Wu-Tang vs. AI

Episode I – The Case of the Stolen Golden Record

I do not own the rights to the image of Ray Charles and Quincy Jones in this article.

This is a journalism outlet, but I’ve always enjoyed writing fiction. Considering my love for the Wu-Tang and growing concern with artificial intelligence, I’m gonna break my own rules and periodically release a nine-part fictional epic called Wu-Tang Vs. AI. 

This is purely fan fiction, so of course, the events, actions and dialogue in this story are completely fictional. 

Enjoy. 

The RZA was tired. He’d been up all night working on production for a new Czarface mashup album, this time with Kool G Rap. The old man still had it in him….

But fatigue was a luxury RZA couldn’t afford. Not tonight, anyway. One of the reasons the Wu-Tang Clan was able to stay together through all the quarrels and controversy was their brotherly love for one another, of which humility was no small component. So when the whole crew was summoned to be honored, form like Voltron, they would. 

RZA received a letter from Quincy Jones inviting the Wu brothers to his mansion for a special dinner in their honor. No one was going to disrespect Quincy, so everyone agreed to meet at the Wu’s secret fortress at 7 p.m. sharp. From there, they would take custom army trucks and twin Batmobiles to the mansion. RZA would take the lead to keep Raekwon and Ghostface Killah from racing the Batmobiles. 

As RZA adjusted his tie in his study, he heard a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” he said. 

It was GZA. He looked slightly perturbed. 

“What is it?” RZA asked. 

“Your nephew,” GZA said. 

RZA let out a sigh. Barsun Unique Jones was as tenacious as his father had been. 

“OK,” he said. “Tell him I’ll be down shortly.” 

GZA nodded and stealthily vanished. RZA studied his reflection in the mirror. His features had remained soft through the trials and tribulations. He didn’t at all look 55 years old. He looked himself in the eye. 

“There’s more work to do,” he said. 

He made his way downstairs to find his nephew waiting for him in an immaculate tuxedo. RZA already knew what was coming. 

Young Dirty Bastard smiled widely, with just a hint of mischief in the corner of his eye. 

“I’m ready, unc,” he said. 

“I hope that tux has room to breathe,” RZA said. “You’re gonna need it in case you see action while guarding the fortress.”

YDB’s nostrils flared and eyes widened as he tilted his head. RZA couldn’t help but admire the show of outrage. 

“What you mean?” he posed.

“Nephew, we’re not doing this tonight,” RZA said. 

“But I thought you said if I did well on tour that-”

“You heard what you wanted to hear,” RZA said. “I said I’d consider elevating your status. But Quincy Jones is holding this dinner in honor of the Wu-Tang Clan. Imagine how he’d feel if someone showed up whom he didn’t intend to honor.” 

“Man, I’ve been grinding my ass off!” YDB exclaimed. 

RZA gave him a laser stare that shot right through him. YDB’s face faltered. 

“Be mindful of your tongue,” RZA said. 

“I-I’m sorry, unc,” YDB said. “It’s just, this is my destiny.” 

RZA’s expression softened. 

“Remember what I told you,” he said. “Three parts fate, seven parts hard work.” 

“But I-”

RZA held up a hand to silence him. 

“Dripping water can penetrate the stone,” he said. 

YDB grimaced, then nodded. 

RZA walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder as he went. 

“Remember not to meddle with the force field.” 

It’d been a long ride to Quincy’s. Ghost and Rae did indeed race until Ghost ran out of gas. The nine members had to push his Batmobile to the Sunoco, where Ghost tried to haggle on the price of diesel fuel. But they still hustled to make it on time, and when they parked their fleet in Quincy’s expansive driveway, they were met by a maître d with a pencil mustache and slicked back, salt and pepper hair. 

“Excuse me, sirs,” he said. “May I help you?” 

“Yes,” RZA said. “We’re here for our dinner with Quincy.”

The man raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said slowly. “But Mr. Jones is out of the country at the moment.” 

The Wu members looked at each other quizzically. 

“We have an invitation,” RZA said, pulling a letter out of his pocket. He gave it to the man, who studied it carefully. 

“This…did not come from us,” the man said. 

“What do you mean?” RZA asked quickly. 

“The “Q” at the bottom is not our official seal,” the man said. He pulled a letter out of his own coat pocket and showed it to RZA. At the bottom was the official Quincy Jones seal: 

“Ray and Quincy,” RZA muttered. “Of course.” 

The other members of the Wu stood very still, very seriously. The man’s expression was sympathetic. 

“Please tell Quincy we are sorry for disturbing his home,” RZA said. “There must have been some sort of mixup.” 

“No apology necessary, sir,” the man said. “Quincy holds you all in such high esteem.”

RZA shook the man’s hand. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, sir,” the man said. 

RZA walked back to his vehicle and turned to his compatriots. 

“We must get to the fortress immediately,” he said. “Someone lured us away from there.”

Ghost and Rae nodded at each other. There would be no racing this time. 

The Wu wasted no time in getting back to the fortress. As expected, the force field was down. What they did not expect was to see YDB trapped in a giant spider web under the Old Oak Tree. 

RZA closed his eyes as though praying for patience. 

“Deck,” he said. 

“I’m on it,” Inspectah Deck said, and in three cat-like bounds, he leapt 20 yards up to the tree limb and made quick work of freeing YDB. He brought him down to the ground in one fell swoop. 

“What happened, man?” GZA asked incredulously. 

“I, I was-” YDB started breathlessly.

“Meddling with the force field,” RZA said tersely. “Which is exactly what I told you not to do.” 

“They came- so quickly- 

“How many were there?” RZA asked. Scolding his nephew could wait. There were more urgent matters at hand. 

“Just two,” YDB said, steadying himself. 

Without a word, the Wu formed a V. U-God pressed a button on the inside of his pants pocket, and the brick walls on the side of the fortress opened in the shape of a V. The members of the Wu sprinted toward it and vaulted into the fortress. 

“Let me-” YDB started. 

“No,” RZA said, looking back. “You’ve done enough.”

The bricks returned to their resting spot, blocking a crestfallen YDB from RZA’s view.

Within an hour, the Wu scoured every inch of the fortress. Mysteriously, nothing was missing. 

“I don’t get it,” Masta Killa said. “Why break in at all?”

RZA looked at Rae. 

“You don’t think…,” Rae said.

RZA nodded. Without a word, they all dashed to the basement, only this time they knew where to look. 

Cappadonna and Method Man carefully removed the ancient Persian rug from the center of the room. Beneath it was a jack in the box in a hole in the ground. Cap reached down and pressed the button on the toy and jumped back. Out sprang the jack, higher and higher, until the coils rotated and the floor began to open. All nine members of the Wu-Tang Clan looked down as the floor came to a stop just before their feet. They looked down to see a large, shattered, empty glass case. 

They all looked at each other in astonishment. Then Meth jumped down to the case. There was a note. 

I have the Golden Record. If you ever want to see it again, you must bring $100 million to the Statue of Liberty at dusk next Friday. Do not deviate. If you do, you will find that your record will be a powerful source for artificial intelligence.

The Wu War Chest sat in easy chairs, Godfather style, and deliberated for hours over what to do. They knew they couldn’t trust the FBI with this matter. For all they knew, it could be the FBI. They also considered Martin Shkreli, but they knew it wasn’t his style. Pooling together all their cash, they could come up with the ransom money. But the Wu did not negotiate over their own music. Especially not the Golden Record, an ultra-secret album that was to be preserved for generations a thousand years from now to discover the power and unity of the Wu-Tang Clan. 

Finally, they came up with a plan in the wee small hours of the morning. 

“Meth, Deck,” RZA said. “Go to Virginia to speak to our CIA contact, Wilson. He’ll give you the latest on AI thefts.”

Deck yawned and rubbed his eyes. Method Man was half-asleep, mumbling his top five rappers.

“Deck, Deck, Deck, Deck, Deck, Deckdeckedeckdeckdeck….”

“Fellas!” RZA shouted. “Are you paying attention?”

Meth jerked awake. Deck looked up. 

“Sure,” he said. “You want us to go to Virginia about AI. We got it.” 

It was late at night as Meth and Deck crept through the backyard of a large house. Crickets could be heard nearby. 

“Man, why are we doing this right now?” Meth whispered. “What sense does it make?” 

“I don’t know,” Deck said. “But if it’ll get the record back, it’s worth doing.” 

Meth blew air out of his mouth.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “I just don’t feel right about this.”

“Me neither,” Deck said. “He’s my hero, too.” 

“You sure this his crib, man?” Meth asked. 

“Yeah I’m sure, man, c’mon!” Deck said. 

“This better be his house,” Meth said. “This better be this man’s house…”

“Oh, shoot,” Deck said, his eyes wide. “What’s that red dot on your head, man?” 

“Oh, shoot!” Meth said. “You got a red dot on your head, too!”

They looked at each other. 

“Oh, shoot.”

Suddenly, a 5-foot-10 man with cornrows and baggy jeans approached them pointing a laser pen. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “What are y’all doing at my crib?” 

“AI,” Meth said. “See, what had happened was…”

“We didn’t mean to disturb you, sir,” Deck said. “We just…”

Allen Iverson looked down at the crouched Wu-Tang duo with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. 

“I’m listenin’.”

“Well, someone stole something from us, and RZA said something about AI, and Virginia, and…,” as Deck spoke, his own misinterpretation dawned on him. “We’re so sorry, bro. This whole thing is a misunderstanding.” 

“Man, I’m back in my hometown for my mama’s birthday!” Iverson yelled. “I’ve been down with the W since the 7th Chamber, and y’all gon do me like this? Now ain’t this some mystery-of-chessboxin’-bull!” 

He said the last word, “bull,” just like Bernie Mac would have. Meth looked up at him sheepishly. 

“Man, we’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Me and Red’ll do a free concert for your son’s birthday. I promise.”

Iverson exhaled deeply. 

“I’mma hold you to it,” he said. “And RZA’s gonna hear about this.” 

“Understood, understood,” Deck said. 

“Now get off my property fo’ I break y’all ankles like I did Mike’s,” Iverson said. And with that, he stepped over Method Man with authority. 

Meth and Deck scrambled back to their car. Deck sucked in air, dialed RZA, and told him what had just happened. 

“I told y’all to go to Wilson in Langley, Virginia, to find out more about AI! Not to Newport News, Virginia, to kidnap Allen Iverson!” 

Suddenly, a large hand reached out of Deck’s phone and slapped him hard across the face. 

“Ow!” Deck yelled. 

“You’ve got to pay attention!” RZA yelled.

Meth, who’d had his head buried in his hands, looked up. 

“RZA slap?”

“RZA slap.”

Back at the fortress, GZA and RZA sat across from each other in RZA’s study. The door was shut. RZA leaned forward with his chin resting on his folded hands. 

“How is my nephew?” he asked.

“He’s OK,” GZA said. “A little shook, feeling guilty, but OK.” 

GZA paused for a moment before pressing forward with a pressing question. 

“You don’t think-”

“No,” RZA said flatly. “Ason’s son is reckless, but he’s not a traitor.” 

“Only 10 people in the world knew about the Golden Record,” GZA said. 

“I know,” RZA said. “But do you honestly think any one of our brothers would betray us?” 

GZA shook his head. 

“You know what this means?” GZA said.

RZA nodded. 

“It means,” he started. “We’re dealing with powers of AI unlike the world has ever seen.”

To be continued…