(Fade in: Wildchild, hoodie'd up against the fall wind, sitting on the back of a park bench, feet on the seat.)
You know, it mighta been nice.
I know a player when I see one. I smell a banger a mile away. As long as we see eye to eye, and we ain't got no beef, then we ain't got no beef.
You watched my tape, Boogie? I watched your tapes, too. You got rhythm in your *blood*. You wrestle with it, you talk trash with it, I bet you live your life with it. Seems to me you are player, and banger, and gangsta, and nothin'-but-a-party all rolled up into one.
That used to be me. Hell, maybe there's part that still is.
(Gets off bench, approaches camera.)
So yeah, it mighta been nice. You, me, telling the rest of TEAM to get the F outta Dodge. Ain't no funny drugs talking here, but I thought you had -- what is it? -- "kindred spirit" written all over you.
Guess that ain't gonna happen now.
See, powers-that-be set it up so you and me, Boogie, you and me go one-on-one to kick off this in-VY-tational. So we ain't gonna be brothers-in-arms unless we lock up, ain't gonna be no meeting of the minds unless I headbutt your stank ass, and the only team we part of? Four big letters hanging from the ceiling.
(Grabs front of camera, brings to face for close-up.)
You've been around this game way too long, Boog. You have nothing to prove. Me? I'm three squares away from a riot, that's how hungry I am. I got nothing to lose.
I say it once for you, and once for the rest of your crew, and once for the rest of the cats in line behind you: Imma turn you into the needle on my next Number One. Imma drop you, wear you out, and toss your ass away.
You hear me, hip-hopper?
(Shoves camera and cameraman to ground, image breaks up, goes to static.)