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MidReal Story
Ghost
Scenario:this is in new york and its based on the starz drug dealing tv show power and this is a gangster and drug dealing and ambition and loyalty adultery and betrayal and deception story tells the story of mohamed abdi, i am 38 years old and i have dark skin and i have black dreadlocks hair and i am arrogant and opportunist and ambitionist and leading a double life as genius business man and gangster and drug kingpin and drug lord and intelligent, smooth yet ruthless drug dealer who goes by the alias of "Ghost." i wishes to leave the criminal world to pursue legitimate business interests as a nightclub owner. i aim to balance those two lives, while also avoiding police capture, trying to navigate my crumbling marriage and manage shifting economic alliances. and with my drug distributor best friend patrick anderson he and have been best friends since high childhood and we are like brothers he has light skin and blond hair and blue eyes and he is ruthless and has a short temper and and and i wear expensive suits to look like a business man to look like my public image mohamed abdi and i wear black colored clothes when i am ghost a ruthless intelligent genius drug dealer and drug lord and gangster and me and patrick learned and we were taught the drug game by our former drug lord malcolm jackson he has dark skin and he is 44 years old and i framed him for a murder because he wouldnt expand the drug business beyond queens in new york and i am married with a woman with dark skin named olivia abdi she is 34 years old and we have 3 dark skin children together named elijah abdi he is 15 years old and he wants to be a drug dealer and gangster like me and imani abdi elijahs 15 year old twin and maya abdi she is 13 years old and i met my high school crush and former girlfriend a asian woman named monica hoang and she is now a fbi Assistant United States Attorneys investigating drug crimes and she wants to put me and patrick in prison but she cant she is still in love with me
Create my version of this story
Mohamed Abdi
opportunistic, and ambitious. Mohamed has achieved success quickly with a thriving nightclub and a lucrative drug business. He leads a double life, juggling his criminal and legitimate endeavors while maintaining a marriage and avoiding law enforcement attention. His friendship with Patrick Anderson is crucial, sharing a common goal to expand the drug operation while navigating alliances and avoiding rival gangs.
Elijah Abdi
ambitious, and naive. Elijah idolizes Mohamed’s success as a drug dealer and desires to follow in his footsteps. His innocence often leads him into situations that put him at risk, such as interacting with other drug dealers. His desire to mimic his father creates conflict within the family.
Imani Abdi
conflicted, and detached. Imani struggles with feelings of betrayal after learning about her father’s drug dealing from a trusted uncle. Her relationship with Mohamed is strained as she grapples with her emotions and the impact of her father’s actions on her life.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, I am 38 years old, I have dark skin, black dreadlocks hair, I am arrogant, opportunist, ambitionist, leading a double life as genius businessman and gangster drug dealer in New York.
I wish to leave the criminal world to pursue legitimate business interests as a nightclub owner.
But I need to balance those two lives, while also avoiding police capture, trying to navigate my crumbling marriage, manage shifting economic alliances and avoid being killed by my enemies.
I am intelligent, smooth, ruthless drug dealer and drug lord and gangster.
I have been in the drug game for 15 years and I wish to expand beyond Queens in New York where I operate.
But my former drug boss Malcolm Jackson who taught me the drug game alongside my best friend Patrick Anderson refused to do so.
So I framed him for a murder and put him in prison to take over the drug business.
Patrick Anderson and I are from Queens in New York, we are childhood friends, we are like brothers, we share the same vision of becoming drug lords and drug kings in Queens.
We learned the drug game from our former drug boss Malcolm Jackson who is 44 years old and has dark skin.
We wish to expand the drug business but Malcolm Jackson refused to do so.
So I framed him for a murder and put him in prison to take over the drug business.
Patrick Anderson is my righthand man in the drug business, he shares equal responsibility with me for running the drug operation.
I am at the VIP balcony of my nightclub Truth in Queens.
I am wearing a tailored black Armani suit that accentuates my physique, and a silver diamond studded watch on my wrist.
I have a drink in my hand, but I am not drinking.
I am looking down at the crowd below.
The club is packed and loud music is playing.
The strobe lights are flashing to the rhythm of the music, making it hard to see.
But I can see the crowd below moving to the music and having fun.
My phone is buzzing with updates from my street crews across the boroughs.
But I ignore it and focus on the club.
Suddenly I see a familiar face in the crowd.
It's Monica Hoang, an Asian woman with dark hair and blue eyes, wearing a white dress that accentuates her figure, she is 36 years old, she looks stunning.
She is an FBI agent, an Assistant United States Attorneys investigating drug crimes, she wishes to put me and Patrick Anderson in prison for drug trafficking.
I remember our passionate days together when we were teenagers, we were in love and I wanted to spend my life with her. But then we got separated by circumstances, she went to college while I pursued my criminal career.
But now she's hunting for evidence against me.
Monica is walking towards me, her badge hidden behind her dress, but I can see the authority in her eyes as she questions my staff about my whereabouts.
My security guard comes up to me and whispers something in my ear, warning me that Monica is looking for me.
But I already know that; I can see it from where I'm standing.
"Monica," I say as she approaches, "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
"Neither did I, Mohamed," she replies, her voice steady but laced with tension. "But we both know this isn't just a social visit."
"Then let's cut to the chase," I respond, leaning in slightly. "What do you really want from me?"
Monica slips me her business card, her fingers grazing against mine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Our eyes meet, and the electricity from our high school days crackles between us.
Through the reflection in the VIP glass partition, I see my wife Olivia standing near the bar, her face hardening as she watches Monica and I interact.
Monica walks away, her perfume lingering behind her, and I tuck the card into my jacket pocket, pretending not to notice Olivia's growing anger.
Olivia abruptly leaves the club, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she heads toward the exit.
I lean against my office desk, the weight of Monica's business card burning a hole in my pocket as I watch the security footage from the club's cameras.
I know what she wants from me.
She wants to catch me, to prove that I am Ghost, the elusive drug lord and gangster who has been evading the authorities for years.
But I can't let that happen.
Not yet, not until I have secured my position as a legitimate businessman and drug lord.
I need to keep Ghost hidden from her, and I need to keep her close enough to monitor her movements without arousing her suspicion.
I pull out my phone and dial Patrick's number, my mind racing with a plan to keep Monica at bay.
"Patrick, we need to talk," I say as he answers.
"Monica was just at the club."
"What? What did she want?" he asks, his voice laced with tension. "She thinks I'm Ghost," I reply calmly.
"But she doesn't have any evidence yet."
"What do we do?" he asks.
"I want you to monitor her movements. Keep an eye on her without raising any suspicion."
"Okay," Patrick responds, his tone filled with determination.
"I'll take care of it."
I hang up the phone and turn back to the security footage, my mind racing with thoughts of how to keep Monica at bay.
I need to protect my identity and my drug business from her prying eyes.
Suddenly, there's a knock at my office door, breaking my concentration.
"Who is it?"
I call out.
"It's Elijah," a young voice responds through the door.
"I have something important to tell you."
Elijah is one of my sons; he is 15 years old and has dark skin, he wishes to follow in my footsteps and become a drug dealer and gangster like me. "What is it?"
I ask as Elijah enters the room.
"I just had an encounter with some guys from the Red Dragons," he says nervously.
"They were trying to intimidate us."
The Red Dragons are a rival gang that have been trying to encroach on our territory for months now.
They're led by a ruthless drug dealer named Marcus Thompson who would stop at nothing to gain control of our drug empire.
"I told them that we won't back down," Elijah continues, his voice filled with determination.
"We won't let them push us around."
"That was stupid," I growl, frustration coursing through my veins.
"You could have gotten yourself killed."
"But you always taught me that we need to stand up for ourselves," Elijah protests defiantly.
"I know, but you need to be careful," I say firmly.
"You're still young and inexperienced. You can't take on the Red Dragons alone."
Elijah looks down at his feet, shame written across his face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disobey you," he says quietly.
"It won't happen again."
I nod, my anger slowly subsiding.
"Good. Now get out of here and let me work."
Elijah nods and quickly exits the room, leaving me to my thoughts.
I pace back and forth in my penthouse office, the files from Monica's task force spread across my mahogany desk.
I've been studying them for hours, trying to find any information that could help me stay one step ahead of her.
My phone buzzes with a text from my corrupt NYPD contact, telling me that Monica's task force is planning a raid on a drug dealer in Brooklyn tonight.
I quickly text him back, asking him for more information about the raid and what they hope to find.
As I wait for his response, I walk over to the window and look out over the city.
The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the towering skyscrapers.
But even in the midst of this beauty, I can feel the danger lurking just beneath the surface. The FBI is closing in on me, and I need to be careful if I want to stay one step ahead of them.
My burner phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking through my thoughts.
I pull it out and see that it's Patrick calling.
"What's up?"
I ask as I answer.
"One of our street dealers got picked up by the task force," he responds urgently.
"They're taking him in for questioning."
I curse under my breath as I hear this news.
This could be disastrous for us if he cracks under pressure and tells them about our operation.
"I'll take care of it," I tell Patrick firmly.
"Just keep an eye on things from your end."
"Will do," he responds before hanging up.
I turn back to the window and look out at the city below, feeling a sense of unease wash over me.
The FBI is getting closer and closer, and it won't be long before they finally catch up with us. I look out through my office window at the unmarked FBI van parked across the street from Truth nightclub.
It's been there for days now, watching my every move as they try to gather evidence against me.
I pace back and forth in my office, my mind racing as I try to come up with a plan to throw them off my trail.
I've been over the security footage from our latest drug handoffs, trying to find any clues that could give away our identity.
But so far, I've found nothing.
Patrick's words echo through my mind - "They're moving product faster than expected."
I open my laptop and pull up the spreadsheets that track the sales territory and quotas for each of the gangs that work for us.
As I scroll through the numbers, I can see that Patrick was right - they are moving product at a rate that is higher than we anticipated.
I make a few quick calls to our warehouse managers, authorizing ten new shipments of drugs to be sent out for distribution.
This will help to ensure that the gangs continue to have enough product to meet their demand, and will also help to keep them busy and distracted from the FBI's surveillance. After I finish making the calls, I send a quick text to my police contact, updating him on what I know about Monica's task force.
He responds with some information about their plans for surveillance on Felipe Lobos, one of our most important drug distributors.
I quickly forward this information on to Patrick, then delete the entire message thread.
I look back out the window at the FBI van parked across from the club.
They're wasting their time sitting there watching me, but they won't find anything incriminating.
I get up and walk over to the mirror, adjusting my navy suit and tie.
I run a hand through my black dreadlocks, making sure they're perfectly in place.
I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the task at hand.
I walk out of my office and down the stairs to the main floor of Truth nightclub.
The club is bustling with people, the music pulsating through the air.
I nod to the security guards as I make my way to the bar.
I take a seat on one of the stools and look around, taking in the sights and sounds of the club.
The DJ is spinning a popular song, and the dance floor is packed with people dancing and having a good time.
I notice a group of three men sitting at the bar, dressed in cheap suits that scream "federal agent."
They're trying to blend in, but they stick out like sore thumbs.
I get up from my stool and walk over to them, smiling as I take a seat next to them. "What can I get you gentlemen?" asks the bartender, noticing that I've joined them at the bar.
"I'll have a gin and tonic," I respond.
"And for you?"
The bartender looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to order drinks for my new friends.
"I'll have a whiskey on the rocks," says one of them, smiling back at me.
"And another whiskey on the rocks," says another.
"Coming right up," says the bartender, nodding as he begins to pour their drinks.
As he does so, I turn to face them, smiling as I extend my hand in greeting.
"Hello there," I say smoothly.
"My name is Mohamed Abdi. And you gentlemen are?"
They look at each other nervously before one of them finally speaks up.
"We're here for business," he says gruffly.
"I'm afraid we can't disclose any more information than that."
I nod politely, smiling as I take a sip of my drink.
"I understand," I say smoothly.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, what brings you here tonight?"
They exchange nervous glances before one of them speaks up again. "We're looking for someone," he says curtly.
"But we can't reveal any more information than that."
I nod again, smiling as I finish my drink.
"Well then," I say smoothly, "I wish you gentlemen luck in your search. If there's anything else I can do to help you, please don't hesitate to ask."
"I see," I say, leaning back in my chair.
"And who is it that you're looking for?"
I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"We can't disclose that information," the man says again, his tone becoming even more curt.
"Well, I hope you find what you're looking for," I say politely, getting up from my chair.
"It was nice meeting you gentlemen. I have a business meeting that I need to attend to. If you'll excuse me."
I smile as I turn and walk away from them, leaving them sitting there looking like fish out of water.
As I make my way back to my office, I take a quick glance at the security feed on my phone.
The three men are still sitting at the bar, nursing their drinks and looking around the club.
They're clearly not used to being in a place like this, and they look completely out of place.
I chuckle to myself as I walk up the stairs to my office, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having successfully thrown them off my trail.
But as I enter my office and sit down at my desk, my phone buzzes with an incoming text from my corrupt NYPD contact.
I quickly open the message and read the contents. My eyes widen as I read through the text - Monica's task force is planning on raiding our storage facility in Queens tonight.
I quickly get up from my desk and walk over to the secure phone on the wall, activating it with a quick press of a button.
"Patrick," I say urgently into the phone once he answers.
"We have a problem."
"What is it?"
Patrick asks, his voice coming through clear over the secure line.
"The task force is planning on raiding our storage facility in Queens tonight," I respond quickly.
"We need to move all of our product out of there immediately."
"I'm on it," Patrick responds without hesitation.
"I'll get our guys on it right away."
"Good," I say as I look back out through the window at the FBI van parked across from the club.
"Keep me posted on your progress."
"Will do," Patrick responds before hanging up.
I quickly send an encrypted text to our warehouse crew, giving them instructions on what needs to be done and when we need it completed by.
I sit back in my chair, knowing that tonight will determine everything.
I sit across from Monica at the upscale Italian restaurant in Manhattan, both of us pretending that this is just a casual dinner between old friends.
The white tablecloth and dim lighting create an intimate atmosphere, but it's all just a facade.
We avoid talking about the investigation or my current activities, instead focusing on our shared past and what's been going on in our lives since we graduated from high school.
As we sip our wine and enjoy our meal, I notice that Monica is no longer wearing her wedding ring.
I make a mental note to ask her about it later.
My phone buzzes with updates about the warehouse move, but I ignore it for now.
I need to keep my focus on Monica and see if I can read any signals she might be sending me.
After we finish our main course, the waiter brings over dessert menus for us to consider.
I look over the options, trying to decide what to get.
As I do so, I catch Monica looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
She quickly looks away when she realizes I've caught her staring at me.
I smile to myself as I realize that she's still attracted to me, even though she's trying to deny it. "I think I'm going to have the tiramisu," I say as I hand my menu back to the waiter.
"And you?"
Monica asks as she looks over her own menu.
"I'll have the cannoli," she responds finally.
"Very well," the waiter says as he takes both of our menus and walks away.
I look back over at Monica, smiling as I take a sip of my wine.
She smiles back at me, but then quickly looks away again.
I can tell that she's still conflicted about seeing me again after all these years, but I also know that she can't deny the attraction between us.
I take another sip of my wine as I wait for Monica to say something.
Finally, she speaks up, breaking the silence between us.
"So," she says softly, "tell me more about what you've been up to since high school."
I set my glass down and smile at her as I begin to talk about my life since we graduated.
I tell her about how I went to college and studied business administration, then started working in finance after graduation. But as we continue talking, I can tell that Monica is starting to get more and more uncomfortable with our conversation.
She leans in, her voice barely above a whisper, "Mohamed, are you sure you're not in too deep?"
I lean back in my chair and look at her, smiling as I try to reassure her.
"I'm sure," I say confidently.
"I've got everything under control."
Monica looks at me skeptically, but she doesn't say anything else.
She leans back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on me.
I take a sip of my wine and then set my glass back down on the table.
I can tell that Monica is still unsure about me, but I know that she'll come around once she sees how successful I am.
I look across the table at Monica, smiling as I wait for her to say something else.
The waiter comes back over with our desserts and sets them down in front of us.
Monica looks up at him, smiling as she thanks him for bringing our food.
Then she looks back at me, her expression softening slightly.
"I'm glad we're able to catch up like this," she says softly.
"It's been too long since we last saw each other."
I smile back at her, feeling happy that she's finally starting to relax around me.
"Me too," I say as I take a bite of my tiramisu. Monica smiles again and takes a bite of her cannoli.
As we eat, the tension between us slowly starts to dissipate.
We continue talking and laughing together, enjoying each other's company like we used to when we were younger.
But as the night wears on, I can tell that Monica is still unsure about me.
She keeps looking over her shoulder, like she's worried that someone might be watching us.
I try to reassure her that everything is fine, but I can tell that she's still not convinced. My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Patrick, telling me that the warehouse move is almost complete.
I quickly type out a response and send it back to him before setting my phone down on the table again.
Monica notices what I'm doing and raises an eyebrow in my direction.
"What's going on?" she asks softly.
"Just checking on some business," I respond without looking up from my phone.
Monica nods, looking back down at her own phone.
The waiter comes over with the check and sets it down on the table in front of me.
I take a quick glance at it before reaching for my wallet.
As I do, my fingers brush against Monica's hand, causing her to tense up.
But she doesn't pull her hand away, instead letting it stay there under mine.
I look up at her, smiling as I feel a rush of electricity run through my body.
The dim lighting in the restaurant casts shadows across Monica's face, making her look even more beautiful than usual.
I lean forward, closing the distance between us.
Monica looks up at me, her eyes locked on mine.
I can see the fear and uncertainty in them, but there's something else there too - desire. I move my hand to cup Monica's face, feeling a sense of excitement wash over me.
Just as I'm about to lean in and kiss her, the waiter comes over with our check.
"Will you be needing anything else?" he asks as he sets the check down on the table again.
I shake my head, smiling at him as I reach for my wallet.
"No, thank you."
The waiter nods and turns to leave, but then stops and looks back at us again.
"You know," he says with a smile, "this table is reserved for someone else. Would you mind if we moved you to another one?"
I look at Monica and then back at the waiter, feeling a sense of disappointment wash over me.
"Sure," I say finally. The waiter smiles and leads us to another table in a different part of the restaurant.
As we sit down again, I can tell that Monica is relieved to be out of that intense moment with me.
She takes a deep breath and smiles nervously at me as she reaches for her glass of wine.
But then she freezes as she looks towards the entrance of the restaurant.
She glances quickly back towards me before turning her attention back to whatever caught her eye.
I follow her gaze and see two men standing near the entrance, both wearing black suits and sunglasses.
They look out of place among the other patrons of the restaurant, and I can tell that Monica has noticed them too. My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Patrick, telling me that there are police outside my house.
I quickly type out a response and send it back to him before setting my phone down again on the table.
I lean forward, keeping my voice low as I gesture towards the kitchen doors.
"Let's finish this conversation somewhere more private," I say softly.
Monica nods, her eyes still fixed on the two men in black suits.
They're both scanning the dining room, and I can tell that they're looking for someone.
I place several hundred-dollar bills on the table to cover our bill, then stand up and guide Monica out of the dining room with a light touch on her elbow.
We weave between tables as we make our way towards the kitchen, chatting casually as we go.
A busboy spots us and starts to object, but I slip him a hundred and he nods quickly towards the service corridor.
We make our way through the kitchen, dodging line cooks and waitstaff as we go.
The sounds of sizzling meat and clanging dishes fill the air, and the smell of spices and herbs hangs heavy over everything.
We make our way to the back door of the kitchen, which leads out into a dimly lit alley behind the restaurant.
I push the door open and step out into the alley, Monica following closely behind me.
As soon as we're outside, she pulls away from me, her eyes wide with fear.
"What's going on?" she asks softly.
I look back at her, trying to reassure her that everything is okay.
But before I can say anything else, three figures emerge from the shadows of the alleyway.
They're all wearing black hoodies and jeans, and they move with a sense of purpose that makes it clear they're not here for any good reason. Monica reaches for her gun, but I grab her wrist before she can pull it from her holster.
I know that gunfire would draw attention, and I don't want to risk anyone else getting caught in the crossfire.
The leader of the group steps forward, a smirk spreading across his face.
He's wearing a red bandana tied around his head, marking him as a member of the Red Dragons gang.
I know that they've been looking for an opportunity to expand their territory into Queens, and I have a feeling that they think Monica might be just the leverage they need to get what they want.
I keep my grip on Monica's wrist as I position myself between them.
"Long time no see, Alex," the leader says, his voice dripping with mock familiarity.
"Cut the crap, Marco," I reply, my voice steady but firm. "What do you want?"
Marco chuckles, glancing at Monica. "Just a little chat about your new business venture."
I keep my eyes locked on Marco, keeping Monica safely behind me.
The rest of the Red Dragons crew shifts nervously in the shadows, their eyes darting back and forth between us.
Monica's hand is still hovering near her gun, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice.
I take a step closer to Marco, adjusting my suit jacket as I do.
I want him to remember who he's dealing with.
"Patrick," I say quietly into my earpiece, "reach out to Victoria Richards and get her Pretty Poisons gang on standby."
Marco flinches slightly at the mention of redistributing his territory in the Lower East Side.
But before he can say anything else, two black SUVs pull up at both ends of the alleyway.
Victoria steps out of the driver's seat of one of them, her long legs clad in tight jeans and a fitted leather jacket.
The Red Dragons hesitate, their confidence waning as they realize they're outmatched.
