บท 110: Almost there
The studio's dim lighting cast a mellow glow over Arell and Leland as they leaned back in their chairs, the newly tweaked track pulsing through the high-end speakers. The bass rumbled through the room, each beat perfectly synchronized with the neon visualizer on the mixing board's screen.
Arell nodded his head to the rhythm, his eyes closed as he absorbed every nuance of the sound.
"Acid trips, ego death, I'm reborn like Phoenix
Gucci down to my socks, call me Medusa, I'm heinous
She ride my face like a throne, call that bitch my dental hygienist
I'm in Margiela kicks, steppin' on necks of these giants
Draco spit like Malfoy, leave 'em stupefied
Sippin' lean like it's holy water, I'm baptized in the purple
Diamonds dancin' on my chest, this ain't cubic zirconia, it's eternal
Bad bitch, ass fat, shake it like Parkinson's, she infernal
I'm off them beans, got more rings than Saturn, I'm universal
Psychedelic monarchy, I'm the king of this shit
Fuck on a thot, she melt like acid, I'm trippin'
Stacks to the ceiling, I'm dealin' with millions
They want my spot but can't stop my brilliance
Psychedelic monarchy, bow down to the wave
From rags to riches, now my life's a rave
They thought I was finished, but I'm infinite
Psychedelic monarchy, I'm livin' it
Smokin'' on that gas, exhaust like NASCAR
Fuck the law, outlaw, I''m Billy the Kid in fast cars
She want my kids, I give her Plan B in a Jar-Jar
Binks, I don''t think, just sink in the pink, bizarr
Balenciaga fit, I'm fitted like a glove in a bodysuit
She want the real thing, I gave her cubic zirconia, that's my substitute
I'm off them hooms, seeing colors that ain't even been invented
My third eye open wider than them legs when she presented
K dot flow, conscious thoughts in a gangsta's body
Geoff taught me, now I'm teaching classes
They say I'm toxic, I say nah, I'm radioactive
Chernobyl dick, that pussy meltdown when I get active
Pain all in my eyes
'Bout to transcend my body
Nut on her chakras, tell that ho "Namaste"
Mili' in the bag, whole team eatin' today
I'm hot like Weezy, got flows for days, no sleep
Dollar signs in my dreams, I'm countin' sheep on a shoppin' spree
The swag cover my body like it's a disease, no vaccine
I'm in Dior pajamas, silk sheets, yeah, we live lavishly
Bad bitch, Medusa face, turn my opps to stone, I'm Persein'
Versace sheets, she spreadin' like a feast, I'm 'bout to dine in
Middle East, Far East, don't matter, I'm a beast
Worldwide Increased my peace, decreased my lease on life
Psychedelic monarchy, I'm the king of this shit
Fuck on a thot, she melt like acid, I'm trippin'
Stacks to the ceiling, I'm dealin' with millions
They want my spot but can't stop my brilliance
Psychedelic monarchy, bow down to the wave
From rags to riches, now my life's a rave
They thought I was finished, but I'm infinite."
As the final notes of the unfinished track faded into silence, Arell's eyes fluttered open, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He turned to Leland, who was leaning back in his chair, eyes still closed, savoring the lingering echoes of the beat.
"Yo, Lee," Arell said, his voice low and husky from hours of recording. "What you thinking?"
Leland opened his eyes slowly, as if emerging from a trance. He shook his head in disbelief, a look of awe etched across his features. "Damn, Arell. That flow... it's like you channeled A$AP Rocky himself. The way you rode that beat, switching up your cadence... it's unreal, bro."
Arell's grin widened. "For real? That's what I was going for. Rocky's been a huge influence for me you know. The way he weaves between conscious lyrics and street shit, all while keeping that psychedelic vibe..."
Leland nodded, reaching out to adjust a few knobs on the mixing board. The visualizer responded, its neon waves undulating in new patterns. "I can see why he's your favorite. You've got that same ability to float over a beat, man. It's like you're not even trying, just letting the music guide you."
"That's the secret," Arell chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. "When I'm in the booth, I just let go. It's like... Once I got shit written down and memorized I just start rapping. I'm not even thinking about the words. They just come at the right time."
The studio fell into a silence for a moment, both men lost in thought.
Leland broke the silence first. "You know what might be dope? We should leave some spaces in the track, just let the beat breathe for a bit. Maybe throw in some ethereal melodies in the background."
Arell's eyes lit up. "Yeah, yeah, I feel that. We could repeat that 'psychedelic monarchy' line in those spaces, let it echo out. Give it this haunting vibe, you know?"
"Exactly," Leland nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to the mixing board, his fingers dancing across the controls. "Like this?"
A new version of the beat filled the room, this time with moments of sparse instrumentation, allowing Arell's voice to hang in the air, ghostly and mesmerizing. The effect was hypnotic, adding a new layer of depth to the already complex track.
"Damn, Lee," Arell breathed, his head nodding unconsciously to the rhythm. "That's it right there. It's like... it's angelic and dark at the same time, you know? Like heaven and hell had a baby, and that baby grew up to be a badass rapper."
Leland laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Only you could come up with a description like that, man. Your mind... it's always working, always creating. I don't know how you do it."
"It's just natural I guess." With that response Leland simply hummed before turning back to continue editing the track, leaving Arell to his thoughts.
His mind wandered, grappling with the weight of his aspirations and doubts ashe watched Leland work his magic. He could have wrapped up production weeks ago, maybe even finished the whole thing in a month. But quality mattered. What good was putting out something that wasn't his absolute best?
The details of his current quest flashed through his mind:
Mission: To be the best.
Maximize Skills. Complete the Album. Billboard Success. Collaborate with Legends. Media Domination. Sell Out Shows.
The pressure to have at least nine songs finished for the album loomed large. But it wasn't just about meeting requirements. It was about creating something truly special, something that lived up to the name 'One of A Kind'.
Unbidden, memories of the Elvis experience flooded back. The raw energy of that final concert, the backstage insights, the weight of legacy - it had all left an indelible mark on Arell's psyche. He could still hear Priscilla Presley's words echoing in his mind: "Don't lose yourself in trying to be what others want. The world doesn't need another copy. It needs your unique voice."
Arell's fingers unconsciously tapped out a rhythm on the armrest. He knew people probably expected a trap vibe from him, something with a hood flavor. But no, he was determined to do something retro, something different. And he'd do it so damn well that people would have no choice but to love it.
His eyes flickered to the tablet displaying his current stats. The voice score wasn't budging, and he knew he needed to address that. A vocal coach, he mused. Something to look into after his trip to LA.
Arell's resolve hardened. He was going to build 'One Of A Kind' from intro to end, not just throw songs together. Every day, he'd keep pushing, keep learning, keep doing those system challenges. He'd get all his stats to at least 80, give himself the best possible start.
There was still so much work to do, but he was ready for it. It would all be worth it when he finally held that finished album in his hands.
<>
Kenny stood in the tunnel leading to the court, adrenaline already coursing through his veins. The roar of the crowd filtered down, a constant buzz of excitement that made his skin tingle. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, his mind racing through the scouting report on the Fort Wayne Mad Ants.
After their hard-fought victory against the Westchester Knicks, the Skyhawks had climbed to 24-22, now sitting comfortably in the 4th seed. Maine was still just ahead at 25-21, while Fort Wayne had slipped to 22-24. With four games left, including tonight's, they needed to keep the momentum going.
Coach Stevens' voice cut through Kenny's thoughts. "Alright, gentlemen. Remember what we talked about in practice. They like to push the pace, so we need to be ready to run with them. Kenny, you're starting tonight. I want you to set the tone early."
Kenny nodded, this was his first start since joining the team.
The starting lineups were announced, and Kenny felt a surge of pride as his name echoed through the arena. He bumped fists with his teammates, then settled into his stance for the opening tip.
The referee tossed the ball up, and the game was on. Kenny immediately felt the Mad Ants' pressure, their guards picking him up full court. But he was ready for it. With a quick crossover, he left his defender stumbling and pushed the ball up the court.
"Push the pace!" Coach Stevens' voice rang out from the sideline.
Kenny didn't need to be told twice. He flew down the court, his eyes scanning for opportunities. He spotted Tyrell breaking free on the wing and whipped a no-look pass through traffic. Tyrell caught it in stride and drained a three, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
As the first quarter wore on, Kenny found himself locked in a duel with the Mad Ants' point guard, Marcus Johnson. Johnson was quick, with a deadly pull-up jumper, but Kenny matched him step for step.
With two minutes left in the quarter, Kenny found himself isolated against Johnson at the top of the key. The crowd grew quiet, anticipating something special. Kenny started his dribble, slow and methodical, lulling Johnson into a false sense of security.
Then, in a burst of speed that left the crowd gasping, Kenny exploded to his right. Johnson reacted, but he was a split second too slow. Kenny crossed back to his left, the ball a blur between his legs. Johnson stumbled, his ankles seeming to give way as Kenny glided past him for an easy layup.
The arena erupted, and Kenny felt the momentum shift. By the end of the first quarter, the Skyhawks had built a 32-24 lead, with Kenny already notching 12 points and 6 assists.
As the game entered its final minutes in the last quarter, with the Skyhawks clinging to a slim 102-98 lead. The Mad Ants had made a late push, their shooters finally finding their range. But Kenny refused to let the game slip away.
With 30 seconds left on the clock, Kenny found himself with the ball at the top of the key, the shot clock winding down. The Mad Ants' defense was locked in, denying every passing lane. Kenny knew it was up to him.
He started his move, a series of crossovers that had his defender's head spinning. As the shot clock hit three, Kenny stepped back, creating just enough space. He rose up, the ball leaving his fingertips as the buzzer sounded.
The arena held its breath as the ball arced through the air. It seemed to hang there for an eternity before finally, mercifully, swishing through the net. The crowd exploded, and Kenny's teammates mobbed him as the Mad Ants called a desperate timeout.
When the final buzzer sounded, the Skyhawks had secured a 107-101 victory. Kenny's stat line, like every other game so far, was impressive: 27 points, 11 assists, 3 rebounds, and 6 steals. As he made his way off the court, exhausted but elated, he spotted a man in a suit making his way towards him. But before the man could reach him, two other figures intercepted Kenny's path.
"Kenny Valery?" one of them asked, flashing a badge. "Detectives Harrison and Rodriguez. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Kenny felt his heart rate spike, his post-game euphoria evaporating. "What's this about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Detective Harrison's eyes narrowed slightly. "We're investigating the shooting that occurred last month. We understand you were injured around the same time. We'd like to know if you have any information that might help our investigation."
Kenny's mind raced, memories of that night flashing through his head. "I've already told the police everything I know," he said, his voice tight.
"We've noticed Arell Rose has been attending your games," Detective Rodriguez chimed in. "You two are close, aren't you?"
Kenny felt a surge of irritation. He was tired, his body aching from the game, and now these detectives were prying into his personal life. "Look," he said, his voice cold, "I don't know anything about any shooting. And who I'm friends with is my business. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the locker room."
Without waiting for a response, Kenny brushed past the detectives, his jaw clenched. As he walk ed away, he could feel their eyes boring into his back, but he didn't turn around.
<>
So, patréon created
patréon: IAmSincere
You can get from this chapter up to 114, along with the first chap to my The Boys fic, and Edward's Legacy which I deleted off of Webnovel
Everything is free besides ctk and you can read the next chapter for $1
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