Kingston, Jamaica – National Stadium Gymnasium
Jamaica U16 vs. Dominican Republic U16 – Caribbean Youth Tournament Opener
The gym was packed like a war drum.
Steel bleachers. Concrete walls. No air conditioning. The crowd leaned into every whistle like it was life or death. Flags waved. Horns blew. Someone even brought a goat painted in green, gold, and black.
This wasn't a tournament.
This was Jamaica's pride on trial.
Kyle stood at center court, sweat already clinging to his brow before the anthem even ended. He stared down the Dominican players—tall, muscular, loud—and tried to suppress the rage knotting in his chest.
This wasn't just about basketball anymore.
His mother's house had been tagged last night.
"Tick. Tock." In red.
The streets were talking. Chino's cousin—Devon "Trick" Mendez—was seen in the crowd.
Kyle rolled his shoulders.
Coach Barrett leaned in.
"Yuh know what to do."
Kyle nodded.
He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
He just whispered, "Lock dem up."
Tip-OffThe ref tossed the ball up.
Kyle leapt.
Won.
The crowd exploded.
Kyle immediately sprinted down to establish himself on defense. Troy—still sour from getting clamped in scrimmage—refused to pass the ball to him on offense, but Kyle didn't care.
Defense was his playground.
The Dominican point guard crossed the half.
Kyle switched onto him on the first possession.
Hands low. Feet light. Breath even.
The guard tried to iso.
Big mistake.
Swipe.
Kyle poked it free, dove across the floor, and saved the ball mid-slide with a behind-the-back pass to Dre in transition.
Layup. Jamaica up 2–0.
The gym roared.
First Quarter – Shut DownKyle became a shadow. Wherever the ball went, he followed.
He didn't score a single point that quarter.
Didn't need to.
3 steals
2 blocks
Multiple shot contests
One possession where he guarded all five positions within 12 seconds
Coach Barrett kept nodding, pacing like a lion behind the bench.
Halftime approached with Jamaica up 32–27.
As Kyle grabbed a drink, Troy bumped him.
"Stop trying to be the hero, Yankee."
Kyle didn't even look at him.
"Mi just don't want to lose. That offend yuh?"
Troy's jaw flexed. But he backed off.
Coach Barrett clapped his hands hard.
"One more half. Finish dem. Make dem remember who we be."
Second Half – TargetedThe Dominicans came out with heat.
Literally.
The moment Kyle touched the ball, he got doubled.
On defense, they sent elbows and off-ball screens at him, trying to wear him down.
At 6'5", he had the length—but he wasn't filled out yet.
Every screen rattled his ribs.
Every switch, they tried to isolate him in the post.
Then—midway through the third—Trick Mendez walked courtside.
Black shades. Red bandana hanging from his pocket. Laughing.
Kyle saw him. Eyes locked.
The next possession, Kyle didn't even hear the coach.
He just moved.
Troy got beat on a backdoor cut—Kyle rotated, leapt, and pinned the shot off the glass with a roar that shook the gym.
Then he sprinted in transition, caught a lob from Dre, and hammered it with both hands.
Crowd went ballistic.
The camera phones lit up.
Trick just smiled from his seat and mouthed, "Soon."
Fourth Quarter – Boiling PointScore: 59–59
4:11 left.
Kyle checked back in.
Coach Barrett slapped his chest.
"All now, Wilson. Show dem what real defense look like."
On cue, the Dominicans ran a high ball screen.
Kyle got clipped.
Hard.
Fell to the floor.
Ref didn't call it.
The crowd screamed.
He got up with blood on his elbow.
Wiped it on his shorts.
Next play: Dominican guard tried the same thing.
This time, Kyle anticipated the screen.
Fought over it.
Met the ball-handler at the rim—and took a charge.
Boom. Crowd erupted.
Final 2 MinutesScore: 65–64, Jamaica.
Troy finally passed Kyle the ball on offense.
He jab-stepped. Didn't force it.
Swung it to Dre.
Cut baseline.
Came off a curl screen—caught it at the elbow.
Defender jumped too early.
Kyle sidestepped, went glass.
Bucket.
67–64.
Timeout DR.
Streets Outside – Chaos Brewing
While the timeout played, Kyle spotted a commotion near the tunnel entrance.
Security moved fast.
A man in a red hoodie—matching Trick's crew—was caught trying to sneak a weapon in.
Coach Barrett got word mid-huddle.
He didn't say anything to the team.
But his jaw clenched.
Last Minute – War of Wills67–66.
Dominicans pressing.
Dre trapped. Ball stripped.
DR scores. 67–68.
Coach yells: "Last play. No hero ball!"
Troy brings it up. Crowd standing.
Kyle motions—cutting from the left wing.
Troy ignores him.
Drives into traffic.
Gets stripped.
Dominican ball. 11 seconds.
Kyle explodes back on defense.
Inbound comes in.
Kyle switches onto the Dominican guard.
5 seconds.
Guard rises for the jumper—
Kyle tips it mid-air.
Loose ball.
Kyle dives. GRABS.
Turns. One second.
Heaves it—
BUZZER.
Backboard glass.
In and out.
Final Score: 67–68. Jamaica loses.Locker Room – Cold SilenceNo one spoke.
Coach paced.
"Mi not mad at the loss. Mi mad at the selfishness."
He didn't name names.
But Troy wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
Kyle sat alone, blood dried on his arm.
He stared at his phone.
Another message from the burner.
"Your mother's time running short. Come chat."
Location: Spanish Town. 3 nights. Abandoned textile plant. Come alone.
He stared at it.
Then at Rico's chain.
Then at the flag on his jersey.
Scene Shift – Rose Heights, Later That NightKyle sat outside the house.
His mother asleep inside.
Dre sat next to him.
"She don't know?"
Kyle shook his head.
"Not yet."
"Yuh serious about going?"
Kyle pulled his hoodie tighter.
"They not gonna stop unless I do."
Dre lit a cigarette. "Yuh might not come back, y'know."
Kyle looked him dead in the eye.
"Then at least mi going standing tall."
Final Scene – Three Days LaterSpanish Town. 11:53 p.m.
Kyle stood outside the abandoned plant.
Alone.
Just him.
No phone. No backup.
Rico's chain glinting under the streetlight.
Doors creaked open.
Trick stepped out, arms wide.
"Mi thought yuh forget we."
Kyle's eyes were stone.
"Mi never forget."
Behind Trick, three men stood with weapons.
"Yuh brave, lil baller," Trick said. "But brave don't stop bullets."
Kyle took a step forward.
"Mi not here fi stop bullets."
"Then why yuh here?"
Kyle pulled something from his pocket.
A USB.
Tossed it.
"Footage. Cops already have it. Link to the warehouse shootout. Rico's death. Yuh fingerprints."
Trick's grin faded.
Kyle's voice dropped:
"Yuh want war, fine. But mi bring it my way now."
"Yuh touch mi family again—and mi not just ending yuh. Mi erasing yuh."
Silence.
Then footsteps echoed.
Police sirens.
Trick turned—too late.
Unmarked cars rolled in.
Kyle turned and walked away, the red-and-gold streetlight behind him burning like fire.