Blazers dramatique

http://nbaonthebrain.blogspot.com/

This site has been covering the NBA preseason entirely in fiction. I have been anxiously awaiting the Blazers story and here it is!! Definitely one of the best I have read so far. Check out the site for all the NBA teams.

Underground. They had been putting something together for a few years - not so much in secret, but trying to go unnoticed. Little by little and piece by piece, they had worked to get rid of the weak links. They had brought young fighters into the ranks and watched their development closely. The young recruits had learned to fight hard, fight hungry.

McMillan descended the stone stairs which wound in a circle down, down, into the darkness. He held a lantern in his left hand and kept his right hand against the stone wall to keep himself balanced. The tunnels were an old part of the city's underworld. Once they were heavily used, but had been mostly forgotten. They had been home to a criminal element that tarnished the name of the city and contributed to a bad (although deserved) reputation, so many people preferred to pretend that they had never existed. McMillan intended to change that.

He reached the bottom step and began moving to his right along the narrow corridor towards the facility. There were indications that something quite large had recently passed this way. There were deep cracks in the stone floor and huge, fist-shaped indentations in the walls. McMillan looked back over his shoulder into the darkness that extended in the other direction. He had a sense that if he moved in that direction, he would come to a familiar, heavy steel door, and that the door might be hanging loosely off its hinges. He continued forward. At the end of the hall McMillan's top man, Brandon, stood waiting outside of another locked heavy door. "Is he in there already?" McMillan asked. Brandon's bearded chin dipped twice. "How does he look?"

"Tired. He's looking pretty tired. But amazingly strong." Brandon was a top-notch soldier - a natural leader on the field of battle - and the man McMillan trusted the most. He would be entering his third year of war. He was anxious and determined to make great strides for The Underground this campaign, and had great faith in the troops that were gathering to fight at his side.

"Tired is to be expected" McMillan said looking again at the places in the stone walls that were indented. "And strong." The corner of his mouth turned upward in a slight grin. Brandon saw the look on his commander’s face and matched it. They were both excited about this one. "Let's go in."

Brandon turned and unlocked the door. It swung outward slowly on the heavy-duty hinges. Though the outside corridor that they spoke in had been narrow, dark, and cold, the area they entered was of a completely different nature. They were in a vast open room, well over a hundred feet in length and about half as wide. The ceiling was maybe 45 or 50 feet above them and lined with powerful electric lights. The dark hall was very cool; the large room was humid and warm. A polished wood floor helped every sound in the room echo loudly. Six men were facing off against each other in training exercises, three against three.

He was among the six.

McMillan could see that Oden was breathing heavily, sweating through his clothes, and resting as much as possible between exercises. He had been recruited over a year ago, but an existing injury had kept him completely out of the fight. His year of gestation had benefits, as far as McMillan was concerned. Instead of gaining a soldier that other troops might have looked at as a savior (and subconsciously putting forth a lesser effort because they thought Oden was going to shoulder the burden) they had retained their optimistic spirit and fought harder. They had become strong despite his absence. Now, his strength would be added to theirs. That strength was remarkable. He moved where he wanted, muscling other men out of his way. When the other men tried to move him, they found it to be as futile as trying to move a truck. When he jumped, the ground quaked with his landing. However, his fatigue was apparent and McMillan knew it would take more time for him to be in war-time condition.

But Oden was hardly his only asset.

The cabal with which he worked had assembled a true team of killers that were both calculating and dangerous. He had sharpshooters and explosives experts and murderous acrobats. If he needed someone to drive, or fly, or run, he had someone that could. If he wasn't their commander, he would fear for his life knowing they were out there. Aldridge, Blake, Outlaw, Webster, Przybilla, Fernandez, Rodriguez, Bayless, Batum. They were mad-bombers. They were throat-cutters. They were knock-out hitters. And ahead of them all was the young and cunning leader, Brandon.

McMillan watched as Fernandez made quick cutting spins towards Oden, staying low to the ground while Aldridge leaped through the air to attack Oden from above. Any other defender would be faced with certain death under this assault. Oden simply reached out and grabbed them both, one in each hand, and hurled them away.

McMillan could nearly feel the cold surface of the Prize in his hands. The Underground was rising.

via 4.bp.blogspot.com