Artist

You ain't gotta be Scooby Doo to know I'm keeping it cruel

Mask on, fuck it, mask off, either way you dying

Claiming you a stepper? I'm a whole staircase, stop lying

Heard he's feeling Reese-entful, can't Lil-ve with the fact

That I'm the main course and he's just a side snack

Tryna Chiraq my world, but can't break through my impact

300 reasons to fold, but I'm still holdin' aces, jack

Bags under my eyes deeper than the work I'm moving

Nine ounces got you ten years in the pen

Nine times out of ten, they ain't listening to the wind

Blowing whispers of wisdom, but tension's high in the streets

Nines come with extensions, making the peace obsolete

Sleep's a luxury tax, and I ain't even pursuing

M on his fitted, now he cappin' seven figures

But his pockets lookin' Casper, red beam the only glitter…."

Pharrell leaned back in his chair, nodding to the beat as he adjusted the levels, fine-tuning the mix. The track was raw, the kind of sound that could cut through the noise and make listeners sit up and take notice. Pharrell had been working closely with Arell on this one, shaping it into something special, something that would hit hard and stay with you long after the last note faded.

Arell sat across from him, his eyes focused on the screen as Pharrell made minor adjustments.

"Man, this track is something else," Pharrell said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "It's got that edge, that bite. You're really coming into your own with this one."

Arell gave a small smile, appreciating the compliment but still focused on the work.

Pharrell adjusted a knob, bringing the bass forward just a bit. The low-end rumbled through the speakers, adding weight to the track. "You can feel it in the music. It's raw, but polished at the same time."

"Sounds good," Arell nodded, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps. .

Pharrell leaned back in his chair, allowing the track to loop as he listened for any imperfections. "By the way, I appriciate you helping me with the soundtract for Hidden Figures. Really helped me speed up the whole proccess of it. Just know I'm making sure your name is credited on that sountract."

Arell chuckled. "It's the least I can do."

Pharrell smiled, pausing the track and swiveling his chair to face Arell. "Modesty, I like it. But it's also about evolution. You're not just an artist anymore; you're becoming something bigger. Branching out like this, the ability to adapt, it shows growth. And not just to the industry, but to yourself."

<>

The Florida sun blazed overhead, its heat almost tangible as Jahseh stepped out onto the balcony of the beachfront condo. The salt-tinged breeze ruffled his dreadlocks, he leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the horizon where azure sky met turquoise sea. The beauty of it all still felt surreal, like a mirage that might vanish if he blinked too hard.

This place - with its pristine white walls, gleaming marble countertops, and floor-to-ceiling windows - was a world away from the cramped, run-down apartment he'd called home for most of his life. He couldn't help but marvel at how quickly things had changed. Just a few months ago, he was another kid from the streets with a dream. Now, thanks to Arell, he was here, on the cusp of greatness.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke through his reverie. Jahseh tensed instinctively, old habits dying hard even in this Condo. He turned to see his mother, Cleopatra, joining him on the balcony, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand. Her eyes, so like his own, were wide with wonder as she took in the view.

"It's beautiful here," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of awe. "I never thought... I mean, look at this place, Jahseh. It's like something out of a movie."

Jahseh grunted noncommittally, unsure how to respond. The silence between them was heavy, laden with years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

Cleopatra took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what she was about to say. "I know things haven't been easy between us," she began, her voice hesitant but determined. "But I want you to know I'm proud of you, Jahseh. What you're doing with your music... it's incredible. You've always been talented, but this? Signing to a label… this is beyond anything I could have imagined for you."

Jahseh felt a flicker of warmth at her words, a small ember of the love and approval he'd craved for so long. But it was quickly doused by a flood of bitter memories - nights spent alone while she was out chasing her next high, the constant cycle of disappointment and broken promises.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice hard. "Where was that pride when I needed it? When I was struggling and you were too fucked up to even notice? Where was it when I was getting into fights at school, trying to defend myself because you couldn't be bothered to care?"

Cleopatra flinched as if she'd been slapped, her face crumpling with shame and regret. "I know," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I know I've made mistakes. More than I can count. I was... I was lost, Jahseh. The drugs, they took everything from me. My dignity, my self-respect... and worst of all, they took me away from you when you needed me most."

She set her glass down on the table, her hands shaking slightly. "But I'm trying, Jahseh. I'm clean now. Have been for months. I want to make things right between us. I know it won't be easy, and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I want to try. I want to be the mother you always deserved."

Jahseh laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that seemed to echo across the water. "Make things right? You can't just wave a magic wand and erase everything that happened. You weren't there for me when I needed you most. You chose drugs over your own son. Do you have any idea what that did to me? The things I had to do to survive?"

He turned to face her fully, his eyes blazing with anger and pain. "I was a kid, mom. A fucking kid. And I had to grow up fast because you couldn't get your shit together. You want to know why my music connects with people? Because it comes from a place of real pain. Pain that you caused."

Cleopatra's tears were flowing freely now, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. "I know," she said, her voice breaking. "And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. There's nothing I can say or do that will make up for the years I lost, for the pain I caused you. But you're my son, Jahseh. My blood. Can't we at least try to start over?"

Jahseh felt his resolve wavering. He'd built walls around his heart, fortifications to protect himself from further hurt. But seeing his mother like this - vulnerable, honest, trying - was starting to crack those defenses.

"I don't know if I can do that," he said, his voice softer now. "I don't know if I can trust you again. Every time I let you in before, you let me down. How do I know this time will be different?"

Cleopatra stepped closer, her hand hovering uncertainly before settling on his arm. "I understand," she said. "I know I have to earn your trust back. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I'm here now, Jahseh. And I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need - support, space, time - I'll give it to you. I just... I just want a chance to be your mother again."

Jahseh felt the walls he'd built around his heart begin to crumble. The anger was still there, the hurt too deep to simply vanish. But beneath it all was a desperate longing for the mother he'd never truly had, for the family he'd always wanted.

"I... I need time," he said finally. "This isn't something I can just get over overnight. There's too much history, too much pain. But... maybe we can try. Slowly."

Cleopatra nodded, hope flickering in her eyes. "Of course," she said. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready. And Jahseh? Thank you. For even considering giving me another chance. I know I don't deserve it, but I promise you, I won't waste it."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the crash of waves below providing a soothing backdrop to the tumultuous emotions swirling between them. The air felt lighter somehow, as if the first step towards healing had been taken.

Finally, Jahseh glanced at his watch and sighed. "I've got to head to the studio," he said. "Jarad and Stokely are waiting for me. We're working on some new tracks."

Cleopatra smiled softly, pride evident in her eyes. "Go," she said. "I'll be here when you get back."

As Jahseh grabbed his keys and headed for the door, he paused, turning back to his mother. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks. For trying. For being here now. It... it means something."

With that, he was gone, heading to the car he had bought from the label advance and leaving Cleopatra standing on the balcony. She watched her son's car pull away, she made a silent vow to herself. This time would be different. This time, she would be the mother Jahseh deserved.

Across Florida, in a modest apartment complex, Cochise sat cross-legged on the floor of his living room, his eyes closed in deep concentration. The steady thump of a metronome filled the air, its beat serving as the foundation for the vocal exercises he was working through.

"One and two and three and four," he chanted, his voice rising and falling in cadence. "One and two and three and four."

He focused on his breath, on the way it flowed through his body, on the subtle shifts in his diaphragm as he vocalized.

From the couch, his brother Dexter watched on. He'd always known Cochise had talent, but seeing him like this – focused, determined, working tirelessly to hone his craft – was something else entirely.

"Man, you're really taking this seriously, huh?" Dexter said as Cochise finished his set and opened his eyes.

Cochise grinned, reaching for a bottle of water. "You know it, bro," he said after taking a long drink. "This is our ticket out. I can't believe how lucky we got with this deal. I'm not about to waste this opportunity."

Dexter nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward on the couch. "For real. That 20k advance? That's life-changing money right there. I still can't believe it sometimes."

"And it's not just the money," Cochise added, his eyes shining with excitement. "The way they structured the deal, with the percentage and all the support... it's like they actually want me to succeed, you know? They're investing in me, not just trying to like play a nigga."

He stood up, stretching out his muscles after sitting for so long. "Bro, like the coaches the hooked me up with, fire, like they know they shit. It's crazy."

"Yeah, I feel you," Dexter said, shaking his head in wonder. "So what's next on your training regimen, superstar? You gonna start doing pushups with your tongue or something?"

Cochise laughed, reaching for a notebook filled with scribbled lyrics and flow patterns. "Nah, man. Gotta work on my breath control. Coach says if I can nail that, it'll take my delivery to the next level. Like sustaining long phrases and making sure every word hits with the same intensity, that type of shit."

He flipped open the notebook, showing Dexter pages filled with exercises and notes. "See these? They're like... tongue twisters on steroids. It's tough, but I can already feel the difference when I'm rapping."

As Cochise launched into another set of exercises, his voice twisting around complex phrases with increasing speed and clarity, Dexter watched in amazement. "I still can't believe how they found you, bro," he said when Cochise paused for a breath. "Post a few beats and songs on soundcloud, with barely any views and boom – you're signed to a label. It's like something out of a movie."

Cochise nodded, a look of gratitude and disbelief crossing his face. "I know, right? But that's why I gotta put in this work. They saw something in me, and I can't let them down. This is our shot, Dex. For all of us."

He sat down next to his brother, his expression turning serious. "You know, when Arell and Geoffrey first hit me up, I thought it was too good to be true. I mean, who offers a deal like that to some kid from Florida with barely anything going on? And truly I was just waiting for the catch"

Dexter nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Yeah, I remember. You were stressing hard about whether to sign or not."

"But they were so... genuine, you know?" Cochise continued. "They talked about building something long-term, about developing me as an artist. And when they brought up the coaching and the support... man, I knew this was different. They really believe in me."

He glanced around the apartment, taking in the modest surroundings. "And now look at us. We're not rich or anything, but we're comfortable. Mom can ease up on the two jobs. You're back in school. I'm in the studio every day. It's like... it's like we're finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, you know?"

Dexter reached out, clasping his brother's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, man. You've always had the talent. Now you've got the opportunity to show the world what you can do. Just don't forget about your little bro when you're famous, alright?"

Cochise laughed, pulling Dexter into a playful headlock. "As if I could forget your ugly mug. We're in this together, bro. Always have been, always will be."

Meanwhile, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Kentrell sat on the worn front steps of his grandmother's house, surrounded by his crew. The air was thick with humidity and anticipation, the atmosphere electric with possibility. The neighborhood around them was quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting to see what would unfold.

Kentrell had just finished recounting his meeting with Arell and Geoffrey, his words painting a picture of opportunity that seemed almost too good to be true.

"So what you thinking, Top?" Gee Money asked, leaning forward, his eyes intense. "You gonna do this? For real?"

Kentrell nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the people who'd been with him through everything. His crew, his family. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We doing this. This our chance to get out, to make something of ourselves. To build something real."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the group.

"But listen," Kentrell continued, his tone serious. "This ain't just about me. I told them straight up – if I eat, we all eat. So we gotta come correct. No more bullshit. We focusing on the music now, you feel me? This is our shot, and we can't afford to fuck it up."

Baby Joe nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You think they for real, though? I mean, we heard promises before, you know? What makes this different?"

Kentrell leaned back, considering the question. "It's different because of how they approached it, man. They didn't just throw money at me and expect me to sign. They talked about development, about building something long-term. And the deal they offered? It's fair. More than fair. They're taking a chance on us, but they're doing it the right way."

Heads nodded in agreement, the gravity of the what was said settling over them.

"So what's the move?" Gee Money asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

Kentrell pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over Arell's number. "We bout to make this official. But I need to know y'all are with me. All the way. This ain't gonna be easy. We gonna have to work harder than we ever have before. We gonna have to be smarter, more disciplined. But if we do this right? We can change everything. Not just for us, but for our families, for our hood."

He looked each of his friends in the eye, his gaze intense. "So I'm asking you now. Are you with me? 'Cause once we start this, there's no turning back, they done let me know, if shit goes left, it's all out the window."

A chorus of affirmations rang out, each member of the crew pledging their commitment.

With a deep breath, Kentrell hit the call button. The phone rang twice before Arell's voice came through, clear and confident.

"Kentrell. Good to hear from you."

"Yeah, man. Listen, I've been thinking about what we talked about. Me and my people, we ready to do this. For real."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Arell spoke, his voice serious. "That's great to hear, Kentrell. But I need you to understand something. This isn't just a record deal. It's a commitment. To yourself, to your craft, to building something bigger than just you. Are you ready for that? Are you ready to put in the work, to make the tough choices?"

Kentrell looked around at his crew, at the determined faces of the people who'd been with him through everything. He thought about all they'd been through, all they'd survived. And he thought about the future they could build together.

"Yeah," he said, his voice firm and clear. "We ready. All of us. Whatever it takes, we gonna make this happen."

"Alright then," Arell said, and Kentrell could hear the smile in his voice. "Let's make it happen. I'll have Geoffrey draw up the paperwork."