accident

October 29th, 1989

The studio was alive with energy that night. Beats were blasting from the speakers, lyrics scribbled on notepads scattered across the room, and the laughter of brothers bonded by music filled the air. It was one of those nights that felt timeless, where the grind of creating music didn't feel like work—it felt like home.

Tupac leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face as he finished scribbling down a verse. Across the room, Dr. Dre was fine-tuning a beat, his headphones perched slightly off one ear. Eazy-E was leaning against the wall, joking with The D.O.C., who was sipping on a soda, his energy as vibrant as always.

The clock on the wall read well past midnight when everyone finally began to wind down. It was time to call it a night.

As we all got ready to leave, Tupac stood up, stretching his arms. "Alright, y'all," he said, his voice carrying that unmistakable blend of confidence and warmth. "This was a good session. Let's keep this momentum going."

One by one, we all shook hands, saying our goodbyes. Tupac's handclasp was firm and deliberate, his eyes meeting each person's with sincerity.

"Stay solid, Dre," Tupac said as he shook hands with Dr. Dre.

"You already know," Dre replied with a nod.

Eazy-E, always the joker, gave Tupac a playful shove before their handshake. "Don't forget, you owe me a verse for that track," Eazy teased.

Tupac smirked. "Yeah, yeah. I'll cook something fire up for you."

Then came The D.O.C., his vibrant energy still lighting up the room despite the late hour. Tupac grasped his hand firmly.

"Drive safe, man," Tupac said, his tone turning serious for a moment. "Don't be out here wildin' on these roads. Take care of yourself."

The D.O.C. laughed, brushing off the comment with a wave. "I got this, Pac. Don't worry about me."

Tupac gave him a pointed look, one that said, I mean it. "Alright then," he said, slapping The D.O.C. on the shoulder before heading toward the door with Dr. Dre.

Everyone drifted off to their respective cars, the night air crisp and cool as engines roared to life.

The D.O.C pov

I got into my car, my mind still buzzing with the beats and melodies from the session. The studio always had that effect on me—like I was invincible, riding the high of creativity and camaraderie.

The streets were quiet as I drove, the glow of streetlights stretching into the distance. My thoughts drifted to the tracks we'd worked on that night, imagining how they'd sound once they were polished and released to the world.

Tupac's words echoed in my mind: Drive safe, man. Don't be out here wildin' on these roads. I chuckled softly to myself. Tupac always had a way of looking out for everyone, even when he didn't have to.

The car's engine purred as I accelerated, the open road ahead of me inviting, almost comforting. But I wasn't reckless. I knew these streets well, knew how to handle myself behind the wheel.

But sometimes, life has a way of throwing things at you when you least expect it.

As I rounded a curve, the headlights of an oncoming car suddenly blinded me. My hands instinctively gripped the wheel tighter as I tried to adjust, but it was too late. The other car swerved erratically, veering into my lane.

"Damn!" I muttered, jerking the wheel to avoid a collision. The tires screeched against the asphalt, the car skidding slightly as I struggled to regain control.

The car spun out, the world around me blurring into a whirlwind of lights and shadows. Time seemed to slow as the vehicle careened off the road, slamming into a tree with a force that knocked the wind out of me.

The impact was deafening, the sound of metal crumpling and glass shattering echoing in my ears. My body jolted forward, the seatbelt digging into my chest as the airbags deployed with a violent burst.

For a moment, everything was silent. The kind of silence that's almost suffocating, where the only sound is the ringing in your ears and the faint, rapid thudding of your heart.

I tried to move, but pain shot through my body, sharp and unforgiving. My head was spinning, my vision blurry. Blood trickled down my face, warm and sticky, and my chest felt like it had been caved in.

"Help…" I croaked, my voice barely audible.

The faint glow of headlights from passing cars illuminated the scene, but no one stopped. It felt like an eternity before I heard the distant sound of sirens.

As I lay there, trapped in the wreckage, Tupac's voice played in my mind again: Take care of yourself.

I wanted to laugh at the irony, but the pain was too much.

Back at home, the others had no idea what had just unfolded. They were probably settling in, thinking about the next session, unaware that one of their own was lying broken on the side of the road.

Tupac, sitting on Dre's couch with a notebook in hand, scribbled down lyrics, his focus unshaken. But as the night wore on, a strange feeling settled over him—a heaviness he couldn't shake.

And when the phone rang later that night, the news would hit like a punch to the gut.

To Be Continued…

Author notes

Sorry guy if I hurt your heart. By the way I will improve on the album sales part let's just say in straight outta Compton album due to controversy It sold more. Were I want this album in the future to be known as one of the best selling album and most influencing album too . I apologize if the album sale are unrealistic.

End