No Way Out

Malik- Scammed

By the time Malik wrapped up his humiliating laundromat "launch party," reality hit harder than a missed beat in a freestyle battle. The dream of stardom, once so vivid, now felt like a mirage—something that got farther away the closer he tried to get. His mixtape was out there, sure, but it wasn't catching fire like he'd hoped. There were no buzz, no streams, no fans, just a lonely SoundCloud page collecting dust. He had more bots than real listeners, and his social media presence? Practically nonexistent.

Sitting in his cramped bedroom, Malik stared at his phone, scrolling through his meager following. His last tweet about the "hottest mixtape of 2023" had gotten exactly two likes—one from his mom and one from a random spam account promising him more followers if he bought a package. It was like he was shouting into the void, trying to get noticed in a world that seemed to be ignoring him.

How did I mess this up so bad? Malik wondered, eyes fixed on his screen, the frustration building with every second. He thought he'd done everything right. He'd networked (kind of), put himself out there, and even hustled for that laundromat gig. But where were the fans? Where was the fame? The recognition?

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Malik's heart jumped. It was a call from Louie—the "producer" who had promised him big things. Maybe, just maybe, things were about to turn around.

"Yo, Louie, what's good?" Malik answered, trying to play it cool even though his voice cracked slightly with hope.

On the other end, Louie's voice sounded rushed and gruff, not the smooth, confident tone Malik was used to. "Malik, listen up. We gotta talk, man. I've got something lined up for you, but we need to figure out the next move. Come by the office. We'll sort this out."

Malik's heart raced. The next move. Maybe the laundromat gig was just a warm-up for something bigger. Something real. Without wasting another second, Malik threw on his freshest tracksuit and headed out, hope creeping back into his chest.

When Malik arrived at Louie's "office," he was hit with a wave of confusion. This wasn't the glitzy, professional studio he'd imagined. It was more like a storage unit—bare walls, dim lighting, and mismatched furniture. But what really caught Malik off guard were the stacks of kitchen appliances everywhere. Blenders, toasters, microwaves—piled up like inventory in a warehouse.

"Uh... what's all this?" Malik asked, stepping inside, his confusion deepening.

Louie was lounging behind a cluttered desk, barely glancing up from his phone. "Oh, that? Just some promo stuff, man. It's part of the game."

Malik frowned, stepping further into the room. "Promo for what? I thought this was about music."

Louie chuckled, finally looking up with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It is. But it's all connected. Branding, man. You want to blow up, right? This is how we get your face out there. You're gonna be on every toaster box in the city."

Malik blinked. "Wait, what? Toaster boxes? What are you talking about?"

Louie leaned back, still grinning like he'd just handed Malik the keys to the kingdom. "Exposure, kid. People need to see your name before they hear your music. If they see you on a box, they'll remember you. Then when they hear your tracks, boom—you're already in their head."

Malik stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "You... you want me to be the face of toasters?"

Louie nodded, pulling out a contract and slapping it onto the desk. "Toasters, blenders, whatever. It's all about visibility. You're not just selling your music—you're selling your brand. Trust me, this is how you get noticed."

Malik's stomach dropped. This wasn't how he'd pictured his rise to fame. He wasn't about to become the guy known for selling kitchen appliances. He was a rapper, not some pitchman for blenders and microwaves. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in.

"Louie... I came to you to get my music out there. Not to sell toasters," Malik said, his voice flat with frustration.

Louie's grin faded slightly. "This is how you get your music out there. It's a stepping stone. You think people are just gonna listen to some random dude's mixtape? No, man. You gotta build your name. Start small, then we'll get you to the big stuff."

Malik shook his head, backing away from the desk. This wasn't the dream. This wasn't even close to what he'd imagined. He had been hustled. All those promises Louie made about exposure and fame—it was a scam. And now he was standing in an office full of kitchen appliances, realizing that he'd wasted his time on a lie.

"Man, forget this," Malik said, his voice rising with anger. "I'm not selling no damn toasters. I'm a rapper, not some infomercial dude."

Louie stood up, trying to keep his cool. "You walk away from this, Malik, and you're walking away from your only shot."

Malik glared at him, the disappointment morphing into full-blown anger. "If this is my shot, then it ain't worth taking."

Without waiting for Louie's response, Malik turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. His dreams of stardom had just taken a major hit, but there was no way he was selling out for some kitchen appliance hustle.

Back in his bedroom, Malik collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The reality of his situation hit him like a punch to the gut. He had no deal, no real connections, and his mixtape was going nowhere. The laundromat gig was a joke, and now he'd almost ended up slapping his face on a toaster box. It was a low moment, the kind that made him question if he should even keep chasing this dream.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and in walked Trey, Keisha, and Shay. They could tell something was off.

"Yo, Malik, what's up? You good?" Trey asked, leaning against the wall.

Malik sat up, shaking his head. "Nah, man. I just found out Louie was playin' me the whole time. That dude's not a producer. He's some scammer trying to get me to push kitchen appliances instead of my music."

Keisha's eyes widened. "Wait... you almost became the face of toasters?"

Shay, trying not to laugh, sat down beside him. "Malik... that's wild. But honestly? We all kinda saw it coming. Louie seemed shady from the jump."

Malik rubbed his face, feeling a wave of embarrassment. "Man, I was so desperate to make it that I didn't even see it. I thought this was my chance."

Trey sighed and clapped Malik on the shoulder. "Bro, you're gonna make it, but you gotta be careful. These dudes out here will scam you if you're not watching. You're better than that toaster deal."

Keisha nodded, still smirking. "Yeah, you don't need to be pushin' blenders to get your music heard. You got talent. You just need someone legit."

Malik glanced around at his friends, grateful for their support, even though he felt like a fool. "I just... I thought this was it, you know? I thought I was finally about to make something of myself."

Shay smiled softly. "You will. But sometimes you gotta take a few hits before you get there. That's just part of the grind."

Malik leaned back against the wall, sighing. "Yeah... but I feel like I just hit rock bottom."

Keisha grinned. "Hey, at least you didn't sign the toaster deal. That would've been next-level embarrassing."

For the first time that day, Malik cracked a small smile. "Yeah, that would've been tragic."

As the group sat there, Malik realized that even though his dream had taken a massive hit, he wasn't alone. His friends had his back, and maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the end of his journey. It was just another obstacle—a setback he would bounce back from, stronger than ever.