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MidReal Story
Mohammed Abdi
Scenario:this is in london england a uk drill story about fame and fights and police and guns and ghetto and love and strippers and nightclubs and rappers and celebrities and parties and awards and acting and friendships and interviews and diss tracks and racism and suicide and fashion and uk drill and fame and music industry and my name is mohamed abdi i am 18 years old i have dark skin and i am a new uk drill rapper and i make uk drill rap and my lyrics are about violence and drama and sexy women and drugs and gangs and money and what i have been through and i have tattoos on my legs and arms and torso and back and neck and torso and i have black braided cornrow hair and i wear black tracksuit with hoodie and track pants colored clothes and i wear gold and diamond chains around my neck to show everyone and i have 1 hoop earring on my right ear and i smoke weed and drink whiskey and i am best friends with a tattooed man with gold chains and watch and he is 21 years old and his name is malcolm edwards and he is my personal producer and dj malcolms producer nickname is meekz and he has dark skin
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Mohamed Abdi
He is an 18yearold UK drill rapper. He is ambitious,impulsive,and passionate. Mohamed Abdi rose to fame quickly with his violent and gritty lyrics. He got his start in the drill scene on YouTube,gaining over a million views. His music often glorified violence,gangs,and street life. Despite his success,Mohamed struggled with the pressures of fame and the impact of social media. He battled with depression and suicidal thoughts,feeling overwhelmed by the fame and the constant attention.
Malcolm Edwards
He is Mohamed Abdi's best friend and producer. He is reliable,talented,and laidback. Malcolm started making music at 14 and eventually collaborated with Mohamed Abdi,becoming his producer and DJ. He grew up in a difficult environment but found solace in music. Malcolm handled Mohamed's rise to fame with caution,warning him about the dangers of the industry. Despite their young age,Malcolm played a crucial role in supporting Mohamed Abdi's transition into fame,helping him navigate the industry's challenges.
Zara
She is a stripper who became involved with Mohamed Abdi. She is confident,seductive,and determined. Zara was initially part of Mohamed's entourage,providing companionship during his wild nights out. Their relationship developed into something more significant when Mohamed began to care for her deeply. Despite her provocative lifestyle,Zara showed an unexpected side of vulnerability when she asked Mohamed for a serious relationship. Their connection was intense but complicated by Mohamed's fame and troubled past.
I was 18 years old when I first rose to fame.
I am a UK drill rapper, and my lyrics were about violence, drama, sexy women, drugs, gangs, money, and what I have been through.
I got my start in the drill scene on YouTube and gained over a million views.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, and I am from London, England.
I have dark skin and tattoos on my legs, arms, torso, back, and neck.
I wear black tracksuit-colored clothes with a hoodie and track pants.
I also wear gold and diamond chains around my neck to show everyone that I am rich now.
I have one hoop earring on my right ear and smoke weed and drink whiskey.
My best friend is a tattooed man with gold chains and a watch.
He is also a skilled producer and DJ.
His name is Malcolm Edwards, and he is 21 years old.
Malcolm handles all of my music production.
His producer nickname is Meekz.
I met Malcolm through a friend, and we started making music together.
At first, it was just for fun, but then we began taking it seriously and started making beats.
In the dimly lit studio, I slouch into the leather couch while Malcolm sits at the mixing board, adjusting levels.
The bass vibrates through the room as he plays our newest track.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out rolling papers and weed from my tracksuit pocket.
The sweet smell fills the air as I carefully roll the joint, letting the familiar motions calm my nerves.
Malcolm nods his head to the beat, tweaking knobs and faders.
The studio's red recording light casts shadows across his concentrated face.
I take another hit from my joint while Malcolm adjusts levels.
The studio door opens, and a tall woman walks in.
Her tight clothes hug her curves, and her heels click against the floor.
She moves with confidence, her long hair swaying behind her.
I sit up straighter on the couch, studying her.
"Hey, I'm Zara," she says, smiling brightly.
"Nice to meet you."
I nod, taking another hit from my joint.
"Hi, I'm Mohamed," I say, my voice smooth.
Zara's eyes lock onto mine as she walks closer.
"I already know who you are," she says, her voice low and sultry.
"I've heard your track 'Ready to Die.' I love it."
Malcolm raises an eyebrow at me from behind the console but keeps working on the track.
I nod, feeling the weight of her words as the music swells around us.
I lean back in the studio chair, scrolling through my phone to check the lyrics one last time before we record.
The booth is cramped and hot, with a large glass window separating me from Malcolm at the mixing board.
I adjust my headphones, giving Malcolm a thumbs up through the glass.
He nods and gives me a thumbs up back.
I step up to the mic, nodding to let him know I'm ready.
The beat drops, heavy with bass, and I start spitting bars about seeing through facades.
My friends crowd around Malcolm at the mixing board, their dark hoodies bobbing in unison as they listen intently.
After the final take, Malcolm plays it back.
The sound fills the room, and we all exchange knowing looks.
I lean against the studio wall, watching Malcolm adjust levels on the mixing board as our new track "Open Eyes" plays.
The heavy 808s shake the room, and my voice flows through the speakers, raw and unfiltered.
My friends crowd around Malcolm at the mixing board, their dark hoodies bobbing in sync with the beat.
Zara sits in the corner, her eyes closed as she takes in every word.
When the song ends, Malcolm spins in his chair with a wide grin.
He cranks up the volume and plays it again.
This time, I catch subtle details I missed before - the way the hi-hats cut through, how the bass hits harder in the second verse.
Zara opens her eyes and leans forward, her voice cutting through the lingering bass.
"That second verse," she says, her tone serious, "it sounds like you're talking about someone specific."
I hesitate, glancing at Malcolm before replying, "Yeah, it's about my brother... he's been missing for months now."
Zara's eyes widen, but she doesn't say anything.
Malcolm turns back to the mixing board, his expression somber.
I sit down next to him at the mixing desk, and he pulls up Spotify analytics on his laptop.
The numbers flash across the screen - hundreds of thousands of streams translating to a 40,000-pound payout.
Malcolm high-fives me as I scan the numbers, a mix of disbelief and excitement coursing through me.
Zara watches from the leather couch, her expression unreadable.
I turn to her, holding up my phone to show her the numbers.
Her eyes widen, and she jumps up to hug me tightly.
"Congratulations," she whispers in my ear, her voice filled with genuine happiness.
As we pull away, I notice a flicker of concern in her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
I ask softly.
She hesitates before speaking, "I'm just glad you're doing well... but I wish you'd rap about something else."
I raise an eyebrow, confused by her words.
"What do you mean?"
She takes a deep breath before continuing, "I know your life hasn't been easy, but I wish you wouldn't rap about violence and degrading women. It's not who you are."
I feel a surge of defensiveness rising within me, but I take a moment to consider her words carefully.
"Zara," I say gently, "this is my reality. This is my story to tell." She nods slowly, her hand still on my arm.
"I understand that... but it hurts to hear you talk about women that way."
I sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and understanding wash over me.
"Zara," I say softly, "you don't understand where I come from. This is my life."
She nods again, her eyes filled with compassion.
"I know," she says quietly, "but it still hurts."
I look at her, trying to find the right words.
"Maybe I can try something different on the next track," I offer, my voice tentative.
Her face lights up with a hopeful smile, "I'd like that, Mohamed. I really would."
I slouch on the leather couch, scrolling through my phone while Malcolm tweaks the mix.
The notification sound makes me sit up straight - it's from Spotify.
I read the email twice to be sure, then jump up shouting.
Malcolm spins around in his chair as I thrust my phone in his face.
Our track "Open Eyes" just got added to the UK Rap Essentials playlist with 2 million followers.
Zara rushes over from her corner spot to see what's happening.
Malcolm immediately pulls up the playlist on the studio computer.
There we are, positioned between the biggest names in UK drill.
Zara's eyes widen with excitement, "This is huge, Mohamed! You're about to blow up!"
Malcolm grins, nodding in agreement, "Man, this is just the beginning. We gotta capitalize on this momentum."
I feel a rush of adrenaline and determination, "Let's get back in the booth and make something even bigger."
I pace nervously backstage at the O2 Arena, adjusting my gold chains as Malcolm checks the setlist on his phone.
Through the concrete hallway, I spot Central Cee and Digga D chatting near the green room, their security hovering nearby.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out my phone to film a quick Instagram story.
The stage manager approaches with a headset, telling me I'm on after AJ Tracey.
Malcolm grabs my shoulder and reminds me to stay focused, but I'm distracted by the thunderous bass from the main stage vibrating through the walls.
I step out onto the massive stage, gripping the mic as the opening beat of "Ready to Die" thunders through the speakers.
The crowd surges forward, phone lights dotting the darkness.
My voice comes out strong despite my nerves, and I catch glimpses of Central Cee and Digga D watching from the side stage.
Malcolm gives me a thumbs up from behind the DJ booth as I transition into "Open Eyes."
The energy builds with each bar, and I feed off the audience's response.
When I finish the final verse, the roar of applause drowns out everything else.
After the performance, I head back to the dressing room, dripping with sweat and still buzzing from the crowd's energy.
As I walk down the corridor, the door to the green room is slightly ajar, and I can hear Central Cee's voice inside.
I pause for a moment, listening.
"...think Mohamed would be a good fit for this track," Central Cee says.
"I've been listening to 'Open Eyes' nonstop. His flow would bring something new."
Digga D responds, "Yeah, man. We should bring him on board. His style would mesh well with ours."
I press myself against the wall, trying not to draw attention to myself as I listen in.
My heart races at the thought of collaborating with them.
But I force myself to walk past casually, pretending I heard nothing.
When I reach the dressing room, Malcolm turns to me with a huge grin on his face.
"Bro, did you hear that?" Malcolm asks, eyes wide with excitement.
I nod, trying to keep my cool, "Yeah, I caught a bit of their convo. They want me on a track."
Zara bursts in, practically bouncing, "This is it, Mohamed! You're about to level up big time!"
I wipe my sweaty palms on my tracksuit and step out of the dressing room, nodding at Malcolm who gives me a thumbs up.
The backstage corridor feels longer than usual as I walk toward Central Cee and Digga D, still deep in conversation by the green room.
My gold chains feel heavy against my chest, and I adjust my earring nervously.
Security eyes me as I approach, but I keep my stance relaxed and casual.
I pause outside the green room door, which is still slightly ajar, and quickly wipe my damp palms on my black tracksuit.
Through the gap, I can see Central Cee lounging on one of the leather sofas while Digga D stands by the mini fridge.
They both glance up as I push the door open wider and step inside.
The room falls silent as they turn to look at me, their security guards eyeing me warily.
I force myself to keep moving forward, my footsteps echoing on the floor as I walk toward them.
My heart pounds against my chest, but I make sure to keep eye contact.
Central Cee sits up straighter on the sofa, and Digga D closes the fridge door with a soft clink.
I step further into the room, my boots sinking into the plush carpet.
The security guards are still watching me, their eyes following my every move.
I keep my voice steady as I nod at Central Cee and Digga D.
"Hey, what's up?"
I stop a few feet away from the sofa, keeping my hands visible at my sides.
The mini fridge hums in the silence, and I can feel the tension in the air.
Central Cee leans forward slightly on the sofa, his eyes fixed on me.
Digga D shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze never leaving mine.
I break the silence first, trying to sound casual despite the nerves racing through me.
"So, you guys ready for your set?"
Central Cee motions toward the empty space beside him on the leather sofa.
I swallow hard, my throat feeling dry, but I force myself to move forward.
Every step feels deliberate as I cross the remaining distance and lower myself onto the sofa.
Digga D leans back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches this interaction unfold.
The security guards shift their positions slightly, still keeping a watchful eye on me.
The leather sofa creaks under my weight, and I resist the urge to check my phone or fidget with my chains.
Central Cee nods slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and I know I've just crossed the first hurdle.
I lean forward on the sofa, my elbows resting on my knees, and Central Cee starts explaining his vision for our collaboration.
The bass from the main stage vibrates through the walls, and he pulls up a beat on his phone.
Digga D moves closer, demonstrating the flow he envisions for the hook.
My heart races as Central Cee stands up and motions toward the stage door, suggesting we try it out now.
The security guards part to clear our path.
Central Cee glances back at me, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"You ready to blow their minds tonight?" he asks, his voice carrying a mix of challenge and camaraderie.
Digga D smirks, nodding toward the stage door. "Let's show them what real fire sounds like."
I stand at the side of the stage watching Central Cee command the crowd.
His energy is electric as he performs, and I can feel the bass vibrating through my chest.
The entourage nods along to the beat beside me, their eyes never leaving him.
When he finishes, Digga D takes his place, and the crowd surges forward, phones raised high.
They motion for me to join them, and I step into the bright lights.
We move across the stage together, feeding off each other's energy as the crowd roars.
After the show, we gather in the green room, passing bottles and laughing about the crowd's reaction.
Central Cee motions toward the door, and we follow him down the back corridors of the O2 Arena.
We pass by security checkpoints, and he leads us to a private recording studio set up in one of the rooms.
The room is small, with a laptop, mic, and monitors set up on a desk.
Central Cee pulls up the beat we just performed to, and Digga D adjusts the mic stand.
My phone buzzes with texts from Malcolm asking where I went, but I ignore them, too focused on what's happening.
Central Cee shows me his verse structure, and I nod along as he explains his ideas.
The room feels cramped but electric as we start laying down parts.
I can feel the bass vibrating through the concrete walls, and when it's my turn to record my verse, I step up to the mic.
Digga D watches intently as I deliver my lines with precision.
As the final note fades, I know we've just created something unforgettable.
I sit at the mixing desk with Malcolm as he puts the final touches on our collaboration track.
The heavy 808s and melodic elements blend perfectly with our three distinct vocal styles.
Central Cee nods along as he reviews the final mix on his laptop, and Digga D paces by the window, typing potential titles in his phone.
"What do you think of 'Back 2 Back'?"
I suggest, and they both stop what they're doing, exchanging looks.
Malcolm plays the track again from the top, and we all nod along in agreement.
It's a banger, and we know it.
We step out into the night, ready to make our mark.
I scroll through my phone in the studio with Malcolm, watching the streaming numbers climb for "Back 2 Back" across our three Spotify accounts.
The bass thumps through the speakers as Malcolm plays our track again, grinning at the crisp production.
My phone buzzes with notifications - Central Cee and Digga D sending screenshots of the view counts skyrocketing on YouTube.
The plaque delivery man knocks on the door, carrying three identical triple platinum records.
"Did you ever think we'd get here this fast?" Central Cee asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and pride.
"Honestly, I knew we had something special, but this is wild," Digga D replies, shaking his head with a grin.
Malcolm laughs, holding up his phone to show another spike in streams, "And this is just the beginning, lads."
I lean back in my leather studio chair, watching Malcolm pour expensive champagne into crystal flutes.
The platinum plaque for "Back 2 Back" gleams on the wall behind us.
Central Cee sprawls on the couch checking streaming numbers while Digga D paces, already spitting potential lyrics for our next collab.
The champagne fizzes as Malcolm hands me a glass, his gold chains catching the studio lights.
We raise our drinks, the glasses clinking.
Through the booth window, I spot Zara arriving, and I motion for Malcolm to pour another flute.
I watch Zara stride in, her high heels clicking against the floor.
She spots the plaque on the wall and her eyes light up.
She rushes over to hug me, nearly knocking over my champagne glass.
Malcolm quickly pours her a drink, and Central Cee and Digga D nod in acknowledgement from the couch.
Zara examines the plaque up close, tracing the edges with her finger.
She turns to face us all, raising her glass for a toast.
Her hand trembles slightly, and I notice tears forming in her eyes.
"To think we started this journey in that tiny basement studio," Zara says, her voice thick with emotion.
Central Cee raises his glass higher, "And now we're here, proving everyone wrong."
Digga D grins, "This is just the beginning; imagine where we'll be next year."
I lean back in my leather chair at the record label office, watching the executive review our earnings statement.
Malcolm stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders as the numbers appear on screen - 10 million pounds each from "Back 2 Back."
Central Cee whistles low, leaning back in his chair while Digga D paces by the window, both processing our massive success.
The executive slides four checks across the mahogany desk.
My hands shake slightly as I pick up mine, the amount seeming surreal.
Malcolm grabs his check and holds it up to the light, grinning wide.
I sit at my laptop in the studio, scrolling through luxury real estate listings while Malcolm leans over my shoulder, reviewing potential properties.
A gated mansion in North London catches my eye - 8 bedrooms, indoor pool, home theater, and a massive garage.
Malcolm whistles at the price but nods in approval.
I call the agent immediately, scheduling a viewing for the next day.
Before we head out, I pull up exotic car dealership websites, marking the vehicles I want: Range Rover for daily drives, BMW for speed, Ferrari for special occasions, Mercedes for luxury, and Audi for comfort.
Malcolm reminds me to save some money for security systems.
I sit at the realtor's mahogany desk, pen hovering over the final contract for the North London mansion.
Malcolm stands behind my chair, reviewing each page before I sign.
The realtor points out where to initial while explaining the security deposit and payment schedule.
My hand trembles slightly as I write the largest check I've ever seen - five million pounds.
After signing the last page, the realtor hands me the keys with a practiced smile.
I sit on my new mansion's marble kitchen counter, scrolling through our contact lists with Zara.
She suggests inviting Central Cee and Digga D, along with their crews.
I add a few old friends from the neighborhood who've been supportive.
Malcolm walks in carrying takeout, joining us at the counter to discuss party plans.
Zara insists on professional catering, showing me photos on her phone of elaborate food displays.
I calculate costs on my phone's calculator while Zara calls her favorite caterer.
Malcolm reminds us to hire extra security, pointing at the mansion's glass windows.
Zara looks up from her phone, her eyes serious.
"Have you thought about what this all means for us now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Malcolm nods, setting down the takeout. "Yeah, it's not just about the money; it's about keeping our circle tight and staying grounded."
I lean against the kitchen counter, phone pressed to my ear while the caterer lists off menu options.
Zara points at items she likes on the printed menu in front of us - wagyu sliders, lobster bites, champagne fountains.
Malcolm paces behind us, making notes about security placement on a floor plan.
When the caterer quotes the final price of fifty thousand pounds, I don't flinch, just read off my black card number.
Zara squeezes my arm excitedly, but Malcolm's concerned expression reminds me how far we've come from our basement studio days.
Zara turns to Malcolm, her voice steady. "Do you ever think about how quickly everything's changed for us?"
Malcolm crosses his arms, glancing at the floor plan. "Every day, Zara, but we can't let it change who we are."
I nod, looking between them. "And that's why we're doing this together, right? To keep each other in check."
I slouch on the studio couch, scrolling through Instagram while Malcolm works at the mixing board.
Suddenly, he stops adjusting knobs and sits completely still, eyes closed.
His fingers tap a rhythm on the desk before he spins around and starts programming a new melody into the synthesizer.
The notes flow perfectly with our existing beat.
I sit up straight, watching him layer the sounds with intense focus.
When he finally plays back the full track, the new melody hits me like electricity.
I adjust the microphone stand in the booth, my heart racing with nerves.
I've never tried anything like this before, but I can't shake the feeling that I need to.
Malcolm watches me through the glass, his eyes curious and a little concerned.
Zara sits in the control room, her arms crossed and her lips pursed.
I clear my throat and take a deep breath.
Instead of launching into my usual aggressive flow, I let my voice soften into a gentle melody.
The words spill out of me like a prayer.
"I want to change. I want to be better. I want to let go of all the hate and the pain."
The music swirls around me, lifting me up like a wave.
I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the rhythm.
When I finally finish the take, Malcolm and Zara stare at me in silence for what feels like an eternity.
Malcolm's eyes are wide with surprise, and Zara's mouth is hanging open.
"That was... different," Malcolm says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
"But in a good way."
Zara nods slowly, her eyes still fixed on me.
"I didn't know you could sing like that," she says, her voice full of wonder.
I shrug, feeling more exposed than I've ever felt before.
"I didn't either," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But it just felt right."
I sit with Malcolm at the mixing desk, listening to the final mix of "Identity" before we release it.
The melodic track plays through the studio monitors, my vulnerable singing filling the room.
Malcolm uploads it to Spotify while I check my phone anxiously.
Within hours, the streams start climbing rapidly.
Zara bursts in with champagne when we hit one million streams.
As we celebrate, the music video notification pops up - two million views already.
Malcolm pulls up the Official Charts website, and there's "Identity" at number 5.
I lean back in my leather studio chair, champagne glass in hand, while Malcolm turns up "Identity" on the monitors.
The melodic track fills the room as Zara dances slowly, her eyes closed.
My phone keeps lighting up with congratulatory messages from Central Cee and Digga D about taking this new direction.
Malcolm pulls up more streaming numbers on his laptop, and we've hit three million.
He raises his glass for another toast, his hands trembling with emotion.
I lean back on the leather studio couch, watching Malcolm and Zara dance to "Identity" playing through the speakers.
The studio lights cast a warm glow over the room, and Malcolm's gold chains glint in the light.
Zara spins gracefully, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
My phone keeps buzzing with messages, but I ignore it, wanting to stay present in this moment.
When Malcolm starts singing along dramatically to my melodic chorus, I can't help but laugh and clink my glass against his.
I collapse onto my white leather couch after seeing the last guests out, exhausted from hosting.
Empty champagne glasses and scattered napkins litter the marble counters as the cleaning staff moves quietly through the mansion.
The TV remote feels heavy in my hand as I flip through channels, the muted sounds of vacuuming and clinking dishes drifting from the kitchen.
My new chains press uncomfortably against my neck, but I'm too tired to take them off.