Almost There

The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty blinds, painting long rectangles of light across the cluttered studio floor. Arell finally cracked open one gritty eye, the harsh fluorescent light a rude awakening after his all-night composing marathon. His body ached like a poorly assembled IKEA chair, and his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup after someone spilled the milk.

He pushed himself out of the chair, wincing as his stiff joints protested. The sterile hallway greeted him with an unwelcome silence. The house, usually a cacophony of sounds – Malik's incessant video game chatter, Kenny's booming laugh – was eerily quiet.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a more immediate concern than the song he had yet to complete. He shuffled to the kitchen, the familiar space looking strangely foreign after hours spent lost in the sonic world of his creation. He rummaged through the cabinets, settling on a box of cereal and a jug of milk. Just as he poured himself a bowl, the back door creaked open and Malik swaggered in, a wide grin plastered across his face.

"Yo, sleepyhead! What time do you call this to wake up?" Malik boomed, his voice carrying the remnants of a wild night. He tossed his keys onto the counter, the metallic clink a jarring contrast to the quiet Arell had grown accustomed to.

Arell rubbed his eyes, trying to muster a smile to mask the fatigue etched on his face. "Uh, what's up bro. Rough night?"

Malik chuckled, throwing a crumpled dollar bill at Arell. "Rough? More like legendary! We ended up at this underground club downtown, DJ was fire, people were wild…some fire girls too…" he trailed off, noticing the bowl of cereal and the vacant look in Arell's eyes. "Dude, you alright? You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Arell sighed, a confession bubbling on his lips. "Actually," he began, hesitantly setting his spoon down, "I kind of… pulled an somewhat of an all-nighter."

 Malik's eyebrows shot up. "All-nighter? Doing what?"

Arell launched into a explanation, detailing his struggle with the beat, the creative breakthroughs, the exhaustion. Malik listened intently, an unusual seriousness settling on his face. He didn't interrupt, his usual playful jabs replaced by a quiet understanding. When Arell finished, a comfortable silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the clinking of spoons against cereal bowls.

"Damn, bro," Malik finally said, a hint of awe in his voice. "That sounds intense. But hey, you finished it, right? Let me hear this masterpiece that cost you a night's sleep."

Arell hesitated, a touch of self-doubt creeping in. "It's not exactly a masterpiece," he mumbled, "more like a… work in progress, so far I've only made the beat."

"Then let's hear the progress, man!" Malik insisted, a playful nudge sending a splash of milk onto the counter. "Come on, you can trust me. I might not understand all that music stuff, but I know a banger when I hear it."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Arell's lips. He navigated back to the studio, Malik trailing behind him like an eager puppy. The song pulsed through the speakers, the distorted rain drops mimicking the city's relentless heartbeat. The piano melody hung in the air like a mournful sigh, punctuated by the occasional haunting echo of a distant clap.

As the song progressed, Malik stood silent, his initial boisterousness replaced by a thoughtful frown. When the last note faded, he remained quiet for a moment, then turned to Arell, his eyes filled with respect.

"Man," he finally said, his voice low, "that's… wow. It's also kind of beautiful. You poured yourself into that, I can tell. You're actually pretty good at this music thing, this sounds like something I'd hear from Future."

A flicker of surprise danced across Arell's face. Malik's words, though simple, hit him with unexpected force. He hadn't expected such genuine praise, especially from his usually carefree friend. A blush crept up his neck, a stark contrast to the dark circles under his eyes.

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, attempting to deflect the compliment, "it's not finished yet. Just the beat and a rough idea for the melody. I still need to write the lyrics."

Malik waved his dismissive hand. "Lyrics shmyrics. This beat alone is sick, man. It's got this dark vibe, you know? Like a city at night, all wet and neon-lit. Kind of makes you feel something, you know what I mean?"

Arell stared at him, a warmth spreading through his chest. Malik might not be a music aficionado, but his words resonated deeply. "Yeah," he finally managed, a genuine smile breaking through his fatigue. "I know what you mean."

"See?" Malik grinned, clapping him on the shoulder with surprising force, sending another jolt of pain through Arell's aching muscles. "You got this, bro. Finish this song when Geoffrey gets back, polish it up, put it out on YouTube and boom, they'll be begging you to make more after this."

Arell chuckled, the sound rough around the edges. "Maybe," he conceded. "But first, I need some coffee. My brain feels like it's running on fumes."

Malik's grin widened. "Coffee it is, then! My treat. You chill out while I whip us up a pot strong enough to wake the dead."

"Sounds good, man," Arell replied, pushing himself out of his chair with a groan. Every muscle in his body protested, but the thought of caffeine spurred him forward. He followed Malik out of the studio, the silence of the house suddenly oppressive after the pounding rhythm of the song.

"So, where's Devon and Kenny?" Asked Arell, questioning the unusual absence of his roommates.

"Devon and Kenny?" Malik repeated, grabbing a mug and rinsing it under the faucet. "Those two are off doing their own thing, as usual."

"Doing their own thing, huh?" Arell raised an eyebrow, a sliver of curiosity sparking within him. "What kind of thing?"

Malik plopped a spoonful of coffee grounds into the filter, his movements casual. "Devon snagged some freelance coding gig this morning. Said something about needing money. Kenny, well," he shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye, "probably out hustling three-pointers at the local court. Knows there's a competition this weekend with a decent prize pot."

Arell blinked, surprised by Devon's initiative. Freelance coding wasn't exactly he'd expect Devon to know how to do. "Freelance coding, huh? Devon's getting resourceful."

"Yeah, seems like it," Malik agreed, pouring the hot water over the grounds. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air, a welcome assault on Arell's sleep-deprived senses.

"Though, knowing Devon, he probably bit off more than he can chew. But hey, that's Devon for you, always up for a challenge."

Malik slammed the carafe down on the burner, a satisfied grin on his face. He grabbed two mugs, filling them with the steaming liquid. He handed one to Arell, who clutched it gratefully.

"There you go, my friend," Malik said, his voice warm. "Drink up. We can figure out Devon's coding mess after a caffeine kick."

Arell took a long sip, the bitter liquid jolting him awake. The rich, dark roast was exactly what he needed to jump start his sluggish brain.

"Thanks, man," he mumbled, wiping a bit of coffee off his chin.

"Good," Malik grinned. "Now, since you're all set here, I'm going to hop on 2K. You know, unwind a bit."

Arell chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee. "2K, huh? You sure you're not just scared I'll whoop you again in Mario Kart?"

Malik feigned a look of outrage, clutching his chest dramatically. "Whoop me? Never! That last race was a fluke. Besides, 2K demand real skill, something you don't have."

Their usual banter felt comforting, a familiar routine in their strange reality. "Sure, Malik," he said, shaking his head with mock seriousness. "Maybe today is the day you become a virtual LeBron James. Just don't come crying to me when you get annihilated by a ten-year-old with lightning reflexes."

Malik chuckled, downing the rest of his coffee in a single gulp. "We'll see about that, maestro. But for now, I believe I have a date with a pixelated basketball.."

Malik exited the kitchen, the beeping of the PS4 greeting him from the living room moments later.

Arell who was now alone, turned his attention to the system, looking at the remaining time left on his quest

ACTIVE QUEST: 

Time Remaining: 4 Days, 19 Hours, 42 Minutes

Objective: Craft a track with a System score of 40 or higher within the next week.

Reward: Unlock a song structure from a future song made by a random artist

Penalty: System functions cease for a YEAR.

He glanced back at the empty coffee mug, "I hope Geoffrey gets back soon, I need his help to get that 40." Disappointment flickered across Arell's face as he stared at the empty coffee mug and the seemingly insurmountable quest timer. "Four days," he muttered, the weight of the deadline pressing down on him. "There's no way I can polish this alone and get a 40."

He returned to his studio, the familiar hum of the computer a comforting presence. Arell pulled up the project file, the blank lyrics track stared back at him, a vast emptiness begging to be filled. He snatched his worn notebook, its pages overflowing with discarded lines – the ghosts of failed attempts.

As hours passed, Arell stared at the blank space in his lyrics file, the cursor blinking mockingly. He reread the last line he'd written:

'They chase numbers and fame, an empty, hollow game'

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either. He crumpled a discarded piece of paper in his hand, the scribbled lyrics a testament to his creative struggle. "Come on, Arell," he muttered, "you can do this." He glanced back at the window where rain continued its relentless assault against it, the rhythm mirroring the anxious beat of his heart. The System's timer loomed over him, a digital guillotine counting down the seconds to his potential silence. Frustration gnawed at him, threatening to consume him.

Suddenly, the dark, atmospheric beat shifted in his headphones. A single piano note hung heavy in the air, echoing the hollowness he felt. He looked around the sterile studio, a stark contrast to the vibrant world outside. Loneliness, a familiar companion, settled in his gut, a cold, heavy weight.

Inspiration struck like a bolt of lightning. He grabbed his pen, the words flowing faster than he could write them down.

'Ocean waves crashin' outside, can't drown the noise in my head

Same damn thoughts on repeat, like a record left for dead

A hollow victory, a victory lap runnin' all alone

This pressure's got me tweakin', paranoia to the bone…

Sipping lean to numb the ache, no…, the drugs ain't helpin' none, lost in a world of expectations, where the party's never FUN,

Lost in a plastic world, where the real feels like a loan, Trapped in the System's matrix, but used to be stuck to that code,

touch my circle, my tribe, the ones who feel the same love for me? this Draco singin' soprano, leave your whole block in flames

Loyalty ain't for show, blood thicker than the fame

Spinnin' out of control, yeah, this world ain't the same. My head poundin' like a bassline, need some clarity to gain.'

The mention of his circle, his chosen family, ignited a protective spark within him. The frustration morphs into a fierce possessiveness, a willingness to defend his loved ones at all costs. This anger, fueled by loneliness and a yearning for connection, becomes the source of his inspiration as his pen scribbled across the page.

A jolt shot through Arell as a rhythmic rapping echoed from the studio door. Arell pushed himself back from the desk, the crumpled paper balls littering the floor a testament to his earlier frustration. He flung the door open, a wide grin splitting his face as he recognizes the person standing infront of him.

"Yo, Geoffrey! Took you long enough, man. I could use your help right now," Arell let out a sigh of relief before stepping aside to let Geoffrey in.

Geoffrey, ever the picture of composure, strutted into the room. His bald head gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, "Working on a song, huh?" Geoffrey raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "Malik mentioned something about you battling insomnia and writer's block in here all night. Did inspiration finally strike?"

Arell chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, something like that. Come, check this out."

He gestured towards the computer screen, where the unfinished song project pulsed with a dark, enticing energy. The rhythmic beat, punctuated by the occasional haunting echo, filled the room, creating an atmosphere that was both captivating and unsettling.

"This is… different," Geoffrey remarked, his initial amusement replaced by genuine interest. He pulled up a chair beside Arell, his gaze fixed on the screen. "It's got this raw energy, a kind of night club… intoxicated type of vibe.. Not the style I expected from you Arell."

"Yeah, I know," Arell admitted, a touch of pride coloring his voice. "It kind of poured out of me last night. But there's something missing. I've got the beat and a rough idea for the melody, but the lyrics are unfinished," He shifted in his seat as his bones ached. "I've got a verse down," he continued, "but the chorus… it's a black hole, swallowing up all my inspiration."

Geoffrey chuckled, the sound dispelling the tension in the air. "Black hole, huh? Those vocabulary exercises seem like they're working. But hey, even black holes have an event horizon, a point of no return. We're not there yet, my friend. We just need the right key to unlock this lyrical treasure chest."

Arell shoved the crumpled papers across the desk, their previous contents sacrificed in the relentless pursuit of a decent verse. Geoffrey scanned them briefly, a sympathetic smile playing on his lips.

"Not feeling the magic, huh?" he said, his voice gentle. "But hey, even the greats go through phases like this. Sometimes you have to sift through the trash to find the gold."

He picked up the paper with the most recent attempt, the one with "Ocean waves crashin' outside" scrawled across the top. A thoughtful frown creased his forehead as he mumbled the words to himself.

"Interesting opener," he finally said, looking up at Arell. "Sets the scene perfectly, this feeling of isolation, being trapped by your own thoughts. Sets a good theme for the chorus."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "There's a word, a concept. It's called 'spin', you know what it means, getting back for your crew, for your family, if someone messes with them. It's a powerful idea, a primal urge to protect those you love, since that's seems to be what you're going for...."

Arell's eyes narrowed, the frustration morphing into a steely resolve. "Build the chorus around it? Spin, huh? I like that."

"Yeah," Geoffrey said, nodding. "So let's build a chorus around that." he repeated

Arell leaned back in his chair, the familiar rhythm of the song pulsing through the studio. He closed his eyes, the image of his friends burning brightly in his mind. He pictured the city lights, then skyscrapers, clouds, all morphing into a battlefield, a place where he'd defend his circle at all costs.

The words began to flow, fueled by anger and a fierce love. He grabbed his pen, his hand a blur across the paper.

'For my brother I'm going gon' spin, yeah, get them racks and we gone win, yeah...

mhm, like, Spin the world, spin the world, spin the world....'

The repetitive phrase echoed in his head, morphing from a mantra of defiance

'retaliation ain't a phantom, Catch 'em slippin' thats my anthem, leave 'em drownin' in the static (Drown!) that boy get turn to a phantom'

He pictured those who would try to exploit or harm them, their faces dissolving into a faceless mass. His voice hardened in his mind as he imagined catching them off guard.

'This loyalty ain't for show, blood thicker than the automatic.....'

'Spin the world, spin the-'