Beats shoving themselves into our ears were the norm. Couldn’t do anything about it, even if I wanted to. Not that I did. This was my life, for the past decade or so. Downtown pubs, bars, clubs, whichever paid the best - and of course, cyphers. Cyphers and Battles kept me going. The idea of showing my true skills, in front of people, who actually knew what they were listening to. Not those plebs at clubs, who would drink their life away, and try to clap some of those cheeks in front of them, not being ready for the cruelty of waking up, and eating breakfast alone the next day.

No, I definitely wasn’t one of them, but I shared the same fate. Twenty-four, no girlfriend, part-timing. I was as much a bachelor, as it gets. But to be entirely honest, it didn’t bother me as much as it should have. I got my spare time to improve myself, and not spend it with someone, who probably wouldn’t even understand me. Although, even now, not a lot of my peers do.

I grew up in an actually working, and solid family. Had a little brother, and my parents weren’t divorced, and my father didn’t leave for that proverbial milk. I also had a fairly decent education. But you know what? I didn’t want to be part of the common life of getting up at five, and get to work by eight, only to arrive home late in the evening. No, I wanted none of that. Instead, I got into hip-hop. I started free-styling with my friends, when we were in elementary, and continued past highschool, with less and less of my friends in the group. Eventually, I was the last one. The last bleached-haired kid, with my hoodie. Everyone called me immature, a kid. They thought I didn’t know how to move on, how to leave the joys of our younger years behind, but by that point, I knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted to become a rapper, an MC. So, instead of going to university, I went to our local bars, as an opening act for better, and more famous folks. Was good enough, people started to notice me, as the one person, who’s always showing up before others.

And thus comes the beat tearing it’s way into my brain through my eardrums.

“Next up, on tonight's MC Battle is none other than the famous opening act - MC Kenga!” I heard the annoyingly loud, and deep voice of Joe, our usual announcer and main judge, inviting me on stage.

Stage, well more like the top of the stairs leading up from this small square, to the main roads of our area. Beat’s chill, I don’t rap about how life sucks, or how I fuck bitches, and smoke herb. I like to rap about anything but those sorta stuff. Unlike my opponent.

“And in the other corner, our beloved leader, king of these hills, Johnny, the Grim Rapper!” What an obnoxiously stupid name. But, nonetheless, he’s the leader of the local gang, the Reapers. Still, edgy as all hell, but I learned to roll with that. So think of him as this sorta really - and I mean REALLY - short guy, barely has any muscles, and somehow HE became the leader of this entire area. Like how did that even happen? Is he just influential, or just really charismatic, or maybe just really great at rapping?

Believe it or not, I actually never seen him on stage before. So my expectations rose, as I really didn’t see any other way of him being the actual leader of this quite huge group of people. I was like the only person in this entire Battle, who wasn’t a reaper - and of course, no one really wanted me here. I came along, because the award was nice, quite a hefty amount of money. Wouldn’t need to worry about food for like a week or so. He steps on stage, everyone is cheering for him, but something felt off. I looked into the crowd, and noticed something quite intriguing. They didn’t look as enthusiastic about Johnny, as they sounded, which striked me as odd. If he’s the leader of this bunch, then he must be good, right?

Music starts, nice chill beats, ran by a friend of mine, and then boss-man starts rapping. Look, even if I tried to describe it for what it was, I couldn’t quite tell you how bad it actually was - like think rotary fan meeting aluminium foil, on a speaker, that has a really bad treble. It was hurting my ears. I couldn’t even try to look like I was neutral about it, first, because I wasn’t, second, because my ears almost started bleeding. He was way off the rhythm, he’s rhymes didn’t work, lines didn’t make sense, et cetera. And let’s not talk about how high his voice was. Think of a newborn, who just got castrated. That’s how bad it was. He was going on about “roasting me, like a pink sandwich” - what is that even? - and “taking me straight to the afterlife” which probably sounded badass in his mind, but I won’t be afraid of a short, skinny guy, with a high pitch, that an opera singer would be jealous of. I almost started laughing, but that would be really unsportsmanlike of me, so I held it in, as much as I could.

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This went on for a few seconds more, at which point my turn was up.

I thought I’d tell him what I think. When freestyling, you rarely hold back, and in this case, even the audience would agree with me. Some of the girls in there were straight up crying at this point. I don’t know why they didn’t laugh at him, but I was in a spot where I could stand up in their stead.

So I started rapping. I went on about how annoying his voice is, and that he should “take a warm bath, with some pink soap, maybe the castration wouldn’t hurt,” and “if you don’t drop, Handel’ll drop the soap.” Just to double check, I looked into the crowd once more. I was really surprised to see that it was a really mixed feel I got back from them. At the same time they seemed to approve, and have had the biggest “Gasp!” moment in their entire life. I didn’t really get what their problem was, but I took their approval for it.

Took us an entire two rounds to decide the winner. Thankfully, the judges had good ears, and gave the money to me, but something still felt off. Like for some reason, they were sorta giggling, and smirking between each other, as they handed me the price. I took that as a sign of a happy mix of dementia and madness, and with the envelope in hand, I walked away. 

Alright, everything seems fine so far. I can’t really trust them, after that weird feel I got after the Battle ended. Like everything feels sorta off. I feel like I’m being followed, but I can’t see or hear anyone behind me. So I spent most of my time walking home looking behind my back. The only thing I noticed, that was not normal, is how hollow everything was. As in I couldn’t see a single soul outside. Now sure, it was around two in the morning, but still, somehow it was abnormal. Even the usual few drunk businessmen were missing, whom I could see almost every single night, since I moved here a couple years back.

I turned a corner, and immediately saw what was so wrong this whole time. I wasn’t followed. They were waiting for me. Huge black car, these two real buffed up body builders, and a baseball bat in both of their ripped muscular hands. Between them stood a little silhouette of what I could only assume to be Johnny, but couldn’t really see his face in the dark, so it could have been either a child, or a leprechaun, but this quiet voice in my head told me it was neither. I raised my hands, to show them that I didn’t want any trouble, but they seemed to have not cared at all. A ripple through the air, the familiar extremely high pitched voice gave the order: “Beat him half dead.” I turned, started to run. I knew I had no choice in the matter, they wouldn’t have listened either way… But wait, I wasn’t running. One of them caught my left shoulder, turned me around, and I felt one of those sport-toys hit me right in the guts. I threw up. Couldn’t move a muscle. The strength of a blunt object meeting my body at the speed of a small car really took the soul out of me. Even if I wanted to run, I just couldn’t. Not at a speed that would have mattered. At least they didn’t want to kill me.

Next hit landed on my back. Another landed on my thigh, which I think broke at the same time. At least cracked. Now I really couldn’t have run. I started to fall. Fell right to the ground, and hit the back of my head on the side of the pavement. Blacked out.

Blinding light, and loud voices. I was being transported. It didn’t matter. I chose the light. It was… Peaceful. Walked towards a shadow I saw.

“Welcome child.” He said with a booming voice. “I am so sorry.”