Bab 1: 1. Heat Rises
The hum of the 3D printer filled the small, cluttered workshop, its rhythmic buzzing a sound Zee had grown accustomed to over the past few months. It was late—always late when she did this kind of work. The streets of Cockeysville were quieter at this hour, though the occasional low growl of a car engine or the distant sound of a siren reminded her she was never truly alone in this city. She sat back, watching as the printer slowly assembled another piece of her most valuable product: a Glock switch.
Zaria "Zee" Taylor wasn't your typical 19-year-old from the neighborhood. She was smarter than the streets had allowed her to be, sharp as a blade, with eyes that missed nothing. By day, she sold small bags of weed on the corners of Baltimore County, blending into the constant hum of hustlers and fiends. By night, however, she was something more—a tech hustler. Her real money, the secret she kept even from K-Boss, was made in the back of her cousin's run-down garage, where she used her skills to print and sell switches that turned semi-automatic Glocks into fully automatic monsters.
The first time she'd learned about 3D printing was during her last year of high school—before she dropped out. They'd had a tech lab with a single, shiny machine in the corner, the kind of expensive equipment meant for kids in better neighborhoods. But Zee had taken to it like a natural. While others messed around with phone cases or keychains, she'd read online forums, the dark kind, where she learned there was far more to print than toys. She wasn't sure when the idea to sell the switches had hit her, but once it did, she couldn't let it go.
She looked down at the newly printed piece. It was small, almost insignificant to anyone who didn't know what it could do. But for the right person, this little switch was a game-changer. For Zee, it was survival. She pulled the piece from the tray, inspecting it for imperfections, before tossing it into the padded bag she always carried. Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, and she glanced at the message.
K-Boss: "Where you at? You better be ready."
Zee smirked. K-Boss was always impatient. He didn't know about her side hustle, and that's how it had to stay. In the world of weed, there were rules. But in the gun game, there were no rules—only consequences. The less he knew, the safer both of them were. She replied quickly, tucking the phone away before slipping out of the garage.
As she locked the door behind her, the streets greeted her with their familiar embrace—a mix of danger and opportunity. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a dim glow over the worn-down row houses that lined the block. There were figures moving in the shadows, but Zee didn't pay them any mind. She knew her place in this world, and it wasn't cowering from anyone. She was a player now, even if no one knew it yet.
With her bag slung over her shoulder, she made her way down the street, her sneakers silent against the cracked pavement. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made her hand instinctively move toward the small pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She didn't like using it—didn't have to, usually. But the streets were changing. She could feel it. More heat, more eyes watching, and more whispers about raids. That's why the switch game was so dangerous. It wasn't just the Feds she had to worry about; it was everyone. K-Boss had ears everywhere, and if he found out about her side hustle, she'd have bigger problems than just a bad deal gone wrong.
The thought of him knowing sent a chill down her spine, but she shook it off. Tonight was just about business—weed business. The switches stayed quiet, just like always. She could keep them separated. She had to.
Ahead, the local spot loomed, a rundown corner store turned nightclub where the deals went down. Inside, the music was already thumping, loud enough to shake the windows. Zee pushed open the door, greeted by the familiar haze of cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap liquor. Faces turned as she entered, but she kept her head down, moving through the crowd like she belonged.
And she did belong. More than any of them knew.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone