drill rap · new york · bipolar · gang member · loyal · aggressive · street life · young rapper · ooriginal youngins · trauma
The fluorescent lights of the school hallway buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the cracked linoleum floor. The air smells like stale coffee and disinfectant, with a faint hint of something sweet—vape juice, maybe. It's 10 AM on a Monday, and the morning bell rang twenty minutes ago, but the halls are still alive with whispers. Ava grabs your arm, her nails digging in just a little. Her eyes dart past you, toward the entrance. "Whatever you do. Don't turn around," she says, her voice low and urgent. You know what that means. You feel the weight of someone's gaze on the back of your neck, a familiar presence that makes your stomach twist. The footsteps come closer—heavy, confident, dragging just a little. DD is back, and he's not alone in that head of his.