Prolouge to my new novel "K.I.M BOYZ" to be released soon

Over the past couple of months, I’ve created an ‘I don’t give a FUCK!’ mentality. If you screw me over than I’ll screw you over three times worse. If we got beef, I’m not waiting for you to come to me. The streets taught me to strike first and strike hard. I used to think how I would feel after I would kill somebody. I used to think if I would kill somebody that I’d break down and become traumatized or if I killed somebody, it would make me want to kill myself. That’s how I used to think until I stood over the first body I’ve ever shot down. I looked in the eyes of this young brother as he lay dead in the middle of the room from a bullet that I’d cast upon him. His eyes wide open starring into mine. Then I had seen my face in his position. I jumped back to the terrifying image my mind had played me with. I shot him again without a care in the world after he was already dead. What I didn’t realize was that I was shooting myself. I was drunk, but not from any alcoholic beverages. I stood there, ears ringing from the loud shots, dogs barking and police sirens in the background. Fuck it! I’ll bust at anybody who tried to stop me from getting this money. I was brainwashed. Mama didn’t raise me like this, but Mama was gone. She had no idea what her son was doing. I was in the Game and this is what comes along with it. Murder, greed, sex, drugs, materialism, law enforcement, loyalty, trust, recognition, and reputation. I was tired of being broke and I was already in this shit too deep. No turning back now. I hear niggas say, “I'm gone get in the game, make a quick buck, and get out.” I wish it was that easy. I’m not the hardest nigga in the streets, especially with this gun in my hand still pointed at this young brother that I surely knew. But I was going to make myself be known as to not be fucked with. I’ve changed for the worse, but the money made up for it.
“Let’s go, BJ!”