Share
MidReal Story
I'm in Love with My Enemy
Scenario:this is in new york city a story about drug dealing and gangs and murder and suicide manipulation and lies and adultery and and schemes and police and british citizens and house invasions and sex and nudity and age difference and parties and drug use and alcohol use and fights and fight clubs and prostitutes and my name is mohamed abdi i am 34 years old have dark skin and i have muscular body with tattoos on my arms and legs and neck and back and abdomen and i have gold chains around my neck and i wear black leather jacket and bomber jacket and i am a intelligent book smart and street smart violent and crazy muscular mid level drug dealer and gangster with a cold heart with my gangster name ghost and i give gangs and drug dealer drugs to sell and i own a fight club named rage room with a cage in a warehouse with bets and seats and people fight for money and to release their anger and frustrations and there is a british female drug lord from london with a british accent named amara asaju and she is 40 years old and she has british men working for her and her business partner marcus williams he is 42 years old and he has dark skin and amara has a 19 year old daughter named imani asaju and she has dark skin and a belly button piercing and she has a british accent too and she goes to college in new york university and amara wants to take over the drug trade in new york which i control and run she is my enemy
Create my version of this story
Mohamed Abdi
He is a 34yearold drug dealer in New York City, with a reputation as "Ghost." He is intelligent, violent, and ruthless. Mohamed runs a drug empire and manipulates gangs to sell his product. He also owns a fight club called Rage Room, where people pay to fight for release. Mohamed is wary of new gangs and drug lords, including a British woman named Amara Asaju and her partner Marcus Williams. Mohamed's past includes an abusive father and a history of survival on streets.
Amara Asaju
She is a 40yearold British drug lord from London. She is cunning, ambitious, and manipulative. Amara has brought her operation to New York to take over the drug trade. She has a 19yearold daughter, Imani, attending New York University. Amara has a complicated relationship with Mohamed Abdi, marked by mutual distrust and competition. She aims to expand her empire while Marcus Williams provides strategic support. Her goal is to control New York's drug market.
Marcus Williams
He is Amara Asaju's 42yearold partner and strategic advisor. He is intelligent, charismatic, and ruthless. Marcus has a background in law enforcement before aligning with Amara Asaju to further his own interests. He assists in expanding Amara's drug operation in New York and strategizes expansion plans. Marcus handles business negotiations and security while Amara focuses on expanding the network. His past involvement in law enforcement gives him an insider's perspective on drug operations.
My name is Mohamed Abdi.
I am 34 years old.
I have dark skin and I am tall with a muscular body.
I have tattoos on my arms, legs, neck, back, and abdomen.
I have gold chains around my neck.
I always wear a black leather jacket and a bomber jacket over a white shirt and black pants with black boots.
I am an intelligent book-smart and street-smart violent and crazy drug lord and gangster.
My gangster name is Ghost.
I control some gangs and give them drugs to sell so they can make money for themselves and give me back my investment with interest.
I am the one who runs and controls the drug trade in New York City.
I have a fight club in a warehouse with a cage in it called Rage Room where people go to fight for money or just release their anger and frustrations; they pay to get in and sit to watch the fights while betting on the winner.
Anyone can fight there; men, women, or even teenagers with their parents' permission.
I also own a sex club where prostitutes work with different themes every night; naked, half-naked, or wearing sexy lingerie.
Anyone can come in by paying the entrance fee; men, women, or couples looking for some fun or just one-night stands.
I sit at my metal desk in the warehouse office, counting stacks of bills under the harsh fluorescent light.
The Brooklyn gang leader, Tyson, stands across from me, his gold tooth glinting as he shifts nervously.
After verifying the full fifty grand, I nod to my enforcer who brings in two duffel bags from the storage room.
Tyson unzips one, inspecting a brick of cocaine.
He runs a knife through it to check purity.
Satisfied, he zips up both bags while I write down the transaction in my ledger.
He shoulders the bags, keeping his eyes down respectfully.
Through the tinted windows, I watch his black SUV pull away from the warehouse.
The sweet smoke from my Cuban cigar fills the room as I flip through the leather-bound ledger, reviewing recent territory expansions.
My enforcer, Rico, stands by the door, hand resting on his holstered gun.
The Brownsville area has been profitable since Tyson started pushing our product there, but the Queens territory remains contested.
I tap my gold rings against the mahogany desk, calculating the manpower needed to secure those streets.
I decide it's time to make a move that will change everything.
I lean back in my leather chair, reading the encrypted text from my street contact.
The message is about a British woman making moves in my city.
She and her partner are setting up meetings with local dealers in Queens, offering higher quality product at lower prices.
Rico hands me a folder with surveillance photos.
They show a black Range Rover outside known drug spots.
I recognize one location as a spot Tyson's men have been pushing our product.
My jaw clenches as I examine the photos.
One shows the woman's face, her confident smirk as she steps out of the SUV.
I slam the folder down and grab my phone, dialing the number of my police contact.
We need intel on every British national who's entered New York in the last month.
I park my black Mercedes across from NYU's campus, watching Imani leave her morning class.
She walks to a coffee shop on the corner, unaware of my presence.
Through the window, I see her sit alone at a table, textbooks spread out while she sips a latte.
Her innocent routine confirms my suspicions - she has no clue about her mother's real business.
When she heads to the counter for a refill, I time my entrance perfectly, deliberately bumping into her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologize smoothly, introducing myself as Mohamed, a local business owner.
She smiles, her British accent catching my attention as she accepts my offer to buy her another coffee.
"So, Mohamed, what kind of business do you run around here?" she asks, curiosity piqued.
"Mostly import-export," I reply, keeping my tone casual, "but I'm always looking for new opportunities."
Her eyes narrow slightly, a hint of suspicion creeping in. "Import-export, huh? Sounds like it could be exciting."
Over coffee, I catch glimpses of her belly button piercing when she stretches, her crop top riding up.
She leans forward, her interest growing.
"So, Mohamed, how old are you?"
I pause, studying her face before answering.
"Thirty-four."
She holds my gaze for a moment longer than necessary before responding, "I'm nineteen."
Her British accent softens as she speaks, taking on a more intimate tone.
I know I should leave, but I stay, watching her play with her coffee cup.
Our conversation shifts from casual to flirtatious.
Her phone buzzes - a text from her mother - but she ignores it.
Instead, she slides her chair closer to mine, our legs touching under the table.
The tension between us is dangerous.
"I should get going," she says finally, "but maybe we can get dinner sometime?"
"Absolutely," I reply, knowing this connection could be the key to unraveling her mother's empire.
I meet Imani for dinner at a quiet Italian restaurant near her apartment.
We sit at a table by the window, and she tells me about her love for music.
When she leans forward, I catch a glimpse of her belly button piercing again.
The age gap between us doesn't bother me; it only adds to the thrill.
Our conversation turns flirtatious, with lingering looks and subtle touches.
I feel the sexual tension building as she laughs at my stories.
When she brushes her hand against mine, I know she feels it too.
We finish our meal, and I walk her to her apartment.
As she unlocks her door, I slip a tracking device into her purse, sealing my next move.
I pour two glasses of aged whiskey in my dimly lit office, the leather ledger open on my mahogany desk.
Roman, a rising lieutenant from Staten Island, sits across from me, counting stacks of hundred-dollar bills from tonight's collections.
The money smells like success - fifty thousand clean.
Roman's crew has been pushing our product effectively, doubling profits in three months.
He suggests taking the abandoned warehouses near the port, describing the weak security and corrupt dock workers.
I tap my gold rings against the glass, calculating the potential return while eyeing the territory maps on my wall.
"Let's make our move before anyone else gets the same idea."