Done from the hiatus. Ignore the story summary from the last chapter as I had some drastic rewrites.
Also if you are following along closely, then it has been a 3 day wait for new chapters. So here's 3 chapters as a batch release.

Act 2

Huey Freeman was spotted making his first debut at the White House Correspondents' Dinner!

Huey Freeman has just announced the construction of Robert Freeman Children's Hospital, along with the funding of over 22 different public backers and the state of Maryland, the project will be completed in 5 years, here in Washington D.C.

Huey Freeman, self-made millionaire at the age of 18, he is the voice of his generation, a champion of human rights, economic equality, and climate activism. Who is the man changing our world? Tune in to our night show special at 6.

Huey Freeman, the Revolutionary of Baltimore, has just been announced as Time's Person of the Year! Our-

Huey Freeman, wow what a man. Don't you agree audience?! That face-

Huey Freeman, he is ou-

Huey, I- I hate you!

Huey, please...

Huey

He wakes up from his nightmare. He looks at the room around him. It's pitch black but in the moonlight he can see his belongings. Some of them are still in boxes, waiting to be unpacked.

Huey sighs, he's had trouble sleeping. He hates sleeping and he only wants to do it for 4 hours. Yet even in that short of time he gets dreams, he gets dreams of her, As he gets up his bed he hears crying. Riley is crying in the other bedroom, maybe that's what woke him up. He sighs again and gets ready for his day, he doesn't want to sleep anymore, he has work to do.

It has been 2 months since Robert Freeman died. Huey had sold the house and everything else. They wanted to get away from it all, they couldn't really live there anymore, it just gives them the feeling of absence and dread.

Huey had brought Riley along to his apartment in Washington D.C., the same apartment thet her and Huey had picked out. Riley had dropped out of school, he had taken on gambling, and he's abandoned everyone in Woodcrest. A different Huey would be more attentive, but lately, he just doesn't care anymore.

Living life in the capital has been a bit harder than Huey thought. He isn't a famous philanthropist that everyone looks up to for answers, he's just a sad broken man with too many family members dead. And yet, Huey never gave himself the time to mourn, he has worked tirelessly to setup a movement in the city. He's had small successes, he had a small organization, he's had a small charity team setup with volunteers and everything. It's just that it isn't exactly what he had planned on.

Ever since he moved in the apartment, he just feels off, like something is missing with him. Of course his thoughts point to her but Huey Freeman doesn't have emotions anymore, he doesn't need to feel random chemical impulses, he just needs to work.

So he wakes up at around 3 in the morning, barely getting any sleep, and he creeps out of bed and drag himself to the kitchen. He takes a look at the 2nd bedroom, where his brother sleeps and even in an apartment with one of the only remaining family he has, he can't help but feel alone.

"Nigga, wat we got to eat?"

"Salad."

"Fuck you, suck my dick. I'm going out."

"Fuck you too."

Riley heads out the door, his cornrows are messy and he smells like shit. Huey would feel pity at his brother but he just doesn't care anymore. The only rule he has for Riley is to not take drugs or bring it into his apartment. However deep down, Huey knows that Riley is just mourning, they haven't really taken the death all too well and to Riley this is just his way of coping. The sadness that they feel can be described as a sinking feeling of hopelessness and grief and then the universe was kind enough to give the Freeman brothers an encore.

Huey prepared himself mentally, he thought he could handle it fine. He's a logical man, he knows that Granddad was going to pass away someday and he has prepared everything that he needed to do to honor his death and more. But Huey still hates himself, he hates himself because he is still in grief. He hates that after 2 months, it's still affecting him. He wants to turn to someone, to let out all his feelings, he needs someone to tell him it's alright, but Huey Freeman doesn't do that anymore. He's strong and he won't depend on anyone but himself.

After eating breakfast, at around 6:30 in the morning, he heads out his apartment, he has to travel to his work. He doesn't really want to think about anything anymore, he just wants to get his job done, accomplish his goals, and nothing else, no attachments, no joy to be gained, no pride in his work. He just wants to do what he wants to the world and then be buried in a grave once he's done. It's all he ever really wants and he's certain that's what he deserves.

As he drives through the city, he wonders how he had gotten this far, how in one of those huge skyscrapers in the distance, there is a small space that belongs to his name. Huey hasn't really struggled with money, he has savings and the inheritance. With that money he was able to fully purchase an office space, it was situated right in the center of the US capital, surrounded by skyscrapers and busy streets. Huey had gotten a steal and had gotten an office space right on the ground floor, it used to be a Starbucks a few months ago and Huey had repurposed it into his main headquarters for his revolutionary organization. He's had the NBP in Woodcrest, it was his first work, and it continues to function under Caesar's management and the financing of Ed Wuncler. But Huey hates looking back at his past projects and he's done everything he can to distance himself away from his hometown, or else he's reminded of all the bad memories associated with that place.

But this one is different. This office space is the headquarters for the Freeman Foundation. A new beginning for him, for a new Huey Freeman. Everything this time will be different.

As he drives his relatively-new car to the city, he navigates through different highway and goes to the main freeway. He takes in the view of Washington D.C. and how perfect the location is to start his career. To achieve his goals what better place than to start at the capital. Amidst that skyline of buildings are thousands of important people, thousands of hands he needs to shake, and thousands of faces he needs to put to justice. In every one of those skyscrapers is someone he despises and criticizes. Someone who has exploited his people, or damaged the environment, or some other social injustice. And while not everyone in the world is perfect, including himself, at least someone should step up and reveal the wrongdoings of the elite to the public.

He drives to the central business district, from there the roads become more and more crowded. Hundreds of cars litter the roads. Huey can't help but close his eyes and rest for a few seconds, he's barely had any sleep, it's only morning and he's already struggling to stay awake. Eventually, he reaches his parking lot and walks the few minutes distance to his office space. It reaches his view. It is situated at the ground floor of a massive skyscraper, it is still a fairly large place but on the outside it looks very modest and blank compared to the other spaces and buildings around them. Huey doesn't really have time to place decorations or even a sign and even then it's not really his style to think about those things. While some argue that it needs a woman's touch to make the place more pleasing to the eyes, to Huey it is simply his place of work, nothing more, nothing less.

He enters the office at around 7 in the morning, there is already a rush in the office, around 2 dozen people are already at work, as they run in and around the office. Papers are shuffling about and phones are already ringing. Huey knows how to run a tight shift and when he enters the office he is greeted by the sight of progress. Being a former Starbucks, there still isn't that much room that would be ideal for an office space, so Huey had to make do and divide everything by small office cubicles. As he walks through the walkway he is greeted by his team, his supporters and associates. He had handpicked every single one by their talents and their dedication to his cause. Most of them are young impressionable people of color who had just graduated from universty, these people have something to prove and they follow his ideals.

Huey has done the best he can to be a reasonable boss, he would always lack emotion but emotion isn't needed. If someone would make a mistake he accepts that things can fail due to human error, if someone proves themselves to be exceptional then Huey would give them recognition. Simple as that and emotion need not apply. While the typical employee isn't used to this style of management, Huey's team fully understands what is expected of them and the outcomes of failures and successes.

"Mr. Freeman here's your outline for today's rally."

"Mr. Freeman you have papers to sign from the USCP."

"Mr. Freeman you have a call at 9 to discuss the details of our charity committee."

Huey responds to the people who have begun to swarm him "Send all my papers to my office."

His office is the smallest one in the building. It's actually a cubicle at the very corner of the hallway, whenever he has to discuss a meeting or a private talk with his employees he actually has to conduct it in the break room instead of his office. Some of his people actually admire that their boss has the smallest workplace, it has become quite a morale booster that their boss isn't in some fancy room while they are toiling away in small cubicles but nonetheless even if Huey barely has any space, he has to make do with what he's got. As he sits down and checks over a few things, he begins his day and gets to work. He handles payroll, does HR, he works as his own secretary, he does finances and accounting, and he's doing basically all the administration matters.

He never really takes breaks and there's not really anything else to stare at. He has no windows, no pictures, or things of interest. He just has papers and a computer screen and his eyes are glued to it the entire day.

Sometimes he would wish that an emerald-eyed girl would walk up to him and ask if he's alright. Huey Freeman has never been much of a wisher and yet his mind drifts out of focus and he ends up thinking about that emerald-eyed girl. He never really eats lunch, his employees are allowed to leave for lunch and eat out, being in the heart of the city means there are a ton of restaurants and yet he would just sit in his office and write business letters and emails. During those times, he sometimes wish a bright-auburn haired girl, would just take his hand and lead him to the break room, and they would eat veggie burgers together. And they would stare into each other's eyes, enjoy each other's company, and he would notice her face glow and she would share her silly stories and thoughts and he would always grunt a smiple response or make a thoughtful remark...

"Mr. Freeman? Sorry to wake you up..."

"Oh. It's fine. What is it?"

"We have 1 hour until the rally, there's already a few people in attendance."

He had been dreaming about her again. He had only fallen asleep for 20 minutes and somehow his mind drifts to her. He sighs and scolds himself, Huey Freeman doesn't have any emotions.

He gets in his car again and he drives to his location. The Freeman Foundation has a political rally just outside the public boundaries of the US Capitol. It is where the American Congress convene and where federal legislature are held and conducted for the entire country. There is no better place to have their voice heard than the beating heart of their nation's legislative government.

Huey reaches his rally and spots around 300 people present. In his very short time in the capital, he has made quite a name for himself, especially within political circles. Huey doesn't brand himself as a radicalist and definitetly not as a terrorist, but rather as a voice of reason. He points out all the flaws and wrongdoings of the people in power, and he teaches the public the things that he had learned. In short Huey Freeman has become a populist figure, someone who appeals to the general public and champions rationality and humanism.

He looks to the crowd as he steps up to the front. His eyes take in the scene, banners, flags, calls for change, and the zeal of men and women. Huey Freeman knows that this is where he is meant to be.

"Good afternoon." His deep voice silences the entire street.

Huey Freeman bears his signature scowl. Many people have become familiar with that scowling face, that permanent angry look. Many people interpret his face as vengeance, as the fury and the fire that will baptize the country. His face is always interpreted to be angry because they always see Huey Freeman be angry about something. Yet only 2 people in the world know that Huey Freeman doesn't scowl because of anger, but rather of pain, of grief, and an eternal sorrow that bears no chance of going away. And 1 out of those 2 people is ready to address his people.

"For centuries, the governments of our world has used prisons and captivity to protect society from dangerous individuals. For centuries the system of criminal punishment has evolved to efficiently weed out the criminalized for the safety of the public. And now this modern system, America's system, has now evolved to exploit the labour of its victims. Each year, millions of people serving time in our justice system are exploited and mistreated so that our federal and state governments can generate billions of dollars of income annually!"

The crowd listens to him attentively.

"Our prisons, the same prisons that we trust to counsel, to reeducate, and to rehabilitate members of our society are putting money and profits as their top priority! These men and women are put into slave-like conditions, in overcrowded and unsanitary buildings and they are placed into a system of forced labour the likes we haven't seen since the American Civil War! By the thousands, people are hastily trialed for crimes, some geniuinely innocent and fast-tracked into forced labour for profit!"

"These are our people, my people. Black Americans who have faced prejudice and racism in the judicial system and makes the vast majority of inmates in America's prisons. To see my people, exploited for profit by the white man, living in these inhumane conditions, with a limited sets of rights and freedoms. Do we have not a name for that?! We see these people profiting from petty crime, from theives and robbers. And instead of rehabilitating them to live a better life after their sentence, what do they do instead? They promote gang culture in their prisons! The very same people who run our prisons promote the same culture and lifestyle that lead these inmates in prison! This ensures that once an inmate serves their time, they lack the skills and mindset to live a life as an ex-convict and turn to a life of crime that ultimately brings them back to prison, just to be exploited all over again! Why has this system been allowed to flourish? They promote gang culture, they hasten trials, and they convict innocent people because it has come to the point where prisons rely on housing prisoners to function! It has come to the point where prison budgets are inflated and bloated that they must rely on forced labour income to operate!" And they have been doing this and lining their pockets with cash by paying the inmates cents and pennies an hour!

The crowd is stirring to a roar.

"We gather here today, outside the US Capitol to bring to the light their hypocrisy! How can we tell the world that our nation is the land of the free when they have our people in their fields, in their logging camps, and in their prison workshops! How can we say that we are the leader of the free world, the protector of human rights, when we as a nation can label a portion of our population as undesirables and deprive them from a life of dignity and respect and sentence them into a life of exploitation!"

"We will not tolerate this! Forced labour is a wolf in sheep's clothing! Forced labour is a cover for slavery and we will NOT tolerate it any longer!"

Freeman!

Freeman!

Freeman!

The crowd chants his name as Huey Freeman raises his fist to the air.

Earlier that morning...

Riley puts on his headphones as he walks around the streets of DC. He takes in the morning air and look at the dimmed lights while the sun begins to rise. Riley inhales a deep breath and he sighs.

He's been doing this a lot lately. Simply taking in the silence, he watches the urban sprawl and all it's sights, he looks to the towering buildings and the city lights. Riley understood what his brother meant after all these years. To just sit down and listen to the world around him and appreciate what he already has.

His morning walk is a dark contrast to a few months ago. Back then, he cried every night, he would drink until he collapsed, and he would gamble all his money at any place he could. In fact, the moment he got a forged adult ID from Thugnificent is the moment he abandoned Woodcrest. He dipped, he left. He didn't really want to be reminded of that place anymore. He was destructive, he called Cindy horrible names, he tried to hit one of her friends, and he fell from his grace.

For some reason he just felt like he was back in the beginning. No one there to take care of him and had no idea what to do next. Thank god for his brother inviting him to his place in DC to stay.

Huey had setup their inheritance to give payments when they were in their 20s, 30s, and 40s. Plus a fairly large payment to cover for the funeral, with the extra money left over getting pocketed. Huey had spent his share and his savings to buy an office while Riley spent his on stupid regretful shit and on stupid regretful bets.

Huey offered to pay for an apartment in Woodcrest, Riley would live there and it would be paid for until he was 18, he even offered to buy him a car, and get him a driving instructor. Then during that faithful summer day, Huey sees him passed out on the floor, empty bottles everywhere, and the place smelling like weed and cigarette smoke. Ever since then Riley has nothing else to do but reflect on his life. Reflect on what he has done wrong and what he could've done better, He stands in alleyways or abandoned spots and taking in the view of Washingon DC. Yung Reezy had died, Riley Escobar drank himself to death. Riley Freeman is the last one alive and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He doesn't know what life he wants. It's that feeling of having to do something new when you've done something for quite a long time. All his life he thought he was going to be a gangster, someone who is feared and respected, someone who has a main bitch and 2 side bitches, he would give them diamonds and rings and they would have sex on persian rugs. He would have his niggas and he would drive through the streets at midnight and blast loud speakers while they all disturb the peace. He really wanted that, he really wanted that life.

Then his death rolled around, his granddad died, to think that a man wasn't gonna live forever. Riley used to think he was gonna live forever and from time to time it's been proven to him that you don't. Rappers get irrelevant, hood niggas gets their asses popped, and sometimes an old man dies. But now he realizes that you can't be spending life on stupid shit. A life can't be spent follwing a young boy's hood fantasies.

He opens the backpack that he has been carrying. He finally finds a good spot, he is in a train depot, it's questionably abandoned but for the time being it's deserted. He takes out two spraycan bottles and starts painting on the side of a train.

He used to grafitti some gay shit on people's houses. Like Riley Wuz Here or Reezy or he would sometimes just do Niggaz to piss off white people. But ever since he was 14 he'd do actual visual art. Just whatever comes to mind, he would paint policemen getting shot or a nigga holding a gun or niggas shooting each other with guns. However, Riley is in the mood to paint a car.

A red-black car, Specifically a 1975 Lincoln Continental. Someone very close to him had the exact same car and he even named it Dorothy. It is a very simple grafitti to do and he made sure to add his own style. And of course, just as his teacher said, you don't take credit for the work. When he finished, he takes a few steps back and admires the entire piece. He nods at himself and reflects on his work. He has been pretty sloppy, he hasn't had much time these past few years but it's good to know that he's still got the spark.

Riley is interested in art, but maybe not as a career. He likes painting shit but he ain't cut out to be a gay ass painter doing art galleries and putting shit in museums. He's more of an underground guy, where he makes art in the dark and only makes art meant for himself.

He looks at his phone and checks on his emails. He's got a plan, which is rare for Riley Freeman, but he has a plan A and all he is waiting for is an email. And when he finally gets to his inbox his eyes go wide.

"Shit. About fucking time."

Riley spent the whole day doing random shit and graffitying random shit. Sometimes he thnks he's the only guy doing graffiti in the entire city, there's so many good spots, so many blank slates in not-so-public places. Right now, he's celebrating, he's finally found good news, and this might be his last few days in Washington D.C.

It's almost 9 at night as he walks down the street to Huey's apartment. He sees the landlady Mrs. Nazomi doing whatever the fuck she's doing at 9. He greets her and gives a wave and he climbs the stairs to the his brother's place.

As he turns his key, he finds Huey.

He's collapsed on the floor.

"Huey? Nigga what you doin on the floor?"

He tries to kick him lightly "Ay what the fuck?"

A realization starts to creep up on him "Huey you gotta be shttin me... this ain't funny..."

Shit. Fuck! Not my brother!

Little A/N:

I had rewritten this entire act because I was unhappy with the original draft. The 1st draft was completely different than what you're reading because it didn't share the same vibe. The 1st draft was a lot more sad and depressive but it dragged on for way too long and the way the characters felt became too unrealistic/forced. It ruined the entire flow of the story so I decided to just scrap it and write new chapters lol. The 1st draft had a 1 year timeskip as well instead of 2 months so yeah you can imagine.

This version will still have some mild themes about depression tho. Also, I'll try to write longer chapters.