That One Night

With the studio tidied up and their equipment safely stored away, Arell walked Maya out, Arell couldn't help but feel grateful for Maya's presence, knowing that their collaboration had yielded some truly remarkable results.

As they reached the door and Maya walked out, Arell paused, his gaze drifting over to the system screen. With a sense of anticipation, he checked his stat updates.

Rapper Stats

Flow: 61 ——>64

Voice: 68 ——> 69

Lyrics: 45 ——> 52

Production: 68 ——>71

Performance: 46

Freestyle: 42

Songwriting: 45 ——> 51

Arell's eyes widened in quiet surprise as he took in the updated stats on the screen. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he noted the significant improvements across the board. "Not bad," he murmured to himself.

Maya's influence had pushed him to explore new genres of rap and experiment with a variety of beats, ultimately leading to his most successful session yet.

As he stood there, Arell realized just how much he valued Maya's presence and expertise. He knew that he would need her more around in the future. She had mentioned the idea of him working on an album, and he couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in her suggestion but he also realized the importance of pacing himself.

With everything moving at such a rapid pace, Arell knew he needed to avoid burning out. As much as found himself falling in love with being in the studio and creating music, he also understood the value of taking breaks.

A faint smile crossed his lips as he considered the possibility of joining Kenny and Malik on their outings to clubs. While he wasn't as accustomed to the nightlife scene as they were, Arell recognized the importance of finding moments to unwind and relax outside of the studio.

He made a mental note to reach out to Kenny and Malik, suggesting the idea of tagging along with them on their next night out.

As Arell settled into the chair in the living room, he let out a sigh, his mind buzzing with thoughts and plans for the future. He knew there was still so much to do, so many avenues to explore in both his music career and beyond.

The idea of releasing his clothing brand weighed heavily on his mind. He understood the importance of getting it out into the world as soon as possible, capitalizing on his growing momentum and fanbase and the buzz reward he'd get from one of his quest.

Geoffrey's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of the distinction between being wealthy and merely being rich. Arell understood the importance of building a sustainable business empire alongside his music career, but he also grappled with the question of whether he truly wanted to be both a businessman and a rapper.

As Arell closed his eyes and let his thoughts swirl, memories from his childhood flooded his mind.

He remembered the days when he and his friends would play basketball on the cracked pavement, their laughter echoing through the streets.

Sighing, Arell recalled the nights when hunger gnawed at his stomach, when the fridge was empty, and bills went unpaid.

He thought back to the times when he had to resort to crimes just to put extra money in his pocket, the guilt gnawing at his conscience with each stolen dollar. It was a harsh reality of life in the hood, where the line between right and wrong blurred in the face of necessity.

As Arell's mind delved deeper into his memories, he thought back to the days when he used to roll with a large squad of people, a tight-knit group that roamed the streets of Chicago, living life on the edge. They would spend their days chilling on street corners, shooting hoops, and rolling dice.

His thoughts turned to a pivotal moment in his past, a moment that had changed the course of his life forever. It was the night they had planned to do a big robbery, a house near Beverly Hills.

Arell had been against it from the start, but as the pressure mounted and the allure of easy money beckoned, he found himself getting pulled deeper into the scheme, his resolve weakening with each passing moment.

<FlashBack >

A sleek black car rolled to a stop, its engine purring softly as it idled by the curb. Arell and a number of individuals emerged from the vehicle, a sense of tension hanging thick in the air. They were dressed in dark clothing, hoodies pulled tight over their heads, masks concealing their identities.

A sprawling mansion nestled in the outscirts of Beverly Hills stood before them.

Arell's heart pounded in his chest as they approached the perimeter of the property. The adrenaline surged through his veins, mingling with the weight of apprehension that settled in the pit of his stomach.

With a silent nod from their leader, the group sprang into action, scaling the fence with practiced ease.

As they reached the side of the house, Arell's pulse quickened, the gravity of their actions sinking in.

"We'll break through the back door," one of the hooded figures murmured, his voice muffled by the fabric of his mask.

Arell nodded in silent agreement as they made their way to the rear of the mansion. The night air hung heavy around them, the stillness broken only by the sound of their hurried footsteps.

The backyard lay silent and deserted, shrouded in darkness. Arell's senses were heightened, every sound magnified in the quiet of the night.

With a swift motion, one of the figures took a crowbar from beneath his hoodie and approached the door. Arell watched with bated breath as the metal collided with the wood, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night.

The door groaned in protest as it gave way, swinging open to reveal the darkened interior of the mansion beyond.

As they stepped inside, the air was thick with tension, Arell's senses were on high alert as they made their way through the shadows, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath their feet.

As they ventured further into the mansion, whispers of excitement filled the air. The group moved quickly, their eyes scanning the lavish surroundings for valuable items to seize.

"Damn, these niggas rich," one of them muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and greed.

With the flick of a switch, light flooded the room, illuminating the opulent furnishings that surrounded them.

Without hesitation, they began to move with purpose, their hands snatching up anything of value that caught their eye, televisions, jewelry, electronics, anything of value.

Arell's heart raced as he joined in the frenzy, his mind awash with a heady mix of exhilaration and guilt. He knew that what they were doing was wrong, but in that moment, the allure of easy money proved too powerful to resist.

As they rummaged through the mansion, their excitement palpable in the air, a hushed murmur broke out among the group. Arell's ears perked up, his senses sharpened by the sudden change in atmosphere.

"Yo, did you hear that?" one of them whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of their movements.

Arell's heart skipped a beat as he strained to listen, his instincts on high alert. Then, unmistakable footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Without a word, the group froze, their eyes wide with apprehension as they exchanged wary glances.

"We ain't alone," someone muttered, the tension in his voice thick with unease.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of a voice—a shaky, trembling voice that cut through the stillness like a knife.

"Who's there?" A voice called out, the words laced with fear and confusion.

Arell's grip tightened around his gun as he exchanged a nervous glance with his companions.

With a shaky hand, one of them raised his gun, his movements jerky with nervous energy. "Come down here." he called out, his voice rough and commanding.

The air hung heavy with tension as they waited, their hearts pounding in their chests. Then, slowly, hesitantly, an elderly man appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched the banister for support.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion. "I-I don't have much, but you can take whatever you want. Just please don't hurt me."

Arell felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at the sight of the old man, his frail figure standing vulnerable before them.

"Get down here," one of his companions barked, his voice harsh and commanding. "I ain't gone ask again."

With slow, hesitant steps, the old man descended the stairs, his eyes never leaving the group before him. Arell watched him closely, his stomach churning with guilt and remorse.

The old man's quivering figure descended the staircase, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched onto the railing for support.

"What this old nigga even doing up?" one of Arell's companions muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with irritation as he continued to scour the room for valuables.

As the old man shuffled closer, his frail form illuminated by the dim light of the room, one of Arell's companions suddenly jerked in surprise. The old man had brought a knife with him, a gleaming blade clutched tightly in his trembling hand.

Before anyone could react, the old man let out a guttural cry and lunged forward, his movements fueled by desperation and fear. In a panic, one of Arell's companions raised his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger in a split-second reaction.

The deafening roar of gunfire filled the room as the gun unleashed a barrage of bullets, the sharp cracks echoing off the walls. The old man's body jerked violently as the bullets tore through him, blood spraying in all directions as he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The room erupted into chaos as the old man's screams pierced the air. Arell's heart hammered in his chest as he stumbled backward, his mind reeling from the sudden violence that had erupted around him.

In the dim light, the scene before him was a nightmare come to life—a pool of blood spreading across the carpet, the old man's body lying motionless. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of gunpowder.

Amidst the chaos and horror, Arell's companions recoiled in shock, their faces twisted in disbelief at the sudden turn of events.

"Tav, what the hell, dawg?" one of them shouted, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

Tav stuttered, his hands shaking as he tried to justify his actions. "He was coming at me, man," he mumbled, his words barely audible over the panicked shouts. "I-I had to..."

The room erupted into pandemonium as panic swept through their ranks like wildfire. Arell watched in horror as his companions scrambled in disarray, their voices rising in a chorus of fear and confusion.

But amidst the chaos, Arell's attention was drawn to the old man, his wheezing breaths echoing. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Arell realized that the old man was still alive, his frail form wracked with pain as he struggled to draw air into his lungs.

"Shit, he's still breathing!" one of Arell's companions exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Without hesitation, Arell and three others rushed to the old man's side, their movements swift and determined as they knelt beside him, their hands trembling as they tried to assess his injuries.

"Yo, we gotta do something Arell!" one of them urged, his voice tinged with desperation.

Arell's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to help the old man, his heart pounding in his chest as he grappled with the enormity of the situation.

As they worked frantically to staunch the flow of blood and ease the old man's pain, Arell couldn't help but feel a profound sense of guilt wash over him.

In the background, amidst the frantic attempts to aid the wounded man, voices clamored with urgency and fear.

"We gotta go, man!" one of Arell's companions shouted, his voice tinged with panic.

But Arell remained focused, his brow furrowed with determination as he directed one of the three individuals by his side to apply pressure to the man's neck, where blood oozed out in a steady stream.

"Kenny, keep pressure on that wound!" Arell commanded, his voice firm amidst the chaos.

The scene was a flurry of frantic movements as they struggled to stem the flow of blood and stabilize the old man's condition. But even as they worked, the urgency of their situation weighed heavily upon them.

In the background, the voices of those who sought to flee grew louder, their footsteps echoing through the mansion as they made their escape.

As the last of their companions vanished into the night, Arell and the others continued to work feverishly, their efforts fueled by a sense of desperation and guilt. But despite their best efforts, the old man's condition continued to deteriorate, his breathing growing shallow and labored with each passing moment.

With a heavy heart, Arell realized that their attempts to save the old man were in vain. The damage inflicted by the gunshot wounds was too severe, his frail body unable to withstand the trauma.

"We gotta go, Arell!" one of the individuals exclaimed, his voice urgent as he pulled Arell away from the old man's body.

Arell's heart pounded in his chest as he tore his gaze away from the scene, his mind racing with fear and adrenaline. With one last glance at the bloodied carpet, he stumbled after his companions, their footsteps echoing through the mansion as they made their frantic escape.

As they burst through the backdoor, Arell's senses were overwhelmed by the chaos of the night. The darkness enveloped them, broken only by the distant glow of streetlights and the flashing lights of approaching sirens.

With a surge of panic, Arell and the others sprinted across the backyard, their feet pounding against the soft earth as they raced towards the front of the mansion..

In the distance, the wail of sirens grew louder, sending shivers down Arell's spine.

As they rounded the corner of the mansion and jumped the fence, Arell's heart sank at the sight of the empty roadside. The sleek black car that had brought them here was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's the damn car?!" one of Arell's companions shouted, his voice tinged with panic.

As police cars screeched to a halt on the street nearby, Arell and his companions bolted off, their hearts pounding in their chests as they raced for cover. They darted between mansions, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they sought refuge from the approaching authorities.

With each passing moment, the sound of sirens grew louder, the flashing lights casting shadows on the manicured lawns. Arell's breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted alongside his companions, the urgency of their situation propelling them forward.

As they reached the next row of mansions, Arell glanced over his shoulder, his heart sinking at the sight of police officers emerging from their vehicles, their weapons drawn and their expressions grim. With a surge of panic, he knew they had to split up if they had any hope of escaping capture.

Without a word, Arell veered off in a different direction from his companions, his feet pounding against the pavement as he raced towards a nearby park. The darkness of the night enveloped him as he plunged into the dense foliage, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to the limit.

But the police were relentless, their footsteps echoing behind him as they closed in on his position. With a surge of desperation, Arell spotted a chain-link fence looming ahead, its metal bars glinting in the dim light of the moon.

With a burst of speed, Arell reached the fence, his muscles straining as he prepared to make the leap to the other side. But before he could clear the obstacle, a searing pain shot through his body as a jolt of electricity surged through him.

With a cry of shock and agony, Arell's muscles seized up, his body convulsing uncontrollably as he collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap. The world spun around him in a dizzying blur as darkness closed in, the chaotic events of the night fading into oblivion as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

<End Of Flashback>

As Arell sat on the couch, the weight of his memories pressing heavily upon him, he couldn't help but reflect on what had happened after that fateful night.

Kenny, Malik, and Devon had been caught by the police while trying to escape.

But despite the severity of the situation, Arell couldn't shake the feeling of relief that washed over him when he learned that they hadn't been charged with murder. The murder weapon lacked their fingerprints, which led to the police believing their claim of a different shooter.

As he mulled over the events that had unfolded, Arell couldn't help but wonder about the old man they had encountered that night. He hoped that somehow, against all odds, the man had managed to survive his injuries and find peace in the aftermath of their reckless actions.

But deep down, Arell knew that the scars of that night would linger long after the physical wounds had healed.

With a heavy sigh, Arell leaned back on the couch, his mind swirling with a tumult of emotions. He knew that he couldn't change the past, but he vowed to do everything in his power to make amends and forge a better future for himself and those around him.