(3rd Person POV)
The skeletal framework of the unfinished building loomed against Harlem's skyline, its exposed steel beams and concrete floors usually hosting only the city's shadiest dealings. Tonight, however, the abandoned construction site buzzed with dangerous energy.
Hundreds of figures filled the cavernous space—demons, orcs, elves, and humans from every corner of the underground scene. They moved like predators circling wounded prey, eyes glinting with barely contained violence as they focused on the figure standing calmly in their midst.
Joseph stood at the center of it all, completely unfazed by the hostile crowd. He lit a cigarette with steady hands, slipping both into his jacket pockets as smoke curled lazily upward. The thin gray line dissipated into the building's shadows.
He took a long drag, exhaled slowly, then tilted his head slightly. "So... everyone made it?" His voice carried easily through the concrete shell, projecting an ease that seemed impossible given the circumstances.
In that moment, Joseph looked every inch the fearless gangster—leather jacket, controlled movements, smoke wreathing his features. The transformation was so complete that several thugs raised eyebrows, clearly unsettled by his composure.
"Should we teach this pretty boy a lesson, boss?" The voice came from a sly imp-demon near the front, flanked by a towering orc whose tribal markings identified him as Thorn Kingdom born.
The orc cracked his knuckles menacingly. "As someone from the Thorn Kingdom, I hate everything about Morningstar Empire demons. I want to crush him right now." He paused, studying Joseph with grudging curiosity. "But let's see what he's so confident about first."
A lean figure with red-and-blue hair snickered from the side—his horns and pointed ears marking him as half-elf, half-demon. "Still bitter about the Morningstar princess breaking off her engagement to your crown prince, Big Orc? You realize Jackson had nothing to do with royal politics, right?"
"Shut it, Sharpy," Big Orc snarled, his face twisting with old anger. "I don't care. He's Morningstar demon scum, and that's enough for me."
The surrounding crowd shifted nervously at his venom.
Despite the hostility washing over him, Joseph maintained his outward calm. Inside, however, doubt gnawed at him. _'This might be more than I bargained for. I've never faced down real street thugs before—can I actually win them over with music?'_ His gaze found Amaru in the crowd. _'At least I've got backup from Mob Nation.'_
Amaru stood beside a taller half-demon wearing glasses and sporting an impressive afro. This was Bistar, Mob Nation's actual leader, whose calculating stare seemed to weigh Joseph's every breath.
Bistar nodded to Amaru, who stepped forward and raised his voice. "Listen up, everyone! Jackson here is solid with our crew!" His words echoed off concrete walls. "He didn't come here to fight—he came to rap. Says he wants to bring us together through music. I'm asking you to give him a shot!"
The crowd's response was immediate and merciless laughter.
"HAHAHA! Bring us together with music? That's rich!"
"This keeps getting better! Pretty boy thinks he's some kind of peacemaker!"
The mocking voices came from every direction, targeting not just Joseph but Amaru and the entire Mob Nation contingent for backing such an apparently ridiculous proposal.
Big Orc huffed, his grin turning predatory. "Fool that I am, I thought I'd give the pretty boy a chance to explain his confidence. But hearing this ridiculous claim makes me want to puke." His knuckles cracked like gunshots echoing through the concrete space. "Because as far as I know, we communicate with fists, knives, and guns."
"Can't say I agree with Big Orc often, but he's got a point," Sharpy said, his fingers dancing over the razor-sharp blade at his belt. "We're not idiots. When a crew like Mob Nation invites everyone to an isolated, unfinished building, we know it's an invitation to war." His eyes glittered with malice. "Sorry, but connecting us with music? I'm not buying what you're selling."
One by one, weapons emerged from the crowd—knives glinting under the sparse lighting, brass knuckles sliding over scarred fingers, the metallic click of concealed firearms being readied. The air grew thick with impending violence.
Bistar shifted nervously beside his crew, muttering under his breath, "I told Amaru this was a terrible idea..."
Just as the situation teetered on the edge of bloodshed, Joseph stepped forward. His eyes swept across the hostile crowd without a trace of fear, that same steel that had faced down his father's worst rages now blazing in full force.
"Now then," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "let me show you what I'm really capable of."
Joseph unleashed every ounce of his Musical Magic—not holding back, not caring if the effort left him drained. Raw power erupted from his being like a sonic tsunami.
The magical frequency washed over the crowd, invisible but undeniable. It didn't strike them like a blow—instead, it embraced them, gentle yet irresistibly binding, wrapping around their limbs like silken chains.
"I... I can't move," Big Orc growled, his massive frame frozen mid-lunge.
Sharpy's eyes widened with genuine alarm. "Is this some kind of paralysis spell? I didn't know Jackson was a mage..."
Even Bistar found himself completely immobilized, unable to so much as twitch a finger. Around them, hundreds of hardened criminals discovered they'd become unwilling prisoners in their own bodies.
"Hey, you piece of shit!" Big Orc roared, his voice the only part of him still under his control. "Break this spell right now!"
But Joseph had already entered performance mode, the magical beat building around him like a living thing. With a sharp kick that defied the laws of physics, he began to sing.
They told him, "Don't you ever come around here"
"Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear"
The opening words rang out with supernatural clarity, each syllable infused with power that made the very air vibrate. He moved with impossible grace through the frozen crowd.
The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear, so beat it
When he materialized directly in front of Big Orc, close enough that their faces almost touched, his voice carried both warning and challenge.
You better run, you better do what you can
Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man
Big Orc's face contorted with rage at the pointed reference, but his body remained stubbornly unresponsive.
The most shocking moment came when Sharpy, still frozen in place but completely absorbed by the performance, found his voice joining Joseph's as an involuntary backup singer. "Beat It!" The sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, his own Musical Magic responding to Joseph's overwhelming presence.
Joseph's smile blazed as he moved to Sharpy, touching the immobilized thug's arm while continuing the song. The performance built to impossible heights, each verse accompanied by movements that seemed to bend reality itself.
The hundreds of would-be killers, who moments before had been thirsting for blood, now found themselves helplessly entranced. Their eyes followed Joseph's every movement, their hearts beating in rhythm with his supernatural melody.
As the final notes faded and Joseph stood motionless as a statue in the center of the space, the binding frequency gradually dissolved. Movement returned to limbs, but the violence that had been brewing was nowhere to be found.
In its place was something none of them had expected—a grudging respect for the pop star who had just demonstrated that his power went far beyond anything they'd imagined.
As movement returned to the crowd, a profound silence filled the concrete space. Then, slowly, respectfully, someone began to clap.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The applause spread like wildfire, echoing off the bare walls until the entire building vibrated with appreciation.
"That was... INCREDIBLE!" Big Orc's eyes streamed with tears, his nose running freely as emotion overwhelmed his usual stoic demeanor.
Sharpy wiped his own face, grinning through the moisture. "Best damn performance I've ever witnessed!"
"Even better than at Sip-Hop!" Big Tusk shouted over the continuing applause. "That was something else entirely!"
Bistar stood transfixed, his analytical mind struggling to process what he'd experienced. _'That wasn't just music—that was pure magic made manifest.'_
Joseph felt the familiar surge of energy flowing into him from their enthusiasm, his depleted magical reserves not just recovering but actually strengthening beyond their previous limits. The crowd's genuine appreciation fed his power in ways he was still learning to understand.
He bowed gracefully to the assembled gang members. "I'm glad everyone enjoyed it." His smile was warm but purposeful. "That song is called 'Beat It,' and I want to film a music video for it. I invited everyone here because I'd like you all to be part of that video. Would you be willing to—"
"YES!" The response was immediate and unanimous, cutting off his careful pitch.
"It would be an honor!"
"Count us in!"
"When do we start?"
Big Orc, Sharpy, and Bistar—the three crew leaders who'd been ready for blood just minutes earlier—nodded eagerly alongside their members.
Joseph's smile widened as he began outlining the video concept, but Big Orc interrupted with an unexpected gesture.
"Before we go further, I owe you an apology," the massive orc said, his voice unusually subdued. "My hatred for Morningstar demons blinded me to who you actually are." He paused, seeming to wrestle with painful memories. "My younger brother once served as a guard to the Thorn Crown Prince. But when the marriage pact with the Morningstar princess collapsed, he was made the scapegoat—dismissed for supposedly failing to stop an 'incident' at a royal banquet in Morningstar Castle. The disgrace didn't just fall on him; it stained our whole family."
Joseph nodded with understanding. "Political fallout has a way of hurting innocent people."
Sharpy stepped forward as well. "I got no excuse except pride. Shouldn't have judged you before hearing what you had to say."
"We're good," Joseph assured them both, already focused on moving forward rather than dwelling on past hostility.
As the gang leaders worked out logistics and scheduling details, none of them noticed the wisp of black smoke that had been observing from the shadows. It drifted silently through gaps in the concrete structure, carrying with it the echo of an otherworldly voice.
"Fascinating artist. He managed to unite sworn enemies through sheer talent alone." The smoke dissipated into the night air, but the voice lingered with ominous intent. "I must begin preparations immediately. The Spirit Order requires someone with Jackson's abilities."
The mysterious presence vanished completely, leaving behind only the excited chatter of former enemies now planning their collaborative debut in what would become one of the most legendary music videos ever filmed.
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Beat It - MJ