Pre-End

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It had been three months since Straight Outta Compton dropped. The streets were still echoing it, boom boxes blasting every track like it was the national anthem. Radio DJs couldn't get enough. Every party, every lowrider meet, every backyard kickback from Inglewood to Compton was vibin' to it. What started as a rebellious, gritty, West Coast diary had turned into a full-blown revolution.

Ruthless wasn't just buzzing-it was on fire.

But the real shock came two months ago, when Ruthless Records tried to clap back. They dropped a new artist, out of nowhere. A girl. Beautiful voice. Smooth, polished, mysterious. Her name? NaviY.

That was the name of her debut album too-just naviY. Clean cover. Big bold letters. A shot of her staring straight into the lens, like she already knew she had us hooked.

She wasn't rap. She was R&B, but with a twist. She had this pop edge, a little bit of that early 90s sparkle, and just enough soul to remind you she'd been through some things. Think Janet Jackson if she grew up with cousins in the hood and sang with a chipped tooth mic at house parties before making it big.

People didn't know much about her yet. Rumors said she was discovered by one of Eazy-E's assistants. Some said she was from Long Beach. Others swore she was from Atlanta. Either way, it didn't matter. The moment her single "Feel Me in the Dark" dropped, everything shifted.

Death Row was the loud one-gunshots in beats, raw energy, unfiltered rage. But Ruthless? They played it smooth. NaviY slid into the game like smoke through a cracked window.

And the crazy thing? She wasn't just doing numbers. She was rivaling Straight Outta Compton.

Alyssa had been watching. She felt the heat. She couldn't deny it-NaviY was good. Too good. Her name was in every magazine now, her videos on BET's top countdown, and her voice... her voice was starting to mean something.

The game was changing.

It wasn't just about who had the hardest bars anymore. Now, it was who had range. Who could cross over. Who could make the world feel them.

And NaviY? She was doing just that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-Yo, E," Cube said mid-session, leaning back in the leather chair. "You still meetin' with that Jerry Heller dude today?"

Eazy looked up from his pager. "Yeah."

Cube squinted. "You sure 'bout that?"

"Why? You worried 'bout me, Ice?"

"Nah, I'm just sayin'... I ain't tryna have no white dude finessin' us out our own shit. This rap game already shady as fuck."

Dre chimed in from the corner. "He ain't wrong, bro. That industry handshake? That smile? That 'we just wanna help' talk? All that shit come with small print."

Eazy lit another blunt. "Relax. I ain't signin' my soul or nothin'. I just wanna hear what dude gotta say. That's all."

Ren chuckled. "Yeah, that's how they get you. 'Just a conversation,' next thing you know, you owe him your first born."

"Man, shut the fuck up," Eazy smirked. "I got this."

Later That Day - Beverly Hills - Some White Boy Office

The second Eazy stepped into that plush, cold-ass office building, he knew it was a whole different world. No loud music. No liquor bottles. Just rich-ass silence and air conditioning that made his skin itch.

The receptionist looked like she ain't never seen a real nigga in her life-but she still smiled fake as hell and offered him coffee.

Eazy declined. Sat back. Chain swinging. Shades on. He was Eazy-fuckin'-E now. He didn't need to play polite.

Then Jerry Heller walked in.

White suit. Slicked back hair. Blue eyes sharp like glass. That man walked like he owned something-like he saw money in every room he entered. And when he saw Eazy, he didn't flinch.

He grinned. "There he is. The man of the fuckin' hour."

Eazy stood up slow. Didn't say shit.

Jerry extended his hand. "Eric Wright, right?"

Eazy gave him one of those limp, suspicious handshakes. "What you want from me?"

Jerry chuckled. "Straight to the point. I like that."

They sat down across from each other, and the energy shifted. Jerry opened a manila folder like it was holy scripture-charts, radio breakdowns, promo plans, potential tour numbers.

"Listen," Jerry started. "I've been in this business a long time. I've seen one-hit wonders. Flash-in-the-pan groups. But you? You got something special. You, Dre, Cube, the whole crew. You're not just rappers. You're leaders of a revolution. But revolutions die without structure."

Eazy exhaled smoke, eyes low. "You tryna be my structure?"

"I'm offering to make sure your legacy doesn't get swallowed up by bad contracts and missed opportunities. I can open doors you don't even know exist yet."

Eazy stayed quiet for a minute.

His thoughts? Moving fast.

He thought about how Dre always had something slick to say about labels. How Cube never trusted shit. How the hood would see this as "selling out."

But he also thought about Korina's words from earlier. About how he always kept people at a distance. About how he kept himself small when he could be big.

And for the first time, he asked himself:

"Why not me?"

Why not take control?

Why not get in early?

Why not be more than just the voice on the tape?

"Aight," Eazy finally said, leaning forward. "So let's say I do work with you. What's the cut? What do I keep, and what you take?"

Jerry smiled. "Everything's negotiable."

"Damn right it is," Eazy said with a smirk. "Cuz I ain't nobody's puppet. If I do this, I'm the one runnin' shit. You just helpin' behind the curtain."

Jerry nodded. "Exactly what I wanted to hear."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-☆°☆_-_-_-_--_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-

It was quiet except for the sound of breathing. Slow. Heavy. Satisfied.

The sheets were tangled around their legs, the room smelled like sweat, sex, and that familiar cologne she always associated with him. Her back was against his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her stomach. Her skin was still warm. Damp. Marked. His lips were brushing against the nape of her neck every so often, like he didn't want to stop touching her, even if they were done.

Korina let out a soft sigh, her eyes half-closed. "Mmm," she hummed, "That might be the third time you almost made me pass out."

Eazy chuckled low behind her. "Almost? Girl, you was shakin'. Don't play like I ain't break you down."

She smiled, but didn't say anything.

He leaned in closer, his voice brushing against her ear. "Say it then."

"What?"

"Say you missed this dick."

She smirked, pulling the blanket up over her chest. "Whatever, nigga," she said with a little laugh. "You so full of yourself."

"And you full of me right now," he shot back with a grin.

She hit his chest lightly, but even that turned into a soft touch. They lay in silence again, letting the afterglow settle in. It wasn't just lust this time-it felt heavier. Slower. Like they weren't rushing to get dressed. Like maybe they didn't want to leave.

Eazy turned onto his back, arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. "Shit," he muttered, "I ain't even tryna move right now."

Korina stayed quiet for a moment. Then she spoke, voice softer. "Why does it always feel like this... right after?"

He didn't answer at first. Then: "Because this ain't just fuckin', that's why."

She blinked, slowly turning to face him. "Then what is it?"

"I don't know, Korina," he admitted. "But I know I ain't feel this way with nobody else."

A long pause.

Then, real quiet, Eazy asked, "You still wanna keep this shit casual?"

Korina sat up, letting the sheet fall just enough to reveal skin, not even caring anymore. Her eyes were on him. Sharp. Tired. Honest.

"You think I want this shit to be casual?" she said. "You think I like pretendin' like it don't fuck me up every time you walk out the door and I gotta act like I don't give a damn if you come back?"

Eazy frowned. "So then why keep it like this?"

"Because," she snapped, "when I try to make it more, you start actin' like a little bitch. You get cold, distant. Push me away like I'm the one trippin' for wantin' more than just some late-night fuckin'. So yeah-I keep it casual. Because that's the only way you stay."

He looked away, his jaw clenched. That one hit too close.

Korina wasn't done. "You good at runnin', Eazy. Real fuckin' good. You start catchin' feelings and all of a sudden you got a show to do, a label to build, hoes to fuck-anything but this. Anything but me."

"Man, don't act like you innocent in this shit," he shot back, sitting up now too. "You knew what this was from the jump."

"No," she said, staring right at him. "I knew what you wanted it to be. And I went along with it 'cause I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd stop frontin' and tell me what the fuck you really feel."

Eazy rubbed his face with both hands, groaning. "Goddamn, Korina..."

"Nah, don't 'goddamn' me. Say what you need to say."

He sat there for a second, then looked at her-really looked at her. Her eyes weren't just angry. They were sad. Exhausted. Full of that same fire she had the first night they hooked up, but now it was dimmer. Worn.

"I ain't never wanted to hurt you," he said finally. "You the only one that make me feel like I'm more than just... this nigga from the block. With you, I'm not just Eazy-E. I'm Eric. And that shit? That shit scares the fuck outta me."

She didn't say anything.

He reached for her hand. "But I'm tired of runnin'. I swear. I wanna stop frontin', stop fuckin' up every good thing in front of me. I'm not sayin' I got it all figured out, but I'm sayin' I see you. And I don't wanna lose that."

Korina looked down at their hands. She didn't pull away.

"You always sayin' you want real ones around you," she said. "I been real since day one. But you treat me like I'm disposable."

"I ain't gon' do that no more," he said. "I promise."

She looked at him hard for a long time. "Don't promise me shit unless you mean it, Eric."

"I mean it," he said. "All the bullshit, the late nights, the games... I'm done. I want you for real. Not just here in this bed, not just when you feel good. I want all of it."

Korina didn't smile. But she didn't argue either. Instead, she leaned in, kissed his shoulder, then laid her head on his chest.

"Talk is cheap," she murmured.

"I'll show you," he whispered. "Next year, everything's different. I'ma be different."

And just like that, the noise outside felt far away. In that room, wrapped in each other and a whole lot of unspoken pain, they lay still. Loving each other in the only way they knew how-messy, real, and maybe, just maybe, ready to try something deeper.

End of 1988.