It had been two years since Masternever had entered the depths of the tunnels. Knowledge of the dark passageways and how to navigate them was imparted to him by fellow graffiti writers while he was still in high school.

On this evening, he ventured into the deep through the Brooklyn Bridge train station. It was 2:00 am and the station was silent. A hum emanated from the fluorescent station lights.

A clerk in a booth was half asleep and did not see Masternever as he hopped over the turnstile. With the exception of a homeless person who slept on a bench at the far end of the platform, the station platform was empty.

Masternever walked to the end of the train platform and peered into the darkness of the tunnel. He jumped off the platform, onto the tracks and reached into his bag for his flashlight. As he directed the light into the tunnel, there was a nothing but steel and concrete. He turned down the volume on his iPod and entered.

The steel of the tunnel was unforgiving and unpleasant. There were faded tags from great graff warriors, the almighty JA, the glorious hand of SKUF, the timely work of HOJO and the divine writing of JESUS SAVES.

He felt a gust of wind and realized that a train would soon pass on the opposite track. The steel beast flew past him and Masternever thought about where to stand if the train came on his side of the track. As he had been taught, he’d stand in between the steel columns that divided the tracks.

There was another gust of wind, this time, in front of him and as he peered into the depth of the tunnel, briefly illuminated by his light, he saw an oncoming train. He darted in between the column and waited for the giant gray machine to pass.

Masternever continued walking on the tracks. He used his flashlight to search for clues. There were familiar tags and dull concrete. He continued walking until he started seeing weird bright red lines. These lines darted in different directions. There was form and control, but a certain madness about the style.

He continued walking until he arrives at what looked like a subway platform. He shined the light on the abandoned station. He took time and admired the older rails, benches, and designs from generations ago. He then admired the graffiti writing and the number of writers who blessed the station with their presence. There was a short history of the city’s graffiti history in this station. He was overwhelmed by the artwork until he shined his flashlight on a sign that read WORTH STREET STATION.

He hopped up on the platform with excitement. He came to a large piece that I had written years ago. A small throw-up, in a bold red, yellow and white, surrounded by characters that he could not read, which announced my name.

“Majid,” said Masternever.

He searched the platform and there was nothing. He decided to check out the other side of the platform.

He crossed the tracks and hopped up onto the platform which was completely covered with my bold hand. There was a display of Forgotten Hand, mixed with other hand styles that I had developed over the years.

He noticed a door in the rear of the station. He walked close and shined the light. The door was covered in bright red and it had light emitting from the bottom and the sides. The writing of the scroll surrounded the door.

Masternever placed his hands on the doorknob. Upon touching it, a surge of energy rushed through him. He continued turning the knob. He knew that he was entering the domain of Majid.

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