiavelli said. "It will only make matters worse and prove that people like us are a menace to society."
"What would you do, Machiavelli?" Khomeini asked.
"I would not take any vacations or spend money in Florida." Machiavelli answered. "I'll hit that state in its pockets."
Back at the steel tower, Simon was sitting behind his steel desk watching the video of Street Knights for the third time. He balled up his fists and smiled.
"You, Street Knights, will meet your fate!"