Silenced

Two

For once, I'd beaten someone.

Technically, I hadn't; he just fell to the ground on the train. That isn't beating anyone.
But nevertheless, I was satisfied.

I hopped off the Shuttle. Bits and pieces of taunts directed to other people reached my ears.

"Ooh, looks like we have a chicken!"

"What's this, a kid who can't rap to spare his life?"

"You're kidding, I have to fight this noob?"

People crowded the narrow streets, some surrounded by Archive statistics displayed on Swarmcams hovering around them. The Archives were basically cloud networks tracking your previous five raps along with pointers and tips on how to improve. It also measured what worked and what didn't based off of the five sets of bars you dropped. And, of course, there was a nice standard reminder to follow the Trend.

Everywhere in the city, there's always an Archive Tracker nearby. Down every dark alley and in every apartment building is a holographic blue board, displaying your rank and the top twenty-five places from the small metal disc underneath. It displayed the groups you were in, though in most circles you were only allowed to join one gang, or they'd practically disown you.

I turned the corner, anticipating how much I'd gone up — one rank? Two? Maybe even five?

No. Not even close.

I went up three hundred ranks.

Was the system broken or was it just I was swarmed by noobs who had never rapped? I mulled over the possibilities. Except for the one I'll probably never be able to comprehend if it were true.

The city's abandoning..

This entire place was finished only a couple months ago. Since then, tons of people have been coming in and out. I myself hailed from a Ro-Rapping community called Nemesis, named after the super ancient Greek goddess of revenge. It wasn't very big or grand. Ever since their founder was killed, it had gone into disarray until one day, it was practically a ghost town.

And now, the same thing might have happened here.

Or did it? I scolded myself. I've been jumping to conclusions. Maybe I just did well. Better get myself to an arena so I can keep moving up.

I kept walking, confidence in every stride. If I'd gone up three hundred ranks from a tiny Shuttle skirmish, there's no telling where I'd be by the end of this. I keep dreaming up ways to destroy a faceless opponent: Through one big diss, or a handful of bars... But what was I actually going to say?
I barely realized I was walking through the door to the most infamous arena of all time.
And, trust me, I would have regretted it - if not for a chance encounter with the one and only Suspicious Mafioso.