"...Yeah, I'm big Micks and I'm anything but meek
If you wanna come and get me, you gotta be more than sleek
News jumping around you got bars twice the size of a krill
But that's nothing cos I'm a whale grinning with my baleen..."
Ty wowed silently. That last bar was so in-depth that one gotta know about whales and krills to feel the impact.
'Four lines in, and he's only talked about himself,' Ty judged silently.
'He is obviously more interested in rhyming that landing a major blow on his opponent. That's the issue with these rich folks. They have no idea when to choose violence and when to show off. I bet he'll start talking about how rich he is.'
As if to confirm Ty's silent judgement, Yara said, "our 'Mick Hills' is a narcissist. Rich dudes and showboating, ugh."
Mick's lines continued...
"...Yo I pulled up to the stage in some shoes you can't afford,
You been practicing your bars, I been cashing out abroad
I see you and your crew wearing matching gloves like this is the UFC
What are you trying to hide, bitch, I literally can't see
Your hair is crying for help, filled with dread and out of luck (Dread-locks)
You look so damn homeless, here take a couple bucks..."
To add more weight to the last line, Mick Hills flung a few dollar bills on Shukirah.
The crowd roared. The first major hit has landed and it was a brutal one from Mick Hills.
'That hurts,' thought Ty, looking for a reaction from Shukirah but none was forthcoming. The tomboy remained calm, even picked the dollar bills to keep.
"...You see a couple hefty men behind you, huddling like they're a cool band
But truth be told, all I see is them waiting for a gangbang..."
{Whoa!}
"...I got more lines of fire, so let's ignite
You think you're tough with those dreads, but you're just a sight
Matching gloves, your crew's a joke, they can't fight
They see you as a pussy in a boy's clothes, what a sad sight
Your girl gang's got fire, but it's just fake flames
You all wanna gangbang, but I'm the one with the aim
You got a tomboy vibe, but you're just a girl playing tough
Your crew's got more hair than skill, ain't nothing rough
(Shit everyone can see they got no hair)
I know your talk about street cred, but we all can see you're just a fake
Your gloves are fire, but your rhymes are just a mistake
Your gloves are cute though, what they cost, a twenty and some change?
I spent that on my breakfast, yeah I know it sounds strange..."
{Whoaaaaa!!!}
"...You think you're hard, but you're just a poser kid
Your rhymes are whack, your flow's got a limp
You wanna gang up, but I'm a one-man wrecking crew
You and your crew, we'll leave you broke, boo..."
The shouts of cheer erupted. The arena shook to its foundation. The roar from the crowd filtered out to Ty and the others in the waiting room through the cracks in the door, yet it was deafening all the same.
"Hey, don't you think the crowd is overreacting to those mid bars?" Yara sounded disgusted.
"Maybe just a bit," Ty replied. "But those lines from Mick Hills were brutal, to be honest. I wonder how Shukirah is supposed to give a groper comeback after this."
"Psst. I heard the—the boy Shukirah is actually a beast. He'll rip stupid Mick open like a pack of gums," Pete added.
Ty was startled. Pete's physical presence was so low that Ty actually forgot he was still there.
"Pete, you should be a spy. You lack so much aura. Plus Shukirah is a 'she' not a 'he'. Damn," said Yara.
Black Gold T finally restored calm to the arena, and after a few adjustments and corrections against Mick Hills' group and their unruly acts, the stage as cleared for Shukirah to step up.
Ty used the Insight skill on Shukirah but it wouldn't display anything. So he felt his first theory might be right. He couldn't view a person's stats through the screen. He had to seen them directly.
The slow, melodic, rhythmic beat started, giving a short time for the introduction. The seconds passed and Shukirah wouldn't utter a word or a rhyme for an intro. Instead, she clenched her gloved fists and stared daggers at Mick, pouncing like she's a hungry tiger going for the kill.
Immediately the countdown began, the beat switched to a rapid tone, the famous trap style for street rappers.
Shukirah started:
"...Shukirah...
You think you're winning, but you're just a joke
My gloves are fiery, and my flow is a spike
You wanna gang up, but I'm the one who's tight
You're just a wannabe, ain't nothing real tonight..."
Everyone could feel the anger in her voice.
"...Gloves on because I earned them, not because mama bought them clean
You're flexing daddy's wallet like that makes you something mean
You pulled up in those shoes that somebody else designed
I stitched my whole identity from nothing, stitch by stitch and grind
Rich since sixteen? Congratulations, want a crown?
I've been building since I'm ten with my back against the ground
You're Solo dolo? Nah, your accountant held your hand
My squad roll deep 'cause loyalty is something you can't plan
Talking about my gloves like they're the punchline of your set
Those were the weakest bars that I heard from you yet..."
Shukirah seemed far from done with her bars, but taking a good look at the audience, the reaction wasn't the least encouraging. There was an ominous silence.
The crowd stood at the edge of their seats, leaning forward as if in anticipation. One hear a pin drop from the audience stand.
The silent effect wasn't only prominent in the arena. Every other contestant in the waiting room acted pretty much the same as the audience, staring wide-eyed, mouth open, breaths bated, and leaning forward, straining their ears to not let a word from Shukirah go unheard. It was that hypnotic.
"...You spent your whack ass sixteen bars on what I chose to wear
Meanwhile I was studying your timing, found the gaps right there
You said you're not even pressed but you mentioned me six times
That's called obsession, you douchebag, dressed up as punchlines
You bought a car, good for you, I built a name instead
A name don't depreciate when the market goes to red
Nah keep the rich boy energy, the stage is getting old
Some people born with silver spoons, I was born cold and bold..."
The beat stopped. The countdown was over. And Shukirah was done. One could see buckets of sweat dripping from her body. Her sleeveless clothes were soaked.
When she finished, the whole place went quiet.
Not the good kind of quiet either. The kind where you can hear someone shift their weight in the back row. People were looking at each other, squinting, like they were trying to work out if they had missed something. A few people in the front just stared with blank faces. Someone coughed. Her supporters still had their gloved hands raised but even they looked unsure whether to clap or wait.
It was awkward. Genuinely awkward.
'I hate this feeling,' thought Ty.
Then the Black Gold stepped up.
She grabbed the mic, looked out at the crowd and just said "Yoooo."
That was it. That was all it took.
The place erupted. People were screaming, grabbing each other, pointing at her like they had just witnessed something historic. The silence flipped in a second like a switch. Someone in the back let out a long howl and it set everybody else off. Her big, black hooded supporters lost their minds, waving those fists in the air and stomping the floor.
She hadn't moved an inch. Still standing there calm, like she knew it was coming.
The crowd just needed someone to tell them what they heard was real.
"What the hell was that?"
"Is she done? No, she can't be done."
"Those bars were mighty, I need more."
"Now, that's what we love to see, peeps," Black Gold commented, nodding at both contestants. It was obvious she was not trying to show favoritism even though the crowd seemed to have decided their favorites.
It was time for the judges to give their take on the contest.
The first judge, Focalistic leaned into his mic, glancing between the two contestants.
"I'll start with Mick Hills. You came in confident, delivery was smooth and the crowd felt your energy early. I also give a thumbs up to the slight bounce while you're delivering those shots. That was really admirable.
"Shukirah however matched her opponent's energy bar for bar and flipped his own material against him. This, I think is the slight advantage one has when you go second. But that cannot be dwelt upon because she was able to come with those shots right on the spot after listening to Mick. She found an opening right away. That's genuis.
"Here's my vote. I think I'll go for Shukirah on this one. Gotta give it to her. Exceptional performance."
A few heads in the crowd nodded in agreement. Some shouted in joy. Shukirah bowed politely, rocking slowly on her feet.
Black Diamond the second judge, could barely stay in his seat. He threw his hand up before he even started talking.
"Okay so Mick had some COLD lines early, I won't lie. The crowd was rocking with him. But then Shukirah came back and just dismantled the whole thing piece by piece. He peaked too early and she finished stronger. Her for me. Yes, Shukirah."
The third judge, Ronda Bryant who Ty mistook for Teyana Taylor, waited for the noise to die down before she spoke. She didn't rush. She never did.
"I love Mick's composure best. He was articulate as well, and his punches landed in the first half. I'll give him that." She folded her hands on the table. "But composure without consistency is just performance. You had some fatal shots at first, then you based the rest of your bars on the gloves she wore and how richer you are than she was.
"While I stand on the fact that the topic for each individual does not matter much in the grand scheme, you just know that your rich claims were just too open for a more fatal comeback. The opening was just too wide for even the worst observer to see.
" Therefore, Shuirkah wins on execution. Mick wins on style." She paused, letting it land. "Style doesn't score points here. So, Shukirah for me."
'Geez, she's really tough,' thought Ty.
"Ronda gives me the creeps," Yara said.
"She looks hot though," Pete opined.
Ty turned towards Pete. "Is that all you see right now?"
" Priorities," Pete replied simply.
A little clap echoed round the hall, followed by a deep murmur.
"Three to zero," Black Gold announced.
She reached over and grabbed Shukirah by the hand, raising it above her head.
Shukirah and her crew were totally hyped, jumping about in triumph.
The display board in the arena showed a 'cancel' sign over Mick Hills' picture, signifying that Shukirah had won or qualified for the next round.
Mick and his friends stepped off the stage in defeat, and the stage was cleared for the next contestants.
Black Gold grabbed the microphone, announcing the next contestants.
"Superfly Jones, get your ass up here!"
A black kid in black top and crazy jeans jumped upstage with three of his friends. He was a little too tall in Ty's books.
"And your contestant is gonna be, Cloak n' Daggers!"
Another black kid walked confidently on stage with four other boys and a girl. Standing before his opponent, Cloak n' Daggers was inches shorter, but that might just be because Superfly Jones was a practical pole.
There were loud murmurings from the crowd. One could tell that the excitement was growing steadily.
"What's the matter with everybody?" Ty asked no one in particular but waited for an answer.
"Ah, you don't know," Yara replied, "these are the roughest kids in the contest. Be ready for some blood."
"Blood? Literally?"
"Figuratively. But don't rule out the possiblity of you seeing actual blood. They are that messy," she affirmed.