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MidReal Story
Mafia Princess & The Gangster
Scenario:this story is in the year of 2021 los angeles about music and sex and profanity and nudity and strippers and gold diggers and cheating and drug dealing and adultery and ghetto and rap music and family and fights and murder and torture and racism and sexism and police and fame and gangs and slang and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 20 years old and i have tattoos on my arms and neck and legs and abdomen and i want to be a rich and famous rapper because and i am raised in the ghetto with gangs and drugs and prostitutes and i live with my sister munira abdi she is 14 years old and my parents my father abdinur abdi he is 38 years old and he is a store owner and my mother layla abdi she is 44 years old and she is a stay at home mother and my brother mahad abdi and he is 37 years old and we are a great family and i can rap really fast and
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Mohamed Abdi
He is a aspiring rapper in Los Angeles. He is ambitious, rebellious, and passionate. Mohamed grew up in a harsh ghetto environment with gangs, drugs, and violence. He harbors a deepseated grudge against his cousin Farax after a past confrontation. Despite owning a store with his father, he dreams of becoming a famous rapper. His relationships with his family members are complex; his sister Munira looks up to him, while his brother Mahad often clashes with him.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed's 38yearold father and a store owner in Los Angeles. He is pragmatic, protective, and stubborn. Abdinur operates the store as a business venture and provides a stable environment for his family compared to the chaotic gangridden streets they inhabit. He maintains a strict routine and expects loyalty from his children, especially after losing his left arm in a gang shootout years ago.
Farax
He is Mohamed's 25yearold cousin with ties to gangs. He is arrogant, aggressive, and entitled. Farax resents Mohamed for getting more attention than him as an aspiring rapper. Their past confrontation over a girl led to a lasting feud. His involvement with gangs and criminal activities makes him a potential threat to Mohamed's safety.
It was the year 2021, and I was living in Los Angeles.
I was 20 years old with tattoos all over my body: on my arms, neck, legs, and abdomen.
I loved music and sex, profanity, nudity, strippers, gold diggers, cheating, adultery, and infidelity.
I also loved rap music and wanted to become a rich and famous rapper.
I was born and raised in the ghetto with gang violence, drugs, and prostitutes.
I had a dream of becoming a rich man one day.
My name is Mohamed Abdi,’
I had a dream of becoming a famous rapper like Eminem and Snoop Dogg.
I could rap really fast, almost as fast as Twista or Machine Gun Kelly.
I knew I would become a famous rapper one day because I had the talent and flow.
I just needed someone to give me a chance to show the world what I could do.
I had been writing songs since I was 15 years old.
My dream was to become a rich and famous rapper so I could take my family out of the ghetto and give them a better life.
I had a 14-year-old sister named Munira Abdi who looked up to me as her big brother.
I grab my backpack and head downstairs.
My backpack contains my lyrics notebook and a bottle of water.
My sister Munira is watching TV on the couch.
She looks up at me as I walk by her.
"Where are you going, Mohamed?"
Munira asks me.
"I’m going to Club Inferno," I tell her.
"Can I come with you?"
Munira asks me.
"No, it’s too dangerous for you there," I tell her.
"But I want to come with you," Munira begs me.
"I’m sorry, but no," I tell her.
I walk out the door and lock it behind me.
The evening air is filled with the sounds of police sirens and thumping bass from passing cars.
I start walking down the street towards Club Inferno, which is six blocks away from my apartment building. As I walk, I see people hanging out on the corners, smoking weed and drinking liquor.
Some of them are selling drugs to passersby.
I keep my head down and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks like they might be trouble.
After a few minutes of walking, I arrive at Club Inferno.
The line to get in stretches around the block, but I don’t have to wait because I know the bouncer, Big Mike.
He’s a tall, muscular man with a shaved head and a thick beard.
He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says "Club Inferno" on it, along with a pair of tight jeans and combat boots.
Big Mike sees me approaching and waves me over to the front of the line.
"What’s up, Mohamed?" he asks me as I approach him.
"Not much, just here for the rap battle," I reply. "Cool. You know the drill. No fighting or causing trouble inside, or you’re outta here," Big Mike says to me as he pats me down for weapons before letting me into the club.
Inside Club Inferno, I push through the sweaty crowd of clubgoers, keeping my backpack close to my chest.
The bass from the speakers vibrates through my chest as I make my way to the sign-up table near the stage.
Rico, the battle coordinator, is sitting behind a table with a clipboard and pen in hand.
He looks up at me as I approach him.
"Yo, what’s up Mohamed?" he asks me.
"Not much, just here to sign up for the battle," I reply.
Rico checks my ID and adds my name to the list of competitors.
"You’re up next," he tells me.
I nod and walk over to the wall near the stage, where I lean against it and wait for my turn.
I pull out my notebook and flip through its pages one last time, mouthing the words to myself under my breath. The neon lights above the bar cast red shadows across the pages as I read over my lyrics one more time before putting it back into my backpack.
I zip it up and hand it to Rico when he calls my name.
"Hey, Mohamed," Rico leans in, lowering his voice. "Word is there's a talent scout from Atlantic Records in the crowd tonight."
My heart skips a beat as I glance around the room, trying to spot anyone who looks out of place.
I grip the microphone tightly as Rico introduces me and my opponent, Miguel Santos, to the restless crowd.
The stage lights blind me for a second, but I blink through them to get a good look at Miguel.
He's shorter than me, but he carries himself with confidence, his eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up his prey.
I bounce slightly to his rhythm, my mind already racing with how I'm gonna counterattack him.
I study his flow and delivery, looking for any weaknesses I can exploit.
The Atlantic Records scout could be anywhere in this dim club, watching and waiting for someone to blow their mind. When Miguel finishes, Rico points to me.
I plant my feet firmly on the worn wooden stage, feeling the vibrations of the bass through my sneakers.
The crowd's faces blur into darkness beyond the spotlight, but I can feel their anticipation like a palpable force.
I raise the mic to my lips, my fingers steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I take a deep breath and launch into my rap.
The crowd reacts instantly, laughter and cheers erupting from the sea of faces.
The crowd erupts into cheers once more, chanting my name over and over again.
Rico holds up his hands to quiet them down before announcing the winner.
"And the winner of this round is Mohamed!"
The crowd cheers again as Rico hands me the $500 prize money. I scan the crowd, looking for any sign of Riley Reynolds from Atlantic Records.
As I step off the stage, a tall woman with sleek black hair and a sharp suit approaches me.
"Impressive performance, Mohamed," she says, extending her hand.
"Thanks," I reply, shaking her hand, trying to keep my cool.
I stare at the glossy black business card in my trembling hand - "Victoria Chen, Talent Scout, Atlantic Records."
The morning after my victory, I wake up before dawn, still buzzing from the encounter with Victoria Chen.
I dress carefully, choosing a clean shirt and jeans that don't look too worn out.
I head out the door and catch the early bus to the city.
The ride is long, but I spend it clutching Victoria's business card and rehearsing what I'll say when I meet her.
As the bus pulls up to the towering glass building that houses Atlantic Records, my heart starts pounding in my chest.
I walk into the lobby and approach the front desk, where a receptionist greets me with a professional smile.
"Hi there, can I help you?"
"Yes," I say, trying to sound confident.
"I'm Mohamed. I have a meeting with Victoria Chen."
The receptionist checks her computer screen and nods.
"Ah yes. Ms. Chen is expecting you. Please take a seat over there and someone will come get you shortly."
I sit down in one of the plush chairs lining the lobby wall, fidgeting with my backpack straps as I wait.
A few minutes later, a woman in a crisp suit comes out from behind a set of double doors and calls my name.
"Mo-ha-med?" she says, pronouncing it wrong.
"That's me," I reply, standing up and following her through the doors into a long hallway lined with framed records and photos of famous musicians. We stop at a conference room door and she knocks softly before opening it for me.
Inside, Victoria Chen is sitting at a table with another man who looks like he must be the CEO or something.
He's got a suit on that probably costs more than everything I own put together.
"Ah Mohamed, thanks for coming," Victoria says, gesturing for me to take a seat across from them.
"No problem," I reply, trying to hide my nervousness as I sit down.
"So we wanted to talk to you about your performance last night," Victoria continues.
"We were really impressed with what we saw. You've got some serious talent."
"Thanks," I say again, nodding eagerly.
"We think you might have what it takes to make it big in this industry," the CEO says, leaning forward in his chair.
"But we need to see more. Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?"
I launch into my well-rehearsed speech about how I grew up listening to hip hop and always dreamed of becoming a rapper myself.
Victoria leans back, studying me intently.
"That's great, Mohamed, but what sets you apart from the rest?" she asks.
I pause, then say, "I write about real stories from my life—things people can relate to but don't always hear in mainstream music."
The CEO nods thoughtfully.
"I see. Well, we appreciate honesty. But can you show us what you're working with? Maybe do a quick freestyle?"
I hesitate for a moment, then stand up from my chair and clear my throat.
"Okay, sure," I say, launching into my fastest verse yet.
The words come out so quickly they almost blend together in a blur, my tongue moving faster than their ears can process.
I gesture with my hands as I rap, trying to convey the energy and emotion behind the lyrics.
When I finish, I'm slightly out of breath but feeling exhilarated.
Victoria and the CEO exchange glances before turning back to me.
"Well, that was certainly... fast," Victoria says, raising an eyebrow.
"I couldn't catch most of the words."
"Yeah, that's kind of the point," I reply with a grin.
"It's called speed-rapping. It's a style that's really popular right now."
The CEO nods thoughtfully.
The CEO leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he considers my response.
"I see," he says finally.
"Well, we appreciate your enthusiasm. But can you try again? Maybe slow it down a little bit this time?"
I sit back down, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath.
"This time I'll try to go slower."
I close my eyes and focus on the words flowing through my mind.
I start to rap again, this time at a slightly slower pace.
I enunciate each word carefully, making sure they can understand every line.
My voice rings out clear and strong in the conference room, echoing off the walls.
I talk about my friends back home, the ones who are still stuck in the gang life or addicted to drugs.
I talk about the struggles we face growing up poor and trying to make something of ourselves despite all the odds against us.
When I finish, Victoria nods thoughtfully and jots down some notes on her pad of paper.
The CEO leans forward in his chair, a look of interest on his face.
"That was much better," he says with a smile.
"I could actually make out what you were saying this time."
"Yeah, thanks," I reply, feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment. "So what do you think?" he asks Victoria, turning to her with a questioning expression on his face.
She looks up from her notes and nods slowly.
"I think we should give him a shot," she says finally.
"He's definitely got potential. And he's got a unique perspective that could bring something new to the table."
The CEO nods in agreement and stands up from his chair.
"Well then, Mohamed, it looks like we've got ourselves a deal," he says with a smile, extending his hand for me to shake.
"Welcome to Atlantic Records."
"Thanks," I reply, shaking his hand firmly as I stand up from my seat.
"I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," he replies confidently.
"Now let's get down to business. We'll need you to sign a contract outlining all the terms of your agreement with us. It's pretty standard stuff—just your basic recording deal."
He pulls out a thick stack of papers from a folder on the table and hands them over to me. "Just take your time reading through it and let us know if you have any questions or concerns," he says with a smile before walking out of the room with Victoria close behind him.
I sit back down at the table and begin flipping through the pages of the contract one by one.
It's mostly just legal jargon that doesn't make much sense to me, but there are a few parts that catch my eye.
"What's this about a 360 deal?" I ask, looking up at Victoria.
"It means we'll handle everything—recording, marketing, even merchandise," she explains.
"But it also means we take a percentage of all your earnings," the CEO adds, watching my reaction closely.
I grip the black pen in my sweaty hand, staring down at the thick contract on the polished conference table.
The CEO points to each signature line while Victoria stands behind him, arms crossed.
My eyes scan the pages one final time, lingering on the 360 deal clause that will give them control over my music, merchandise, and touring.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead as I lean forward in the leather chair.
With steady strokes, I sign "Mohamed Abdi" on each marked line, pushing aside doubts about giving up so much control.
