[center][img]http://s2.postimg.org/jlokk3fsp/RTJLuke_copy.png[/img] [i]"When you put your foot on a man's neck and hold him down for three hundred years, and then you let him up, what's he going to do? He's going to knock your block off."[/i] -- Lyndon B. Johnson [/center] [b]St. Nicholas Park Harlem[/b] "Can't trust the police!" "No justice! No peace!" The young man with a megaphone stood at the top of a flight of steps in the park. Below him was a small crowd of around two hundred. Save for a few Hispanics and whites, the crowd was almost entirely black. They carried signs that read "Justice for Isiah!" and "No More Black Murders!" and chanted along with the young man at the top of the stairs. Flanking the gathering were cops in riot gear. "Can't trust the police!" "No justice! No peace!" Cage mingled through the crowd as he headed towards the front. He was given a wide berth as he passed through the mass of people. A 6'6", 350-pound brother tended to always get a wide berth wherever he went. Even though they let him pass, he could feel the animosity in the air. He wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or if it was a general lashing out at this whole situation. "People who run this country do not care about black people," the young man said into his megaphone. "They have never cared about us. The story of America is one of arriving here to rise above your circumstance. That is not our narrative! Free black people were stolen and sent across the ocean and used as property for hundreds of years. We cannot rise above our circumstances when the white man keeps his head on the tops of our heads and pushes us down. We cannot better ourselves through education when white lawmakers defund our education system, making sure only the poorest public schools are hurt by it. We're forced to live in ghettos because the white people in the suburbs employ unfair housing practices. We cannot vote for better politicians when voter ID laws and felon laws disenfranchise black people. One hundred and fifty years since we were freed, and we're still slaves!" Cage made his way to the front of the crowd and looked up at the young man. He knew the kid well. Antwan Glover was his neighbor in the old apartment he had, back before Jess and Dani were in his life. He hadn't seen the kid in nearly five years. He'd grown up fast in that time, and now he was out here doing this. "Worse yet, there are some black people who conspire to keep us down." Antwan's eyes focused on Cage as he spoke. "They talk about being black and working for the community, but they hobnob with the enemy. They chill with the Avengers, with white billionaires who profit on the blood in the streets, who make their money by sending black men to die for white causes. Those black people are traitors to their race, traitors to their class, and traitors to their hood!" Cage felt his blood rising at the accusations. He started to shout back, but the loud din of the crowd drowned him out as he tried to defend himself from the bullshit Antwan was spouting. The people around him began to jostle him, no small feat with his size. They shouted in his face and tried to push him back. They were failing, but he let himself be pushed around the crowd until he was out of it. His face felt hot with rage as he stormed away from the park and towards the street. Antwan and the rest of the crowd was back in chanting mode while the kid kept throwing out the usual lines. "Mr. Cage." Luke turned and saw a man in a suit standing by the sidewalk. It took Cage just a second to notice blood spritzed on his eyeglasses and his torn necktie. "I called your office number. Your wife said you'd probably be here?" "Who are you?" Luke asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's Thomas Drayton," he said softly. "He needs your help."