Aftermath
"What the hell was that?" Reese muttered, jumping to his feet. He grabbed his gun, motioning for the others to follow. They moved as one, a wave of adrenaline surging through them.
Killa was the first out the door, closely followed by Reese and the rest of the crew. The apartment building's hallway seemed to stretch on forever, every step echoing in the tight space. They burst out into the cool night air, scanning the area for any sign of trouble.
As the ran further down the block the scene that met them was straight out of a nightmare. Three bodies lay sprawled on the pavement, bathed in the harsh glow of a streetlamp. Blood pooled around them, soaking into the concrete. The slow, rhythmic wail of distant sirens began to rise, signaling the imminent arrival of the police.
"Damn...is that…." Killa said, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped closer, eyes wide with disbelief. "What the fuck happened?"
Reese's heart hammered in his chest. He dropped to his knees beside Cdai, the lifeless eyes of his friend staring up at him. "No, no, no," he muttered, shaking his head. "Fuck."
The others circled the bodies, faces pale and drawn. No one spoke; the shock was too profound, the reality too harsh to process.
"Yo, we gotta get outta here," one of them finally said, breaking the silence. "Police are gonna be all over this place."
Reese looked up, his face a mask of rage and grief. "Let's go," he said, his voice flat. "We can't be here when they show up." They moved quickly, retreating into the shadows.
As they vanished into the night, the first police cars screeched to a halt at the scene, lights flashing.
<>
Five hours later, the sun began to rise over Atlanta, casting a golden glow over the city. The crime scene was now swarming with activity. Police officers, detectives, and forensic teams combed through the area, documenting every piece of evidence.
A news van pulled up, and Jasmine Tate, a seasoned reporter, stepped out. Her face was set in a mask of professional concern as she adjusted her microphone and signaled to the cameraman to start filming.
"Good morning, Atlanta," she began, her voice calm but grave. "I'm Jasmine Tate, reporting live from the scene of what appears to be a brutal gang-related shooting that took place late last night."
The camera panned over the scene, capturing the yellow police tape, the scattered bullet casings, and the chalk outlines marking where the bodies had been found. The area was eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of city life beginning to stir.
"At approximately 2 AM, shots rang out in this normally quiet neighborhood, leaving three individuals dead," Jasmine continued. "The victims have been identified as known gang affiliates, raising concerns about a potential escalation in gang violence."
The screen cut to a photo of the first victim, Courtney Ealy, better known as Cdai. His mugshot stared back at the viewers.
"Courtney Ealy, also known as Cdai, was among those killed," Jasmine said. "Ealy was a well-known figure in the Chicago gang scene. His death is expected to have significant repercussions."
The camera then cut to an interview with the store clerk, a middle-aged man with graying hair and tired eyes.
"It was just another night," the clerk said, shaking his head. "They came in, bought some stuff, and left. Next thing I know, there's gunfire. It all happened so fast. I saw them drop right outside the door."
"Did you see who did it?" Jasmine asked, her voice gentle.
The clerk nodded. "Yeah, a car pulled up. Some guys jumped out, started shooting. It was chaos. I'm scared for my life, scared for the kids who live around here."
The camera panned to a young mother holding her child close. Her eyes were wide with fear, her voice trembling.
"This is a nightmare," she said. "My baby was crying all night. I don't feel safe anymore. What if they come back? What if we get caught in the crossfire?"
Next, the camera turned to an elderly man in a cowboy hat, his leathery face etched with deep lines of age and experience.
"Well, I'll tell ya what," he began, his voice a gravelly drawl. "This ain't nothin' new. Been seein' this kinda mess since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Damn gangs runnin' 'round like they own the place. But you know what I think? I think it's the damn government. They're behind all this, stirrin' up trouble to keep us distracted. Mark my words."
Jasmine, struggling to maintain her composure, asked, "Do you think the police will be able to get this under control?"
The old man scoffed. "Police? Hah! They couldn't find a needle in a haystack if it was stickin' outta their butts. And you know why? 'Cause they're in on it too. Whole system's corrupt. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could throw 'em."
Jasmine tried to steer the conversation back on track, but the old man was on a roll. "And another thing," he added, leaning closer to the camera. "All these folks runnin' around causin' trouble, it's 'cause they ain't got no respect for nothin'. Back in my day, we knew how to handle our business. Now it's just shoot first, ask questions never. It's a damn shame."
As Jasmine attempted to wrap up the interview, the old man dropped a bombshell. "I'll tell ya one more thing, missy. This country's goin' to hell in a handbasket, and it's all 'cause of those black folks who don't know their place. Always causin' trouble."
Jasmine's eyes widened in shock, and she quickly turned to the camera, her professional mask slipping for just a moment. "Okay... and on that note, let's take a break."
The camera cut to commercial, and Jasmine let out a sigh of relief. She turned to her crew, shaking her head. "Can you believe that guy? But we got what we needed. This story is going to be huge."
<>
At the crime scene, detectives combed through the details with care. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, and the hum of conversations mixed with the sound of cameras capturing every angle. Detective Harrison, a seasoned investigator with years of experience, had just arrived.
"Alright, what do we have here?" Harrison asked, glancing at the bloodstained pavement.
"Three victims, all shot multiple times with high-caliber weapons," Officer Rodriguez replied, flipping through his notes. "Cdai, real name Courtney Ealy, is one of them. The other we haven't been able to ID yet."
Harrison nodded, surveying the scene. "Any witnesses?"
Rodriguez pointed to the convenience store. "The clerk inside heard the shots and saw some figures fleeing the scene. He's pretty shaken up, but we got a statement."
"Let's talk to him," Harrison said, making his way to the store.
Inside, the clerk was sitting on a stool, a blanket draped over his shoulders. His hands trembled slightly as he recounted the events.
"I was just ringing them up," he said, his voice shaky. "Then, they walked out, and suddenly there were gunshots. I hit the deck and stayed down until it was quiet."
"Did you see the faces of who shot them?" Harrison asked.
The clerk shook his head. "No, it was all too fast."
"Anything else you remember? Anything at all?"
The clerk hesitated, then nodded. "There was an old sedan parked a few cars down. It looked like it couldn't go fast even if it tried. That's all I remember."
Harrison thanked the clerk and stepped outside, mulling over the information. The crime scene was chaotic, but there were no obvious leads. Surveillance cameras in the area had been checked, but the footage was grainy and inconclusive. The street was poorly lit, and the angles didn't capture much beyond fleeting shadows.
Back at the precinct, Harrison and his team poured over the evidence. They checked the weapons used, but none of them were registered. Ballistics matched the bullets to the guns, but tracing them to a specific owner proved impossible. They ran the serial numbers, but they had been filed off or were from stolen firearms, practically untracable.
"Speed cameras caught a few cars in the area," one of the techs reported, "but nothing definitive. The plates we can see don't match any in our database."
Harrison rubbed his temples, frustration mounting. "What about cell tower pings? Any luck there?"
"Not really," the tech replied. "Too many pings to narrow down, and none of them lead directly to our suspects."
The only lead they had was a witness who claimed to have seen a black Subaru in the area. But even that was tenuous at best. They tried to cross-reference it with known associates of Arell, but nothing concrete came up. Arell's car was seen arriving at his apartment complex parking lot before the murder and not leaving, a perfect alibi supported by camera footage. Every piece of evidence seemed to lead to a dead end.
The detectives continued their work, analyzing every detail, but it felt like chasing shadows.
Harrison stared at the crime board, filled with photos and notes, each lead crossed off. The frustration was palpable in the room.
"We're missing something," he said, pacing. "There has to be a connection we're not seeing."
"Maybe," Rodriguez replied, "but whoever did this covered their tracks well. We're not going to find anything unless they slip up."
Harrison sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Keep digging. Someone knows something, and we need to find them."
The days turned into nights as the detectives worked tirelessly, but every path they took seemed to circle back to nothing. The only glimmer of hope was a small lead—an informant who claimed to have seen something. But even that lead was fraught with complications and difficult to verify.
<>
Three days had passed since the incident, and Arell found himself sitting in a dimly lit church, staring blankly at the walls. The cool, quiet space contrasted sharply with the chaos that had overtaken his life. His mind replayed the events over and over—the gunshots, the lifeless bodies, the blood. He knew it had to be done. Kenny, someone he considered his own blood, had been shot. He repeated this to himself like a mantra, trying to justify the emptiness that gnawed at him.
The past few days had been a whirlwind. They had permanently moved into the mansion, deeming the apartment unsafe. The police were hot on their trail, investigating every detail of the shooting. Arell had heard rumors that they were asking about him specifically. But fortunately for him, Geoffrey existed. Geoffrey, with his planning and connections, made sure no evidence pointed back to Arell. From the guns to the car, they were all scrapped and shredded before being completely melted down at the scrapyard Geoffrey, owned? He wasn't completely sure.
On the brighter side, Kenny was okay. Besides a minor bullet wound to his leg, which luckily didn't hit any bone, he only had a bunch of grazes. It was his speed that saved his life. Arell found some solace in that.
Arell's thoughts drifted to his stats, a strange comfort in these chaotic times. His trip to Austin had significantly improved his skills:
Flow: 72 ----> 74
Voice: 74 ----> 75
Lyrics: 67 ------> 71
Production: 82
Performance: 69 -----> 74
Freestyle: 64 ------> 68
Songwriting: 68 ------> 73
With his system statuses, he was probably in the 80s for most skills already, and maybe his production was even in the 90s.
He had even received a reward from the system for his first kill—a fitting song structure called MO3 and Bobby Billions - Outside. He was currently recording the music video for it in the church, a place of sanctuary turned into a stage for his latest work. Everyone he knew was there, and even Sahbabii and his homies had pulled up for it, though they had just left.
The church was now empty, save for Arell. The silence was almost oppressive, pressing down on him as he sat alone with his thoughts. He couldn't shake the image of Cdai's lifeless eyes staring up at him, the moment of his death replaying endlessly in his mind. He felt a deep sense of emptiness, a hollow void where his anger and purpose had been.
As he sat there, the enormity of what he had done weighed heavily on him. He had taken a life, and while it had been necessary, it didn't make the act any easier to bear.
Arell's phone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. It was a text from Geoffrey.
Geoffrey: "We're wrapping up here. You good?"
Arell stared at the message for a moment before replying.
Arell: "Yeah, I'm good. Just needed a moment."
He put his phone away and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. The music video shoot had been intense, filled with raw emotion and energy. The song, was a fitting reflection of his life, his struggles, and his recent experiences. It was a powerful piece, and recording it in the church added a layer of gravity to the project.
As he stood up, he glanced around the church. The stained glass windows cast colorful patterns on the floor, and the pews were bathed in a soft, ethereal light. It was a major contrast to the darkness he felt inside.
He made his way to the front of the church, where the cameras and equipment were being packed up.
"How's it looking?" Arell asked, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.
Geoffrey looked up, his expression one of concern and understanding. "It's coming together nicely. This is going to be a powerful video, Arell."
Arell nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness, the sense that something was fundamentally broken inside him.
"Arell," Geoffrey said, his voice softer now. "You did what you had to do. Kenny is safe because of you."
"I know," Arell replied, though his tone lacked conviction. "I just... I don't know, man. It's a lot to process."
Geoffrey placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take your time. We're here for you. And remember, you have a purpose. Your music, your talent—it's bigger than all of this."
For a moment they both went silent before Geoffrey's voice filled the awkward gap. "The video turned out amazing, by the way. It's going to be a hit."
Arell managed a small smile. "Yeah, it did. I'm glad we could channel all this into something positive."
They talked for a while longer, discussing the next steps for the music video release and their plans to keep things under control. Arell still felt off, the images of that night playing on a loop in his mind, but knowing that the video was a success gave him a small sense of relief.
Later that night as he wandered through the mansion, his thoughts turned to Reese. He knew that Reese had put a bounty on his head, but fortunately, after being given that reward Arell had a lot of respect in Georgia. Only the most desperate would consider taking up the deal. A few had even tried to mark him, but Arell was never alone, in both ways.
Despite the constant threat, the news that Reese had left Atlanta brought a mix of relief and unease. The cops were hot on their trail, so it was expected that Reese would lay low for a while.