Payday

Tyler sat in his apartment, scrolling through his phone, when the notification finally popped up. His heart raced as he opened the email. The subject line read: "Royalties Statement: Resurrection."

He clicked into it, eyes scanning the numbers. The first wave of earnings had come through—a substantial chunk of money. It wasn't a life-changing amount, but it was more than he'd ever seen in his life. For his cut, around 25% of the royalties, the figure sat at just over $10,000. His chest tightened with excitement.

"Yo, this is real," he whispered to himself, running a hand over his face. The grind was starting to pay off, and it felt surreal.

His phone buzzed again. It was a message from Jax: "Heard you got paid, bro. Might be time to think about movin' out that hood. Ain't gotta be much, just somethin' better. And maybe get yourself a laptop, too, somethin' you can use to work on tracks, marketing—build your brand. We gotta keep that momentum goin'."

Tyler read the message twice, letting Jax's words sink in. Moving out of his neighborhood had always felt like a distant dream, but now it was right there, within reach. He glanced around his apartment—the peeling walls, the broken blinds, the rough atmosphere outside. It wasn't just that the place was run-down; it was dangerous. He couldn't risk getting caught up in that old life again, especially not with Carlos and Rico lurking around.

Jax's advice was sound. A fresh start, a better spot where he could focus on his music without looking over his shoulder every five minutes. And a laptop? That was a no-brainer. He needed the tools to take his game to the next level.

Tyler typed a quick reply: "Yeah, I'm thinkin' 'bout it. Gonna check some spots out. You think we could hit the studio this weekend?"

Jax responded almost immediately: "Bet. Hit me up when you're ready."

Tyler tossed the phone onto his couch and leaned back, eyes closed. Things were moving fast, faster than he ever imagined. He had a little cash in his pocket now, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like his future was under his control.

Across town, music industry insiders buzzed over the latest news. "Resurrection" had officially debuted at No. 9 on the Top 100 chart. It was a meteoric rise for a relatively unknown artist and a new peak for Jax, especially with the mystery surrounding Tyler's identity.

In a sleek conference room, executives at a top music magazine were reviewing the chart.

"Who is this guy?" one exec asked, scrolling through his tablet. "No one seems to know much, but this track is killing it."

Another exec nodded in agreement. "No promo, no face—just pure talent. That's rare. Whatever's happening here, it's working. People are hooked."

They discussed the surge in streams, the viral nature of the song, and the massive online speculation about who the mysterious rapper might be. Tyler's anonymity was adding fuel to the fire, and it seemed like everyone in the industry wanted a piece of the action.

Tyler opened his eyes, thoughts still swirling about his future. He grabbed his phone and started browsing apartments, looking for something affordable but far enough away from his old stomping grounds. He wasn't trying to ball out just yet—he knew better than to blow his cash right away—but he wanted something safer, somewhere he could work on his music in peace.

He stumbled across a few decent listings. A small one-bedroom in a quieter part of Queens looked promising. Affordable, low-key, and far enough from Brooklyn that he wouldn't have to worry about running into old faces. He bookmarked the listing and decided he'd check it out soon.

But first, the laptop. He needed something powerful enough for music production. A few clicks later, he found the perfect setup—high-end specs, sleek design, and within his budget. He hit "Add to Cart" without hesitation, feeling a rush of excitement.

"New crib, new gear," he muttered to himself. "I'm really doing this."

His mind wandered back to "Resurrection." The video was already getting attention, and with the track climbing the charts, Tyler knew his next move had to be just as strategic. If the hype kept building, he'd have more eyes on him than ever before, which was both exciting and terrifying.

But there was still that nagging fear in the back of his mind. Rico, Carlos, the whole crew—they were out there, and they wouldn't miss a hit like "Resurrection." Sooner or later, someone from his past was bound to recognize him, even with all the precautions he'd taken to hide his face.

He had to stay low, stay smart. Moving out of the neighborhood was a good start, but he couldn't afford to slip up now.