The sleek BMW slid into a parking space outside tropolis Studios, the engine purring to silence as Amias killed the ignition. For a mont, he sat still, taking in the imposing glass façade of the building—leagues beyond the modest setup at Westside where he'd been recording until now. This was where the stars ca to work. This was the big leagues.
He glanced at his phone, propped against the dashboard. The live chat was scrolling rapidly, viewers throwing up fire emojis and questions faster than he could read them.
"Alright, alright, I see you lot in the chat," he said, grinning at the cara. "Two hundred and sixty of you? Mad. Appreciate the support for real."
He scrolled through so comnts, responding to a few questions about his plans.
"Yeah, I'm at a studio right now. My cousin hooked it up." He didn't need to explain who this cousin was; most of his growing fanbase knew the connection to Central Cee. "And listen, big announcent—I'm doing a GRM Daily Duppy freestyle tomorrow. That's dropping before Redemption, alright?"
The chat exploded with excitent. Amias smiled, genuinely touched by the enthusiasm.
"Anyway, I gotta head in now. Catch you lot later, yeah?"
He ended the livestream, pocketed his phone, and stepped out into the crisp January air. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he approached the entrance. This was what he'd been working toward.
Inside, the reception area glead with polished surfaces and sleek furniture. A security guard directed him toward the elevator after checking his na against a list. As he rode up to the third floor, Amias closed his eyes briefly, centering himself.
The doors opened to reveal a long corridor lined with studio rooms. From behind one door, he could hear the muffled thump of a bass line; behind another, soone was laughing loudly. He followed the numbers until he reached Studio 3C. Before he could knock, the door swung open.
"There he is!" Oakley grinned, pulling him into a brief, tight hug. "Co through, fam."
The studio was everything Amias had imagined and more—state-of-the-art equipnt, acoustic paneling on the walls, a separate booth with a professional-grade mic setup. Several people were already there: Wyge lounging on a couch near the back wall, Zel, who was already here, fiddling with equipnt, Taz scrolling through his phone, and a couple of others Amias recognized as part of Oakley's regular crew.
"Ay, North in the building!" Taz called out, using the nickna so had started calling Amias by.
"Just Amias is fine," he replied with a slight smile, dropping his bag on a chair.
Zel crossed the room to greet him, dapping him up. "Bout ti you showed up. Been telling these man about what we've been cooking."
Over the next hour, Amias showcased the tracks he'd completed for his upcoming mixtape. The reaction was electric—heads bobbing, occasional shouts of approval when a particularly hard bar landed. By the ti he had finished recording GDP with Oakley, the studio was filled with outright disbelief.
"That's GBP, the price go up if it's USD
Better watch your words, I'll get you X'd 'bout the shit you tweet (on God)
I told lil' bro if it's personal, he better jump out and do it on feet
We got sothin' in common with scuba divers, why? 'Cause the guys in deep"
Oakley was shaking his head, a mixture of pride and competitive fire in his eyes. "Now I've got to step my ga up. Can't have my little cousin showing up like that."
By the ti they had a rough mix, the energy in the studio had shifted completely. What had started as Oakley doing his cousin a favor had transford into a genuine collaborative session between equals.
"This could be serious," one of the producers—LiTek—comnted as they listened to the playback for the fourth ti. "Like, chart serious."
"Speaking of," Oakley turned to Amias, "Zel was telling you're planning to drop a mixtape in February? You just started properly this month, yeah?"
Amias nodded, conscious of the eyes on him. "Got five tracks done already. Six with this one."
"That's basically an EP already," Taz pointed out. "And quality too, from what I've heard."
"You could easily hit UK Top 20 with the right push," A2Anti added, speaking up for the first ti. "Especially with a feature from Cench on there."
If it's anything less than top 3, I don't want it, Amias thought, though he kept that to himself.
"It's still missing sothing though," he said aloud, frowning slightly as he stared at the track listing on his phone.
The beats were hard. The lyrics were sharp. The flows were intricate. But there was an emptiness at the center of it all—a lack of soul that he couldn't quite define but could definitely feel. It was like looking at a perfect replica of a painting instead of the original; all the elents were there, but so essential quality had been lost.
Zel threw his hands up. "Here we go again with this. I've been hearing about this 'missing sothing' for days now."
"What do you an?" Oakley asked, curious.
Amias struggled to articulate the feeling that had been gnawing at him. "It's like... there's no spirit to it. Hard beats, catchy hooks, decent wordplay—it's all there technically. But it feels..." He gestured vaguely. "Hollow."
The room quieted, several faces showing confusion. LiTek shook his head.
"Sotis you just gotta trust the process, you know? Not everything needs to be revolutionary."
"Why don't you sing then?" Oakley suggested casually.
The room went still. Amias felt his chest tighten.
"What?" Zel asked, looking between them.
"Yeah," Wyge nodded, warming to the idea. "Add so lody."
"Amias can sing," Oakley explained to the confused faces around them. "Proper good too."
The words hit like a physical blow. Amias's hand moved unconsciously to the silver locket hanging around his neck, fingers closing around it tightly. The tal felt cold against his palm as mories surged unbidden.
—
He was nine years old, standing in the living room of their Texas ho. His mother was playing music on their old stereo system—Alicia Keys, "If I Ain't Got You." Her voice, though tired, was beautiful as she sang along, eyes closed as if transported sowhere far from the walls of the house.
"Co sing with , Ami," she said, holding out her hand to him.
He joined her hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. Their voices blended—hers rich and soulful, his high and clear but with surprising control for his age. Sothing about the harmonies they created seed to lift the weight from her shoulders. Tears ford in her eyes, but she was smiling—a real smile, not the strained one she wore most days.
"That's my boy," she whispered, pulling him close. "You got angel's wings in that voice."
The door crashed open, shattering the mont. Raymond Mars filled the doorway, his imposing fra tense with anger.
"Adrianna," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "What do you have my son doing?"
His mother's body stiffened. "We're just singing, Ray. He's got a beautiful voice—"
Raymond crossed the room in three quick strides, grabbing Amias by the throat, not hard enough to choke but firm enough to silence.
"Ain't you know you not supposed to be sounding like no woman?" His father's breath slled of whiskey and cigarettes as he bent down, face inches from Amias's. "Mars n don't sing like that. We don't whine and cry through music. You want to be soft, boy?"
"Ray, please—" His mother's plea was cut short as Raymond shoved her aside, his attention fixed on Amias as he unbuckled his belt.
"Need to teach you what it ans to be a man in this family."
The first lash caught him across the shoulder blades, a line of fire that stole his breath.
—
"No." Amias's voice cut through the studio, sharper than he'd intended. "I don't sing."
The abruptness of his refusal silenced the room. Oakley studied him, sothing like understanding flickering in his eyes.
"You sure, fam? Might be what's missing."
"I said no." Amias stood, needing suddenly to be anywhere else.
He strode out before anyone could respond, ignoring the confused glances exchanged behind him. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, forcing the mories back into their compartnt.
He wasn't that scared child anymore.
—
Two hours later, Amias and Zel were alone in the studio Oakley had arranged for them. The space was pristine, every piece of equipnt top-of-the-line. Under different circumstances, Amias would have been ecstatic, inspecting each item with ticulous attention. Now, he simply sat before the console, playing back their latest recording.
His own voice filled the room, confident and sharp over a hypnotic beat:
"These rappers fish for complints, I'm catchin' bodies
Chess not checkers, your move's sloppy
My flow tsunami, your shit droppy
Mind clear as vodka, yours foggy"
He nodded along, feeling the rhythm but still sensing that elusive missing elent.
"Word to my ancestors, I'm channelin' spirits
My pen bleeds truth, critics can't fear it
Took the long road, wouldn't steer it different
Every loss taught lessons, made more efficient"
"They sleepin' on like I'm a mattress
While I'm buildin' this brick by brick, what's your practice?"
Zel hit pause, spinning in his chair. "This is heat, bro. I don't know what more you're looking for."
Amias sighed. "Doesn't matter. But We need an engineer to mix this properly. Let talk to reception."
In the hallway, he approached the front desk where a young woman with high cheekbones and a warm smile sat organizing papers.
"Excuse ," he said, offering his most charming smile. "The studio we're in—we need an engineer if one's available."
She looked up, her professional deanor softening slightly as she t his gaze. "Let check what we have." She typed sothing into her computer, then nodded. "We've got soone free. I'll send them right over."
"Appreciate that," Amias replied, lingering a mont longer than necessary before heading back to the studio.
He and Zel were discussing potential changes for the mixtape when a knock ca at the door. Amias crossed the room and pulled it open, the casual greeting dying on his lips as he recognized the face staring back at him.
Jai. A na he didn't know in that mont but one he'd co to know soon after.
The sa Jai who had held a gun to his chest that night in the apartnt. The sa Jai whose finger had tightened on a trigger that, by so miracle of fate, had jamd at the crucial mont.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Amias' body tensed, ready to react if necessary, mind racing through potential scenarios. But Jai made no aggressive move, though his eyes widened slightly in what might have been recognition despite the mask Amias had worn that night.
Amias' hand twitched, muscle mory reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
"Uh, they sent ," he said, voice carefully neutral. "Heard you need a engineer."
Amias studied him for a long mont, mind racing. This could be a setup, revenge for Dyno. But Jai seed genuinely surprised to see him, and he was alone, apparently unard.
"Yeah," Amias finally said, stepping aside to let him in. "Co through."
The tension in the room was palpable as Jai set up at the console, though Zel, unaware of their history, chatted easily about the track they were working on. For twenty minutes, they worked in professional silence, Jai making adjustnts to levels and EQ while Amias watched his every move from the corner of his eye.
When Zel excused himself to use the bathroom, the atmosphere thickened even further.
Jai spoke first, his voice low. "Hey, you know, I'm not sure if I'm tweaking or sothing, but..." He hesitated, studying Amias's face. "Those eyes. I rember them."
Amias considered denying it, playing dumb. But what was the point? "It was ," he confird simply.
The simple confirmation hung in the air between them. Jai swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Cool, cool," he said, nodding too many tis. "Listen, I'm just here to work, you know? That's all."
"Okay," Amias replied, watchful still.
Jai's fingers hovered over the controls, then stilled. "Thank you," he said suddenly, not looking at Amias. "For not killing that day."
Amias raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.
"When the gun jamd," Jai continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. "You could have... but you didn't."
Sothing shifted in Amias then—not a softening exactly, but a willingness to listen rather than speak. He remained silent, watching as Jai struggled with what to say next.
Jai began to speak again, words spilling out as if he'd been holding them in for too long. "It's been rough, you know? Police questioning, nightmares. I still cry about my cousin sotis." His fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the console. "I know you weren't the one who killed him. That was the other guy."
Amias said nothing, simply allowing Jai the space to speak. It was strange, almost like a therapy session—Jai talking, Amias silent, the studio's soundproofed walls containing words that would never leave this room.
"To be honest," Jai continued, gaining montum now that the floodgates were open, "I do dislike you a lot. Now that I know for sure it's you. Do you have any idea how traumatized my brothers are? The youngest one still wakes up screaming. He was eight, man. Eight." He shook his head, fingers drumming nervously on the console. "That apartnt was our ho, you know? Now they're scared all the ti. We had to move. Cost money we didn't have."
The words poured out of him—grief, anger, fear, all the emotions he'd been carrying since that night clearly. Amias absorbed it all, neither defending himself nor apologizing. There was nothing to say that wouldn't ring hollow.
Jai spoke for several more minutes, describing the funeral planning, the family's grief, the constant fear that had followed them since that night. His voice rose and fell, anger giving way to sadness, then resignation.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Jai fell silent. He drew a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling.
"But," he said, voice steadier now, "you let live. When my gun jamd, you could have... but you didn't. That says sothing about your heart." He looked up, eting Amias's eyes directly. "You can't be that much of a bad person."
The words struck Amias with unexpected force. You can't be that much of a bad person. After everything—after Apannii, Ekane, Kevin, the naless man in the forest—here was soone who had every reason to hate him, yet saw sothing worth acknowledging.
It wasn't absolution. It wasn't even forgiveness. But it was sothing—a tiny crack in the armor of certainty he'd built around himself, the conviction that he was already beyond redemption.
Jai turned back to the console, adjusting so settings before playing back the track with his new mix. The sound was cleaner, the bass hitting harder, Amias's voice sitting perfectly in the pocket of the beat.
"Thanks," Amias said quietly.
Jai looked up, confused. "What?"
"For telling that."
Jai studied him for a mont, then nodded once, a small acknowledgnt passing between them—not friendship, not forgiveness exactly, but understanding.
The door opened as Zel returned, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. "This mix sounds proper now," he exclaid, hearing the playback. "You got skills, bruv."
As they continued working, Amias felt a reminder; that even in the darkest corners of London, even in the bloodiest chapters of his story, humanity could still surprise him.
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