The hospital corridor echoed with the squeaking of shoes against linoleum as Amias made his way toward the exit. The antiseptic smell clung to his clothes, but his mind was elsewhere—replaying the image of Zane, propped up on pillows, bruised but alive. Awake. Breathing.
"Text me when you're out, yeah?" Amias had said, gripping Zane's hand carefully to avoid disturbing the IV tube. "We've got studio time with your name on it."
Zane had managed a weak smile, his voice raspy from disuse. "Already got bars waiting. Just need these doctors to sign me out."
Now, pushing through the hospital doors into the cold air, Amias felt a weight lift from his shoulders. One less what-if haunting his dreams.
His new BMW sat gleaming in the visitors' parking lot, the red bow now removed but the novelty still fresh. He ran his fingers along the smooth paintwork before sliding into the driver's seat, inhaling the scent of new leather.
As he navigated out of the hospital grounds, his phone buzzed with a message from Jordan:
Yo where you at? Me and Tyler ready when you are
Amias typed a quick reply at a red light:
On my way. Be there in 20
The drive to Shepherd's Bush gave him time to think. The System had been surprisingly quiet today, perhaps recognizing that today was his birthday. But the schedule remained tight—two videos to shoot, a mixtape to complete, an album to begin planning.
London.
Pulling onto the familiar streets of his neighborhood, Amias spotted Jordan and Tyler loitering outside the chicken shop, deep in conversation. He honked twice, winding down the window as they turned, confusion evident on their faces.
"Oi!" he called out, enjoying their startled expressions.
Jordan's hand instinctively went to his waistband, a movement so quick and subtle most would miss it. Tyler tensed beside him, ready to move. Within seconds, recognition dawned on their faces.
"What the—" Jordan's stance relaxed as he approached the car.
"A BMW?" Tyler exclaimed, circling the vehicle with appreciative eyes. "Since when?"
"Since today." Amias replied, unlocking the doors. "Birthday present from Oakley and Wyge."
They piled in, running their hands over the dashboard and seats, examining every feature with the enthusiasm of children discovering a new toy.
"This is mad," Jordan declared, settling into the back seat. "Proper wheels."
"How's Zane?" Tyler asked, buckling his seatbelt in the passenger seat.
Amias pulled away from the curb, the engine's quiet purr a stark contrast to the rattling buses passing by. "Awake. Talking. Still weak, but the doctors are optimistic."
"Thank God," Jordan murmured.
"We're picking up Zel now," Amias explained, navigating toward the studio district. "He's finishing up with another artist."
The car filled with conversation—Tyler's drama with some girl, Jordan's latest run-in with his teacher, neighborhood gossip that once would have consumed Amias's attention but now felt distant, as if from another life. He contributed enough to seem engaged, but his mind was racing ahead.
At the studio, Zel was waiting outside, a large equipment bag slung over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the BMW, a smile spreading across his face as Amias pulled up.
"Yo, happy birthday for real," he said, climbing into the back beside Jordan after stowing his bag in the trunk. "This is how you're moving now?"
"Trying to," Amias replied, fist-bumping him. "Appreciate you coming through on short notice."
"Man said he's got two videos to shoot in one day," Jordan explained to Zel. "On his birthday."
Zel nodded, unsurprised. "That hunger. I respect it."
"Next stop, picking up your cousin," Amias said to Jordan, pulling back into traffic. "Then we're heading out to Epping Forest for the first location."
The drive to collect Lexus took them eastward, through neighborhoods that transformed from the familiar urban sprawl to more spacious suburbs. Jordan's cousin was waiting outside his house, surrounded by bags.
"Happy birthday, fam," Lexus greeted Amias, sliding into the now-crowded back seat. "So you actually got equipment for me to use?"
"Got most of it yesterday," Amias confirmed. "Cameras, drones, lighting—but I'm letting you use it for these videos. I've got plans for livestreaming and vlogging later."
"Smart move," Lexus nodded approvingly. "Content is king these days."
As they drove toward Epping Forest, Amias outlined his vision for the Redemption video. "I'm thinking natural landscapes—waterfall, fields, stone formations. Something raw but powerful. Contrast between isolation and strength."
Lexus was already sketching shots on his iPad. "We've got about four hours of good light left. If we move quick, we can nail this before sunset."
The location was perfect—an area of the forest where a small waterfall cascaded over moss-covered rocks, surrounded by tall trees that filtered the afternoon sunlight into dappled patterns. While Lexus and Jordan set up equipment, Amias changed into his first outfit—a charcoal jacket with subtle detailing, black gloves, and boots that looked worn but intentional.
"No big brands," he explained when Tyler commented on his choice. "The unknown pieces that show taste rather than money. That's the aesthetic."
When Lexus signaled they were ready, Amias stepped into position by the waterfall. The first takes were experimental—Lexus capturing Amias from different angles as he performed the opening verses, feeling the energy of the location seep into his delivery.
In this life, I gotta get rich, I can't be broke
I was asking favours and everyone telling me no
Wait 'til the tables turn, we'll see who stays or goes
The emotional weight of the lyrics hit differently here, surrounded by nature rather than studio walls. Each take grew more confident, more authentic. Between shots, Amias reviewed the footage on Lexus' monitor, providing feedback and suggestions.
"Let's try a wider shot for the hook," he directed. "I want to feel small against this landscape when I say 'They only see the results, the pain, they don't know the half.'"
They moved through locations within the forest—the waterfall giving way to an abandoned gamekeeper's cottage, then to a natural clearing where stone formations jutted from the ground like ancient monuments. For the final sequence, Lexus deployed the drone, capturing sweeping aerial shots that showed Amias as a solitary figure surrounded by vast, indifferent nature.
The sun was beginning to set when Lexus called the final take. "This is gold," he declared, reviewing the footage. "Proper cinematic."
"You didn't even need me to direct," he added with a grin. "You've got the vision clear in your head."
Amias nodded, already changing into his second outfit for the 8AM video. "I hear the music visually," he admitted. "Like I can see how it should look."
They packed up quickly, aware of the fading light. On the drive to the gas station location Amias had scouted earlier that week, the mood in the car was energized despite the long hours they'd already put in.
"So what's this about YouTube and livestreams?" Lexus asked, carefully packing away memory cards from the first shoot.
"Building the brand beyond music," Amias explained, eyes on the road. "Livestreaming studio sessions, production process, day-in-the-life content. Then editing it down for YouTube. Multiple revenue streams, plus it builds the audience organically."
"Smart," Lexus nodded. "Most artists don't think about the business side early enough."
"You need a camera operator, hit me up," he added. "I'm trying to build my portfolio anyway."
The gas station glowed like an island of harsh fluorescence against the darkening sky. The location was perfect—slightly run-down but not abandoned, situated on a quiet road where they could film without too much interruption. Amias had already spoken to the manager, slipping him cash for a half an hour of relatively undisturbed access.
"Alright," Amias gathered everyone around, his breath visible in the cooling night air. "This one's more structured. Zel, you'll be posted up against the car for the intro. Jordan and Tyler, you'll be inside the shop area. I start alone, then we build as the track progresses."
He walked them through the sequence, explaining how the visuals would mirror the emotional progression of the song—from isolation to connection, from darkness toward hope, however distant that hope might seem.
"When I reach the part about 'Praying a million manifest, then two times, three times, seven times over,' that's when you all join me by the pumps," he instructed.
Under the harsh station lights, Amias transformed. His posture shifted, his eyes taking on an intensity that commanded attention. When Lexus called "Action," the performance was electric—conveying both vulnerability and determination as Amias moved through the carefully choreographed sequence.
"You may be in your darkest hour
Know that, night don't last forever
There's a morning coming in your life
Stay down 'til you come up
Stay down 'til you come up"
The hook echoed across the empty forecourt, Zel's production giving the words a haunting quality that perfectly matched the liminal space of the gas station at night—not quite urban, not quite rural, a place of transition and temporary shelter.
For the verses, Amias's delivery grew more intense:
Man try say "Am I good?" Bro, do I look okay?
Close to home but lost, GPS stuck on 'missed'
Don't waste your time and get me mad 'cause bro, I'll ruin your day
I still ain't recovered from all this pain I felt back then, but, ayy
Each take built on the last, refining movements, adjusting lighting, capturing different angles. Despite the fatigue beginning to show in everyone's movements, there was a collective sense that they were creating something special.
During a break while Lexus changed batteries, Tyler approached Amias, speaking low enough that the others couldn't hear.
"You know, when you first said you were getting into music, I thought it was just chat," he admitted. "But this—" he gestured at the equipment, the location, the professional approach, "—this is serious business. You're really doing it."
Amias nodded, accepting the observation without false modesty. "Have to. No backup plan."
"Wished Zane could see this," Jordan added, joining them. "Your friend Zara too."
"Zane will see the finished product," Amias replied. "And Zara..." he trailed off, unsure how to categorize her absence. "She's not big on hanging around a bunch of man she doesn't know all the time. She'll see it when it's done."
A knowing look passed between Jordan and Tyler, quickly suppressed when Amias caught it.
"What?" he challenged.
"Nothing," Jordan replied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking it's interesting which opinions matter most to you."
Before Amias could respond, Lexus called them back to positions.
The final sequence brought them all together by the gas pumps, bathed in the station's artificial light. As Amias reached the climactic verse, his friends moved in, surrounding him with a physical presence that embodied the song's underlying message—that even in the darkest moments, connection was possible, survival achievable.
Praying a million manifest
Then two times
Three times
Seven times over—that's God's design
Their hands went up together, fingers signaling the numbers in perfect synchronization—one, two, three, seven—a visual manifestation of abundance, of dreams multiplied.
"Cut!" Lexus called, reviewing the footage with satisfaction. "That's the one."
As they packed up, exhaustion finally catching up with them, Amias felt a strange sense of accomplishment unlike anything he'd experienced in a long time. Not since he held up that silver medal at England's national under-19 swimming competition.
The drive back to London was quieter, everyone drained but content. They dropped off Lexus first, then Zel, who clasped Amias's hand firmly before exiting.
"You're onto something big," he said simply. "Don't let anyone slow you down."
With just Jordan and Tyler remaining, Amias navigated toward Shepherd's Bush, the late-night traffic thinning around them. His phone buzzed with a text from Zara:
How'd it go? Got some brand updates to show you tomorrow.
A smile tugged at his lips as he handed the phone to Tyler to type a response while he drove.
"Tell her it went better than expected. And that I'm ready for those brand updates."
—
The underground parking lot of Oakley's apartment complex hummed with the dull fluorescent lights overhead, casting everything in a pale blue glow.
Amias traced his fingers over the BMW's steering wheel, still getting used to the idea that this vehicle belonged to him.
His phone sat in the cupholder, silent now after buzzing consistently throughout the day. The screen showed 11:48 PM. His birthday was almost over.
The necklace his mother had given him rested against his chest, warm from his body heat. Out of everything he'd received today—the car, the studio equipment from Capari, the promise of studio time at Metropolis—this small silver locket was the heaviest, the most significant.
"System," he murmured, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space of the car.
The familiar blue interface materialized in his vision, floating translucently above the dashboard.
"Status report: Day 5 of Legend Maker program. Birthday objectives completed successfully."
Amias nodded slowly. The System had been surprisingly quiet today. No constant reminders, no sudden training exercises interrupting conversations, no demanding performance metrics to meet.
"Was that deliberate?" he asked. "Giving me space today?"
"Affirmative. Birthday designated as reduced-pressure milestone. Analysis shows optimized performance with strategic rest intervals."
A small smile tugged at Amias's lips. "So even the System gives birthday presents."
"System functionality includes adapting to human psychological needs," came the reply, somehow sounding almost defensive.
Amias rubbed his eyes, feeling the day's fatigue settling into his bones. "Show me my progress stats. Let's see where I'm at."
The interface shifted, displaying a holographic set of metrics that hovered in the air before him:
Lyrical Composition: 86/100
Flow Control: 69/100 → 70 [+1]
Rhythm Recognition: 64/100 → 66 [+2]
Music Theory: 81/100 → 82 [+1]
Stage Presence: 55/100 → 59 [+4]
Freestyle Ability: 77/100 → 79 [+2]
Melodic Perception: 56/100 → 60 [+4]
Vocal Projection: 77/100 → 78 [+1]
Beat Production: 58/100 → 61 [+3]
Sound Engineering: 54/100 → 57 [+3]
Amias studied the numbers, satisfaction warming his chest. The improvements were small but consistent across every category.
"Damn," he whispered, genuinely impressed. "The hard work's actually paying off."
The car's climate control hummed softly as Amias leaned forward, resting his forearms on the steering wheel. So what's next? He's got the videos being edited by production companies. I've got the equipment from Capari. Studio time with Oakley coming up. What should he focus on now?
"Primary recommendation: Begin constructing mixtape scheduled for release in 31 days. Current material sufficient for 40% completion. Additional tracks required."
"Right," Amias nodded, mentally cataloging the songs he'd already recorded. He had Redemption and 8AM ready to go from today's shoot. I'm Tryna but since the masters were sold what's the point of having it on the mixtape? Well he'd have to figure out what other song structures could be on it and for now he'd focus on the topic 'Next Up' as his inspiration throughout the rest of the songs.
"System, I've been thinking," he said after a moment. "I want to read more. History books, specifically. England's history. World history too."
"Unusual request. Relevance to musical development?"
Amias fingered the locket around his neck, his mother's gift. "Knowledge gives lyrics depth. Can't talk about the present without understanding the past, can I? The shit we're living through now—it's all connected to what came before."
{Neo-Soul}
"Valid perspective," the System acknowledged. "Historical context enhances lyrical authenticity and thematic resonance."
"Exactly. I don't want to just make bangers. I want to say something real."
"Recommendation: Digital resources more cost-effective than physical books. Multiple historical archives available online free of charge."
Amias chuckled. "Already ahead of you there. Not about to spend my money on hardcovers. With the equipment—which I got a major discount on, and the fee for the production studio editing I'm already down seven thousand from forty-nine, not to mention taxes."
The digital interface flickered briefly, recalibrating. "Before proceeding to next day's schedule, System has prepared birthday acknowledgment."
Amias raised an eyebrow. "You got me a present?"
"Affirmative. Based on business concepts you articulated."
The holographic display shifted, showing a complex flowchart diagram that gradually assembled itself in the air—wireframes for an application interface, user experience maps, backend architecture schemas.
"The hell is this?" Amias leaned forward, squinting at the intricate display.
"LINKUP platform framework. Complete technical architecture and development roadmap based on your conceptualized application."
Amias's eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at. The business idea he'd mentioned—a platform to connect artists, producers, and other creative professionals—had been fully mapped out into a comprehensive technical blueprint.
"You... built this? The whole app?"
"Correct. System has developed complete technical specifications including:
Frontend and backend architecture
Database structure
API endpoints
User authentication protocols
Matching algorithms
Payment processing integration"
Amias stared at the display in disbelief. The features he'd only vaguely outlined were now detailed into concrete technical components—the Smart Matching System for connecting compatible artists, the Talent Marketplace for finding collaborators, virtual collaboration workspaces, smart contracts for royalty distribution...
"This would have taken a dev team months," he whispered, scrolling through the detailed specifications. "Scratch that—over a year."
"System possesses advanced capabilities. You retain concept ownership. Implementation requires only securing secondary resources and marketing strategy."
Amias's mind raced with the implications. The Split Sheet Revolution feature alone—a standardized system for documenting who contributed what to a song—could transform how artists collaborated. The Royalty Direct system would allow automatic distribution of streaming revenue based on documented contributions, cutting out expensive intermediaries.
"This is..." he trailed off, genuinely at a loss for words.
"Estimated value of complete technical specifications and architecture: £250,000-£5,000,000 based on current market rates for similar development work if achieved by a lone developer."
Amias ran his hands over his face, overwhelmed. "So I just need to figure out the business side?"
"Correct. Technical foundation complete. Focus required on:
Legal structure and intellectual property protection
Marketing strategy
Industry partnership development"
Leaning back against the headrest, Amias stared up at the concrete ceiling of the parking garage.
"System," he said finally, his voice quiet in the stillness of the car. "Thank you."
"Acknowledgment noted. Reminder: Business development should remain secondary priority to Legend Maker music career objectives."
"Right," Amias nodded, though his mind was already spinning with possibilities for both paths. "One thing at a time."
He clutched the locket around his neck, thinking of his mother's words earlier that day: "When did my boy get so wise?"
Perhaps wisdom was simply recognizing that worth did not determine the value of what you had—whether it was a luxury car, high-end recording equipment, a ground-breaking app concept, or a small silver locket filled with fragments of love and memory.
The digital clock on the dashboard shifted to 12:00 AM.
His birthday was officially over.
<>
I'll be taking a break for a few days
Chapter 44 on disc