Tyler leaned against the alley's graffiti-covered brick wall of Brooklyn's South Side, his eyes scanning the dark street. His heart pounded as he checked his phone. "Yo, this shit better be legit man," he muttered, tucking the device into his pocket. He was waiting for Carlos, his so-called partner, to show up with the goods.
Carlos had just rolled into Brooklyn a few months ago, a new distributor looking to make a name for himself. Rumor had it he was from the West Coast, known for ruthless efficiency and a knack for staying under the radar. Tyler had been wary of him initially, but Carlos had quickly proven himself reliable—until now.
Carlos finally arrived, swaggering with his usual cocky grin. "Ty, my man. Ready to make some fucking bank?" he said, his voice dripping with confidence.
Tyler nodded, though unease gnawed at him. "Yeah, let's get this shit done," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but he brushed it aside. They had a deal to close, and he couldn't afford to back out now. This deal could make or break Tyler's standing in the game.
The deal was set to go down in a deserted warehouse on the outskirts of town. Tyler and Carlos arrived first, followed by the buyers—a rough-looking crew from Queens. They exchanged terse nods, and the atmosphere grew tense. Tyler kept his hand close to his waistband, where his gun was tucked.
"Got the cash?" Carlos asked, eyes narrowing at the buyer's leader.
"Yeah, right here," the leader replied, tossing a duffel bag onto the table. Carlos unzipped it, revealing stacks of bills.
"Show us the product," another buyer demanded.
Carlos pulled out a briefcase and opened it, revealing neatly packaged bags of high-quality cocaine. Tyler's heart pounded as the buyers inspected the goods. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, but a nagging feeling of dread lingered.
"Sorry, Ty. It's just business."
Before Tyler could react, shots rang out echoing through the alley like thunderclaps. Pain exploded in his chest, and he collapsed the world around him spinning into chaos, blood pooling beneath him. He dropped to his knees, the sounds of gunfire and sirens fading into darkness. As Tyler lay on the asphalt, he thought 'Maybe this was for the best' as he'd never have to face the shame of his failures.
Tyler woke up in a sterile hospital room, the harsh fluorescent lights stabbing at his eyes. Tubes and wires were attached to him, monitoring his vital signs. "What the hell?" he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
A nurse, a woman with kind eyes and a firm demeanor, bustled in, adjusting the IV drip connected to his arm. "You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Johnson," she said, checking the monitor beside his bed. "You were shot multiple times. It's a miracle you pulled through."
Tyler's eyes darted around the room, taking in the sterile environment. Machines beeped rhythmically, tracking his vital signs. He winced as the nurse adjusted the tubes and wires attached to him. "How long have I been here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Three days," she replied, noting something on her clipboard. "Your body's been through a lot, but you're stable now. Just try to get some rest."
As the nurse left, Tyler's eyes landed on his phone resting on the bedside table. A new app had installed itself, something called "Rapper's Resurrection." His brow furrowed. 'The fuck?' he thought, he didn't remember downloading it.
With shaking hands, he picked up the phone and opened the app. The screen flickered to life, displaying a message: "Welcome, Tyler. You've been given a second chance. Complete daily and milestone quests to become the greatest rapper of all time."
"This some kind of joke?" he muttered, scrolling through the app. It was filled with tasks and challenges, each one seemingly designed to push him towards a rap career.
A wave of paranoia washed over him. "Who the hell put this on my phone?" He scanned the room, half-expecting to find cameras watching his every move. His mind raced with possibilities. Was this some kind of trap? A setup by Carlos or another enemy?
Tyler's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse returning with a clipboard. "How are you feeling?" she asked, noting his tense expression.
"Better, I guess," he lied, trying to keep his composure. "Hey, can you tell me if anyone's been messing with my phone?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Your phone? No, it's been here since you were brought in. Why do you ask?"
Tyler forced a smile. "No reason. Just... curious."
As she left, Tyler stared at the app again. Something about it intrigued him, despite his paranoia. He navigated to the first quest: write a verse about your life.
'The fuck?'