The bass thumped through the speakers of Marcus's Audi A3 as he cruised through Hackney, morning traffic crawling at its usual pace. He reached forward, turning the volume dial higher as the DJ on Capital XTRA finished his introduction.
"And this one's been blowing up my requests for the past twenty-four hours. Here's the track everyone's talking about—'Redemption' by Amias Mars."
The beat dropped—hard, uncompromising, distinctive. Marcus's fingers immediately began drumming against the steering wheel, his head nodding in unconscious appreciation as the opening bars flowed through the speakers.
"Wait, who is this?" Deja asked from the passenger seat, her attention pulled away from her phone. She leaned forward, increasing the volume even more. "This is actually cold."
Marcus shook his head. "Some new guy. Been all over my timeline since yesterday. Apparently he's Central Cee's cousin or something."
"For real? You can hear it in the flow," Deja said, now fully engaged with the music. "What's his name again?"
"Amias Mars."
"Huh," she murmured, already typing the name into her phone. "Need to check his other stuff."
Across town in a crowded university common room, Elisha sat with her laptop open, headphones clamped over her ears, allegedly working on her dissertation. In reality, she was three tracks deep into a YouTube rabbit hole that had started with a recommendation from her algorithm.
"Yo, El," her flatmate called, dropping into the seat across from her. "What's got you looking so serious?"
Elisha pulled one side of her headphones away. "Listen to this."
She unplugged her headphones, and the distinctive production of I'm Tryna filled their corner of the common room. A few heads turned their way.
"That's Amias Mars," said a guy sitting nearby, without looking up from his own laptop. "He just dropped a new track today that's even better."
"Who?" Elisha's flatmate asked.
"Just wait," the guy replied with the confident air of someone who'd discovered an artist before everyone else. "He's about to be everywhere."
In a crowded house party in South London, the DJ transitioned between tracks, searching for something to maintain the energy in the room. On impulse, he queued up a track he'd only heard that morning.
As the opening bars of Redemption filled the room, conversations paused. The response was immediate—heads nodding, phones raised to Shazam the track, bodies moving to the beat.
"Who's this?" someone shouted toward the DJ booth.
"New artist—Amias Mars," the DJ called back, watching with satisfaction as the crowd's energy surged. By the second verse, at least a dozen people were rapping along, having already memorized the lyrics from repeated listens throughout the day.
On the top deck of the 243 bus, Karim sat with his friend Leon, both scrolling through their phones as the vehicle lurched through East London traffic.
"Bro, have you seen the numbers on this Amias guy's Daily Duppy?" Leon asked, turning his screen to show Karim.
"Yeah, Dave tweeted about him. Crazy co-sign for someone who just started," Karim replied. "The new track is even harder though."
"Which one?"
"'Redemption.' Just dropped this morning. Already all over radio."
Leon immediately opened Spotify, searching for the track. He put one earbud in, offering the other to Karim. "Let's see what the hype's about."
By the time the bus reached their stop ten minutes later, they'd listened to the track three times and followed Amias on every platform they could find.
-
@MMLDN: This Amias Mars kid came out of nowhere and already has 3 songs and a freestyle in rotation. Who's A&R is sleeping?? #Redemption
@Lucas: Just heard that Redemption track on the radio. Had to pull over and listen to it. Amias Mars is one to watch.
@YardMan99: How's man dropping better music at 17 than these established artists at 30? Mad tingz
@HeryHerylle: That "I need someone that can keep me home" line in Redemption….
@UKRapDaily: Reports coming in that Amias Mars has already turned recieved multiple label offers.
@TuneCritic: You know what happens next... Drake follows Amias Mars on IG before the week ends.
The hashtag #Redemption was trending in London by midday, with #AmiasStorm and #MarsLanding following close behind. Each post amplified the signal, each share widened the audience, each stream strengthened the algorithm's push.
The numbers told their own story:
12:00 PM: "Redemption" - 1,246,000 Spotify streams
2:00 PM: "Redemption" - 2,878,000 Spotify streams
3:00 PM: "Redemption" - 4,615,000 Spotify streams
—
Meanwhile within the studio space Amias leaned back in his chair, spinning slightly as he took another bite of pizza. His white cap was pulled low over his eyes, but couldn't hide the smile that kept breaking through his composed facade.
"Nah, chat, these AMP man are too funny," he said, wiping his hands on a napkin as the video he'd been reacting to ended. "Duke's reaction when she picked him? Priceless."
He leaned forward to glance at the viewer count and did a double-take.
"Yo, what the—" he stared at the number. "2,300 viewers? I started this stream with like 200. What's happening?"
The chat scrolled faster than he could read:
GriBetz: BRO REDEMPTION IS EVERYWHERE
LondonLockdown: found you from the Daily Duppy, staying for the personality
StreamKween: your song is all over TikTok my guy
RoadmanRecs: Dave's co-sign you
KSI_Army: congrats on the blow-up bro
TwentyTooWild: you should check Twitter man
Lyies: EVERYONE IN THE UK TALKING ABOUT YOUUUU
ManLikeMarko: bro I joined 5 mins ago but I'm already a fan
GrimeUK: You really Central Cee's cousin?
Amias's eyes widened as he tried to track the rapid-fire comments.
"Hold up, hold up," he laughed, holding his hands up. "I can't even read y'all messages, this is crazy." He took a sip from his water bottle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Appreciate all the love, for real."
He glanced at his phone, which had been vibrating non-stop on the desk.
"So yeah, as I was saying before," he continued, gathering himself, "8AM dropped about two hours ago. For those who don't know, that's the gas station video we shot. Been working on that one for a minute." He paused, reading a few comments.
Another notification buzzed on his phone. He glanced at it briefly before setting it face-down.
"And yeah, big news—I'm flying to New York tomorrow. Got some meetings set up, maybe a surprise or two." He grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "Just a heads up, the streams might be at weird times for UK viewers cause of the time difference."
He did not mention—the trip would delay the mixtape release, not because it needed extra time but because he wanted to give it extra time. Plus, he's also been working on samples and musical loops for the album which diverted his complete musical attention away from the mixtape.
All the whilst the chat exploded with questions about New York, about collaborations, about his plans.
"I'll be streaming regularly though," he assured everyone. "Actually gonna have a proper setup at the spot we got. A lot of musical equipment so I can make music more regularly as well. The Airbnb is nice, man. Modern, spacious, even got a pool and basketball court. Everything cost a bit, but..." he shrugged with a smile that suggested the expense no longer concerned him as much as it might have a week ago.
He leaned in suddenly, reading something in the chat that caught his attention.
"Wait, what Twitter community? Mars1?" He pulled up Twitter on his second laptop he had just bought. "Who made a—" he burst out laughing as he found it. "Bro, who the hell made a community called Mars1? And there's 500 people in it already? Nah, that name ain't even good."
He shook his head, amused but clearly touched by the spontaneous fan organization.
"Hold on, let me make an official one real quick." He pulled out his phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen. "What should we call it though?"
He thought for a moment, then smiled as inspiration struck.
"Martians," he declared, showing the screen to his viewers. "That's what we'll call the community. Go ahead and join up."
The chat immediately filled with approval and jokes about alien emojis.
"Oh, and before I forget—we're almost done setting up a proper Discord server too. Should be ready by tomorrow. Got all the channels and stuff setup properly."
More messages flooded in, and Amias tried his best to keep up, occasionally missing questions as the pace of comments accelerated.
His phone vibrated again, this time with more persistence. He glanced at it, angling it away from the camera's view. Something in his expression shifted subtly—a flicker of seriousness crossing his features before he masked it with his usual composure.
"Sorry chat, just need to check this real quick," he murmured, reading the message.
Tion Wayne
After a moment, he set the phone down, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Industry stuff," he said dismissively, though there was an undercurrent of satisfaction in his tone. "Everyone wants that second beat from the freestyle. But I've already got plans for it."
His phone buzzed again, and this time he checked it quickly before turning it to silent.
"Man offering me five grand for the beat," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not about the money."
He spun in his chair once, energy shifting as he moved past the interruption.
"Alright, so about America," he continued, leaning forward. "Everyone keeps talking about 'checking in' when you go to different places in the US. So I'm thinking, who do I check in with?"
He navigated to the main Twitch page, scrolling through the top streamers currently live.
"Oh, Yourrage is streaming," he said, a smile breaking across his face. "This guy actually came through my chat on like my first stream."
He clicked on the stream, where Yourrage was in the middle of a conversation with a viewer about potentially joining his team. Amias quickly typed in chat, but the message disappeared in the flood of activity.
"He's not gonna see that," Amias muttered. "Let me send a dono and see if that works."
He navigated to the donation page, sending five dollars with a message. A few moments later, the text-to-speech read out his note on YourRage's stream.
"Yo Rage, it's Amias Mars. Coming to America tomorrow, checking in to make sure it's all good."
On screen, YourRage paused his conversation.
"Uhhh, okay," Rage responded with a chuckle. "What that gotta do with me, gang?" There was a moment of recognition. "Wait, I know this... oh, that's the UK artist, right?"
Amias typed quickly: "Am I good to come through?"
YourRage laughed. "Gang, what do you mean 'are you good to come'?"
Amias responded: "Well, I don't know how this checking in thing works, just making sure you straight."
"Ohh," YourRage nodded, understanding. "Nah, you straight, I'll tell them YRG demons you're good. You valid over here."
"Bless, bro," Amias typed, clearly pleased.
"By the way," He continued, "how'd you even find my stream before? When you first came through?"
"Just wondering."
"I saw Adin reacting to your first track, 'I'm Tryna,'" YourRage explained. "Then I was just scrolling through Twitch randomly and saw your stream pop up, so I checked it out. That 'Redemption' shit go stupid though, swear to God."
"Appreciate you," Amias responded. "I'll do an extra check-in when I touch down tomorrow, just to make sure."
The interaction complete, Amias turned back to his own chat with a satisfied smile.
"See? That's how you move properly," he said, only half-joking. "Respect the game, respect the culture."
He glanced at the time on his computer.
"Alright chat, I should probably start wrapping up soon. Got a lot to sort out before the flight tomorrow." He paused, reading a few more comments. "Oh, before I go though, I did want to try some games on stream. Never played Minecraft before, might give that a go. Or maybe some GTA roleplay—heard those District 10 servers are mad."
The chat immediately filled with gaming suggestions and offers to help him get set up.
"All in New York of course," he continued. "Once I've got everything sorted. The internet at the Airbnb is supposed to be good, so we should be able to do better streams as well."
His phone lit up again, and this time he glanced at it with a slight frown.
"Right, I really do need to handle some things," he said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. "Flight's early tomorrow, and I've still got some calls to make tonight."
He leaned closer to the camera, his expression growing more sincere.
"Seriously though, thank you all for the support. This is... this is mad. From 500 viewers last stream to over 2,000 today?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I see all of you. And I don't take any of it for granted."
The chat flooded with heart emojis and supportive messages.
"Martians taking over," he said with a grin. "I'll see you all from New York tomorrow. Stay blessed."
With a final wave, he ended the stream, the screen fading to black as the viewer count froze at 2,367—nearly five times his previous record.
The moment the camera was off, Amias leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he stared at the ceiling.
He picked up his phone, scrolling through the missed notifications. Among them was another message from Tion Wayne: "Final offer: 7k for the beat. Let me know by tonight."
Amias read it once before switching back to the message from Capari.
Seven people would be joining him on this trip, not counting himself, and that wasn't even considering whoever Capari planned to bring along. He'd need to vet them first—no unfamiliar faces, no chaotic energy, not too many to lead to increased cost for him.
He pulled up the photos of the Airbnb again, swiping through images of sleek glass and concrete, modern furnishings bathed in natural light. The property was essentially two houses connected by a short hallway, with a swimming pool nestled between them and a basketball court off to one side. Perfect for the content he planned to create. The only issue was that he wouldn't have a room to himself because—
Two hours earlier, Amias had been sitting in the Okafors' immaculate living room, perched on the edge of a sofa that had likely never known the indignity of spilled drinks or muddy shoes. The house smelled of jollof rice and something floral—Mrs. Okafor's signature scent that always seemed to permeate every corner of their home.
Mr. Okafor stood by the window, his broad shoulders squared as he peered through the blinds at the street outside. He'd been in the middle of a story about his cousin back in Lagos when something caught his eye, causing him to trail off mid-sentence.
"AMIAS!" he exclaimed, his deep voice resonating through the room. "Is that YOUR car?!"
Amias followed his gaze to where the BMW sat gleaming in the afternoon sun,
"Yes, sir," he replied, unable to suppress a small smile.
Mr. Okafor's eyes widened, his hand coming up to rest dramatically against his chest. "Oh my Lord! You are driving a BMW? At seventeen? JESUS!"
"Dad, please," Zara groaned from her seat beside Amias, but her embarrassment couldn't mask the pride in her eyes.
"What? Am I not allowed to be surprised?" Mr. Okafor turned to his wife, who was arranging tea cups on the coffee table. "Adanna, are you hearing this? The boy is driving a BMW!"
Mrs. Okafor straightened, giving her husband a patient look before addressing Amias. "Alright, what did you need to ask us? Zara said it was important."
Amias sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. The moment of truth. "I wanted to let you know that I've been invited to New York by 50 Cent."
The teacup Mrs. Okafor had been holding froze midway to the table.
"He's asked me to open for two of his shows, and I'll be staying for about in the US for a week, maybe two," Amias continued. "I'd like Zara to come with me."
Mr. Okafor abandoned his post by the window, moving to stand directly in front of Amias. "50 Cent? You do not mean Curtis Jackson? 'Get Rich or Die Tryin''? 'In Da Club'? THAT 50 Cent?"
"Yes, sir," Amias confirmed, maintaining eye contact despite the intensity of Mr. Okafor's gaze.
"What!" Mrs. Okafor exclaimed, tea forgotten. "Amias, how is this possible?"
Amias explained how the connection had come about, keeping his voice steady despite the excitement bubbling beneath the surface. As he spoke, he watched the disbelief on their faces gradually transform into something like awe.
"But what about school?" Mrs. Okafor asked when he'd finished, ever practical. "Both of you have your work to think about."
"Assignments are online," Amias explained. "It's not difficult to keep up with the work—just attendance will be an issue. But I've already spoken with my teachers, and they've agreed to make accommodations."
Mr. Okafor shook his head, muttering something in Igbo that Amias couldn't catch. "And why exactly does our daughter need to accompany you? For company?"
"No, sir," Amias replied. "She's my manager."
The room fell silent. Mr. Okafor looked from Amias to Zara and back again, his expression unreadable. "Your manager? Really?"
Zara nodded, sitting straighter. "Amias asked me about two weeks ago."
"So you pay her?" Mr. Okafor asked Amias directly, his tone suddenly all business.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Okafor turned to his daughter. "Zara, how much have you made so far?"
She hesitated, glancing at Amias before answering. "About three thousand, maybe four."
"Three thousand? Jesus is Lord!" Mr. Okafor exclaimed, the word 'four' flying past his mind whilst his hands flew upward. "Three thousand naira?"
"No, Dad," Zara said, rolling her eyes. "Pounds."
Mr. Okafor's jaw dropped. He began pacing, fingers working rapidly as if calculating on an invisible abacus. "Three thousand in two weeks... six thousand in a month... multiply by twelve... seventy-two thousand pounds a year? My goodness, my daughter is richer than me! OH!" He collapsed dramatically into an armchair, fanning himself with his hand.
Amias couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "That's just the beginning, sir. In the future, I'll be making a lot more, which means Zara will too."
"How much is 'a lot more'?" Mr. Okafor asked, suddenly alert again.
"By next month... probably three or four times what she'll make this month."
Mr. Okafor's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Mrs. Okafor raised a hand, silencing him.
"Wait, wait," she said, her Italian accent becoming more pronounced as she took control of the conversation. "Let's be practical. Zara can go with you, as long as she keeps on top of her studies."
Amias nodded, relief washing over him.
"Where will you be staying?" Mrs. Okafor continued, her tone making it clear this was non-negotiable information.
Amias pulled out his phone, showing them photos of the rental property. "Here. It's in a good neighborhood, very secure."
Mrs. Okafor studied the images, nodding slowly. "It's beautiful. Very nice. But isn't that too much house for just the two of you?"
"I'm bringing some other people." Amias explained.
"Males?" Mr. Okafor asked sharply, suddenly back in the conversation.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. and Mrs. Okafor exchanged a look—one of those silent communications between long-married couples that contained entire paragraphs of meaning.
"Well," Mrs. Okafor said finally, "we don't want Zara sleeping on her own in a strange place. She'll have to sleep with you."
"Mom!" Zara exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. "That doesn't sound very PG-13."
Mrs. Okafor fixed her daughter with a stern look. "Don't play games with me, Zara. Amias, she sleeps in the same room as you, and she stays with you always. No wandering off with Americans."
"And Zara," Mr. Okafor added, "I'll be calling every two hours. EVERY. TWO. HOURS."
"Dad, the time difference—"
"Did I stutter? Every two hours!" he insisted, though the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed his attempt at sternness.
Amias caught Zara's eye across the coffee table, recognition of the absurdity of the situation, pr maybe it was something deeper, it certainly was and they both felt it intensely.
Mrs. Okafor watched this exchange with knowing eyes, a small smile playing on her lips as she finally set the teacup down on the table.