"Good recommendation," he said to no one in particular as the car accelerated toward his home, toward his new chapter.
"Yo North!" Capari called from the front seat, twisting to look back at Amias with a wide grin. "Looking proper with them braids, cuz. You might actually pass for a rapper now."
The others in the car burst into laughter. One of them leaned forward, squinting at Amias in the dim light.
"Nah, nah, more like West Wee!" he shouted, setting off another round of cackles. "Little Central Cee in the backseat!"
Amias shook his head, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. Likely, they playing off Oakley's name—creating their own mocking versions for him.
"You man are too much." He chuckled.
"LIL West West!" Dyno chimed in, mimicking the rapper's signature call. The car filled with imitations, each more exaggerated than the last.
Dyno glanced in the rearview mirror. "For real though, the trim's clean. Proper look."
Amias ran his fingers over the braids, still getting used to the sensation. The pattern felt intricate beneath his touch, each braid following a deliberate path across his scalp. Shanelle had known exactly what she was doing.
As the jokes continued up front, Amias' mind drifted away from the banter. If he was really going to do this—this music thing—then he needed to be serious about it. Not just recording tracks in his bedroom, but thinking bigger. What was it Shanelle had said? Treat it like a business, not a game.
For one, he needed a brand. A name that would stick. "North" wasn't bad, actually, even if it had started as a joke. Simple, directional, easy to remember. But he had a strong pull toward simply using his own name: Amias Mars.
Secondly, if he was going to build a brand, he'd need visuals—logos, cover art, a consistent aesthetic across platforms.
His marketing and branding stats were both scraping their way from the 50 mark. The two standing at 51/100 alike.
Fortunately, his business sense was astute. Though, he didn't need the system to know that. He didn't know any professional graphic designers but he did happen to have a friend who undertook a multitude of coursera provided marketing courses.
Zara.
She would know how to help with all things marketing and branding. She was always posting her graphic design projects on Instagram and he'd often wonder why she hadn't made the decision to begin selling her works, she was quite talented from his viewpoint. They were close and friendly enough to where she'd be willing to collaborate/work with him. He'd text her tomorrow, see if she was interested.
Then there was the money side. He'd need to set up accounts, a separate business email. Could he sell merch? Perhaps too early, but sowing could begin at the earliest point of sunrise, why not start now?
Why just merch? He'd seen other celebrities capitalize on their fame to create multi-million-dollar brands. Yeezy—Fenty. If he achieved a level of stardom comparable to the likes of Kanye and Rihanna why not have gotten his foot in the door from early.
But Ye and Riri? Maybe he was getting in over his head and the excitement of the day had sent his emotions to a riding high.
And what about publishing? He'd heard rappers talking about royalties, about owning their masters. He'd need to research all that, make sure he wasn't giving away his rights to the wrong people.
"Oi, North!" Capari's voice cut through his thoughts. "You deaf or what? I said are you ready for this video?"
Amias looked up, realizing the car had stopped. They were parked a few houses down from his building.
"Yeah," he said, refocusing. "I'm ready."
Capari studied him for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "That's what I want to hear. None of that hesitating shit from earlier. If you're in, be all in."
"I am," Amias replied, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. "Let's do this proper."
"That's my lil cuz," Capari grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're gonna go collect Jordan and Tyler. You go get changed—wear something sick. Meet us at Chicken Palace in twenty."
Amias nodded, climbing out of the Range Rover. The night air was cold against his face, but he barely felt it.
Inside his flat, he went straight to his room, bypassing the kitchen where his mother was washing dishes.
"Is that you, Amias?" she called.
"Yeah, Mum. Just changing quickly. Going out again."
"At this hour? It's a school night!"
"Important project," he replied, already digging through his wardrobe. "Won't be too late."
He heard her sigh but didn't wait for her response. Opening his wardrobe, he surveyed the options with a newfound critical eye.
Then his eyes fell on the pieces at the back of his wardrobe—the Italian leather jacket. The crisp white tee with the subtle embroidered detail. The vintage chain his mother had given him for his sixteenth birthday.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood before the mirror, satisfied with the result. The outfit wasn't flashy, but it had character—quality pieces combined with purpose. The jacket hung perfectly across his shoulders, the subtle pattern on the tee visible only when the light hit it just right. With his new braids, he looked transformed—older, more purposeful, like someone worth paying attention to.
His phone buzzed—a text from Jordan.
JORDAN: Tyler's nose looks proper busted. You sure about tonight?
AMIAS: We're doing this. Tell him to put some ice on it.
He pocketed his phone and headed out, calling goodbye to his mother as he left.
The walk to Chicken Palace took less than ten minutes. Through the windows, he could already see the group gathered around a table near the back—Capari, Dyno, the others from the car, plus Tyler, Jordan, and a skinny kid with an expensive-looking camera who must be Jordan's cousin.
The bell above the door jingled as he entered. Heads turned, and Jordan let out a low whistle.
"My man, got his hair braided for the first time innit," he called, gesturing to the empty seat they'd saved.
Amias slid into the chair, immediately turning his attention to Tyler. "How's the nose?"
Tyler touched the bridge gingerly. The swelling had gone down slightly, but the bruising was spreading, dark purple shadows forming beneath both eyes.
"Hurts like a bitch," he admitted. "But I'll live."
"Apanni did that?" Amias asked quietly.
Tyler nodded, his eyes darkening. "Wants twenty-five hundred by Saturday. Said he's coming for all of us if he doesn't get it."
They said so before but Amias absorbed this information silently with a critical mind. The debt to Apanii wasn't their problem directly—just his, but they all knew how things worked on the streets. If your boy owed, you owed. And MGZ wasn't the type to make empty threats.
"We'll figure it out," he said finally. "First, let's shoot this video."
Jordan's cousin leaned forward, extending his hand. "I'm Lexus. Jordan said you've got some heat."
"North," Capari interjected before Amias could respond. "That's what we're calling him now."
Amias shot him a irritated glare while Lexus raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.
"Alright, North," He continued before Amias could correct him, "I've scouted some locations nearby. Got a parking garage with good lighting, an alley with some interesting textures, and that abandoned office building on Marshall Street—the one with the broken windows on the third floor."
"The one with the security guard?" Jordan asked.
Lexus grinned. "He takes a smoke break every hour, like clockwork. 10:45, we'll have fifteen minutes to get in, shoot, and get out."
Amias glanced at his phone. 10:38. "We should get moving then."
Capari stood, dropping a twenty on the table for their drinks. "Let's roll. Got the track on a speaker?"
Lexus patted his backpack. "Portable JBL. We good."
They moved out into the night, a group of nine now, walking with purpose through streets they'd known all their lives. Amias could feel a change in the dynamic—the way the others were looking at him, treating him. Suddenly he wasn't just Capari's little cousin; he was an artist, and they were his crew
Lexus suddenly stopped, turning to Amias with a puzzled expression. "Wait, where's your bag?"
"My what?" Amias asked, confused.
"Your bag," Lexus repeated, gesturing vaguely. "With your fits?"
Amias stared blankly. "Fits?"
Lexus face-palmed, looking genuinely distressed. "You're not telling me you're going to do this in just one outfit?"
The group had stopped, all eyes now on Amias, who shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.
"I... didn't think about bringing more clothes," he admitted.
Lexus exchanged glances with Jordan, who shrugged apologetically. "Told you he's new to this."
"Bro," Lexus said, his voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief, "you can't shoot a proper video in just one look. We need variety, different scenes, different feels."
Amias felt his face heat up. Of course a real music video would need multiple outfits. He'd seen countless videos where artists changed looks between scenes. How had he not considered this?
"Well, we put some accessories on him," Jordan suggested. "Beanie, different jacket maybe?"
Lexus considered this, eyes narrowing as he studied Amias. "Yeah, could work. You got anything nearby? We're on a tight schedule."
"My flat's just a few minutes away," Amias said quickly. "I can grab some things."
"Make it quick," Capari instructed. "And grab something with style, yeah? This ain't some school project."
Amias nodded, already backing up. "Five minutes. Meet me outside."
The night air hit him as he jogged down the street, dodging past late-night pedestrians. His mind raced through his wardrobe options. What would look good on camera? What would complement the braids? What would make him look like a real artist, not just some kid playing dress-up?
He arrived at his building breathless, taking the stairs two at a time. Inside his flat, his mother called out like before, this time from the living room.
"Amias? Is that you?"
"Yeah, just grabbing something," he called back, already in his room, pulling open drawers.
He snatched a black beanie from his shelf, then hesitated at his wardrobe. His eyes fell on the Italian leather jacket with the golden horse emblem on the back—one he'd received from the Flacko Mode reward. It was easily the most expensive piece of clothing he owned, with its butter-soft leather and subtle detailing.
Next to it hung a dark red hoodie he'd bought last month but never worn. He grabbed both and stuffed them into a drawstring bag. Followed by a blur of others.
"Amias?" His mother appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her face. "What's the rush?"
"Project with the boys," he said, already heading for the door. "Don't wait up."
Before she could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Back on the street, the group was waiting, Lexus checking his watch impatiently.
"Got some options," Amias said, holding up the bag. "Where to first?"
Lexus nodded approvingly. "Well its better if we staked out the warehouse first. Good lighting, good vibe."
They moved as a unit, Capari and Dyno at the front, naturally taking point as the oldest. As they walked, Capari fell into step beside Amias.
"So what's the plan after this?" he asked, voice low enough that only Amias could hear.
"The plan?"
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8 advanced chapters
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