The Black Mamba lies in darkness. He is bruised, beaten, bloodied. His body has been pumped full of buckshot. Hands tied, he watches as what little light remains in his world is extinguished. The German and his friends are nailing The Mamba's coffin shut. The coffin is placed in the ground, and The Mamba can only listen as piles and piles of dirt are heaped on top of him. This is to be his grave.
But he is not yet dead. He does not panic. He takes stock of the situation. He turns on the flashlight left him by The German, who does not completely lack in humanity. The Mamba observes his predicament, sees there can be no easy escape, but he formulates a plan. He uses his feet to remove his boot, where he has a knife stored. He manages the knife up to his hands, balances the flashlight on his chest, and saws through the rope that binds him, freeing himself from bondage.
He knows his only hope lies in remembering his training.
The Mamba is walking the endless stairs of an ancient temple. The warnings of his mentor, the one they call MJ, are fresh in his ears.
Remember, no sarcasm, no back talk. You're going to have to let P J warm up to you. He hates hero complexes, despises selfishness, and has nothing but contempt for gunners. So in your case, it might take a little while.
The Mamba finishes his climb and comes to face to face with his new master
Your youth hurts me. Is it too much to hope ... that you understand Zen?
I am fluent in Italian, and English
I did not ask if you speak English or Italian. I asked if you are able to understand Zen. [Silence] You are here to learn the mysteries of the Triangle, not linguistics. If you do not understand me, then I will communicate with you like I would a child. When I chide you, when I criticize you, when I write about you in my book.
You follow the path of MJ, do you not?
Your mentor tells me you are not entirely unschooled. What training do you possess?
I am proficient in the Pick and Roll style. And I am more than proficient in the exquisite art of isolation scoring.
The exquisite art of isolation scoring? Don't make me laugh. Your exquisite art is only fit for marginal superstars. [P J sees The Mamba anger] Hahahaha. Your anger amuses me. Do you believe you are my match?
Are you aware that I win championships at will?
Do you want to lose forever?
But you can't stop, because you are helpless.
Have you ever felt this before?
THAT'S THE BEGINNING!!
Is it your wish to possess this kind of power?
Your training will begin ... tomorrow.
The next day, student and master begin the training.
Can you win four games in a row at will?
I can win four in a row, but not at will,
Then you can't do it! What if your enemy has already won three games! What do you do then? Curl into a ball? Or do you PUT YOUR FIST THROUGH THEM? Now begin!
The Mamba begins his training. He works endlessly to perfect a vast array of skills and styles. He is oblivious to pain and injury. Eventually, the master begins to appreciate The Mamba's desire, and approve of his ability, and the training is completed.
Back in the coffin, The Mamba begins to search for weaknessess. He tests the surface of his tomb and finally finds a spot that seems less sturdy than the others. Remembering his lessons, he is prepared to do what is necessary to escape from his plight.
OK, P J. Here I come.