@SantanDave ✓
This Amias kid is the truth. Raw talent, fresh perspective, and he's barely started. Rember where you heard it first.
The tweet appeared on multiple screens across London within minutes. Dave wasn't known for empty praise or casual endorsents. When he spoke, the UK music scene listened.
—
"Alright chat, alright, alright!" Shaq leaned back in his gaming chair, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the rapidly scrolling comnts on his stream. The familiar comfort of his recording space surrounded him—LED lights casting a purple glow across the room, shelves of sneakers lining the wall behind him, platinum YouTube plaques gleaming under the lights.
"Y'all really want to keep going with these UK rappers, huh?" He chuckled, adjusting his headphones. "I see you. Yesterday was fire though, can't even front."
The chat erupted with suggestions, nas flying by too fast to read them all. Shaq squinted at the screen, occasionally nodding as he recognized artists being ntioned.
NoLifeGang4L: REACT TO CENTRAL CEE
RapGod check out that new Amias Mars GRM freestyle
Vicky.05: the Amias one is crazy fr
TrapLordz: Amias Mars going crazy on that Daily Duppy
"Hold up, hold up. I keep seeing this Amias Mars na. Who is that?" Shaq leaned closer to his monitor, scrolling through comnts. "GRM Daily Duppy? Let see if I can pull that up."
He navigated to YouTube, typing "Amias Mars GRM Daily Duppy" into the search bar. The results loaded instantly, the top video showing a thumbnail of a young man in a white cap and black denim jacket.
"Damn, this dropped yesterday and already has 230K views? Chat, y'all on point with the recomndations." Shaq clicked on the video, then paused. "Before we start, who is this dude? He big in the UK?"
The chat flooded with responses:
Dr99: he's Central Cee's cousin
LordTrapperr: he's new but FIRE
YSLFsnnn: he's only 17 bro
MusHeader: just started but his song is climbing charts
"Only 17? And he's Central Cee's cousin?" Shaq raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "Alright, let's see what he's about. Y'all haven't steered wrong yet."
The video began playing, the familiar GRM Daily intro sequence flashing across the screen. As the cara focused on Amias, Shaq nodded approvingly.
"Nah he got the drip, I see you. Clean fit." Shaq comnted as the beat started. "That's a nice lody. Jazzy, I like that."
When Amias began his verse, Shaq's expression shifted to one of concentration, his head bobbing slightly with the rhythm.
"I couldn't sleep all night but my mum cos into my room like 'Morning son'" Amias rapped on screen.
"Hmm, okay, okay," Shaq nodded, settling in. "His flow is smooth."
As Amias continued with "Vision blurry, jersey still on from yesterday / Looked at the sun, seeing double, but I'm pushing away," Shaq's head bobbing intensified.
"I'm feeling this vibe. He's got good presence for a 17-year-old. Not doing too much, just letting the bars speak."
The chat continued scrolling:
Rlyst: wait for the beat switch bro
DrillKingz: his flow is crazy for a new artist
USA: he got that natural confidence
When Amias delivered the line "Streets been close to heart since I first learned to write," Shaq gave an appreciative "Mmm!"
"That's hard right there."
Shaq continued listening intently as Amias moved through his verse, occasionally nodding or giving short "yeah" responses to particularly good lines. When Amias reached the part about ti flying, Shaq suddenly hit pause.
"One minute you're broke, next minute you rise / One minute you've ti, next it's saying goodbye / One minute you breathe, next minute you die"
"Yo, chat, chat," Shaq leaned toward the cara, eyes wide. "That's facts right there. FACTS. There's a ti for everything, and ti waits for nobody. I've been at my lowest points thinking it would never end, and then boom—life changes. That's so real perspective from a 17-year-old."
The chat erupted in agreent:
QrCode: PREACH
Life101: that part hit different
ShhSeck: young man spitting wisdom
Shaq unpaused the video, continuing to listen as Amias spoke about ambition and estates.
"He sounds mature for his age, man. Not just in his voice, but what he's saying. There's substance here."
When Amias reached "Too many R.I.P.s, too young to go deaths / Estates breeding ambition but stealing last breaths," Shaq paused again.
"See, this is what I'm talking about."
As the first beat neared its conclusion, Shaq leaned forward in anticipation. "I see why y'all recomnded this. This kid is good."
When the beat switched, Shaq's eyes widened. "Oh? What's this? Beat switch?"
As Amias ca in with his harder flow and different accent, Shaq nearly jumped out of his chair. "WOAH! Hold up, hold up!" He paused the video imdiately. "What just happened? Did his whole accent just change? Where he from, chat?"
The chat exploded:
AmiAmiFan: he's from Texas originally
Mud: said on his stream he grew up in Texas before moving to UK
Ryst: that Texas influence coming through
"Texas? Now that makes sense. So he's bringing that Southern influence to the UK sound. That's different. I like that blend." Shaq unpaused, now fully engaged as Amias unleashed his faster flow.
"I'm spittin' fire / This must be House of the Dragons, I'm a Targaryen"
"Ayyyyy!" Shaq shouted, bobbing his head vigorously. "That's hard! That's HARD!"
"I don't deal with pussies, I'm not a veterinarian," Shaq burst out laughing.
"NAH, THAT'S CRAZY!" He replayed the line, shaking his head in appreciation.
The chat was going wild:
Bays: HE SNAPPED
Ienjoylongwalks: bro's flow is DIFFERENT
Lebronmyeverything: told you he was fire
As Amias continued with his verse, Shaq's reactions beca more animated, his head bobbing harder with each bar. When Amias hit the line about hunger, Shaq nodded emphatically.
"You can hear that hunger in his voice. That's what separates the ones who make it from the ones who don't."
When Amias rapped "I need peace of mind more than I need company, that's facts," Shaq paused again, leaning back in his chair.
"Listen chat, this right here? This is no cap. Swear to God. So many people can't stand being alone, can't stand their own thoughts. But peace of mind is worth more than surrounding yourself with people who drain your energy. Learn to enjoy your own company before you invite others in."
The chat responded with agreent:
Symon: 💯💯💯
Heaven: real talk Unc
Shaq unpaused, continuing to listen as Amias finished his verse. His reactions beca a mixture of appreciative nods, occasional "mmm"s, and enthusiastic "that's hard!" comnts when particularly impressive lines landed.
As the video concluded, Shaq leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head.
"WOOOOOW. Alright, Amias Mars. I see you!" He nodded, genuinely impressed. "That was heat from start to finish. The beat switch, the flow switch, the accent change—that's versatility right there. And he's only 17? Nah, he's got a bright future ahead of him."
Shaq turned his attention back to the chat, which was now flooded with positive reactions.
"What do y'all think? I might check out more of him. I'm definitely interested in seeing what else he's got."
The chat unanimously agreed, with nurous suggestions for other tracks to react to.
"Apparently he just started rapping this month? That's what so of y'all are saying?" Shaq looked incredulous. "If that's true, that's insane. Natural talent right there. So people just got it."
He scrolled through more comnts, nodding occasionally. "Yeah, I'll definitely keep an eye on him. Central Cee's cousin, huh? Talent runs in the family, no doubt."
Shaq stretched, cracking his knuckles as he considered what to react to next. "Alright chat, that was fire. Let see what else we got for today—"
His attention was suddenly pulled back to the screen as he noticed sothing. "Wait, soone's saying he's working in the studio with Ed Sheeran and he's signing to a imprint of Interscope Records? Is that true or y'all just making stuff up now?"
The chat responses were mixed, so confirming while others expressed surprise at the news.
"If that's true, that's a major look for soone so new. Shaq pulled out his phone, typing rapidly. "Let check if—"
"50 CENT!?"
—
In tropolis Studios, Oakley played Amias's freestyle for the fifth consecutive ti, the speakers vibrating with each bass hit. Wyge lounged on the worn leather couch, eyes closed, nodding along.
"That's gas," Oakley said, stopping the playback. "Cousin's gone and bodied that. Properly."
"Second beat's ntal," Wyge agreed, eyes still closed. "Could build sothing serious with that."
Oakley's fingers tapped against the console, already ntally constructing verses over the instruntal. Almost unconsciously, he mumbled, "How can I be homophobic, my bitch is gay..."
The line hung in the air, unexpected but instantly compelling. Wyge's eyes snapped open.
"Say that again?"
Oakley looked up, montarily confused. "What?"
"What you just said. The homophobic line."
"Oh." Oakley repeated it, this ti with more intention. "How can I be homophobic, my bitch is gay..."
Wyge sat forward, suddenly energized. "That's it. That's the hook right there."
Oakley considered it, then nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right."
He reached for his phone, making a note of the line. They'd been searching for the right angle for weeks. Sotis inspiration ca from the most unexpected places.
—
Across town, Tion Wayne leaned against the studio wall, arms crossed as he watched the GRM Daily video on his producer's phone. The second beat had captured his attention imdiately—hard-hitting, distinctive, with plenty of space for his aggressive flow.
"This could work with Russ," he said, referring to his frequent collaborator Russ Millions. They had Body ready to drop, but were already thinking ahead to the next potential hit.
"Kid's got talent too," his producer comnted. "Good ear for production."
Tion nodded absently, already picturing how he and Russ could transform the beat into sothing stadium-ready. He pulled out his own phone, navigating to Instagram and searching for Amias Mars.
The account appeared—still modest in followers but growing rapidly. Without hesitation, Tion tapped out a direct ssage:
Yo. Need to talk about that second beat from your freestyle. Let get it.
He hit send, then turned back to the mixing board. "Alright, let's get back to it."
—
Amias sat cross-legged on Oakley's leather couch, laptop balanced on his knees. The apartnt was quiet except for the occasional car passing on the street below. His phone buzzed beside him, and he glanced down to see a notification from the System:
Legend Path Quest Update: Receive recognition from at least three established industry icons (1/3 Completed)
The System had registered Dave's tweet as the first milestone on his path. A small satisfaction flickered through him, but his attention was already diverted by another ssage that had co through—this one from a number he didn't recognize.
(5:45) It's Sanchez. We found out Taiwo's been running his mouth to feds. So of the mandem want to spin on him. You in?
Amias stared at the text, irritation rising like bile in his throat. First, how had Sanchez even obtained his new number? He'd destroyed his previous phone there should be absolutely no one who he didn't want knowing his number aware of it. Second, what kind of idiot put plans for violence in a text ssage that could be subpoenaed?
With controlled anger, he typed back:
I'm a law-abiding citizen. I don't do those things. (5:46)
His thumb hovered over the block button before he tossed the phone aside entirely, returning to the PDF he'd been reading—a comprehensive history of English criminal organizations through the centuries. The interruption had broken his concentration, but it also crystallized sothing he'd been contemplating.
The streets were dead.
Not physically—they still existed, still teed with activity and danger and opportunity. But as a viable path forward? As a sustainable lifestyle? Dead. A graveyard of potential, littered with the bones of young n who'd believed the mythology.
Amias leaned back against the couch cushions, eyes unfocused as he considered the statistics and stories he'd been absorbing.
How many people genuinely made it out of gang life alive and not in prison? He ntally cataloged the rappers who'd co from that world. Lil Baby. Lil Durk. YNW lly. All of them with murders connected to their nas or their crews. All of them losing friends with sickening regularity.
Durk's situation was particularly telling—people signing to his label only to be killed days later. Old as hell and still in the hood acting like demons when they knew they weren't. It always ended the sa way.
Pop Smoke. XXXTentacion. JuiceWrld. How many artists signed to the sa labels had died shortly after their contracts were inked? After creating enough hit songs to generate labels millions in revenue.
How often did a "friend" or family mber do sothing suspicious right before tragedy struck?
Trust had beco a luxury Amias couldn't afford to distribute widely. His circle had shrunk dramatically in recent weeks, and even now, he questioned how many people he would genuinely entrust with his life. His mother, certainly. Zara, without question. Perhaps Oakley and Wyge, but even those were significant maybes.
He thought about the historical patterns—the old London gangs, the Krays and their contemporaries. The Arican mafia families. The Jewish organized cri syndicates of the early 20th century. None of them had happy endings. None of them produced old n dying peacefully in their sleep, surrounded by generations of prosperous descendants.
The newer iterations were even more dood. Drill rappers in New York, of all places—a city that solved nearly 80% of its homicides. People openly recording songs about murders in a surveillance state. It was madness.
If any of these artists weren't arrested by 2023, Amias reasoned, they were either lying about their activities or possessed a level of operational security that would make intelligence agencies envious. More likely the forr.
London wasn't much different. Caras everywhere. Cell tower data. Digital footprints impossible to erase. The old approach—intimidating witnesses, eliminating snitches—couldn't work when the evidence was technological, not human.
The streets were dead. Only dead people continued to live that life, spiritually if not yet physically. Young n walking and talking and breathing, but already corpses from the mont they chose that path.
Amias closed his laptop with a decisive click. The System had placed him in this unique position—a wealth of knowledge, skills developing at an accelerated rate, opportunities materializing that would typically require years of grinding.
He would be a fool to squander it chasing the sa old ghosts that had claid so many others and could have claid him many a ti.
His phone buzzed again. He ignored it, letting the silence of the apartnt envelop him like a protective cocoon.
The streets were dead, but Amias Mars was very much alive.
New short story, Basketball, Spur of Faith.
As always, there is one extra chapter on the discord.
I post one-shots on there and posted a football manager one today.
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