Season 1, Episode 1: "The Twelve"

The humidity in South Central didn’t just sit on you; it pushed. It was September 1986, and the air smelled like asphalt, jasmine, and the faint, metallic tang of a city on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Jamal sat in the back of Mr. Harris’s Algebra II class. He wasn't looking at the board. He was looking at his shoes—Pro-Wings from the discount bin at the grocery store. One of the soles was flapping like a hungry mouth. Across the aisle sat Tasha, the girl who lived three doors down. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at a gold door-knocker earring a boy in a red Benz had given her that morning.

"Jamal," Mr. Harris’s voice cracked through the heat. "If $x$ represents the cost of goods and $y$ is the overhead, how do we solve for the profit margin?"

Jamal didn't blink. "You can't solve it here, Mr. Harris."

"And why is that?"

"Because the variables are wrong," Jamal said, standing up. "You’re teaching us how to count money that nobody in this room is ever gonna see. My mama’s overhead is three months of back-rent, and her cost of goods is eighteen hours a day at the hospital. The math don't add up."

He didn't wait for a detention slip. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out. The heavy fire doors of the high school slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gavel.

The Guardian of the Gate

Jamal walked three blocks to a dead-end street where a 1986 Fleetwood Brougham sat idling. Dwayne was behind the wheel, his dark shades reflecting the palm trees. Dwayne was the neighborhood's cautionary tale and its hero—a man who had survived the heroin era and was now watching the crack era with a skeptical eye.

"School's out early?" Dwayne asked, his voice a low gravel.

"I’m finished with it," Jamal said, leaning against the passenger door. "I need to get in, Dwayne. I got the hands for it. I got the head for it."

Dwayne looked at Jamal’s flapping shoe sole. He sighed. "You’re a straight-A student, Mal. You got a way out. This game? It’s a circle. You run as fast as you can just to end up back where you started, or six feet under it."

"The circle is already closing on me," Jamal countered. "I can either be inside the circle or under the boot. Let me cook. Just one bird. If I mess it up, I’ll go back and beg Mr. Harris for my seat."

The First Lab

Dwayne took him to a house that looked abandoned from the outside. Inside, it was a different world. The kitchen was scrubbed surgical-white. On the table sat a "chicken"—a kilo of pure powder—and a simple box of baking soda.

Dwayne didn't do the work. He stood back and lit a cigarette. "Show me that math you’re so proud of."

Jamal didn't hesitate. He knew the theory; he’d been watching the "zombies" on the corner for months, studying the texture of what they bought. He measured the water. He watched the temperature. He added the soda with the precision of a jeweler.

As the water began to boil, the chemistry took over. The powder vanished, replaced by a translucent, oily slick that rose to the top. Jamal’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the moment. He moved the pot to the ice bath, watching the oil "crash" into solid, jagged rocks.

"Ta-dow," Jamal whispered, the word escaping him like a breath he’d been holding since the ninth grade.

Dwayne leaned in, picking up a piece. He bit it. The "snap" was loud in the quiet kitchen. Dwayne looked at Jamal with a mixture of pride and profound sadness.

"You’re a natural, kid," Dwayne said. "Which means you’re officially a target."

The Cliffhanger: The First Sale

The episode ends that night. Jamal is back in his bedroom, the smell of ammonia still stinging his nostrils. He hides four ounces of the product under a loose floorboard.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at his window. It’s Little Mike and Ray-Ray. They look terrified.

"Mal, you gotta hide us," Mike whispers, his shirt torn. "C-Grip’s people... they think we’re the ones who moved into the 81st street cut. They said if they see us again, they’re gonna burn the block down."

Jamal looks at the floorboard where his "wealth" is hidden. He looks at his best friends. He realizes he hasn't just started a business—he’s started a war.