The walk home felt like it took forever. Your mind raced with thoughts of Powder, Vi, and the weight of everything you had talked about. But despite the heavy conversation, something deep inside you stirred—an ember of hope, a reminder that there was still a chance for things to change. You weren't just some kid from Zaun trying to survive anymore; you had a purpose, something to fight for.
When you finally reached home, you hesitated at the door. The familiar pang of anxiety settled in your chest, the same one that had been plaguing you ever since you uploaded your first track. It was hard to shake the fear that your music, your one shot at making something of yourself, would fade into the background noise of Zaun, unnoticed and forgotten.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was quiet, your mother likely already asleep after another long day at the factory. You made your way to your room, the old laptop waiting for you on the small desk in the corner.
You sat down and opened the laptop, your heart pounding as the screen flickered to life. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the mouse. Then, with a steadying breath, you clicked on the page where the song was uploaded.
The sight that greeted you made your heart skip a beat.
The view count had skyrocketed. What was once a meager number had exploded overnight. The little notification bell in the corner was lit up, showing an overwhelming number of likes, comments, and shares. You could hardly believe your eyes as you scrolled through the flood of feedback. Most of the comments were positive—people talking about how raw and real the track felt, how they could hear the passion and struggle in every beat and lyric.
"Man, this is fire!" one comment read.
"Real Zaun vibes. Respect," said another.
"Been waiting for something like this"
Your chest swelled with pride. It wasn't just that people were listening—it was that they supported it. They appreciated the strong wordplay and satisfying beat, reaching them in ways you had only dreamed of.
You clicked on a few more notifications, heart racing with excitement, and then paused as you noticed a couple of direct messages, all from fans, but one caught your eye. The name attached to it made you blink, thinking your eyes were playing tricks on you. But no—it was real.
The message was from Senna, the legendary singer from True Damage.
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You stared at the screen, your mind scrambling to process what you were seeing. Senna was known for her powerful voice, her unapologetic style, and her influence in the music world. She was one of the few artists who had broken out of the rough streets to make it big, and she was someone you had admired from afar for a while now.
With trembling hands, you opened the message.
Senna: Hey DOOM, I stumbled across your track today, and I gotta say, I'm impressed. You've got something real here, something that could go far. I'm thinking of signing you to my label, but I want to see more first. Give me some variety—show me you can do more than one genre, and we'll talk. Keep it up. - Senna
Your heart was pounding in your chest, the words on the screen barely sinking in. Senna—the Senna—had heard your music. Not only that, but she liked it. She wanted to see more from you, was even considering signing you to her label. It was like something out of a dream.
You couldn't sit still. Energy buzzed through your veins, your fingers itching to create, to prove that you were more than just a one-track wonder. You needed to tell someone—you needed to tell your mom.
You practically flew out of your room and down the hall to where your mother was sleeping. You knocked on her door lightly, not wanting to wake her too abruptly, but unable to contain your excitement.
"Ma, you awake?" you called softly.
There was a rustling from the other side of the door, followed by a sleepy, "Y/n? What's wrong?"
You opened the door just a crack, enough to poke your head in. "Ma, you're not going to believe this," you said, his voice barely able to contain his excitement. "Senna... from True Damage... she heard my song. She wants to see more of my stuff. She's thinking of signing me!"
Your mother blinked, still groggy from sleep, but as the words registered, a smile spread across her face. "Y/n, that's wonderful!" she said, sitting up in bed. The tiredness in her eyes seemed to melt away, replaced by a proud glow that warmed your heart. "I always knew you had it in you. I'm so proud of you."
You beamed, the guilt and anxiety that had plagued you earlier evaporating in the light of her smile. "I'm going to work on some new songs, different genres like she said," you continued, the ideas already forming in your mind. "This is it, Ma. This is our chance."
Your mother nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she reached out to squeeze your hand. "I know it is. You've worked so hard for this, Y/n. Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too."
"I won't," you promised, feeling a surge of determination. "I'm going to make you proud."
With that, you returned to your room, your mind spinning with possibilities. There were so many genres you hadn't explored yet, so many ways you could push his music further. You thought about the sounds of Zaun—the industrial grind, the pulse of the streets, the voices of its people. There was so much inspiration to draw from, so much you wanted to say.
You spent the rest of the night hunched over your laptop, experimenting with beats, melodies, and lyrics. You played with different sounds, blending them together to create something unique, something that captured the essence of Zaun but also showed your range as an artist.
As the sun began to rise, casting a faint glow over the city, You were still at it, the tiredness in your body no match for the fire in your heart. You were on the brink of something big, and you weren't going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers.
Because this was more than just music. This was your way out, your chance to make something of yourself—and to show Powder, wherever she was, that you hadn't given up. That you were still fighting, still dreaming.
And you weren't going to stop until the world knew your name.
