Unnamed

Eazy-E's POV

The night after my White House visit was surreal. I was back at the hotel, sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping through the channels. Every station was talking about it—about me, about hip-hop, about the President. The words Eazy-E meets Ronald Reagan scrolled across the screen like some kind of headline out of a dream.

"This can't be real," I muttered, leaning back against the headboard. I felt like I was living someone else's life. A kid from Compton sitting in the same room as the leader of the free world? That didn't happen. Yet, here I was, the talk of every major network.

The footage replayed on nearly every station. Reagan and I walking out of the meeting room together, him smiling, his arm draped around my shoulder like we were lifelong friends. The cameras caught every moment—the handshake, the laughs, the small talk. The world couldn't get enough of it.

One anchorwoman, her voice polished and professional, spoke over the clips:

"In a groundbreaking meeting earlier today, President Ronald Reagan welcomed Eric Wright, better known as Eazy-E of the rap group N.W.A, to the White House. The President and the controversial rapper discussed the impact of hip-hop on American culture and its influence on the youth. This unprecedented meeting marks a significant moment in the ongoing debate over gangster rap and its role in society."

The channel cut to another network. This time, a panel of political analysts debated the meeting.

"Was this a genuine outreach to the hip-hop community, or just a calculated political move by Reagan?" one commentator asked, his tone skeptical.

"It's clear this is about the upcoming election," another analyst replied. "Reagan's looking to boost his party's image with younger voters, particularly in urban communities. Inviting someone like Eazy-E to the White House is a bold strategy, but it might just work."

I couldn't help but laugh. So that's what this is about, huh? Getting votes? I thought about the way Reagan had spoken to me, the way he'd promised to keep hip-hop alive. Was any of it real? Or was I just another piece in his game?

My thoughts were interrupted by the hotel room phone ringing. I picked it up, expecting it to be Jerry or one of the guys.

"Eazy," Jerry's voice crackled through the line, his tone a mix of excitement and urgency. "You're everywhere, man! Every channel, every station! This is bigger than I ever imagined."

"Yeah, I noticed," I said, keeping my voice steady. "What's the play, Jerry? What's Reagan really after?"

"Votes," he said bluntly. "But that's not the point. The point is, you're in the spotlight now. This is huge for N.W.A, for Ruthless. Do you know how many records we're gonna sell after this? The world is watching, Eazy."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Yeah, but at what cost? He's using us, Jerry. Using me."

"Let him," Jerry replied. "You think politicians don't use people all the time? This is the game, Eazy. And right now, you're playing it better than anyone."

I didn't respond. He wasn't wrong, but it still didn't sit right with me.

Later that night, I called Dre and Pac. They'd been watching the coverage too, and their reactions couldn't have been more different.

"That was wild," Dre said, his voice full of amazement. "You looked like you belonged there, man. Straight up."

Pac, on the other hand, wasn't as impressed. "I ain't buying it," he said. "Reagan's been screwing people like us over for years. This ain't about hip-hop; it's about him staying in power. Don't let him fool you, E."

"I know, Pac," I said, trying to calm him down. "But we got what we wanted. He's not banning the music."

"For now," Pac shot back. "But don't trust him. The second it's convenient for him, he'll turn on us. Mark my words."

His words stuck with me long after the call ended. Pac was always the one to see through the BS, and he wasn't afraid to call it out.

As the night went on, the coverage didn't stop. Every channel had their spin on the story, their theories about what it all meant. Some praised Reagan for reaching out to the hip-hop community, calling it a bold move. Others criticized him, saying it was nothing more than a stunt.

But the one thing everyone agreed on? Hip-hop had officially entered the mainstream. For better or worse, we were no longer just a movement from the streets. We were a force to be reckoned with.

I sat there, staring at the TV, trying to process it all. I should've been happy, proud even. But all I could think about was what Pac had said. Don't trust him.

As the clock struck midnight, I turned off the TV and sat in silence. The promise Reagan had made still echoed in my mind. "Your music isn't going anywhere."

But promises from politicians were like smoke—easy to make, easy to disappear. And as much as I wanted to believe him, a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the end.

Tupac's POV

The smell of dinner filled the apartment—Jennifer had outdone herself again. The candlelight flickered against the walls as we sat across from each other, enjoying the quiet moment. For once, there wasn't a crowd, no business calls, no studio work—just the two of us.

Jennifer smiled, her soft laugh breaking the silence. "You seem calmer tonight, Pac. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's good," I said, cutting into my steak. "Just one of those rare nights where I can actually breathe."

The peace didn't last long. From the living room, the faint sound of the TV caught my attention. I'd left it on earlier, just background noise. But as the announcer's voice rose, I caught a name that made me freeze mid-bite.

"...Eazy-E and President Ronald Reagan met today at the White House in a historic moment, discussing the impact of hip-hop on American youth..."

I dropped my fork, standing up abruptly. Jennifer looked up, startled. "What's wrong?"

I didn't answer her. I walked over to the TV, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume. There he was—Eazy, standing side by side with Reagan, smiling like they were best friends. Cameras flashed as reporters shouted questions. The screen cut to a montage of their handshake, their meeting, and Reagan's comments praising hip-hop for its cultural significance.

Jennifer walked up beside me, her arms crossed. "Wow... that's big for Eazy. But you don't look too happy about it."

I shook my head, my jaw tightening. "You don't get it. This isn't about hip-hop. This is Reagan playing his game, using Eazy to make himself look good, to win over people who'd never vote for him otherwise."

Jennifer frowned. "You think so?"

"I know so," I said, my voice firm. "Eazy might not see it, but Reagan's got an agenda. He's trying to flip the script, make himself the 'cool' president who's down with the culture. But I see right through it."

The TV switched to a panel of commentators discussing the event, all praising Reagan's "bold move" to bridge the gap between politics and youth culture. One of them even called it a "genius strategy" to appeal to a new generation of voters.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Genius, huh? Man, they act like this is some big breakthrough. But they don't see the streets, they don't see what Reagan's policies did to us—favoring the rich, cutting social programs, locking up more of our people. Now he wants to act like he's on our side? I ain't buying it."

Jennifer placed a hand on my arm, her voice soft. "At least you didn't go. You'd hate being part of that."

I nodded, my eyes still glued to the screen. "Damn right. I'm glad I didn't go. Let them have their headlines. I'll keep speaking the truth, whether they like it or not."

As the news coverage continued, I turned off the TV and sat back down at the table. But my appetite was gone. All I could think about was how far Reagan would go to twist the narrative—and how I'd never let him use me the way he was using Eazy.