Cube stole the mic

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The air was thick inside the club-sweaty, smoky, and humming with the anticipation of another same-old performance from the World Class Wreckin' Cru. Spotlights swung across the crowd, catching sparkles off gold chains, glossy lips, and the ridiculous shine of Lonzo's silver jumpsuit. The man had a damn near obsession with glitter.

But behind the scenes? The vibe was different.

Dre sat in the back of the greenroom-turned-mini-studio, headphones draped around his neck, eyes locked on the MPC as he tapped out a beat that hit like a jackhammer. It wasn't the smooth synth-heavy shit the Wreckin' Cru usually pushed. This was darker. Meaner. Real.

Yella leaned back, tapping a pen against his cup. "Yo, Dre... this ain't no 'lace-your-girl's-panties-off' kinda beat. What you tryna do, start a riot?"

Dre smirked, not looking up. "Nah. I'm tryna wake these fools up."

Ren walked in, catching the tail end of the beat. "Sheeeit. That's nasty."

Dre turned to him, eyes gleaming. "Tell me this ain't the sound of the block, though. This? This is what we hear when we step outside."

Before anyone could respond, the door burst open. Lonzo, dramatic as ever in his satin outfit, stomped in like he was about to call the fashion police.

"Dre! Cut that shit off!" His voice boomed over the music.

Dre didn't even blink. "It's a beat, Zo."

"It's a threat to our image," Lonzo snapped. "This some gangster shit! We ain't thugs, man, we entertainers. We ain't supposed to scare the ladies off the floor."

Dre stood up slowly, tall and unbothered. "We ain't gotta scare nobody. But I ain't playin' dress-up no more. I'm done with sequins and love ballads. I want something real."

Lonzo scoffed. "And I suppose this is where you tell me you're the voice of the streets now?"

"I ain't gotta be the voice," Dre said, folding his arms. "But I know the sound. And it damn sure don't come wrapped in glitter."

Yella muttered under his breath, "Tell him again..."

Lonzo shot him a glare. "You serious right now, Dre? After everything we built?"

Dre leaned in, his voice low and final. "Exactly. We built it. But you tryna live in a house with no damn roof. Times changing, Zo. I'm not gonna stay behind just 'cause you scared of rain."

Before Lonzo could respond, Dre turned to Cube, who had been quietly writing lyrics in his notebook in the corner, low-key hype from the energy in the room.

"You still got that joint you wrote?" Dre asked.

Cube looked up, blinked, and nodded. "Yeah. You want me to-"

"Mic's yours."

Lonzo tried to protest, but Dre had already cued up the beat and pushed Cube out toward the stage.

The lights hit Cube like a spotlight on a brand-new chapter. He held the mic in one hand like it belonged there, his other hand balled into a fist by his side. And then he opened his mouth-and spit._______________◍⁠•◍✧__◍⁠•◍✧⁠________________

Here's a little somethin' about a nigga like me

Never should've been let out the penitentiary

Ice Cube would like to say

That I'm a crazy mothafucka from

around the way

Since I was a youth, I smoked weed out

Now I'm the mothafucka that you read about

Takin' a life or two, that's what the hell I do

You don't like how I'm livin'? Well, fuck you!

This is a gang and I'm in it

My man Dre'll fuck you up in a minute

With a right left, right left, you toothless

And then you say: "Goddamn, they ruthless!"

Everywhere we go they say: "Damn!"Ice Cube's fuckin' up the program

And then you realize we don't careWe don't just say no, we're too bus sayin', "Yeah!"

About drinkin' straight out the eight bottle

Do I look like a mothafuckin' role model?

To a kid lookin' up to me

Life ain't nothin' but bitches and money

'Cause I'm the type of nigga that's built to last

If you fuck with me I'll put my foot in your ass

See, I don't give a fuck, 'cause I keep bailin'

Yo, what the fuck are they yellin'?

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People in the front row froze. Then one of them screamed, and that scream cracked the air open. The crowd went wild.

Phones weren't a thing yet-but if they had been, a hundred of 'em would've been out recording Cube's raw, hungry delivery. This wasn't choreographed. This wasn't a show. This was real life on a beat.

By the time Cube finished, it was pandemonium. People were standing on chairs. One girl screamed like she was watching Prince. Even some old heads in the back nodded, impressed.

Dre grinned like a proud older brother. "That's what I'm talkin' about."

Cube hopped off stage, high on adrenaline, and Dre pulled him into a handshake-turned-half-hug.

"You got somethin', Cube. You got that thing."

"Appreciate it, man. That felt... different."

"'Cause it was."

Across the room, Eazy sat with two girls on his arms, sipping Hennessy and tryna pretend he wasn't just blown away. The shades helped, but the way he leaned forward when Cube spit his second verse gave him away.

"Damn," he muttered. "Lil homie came out swingin'."

The girl on his left smiled, playing with his chain. "He fine."

Eazy shot her a side-eye. "You ain't even hear what he said."

"Didn't have to. He got stage presence."

Eazy waved them off. "Go dance or somethin'."

They pouted but left, giggling, and that's when Dre came through the crowd toward him. Dre clocked the girls, clocked Eazy, and smirked.

"That why Korina curved you?" he asked.

Eazy sighed, sipping slow. "Man, shut the hell up."

"Nah, for real. You sittin' here surrounded by glitter and distractions while the game changin' right in front of you."

Eazy stared at Cube across the room, who was now surrounded by a few fans and writers. "He raw."

"And I wanna build around that raw. Lonzo stuck in the past, and WCWC's on its last legs. I'm starting a label. I got beats. I got vision. I just need backing."

Eazy tilted his head. "Why me?"

"'Cause you smart. And you got hustle. You know how to flip shit, how to sell it. That's what I need. You put in the money, I'll find the talent."

Eazy leaned back, brows furrowed.

Dre added, "You wanna be a dude who watched it happen... or a dude who made it happen?"

Eazy looked back at the stage, where the crowd still buzzed from Cube's set.

"I'ma think about it."

Dre smiled. "That's all I need."

As Dre walked off, Eazy glanced toward the bar where Cube was now laughing with Yella. He had the mic, the talent, the energy. But Eazy? He had the hunger. He just needed to figure out what the hell he wanted to do with it.