Tupac nods, a relaxed smile on his face. "We making magic in here, Suge. Got Dre and Quik on the beats, it's gonna be fire," he says, his voice filled with confidence. Suge takes a drag from his cigar, nodding in approval as he looks around the studio. "That's what I like to hear, Pac. We got big plans for you, man. Club 662 is just the beginning," he says, his tone laced with excitement.
"Speaking of which," Suge continues, turning to Dre and Quik, "we got some of my homeboys Pirus coming through for the show. Gonna make sure everything goes smooth, you feel me?"
Tupac, though, remains unfazed. He takes another drag of the blunt, the smoke curling around him like a protective shield. "Ain't nothin' but a thing, Suge. We ready for whatever," he says, his voice steady and sure. Suge nods, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "That's my boy. We gonna make some noise, Pac. Just you wait,"
As Suge claps Tupac on the shoulder, one of his homies steps forward, a grin stretching across his face. He's a man, clad in red from head to toe, a clear nod to his affiliation with the Pirus.
"Man, Pac, you already part of the family, this is Deathrow." he says, his voice deep and rough. "Once you rock that stage at 662, ain't no turnin' back. You gonna feel that love, that respect. The streets gon' know your name, for real."
Tupac glances at the man, a flicker of uncertainty yet determination crossing his features for just a moment. He's always been drawn to the allure of the streets, the sense of brotherhood and loyalty. But he also knows the dangers, the consequences that come with such affiliations.
But Deathrow is family.
"Yeah, I hear you," Tupac replies, his voice carefully neutral. "But right now, I'm just focused on the music, on making something real for the people." The man nods, his grin widening as he claps Tupac on the back. "Respect, Pac. But remember, we got your back. Always."
Tupac offers a nod of thanks, the weight of the man's words settling on his shoulders. He takes another drag of the blunt, the smoke swirling around him like a protective barrier. As the smoke curls around Tupac, covering him in a haze, DJ Quik breaks the momentary silence. "Yo, Dre, run that track back. Let's hear it from the top," he says, his voice filled with anticipation.
Tupac, his mind still focused and clear despite the lingering effects of the blunt, nods in agreement. With a flick of his wrist, he cues up the beat once more, the familiar rhythm filling the studio. The room fills with energy as Tupac's voice cuts through the air, his words sharp and powerful.
His verses tell a story of struggle and of pain and confidence. Each word is filled with emotion, his voice rising and falling with the beat. The others in the room listen carefully, their eyes fixed on Tupac as he pours his heart and soul into the music with his playful yet serious persona.


I'm through trial, no more smiles, for a couple years
They got me goin' mad, I'm knockin' busters on they backs
In my cell, thinkin, "Hell, I know one day I'll be back"
As soon as I touch down
I told my girl I'll be there, so prepare, to get fucked down
The homies wanna kick it, but I'm just laughin' at cha
'Cause you's a down-ass bitch, and I ain't mad at cha



As Tupac finishes the last verse, the beat fades away, leaving only the lingering echoes of his voice. He recalled of his regrets in life but how he isn't mad about any of it, it's just a part of life and growing. Especially the most important things to him so far, his regrets with how he handled the news about being a new father, how he neglected his son when Sanai was early on in her pregnancy, yet she was the one who continued staying loyal.
The room is silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "Damn, Pac, that was fire," DJ Quik exclaims, his eyes wide with admiration. "You really outdid yourself on this one." Dr. Dre nods in agreement, a proud smile on his face. "For real, Pac. That track is gonna be a hit."