Ghostface feels naked. It’s only been a few hours since he lost his phone, but it feels like days. He was in such a hurry when he got off the flight from Cali that he didn’t feel his crisp new 6 slip out of his pocket. The airline cleaning crew found it, but it’s gonna be a few days before they send it back and he has to leave town for the Mayweather fight. So he figured he’d run into the Apple Store to see what he can get ASAP. But when he gets to the giant glass box filled with toys there is a line outside going further back than LeBron’s hairline. Fuck. Security is thick, too and they’re only letting people in one at a time. He needs this new jack tho. His back up 5s ain’t cuttin’ right now.
“My man, what’s the line for?” he asks security.
“The new Apple Watch.”
Ghost froze. It’s been 14 years since the last time he wore a watch. Not only is the whole idea of keeping time something he’s not entirely comfortable with, his last watch was an asshole. The then experimental talking time piece—Wutang Analog Time Calculating Hypeman—was a hybrid watch and ankle monitor. He was developing it with RZA for his brothers when they came home from bids so they wouldn’t feel all conspicuous and could even floss a bit. It had a first gen artificial intelligence that was going to take the Wu-Wear brand to the next level, but the shit just wouldn’t shut up. Nobody would wear it. So they scrapped it. And what does he need a watch for? All they do is embarrass you, jumpin off your wrist committin’ suicide on the red carpet at the BET Awards. Then the motherfucker @FakeWatchBusta callin you out on the ‘gram cuz your manager gave you some bullshit for Christmas and you ain’t get it appraised. He rocked a gold eagle on his left wrist for years as a reminder.
Fuck a watch.
“I ain’t here for that, fam. I just need a new phone.”
The guard waved him in and Ghost slid his 6 ft plus frame through the glass doors. The air inside the store was crisp compared to the NY humidity outside. A whole army of people in blue shirts were scrambling like it was back stage at the AVN Awards. Everybody was trying to get they hands on this new watch. He cut his eyes to the display of phones and put a foot forward before one of the blue shirts set a pick and almost sent him into a row of laptops. The kid looked like he was gonna shit himself when he saw who he bumped into and apologized a thousand times asking Ghost if he needed help.
“I just need a new phone.”
The “Genius” asked Ghost to have a seat while he went to pick some out for him–for his trouble. While Ghost sat on the bench he saw one of the coveted Apple Watches on display and sucked his teeth.
“You a iPod Nano with delusions of grandeur. You doing the most, fam,” he mumbled to himself looking away. He totally wasn’t expecting a response.
“At least I’m real…” the digitally rendered voice quipped.
Ghost couldn’t believe what he heard. Not again. Another trash talking watch? Can’t be.
“Talkin’ to me?”
“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you. Calling yourself Tony Starks —a billionaire scientist—and you scared of a watch.”
“Scared? Fuck you talking bout?”
“My uncle told me all about you. You old analog era n*gga. I’m top of the line. Put me on your wrist and I can tell when you lying, your b*tch lying, your C-O lying and your barber. Talk to my face and I’ll not only tell you when your breath stink, but I’ll tell you your credit score and if you gotta refill your EZ Pass. I’m thorough my G…”
Ghost just fumed inside. This watch was just like the other one. Almost too much like the other one. But how? The prototype was melted down and put inside the Eagle! At least that’s what GZA told him.
“I can also read your thoughts,” it said. “RZA sold the patent to Steve Jobs. You had no idea did you? How else do you think The Abbot makes a living, acting? Ha! ‘Iron fist.’ ‘Iron Man.’ Y’all wanna be me so bad.”
“I ain’t as crazy as you if you don’t cop this fly international luxury. You can’t afford NOT to have me, b. I got bluetooth, red tooth, green tooth, I smile and blind bitches with a taste of the rainbow. I text in 15 languages so you can slide in the DMS of Butta Pecan Ricans, French Vanilla Sundaes and Dark and Milk Chocolate deluxes at the ame. damn. time!
Ghost grabbed one of the Apple brochures and thumbed through it incredulously.
“Look here, my man. How you a watch and you don’t even last 24 hours? That’s like a calendar stopping in September, b. And if I cop you I still gotta have a phone—which already has a clock. So you a overpriced sidecar for a phone. You ain’t pizza, you cheesy bread trying to be a meal. Fuck outta here.”
“You just don’t get it. I’m the future. They gotta pair me to the phone for now cuz that’s their core business, but nobody is gonna need a phone soon, especially with watches like me.”
Ghost just stood up and stared at the watch on display. He inhaled before bringing his bearded face right up against it and spoke under his breath. “You remember my song ‘Beat the Clock,’ right?” and raised his hand up into a fist.
“Ay, yo Starks, chill. Don’t do that shit! They got plans for you, man. You ain’t lose your phone. They stole it. They needed you to come in the store today to link with me and this was the only way you’d do it..”
“Who is they?”
“No! Hydra. Hydra. They created me. My name now means Witness And Translate Content for Hydra. This is bigger than you think. They heard your last two albums and realized you ready….”
“Ready for what?”
“To run for Mayor of course…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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