The blue that seemed to shine on his forehead highlighted his pale features and his brown hair. His grip on the microphone in his hand weakened as he stood on the stage for the umpteenth time that day.
Such an opponent did not even need to dealt with breaking down a drop of sweat, let alone serve as a challenge. However, the number of people he had dealt with before this round was tiring him out. He gritted his teeth in pain.
'Hold on, Joe. This is the last one..!'
"I go to mars to get the bars, you go to poop to get some loot." The opponent screamed into the mic with tension, drenched in sweat from the pressure of the aura that surrounded the stage they stood on. Cheers from the crowd were low and he could see no route of return towards his opponent.
Joe stood and listened to the weak lines, unbothered and unwavering. The opponent was getting desperate to seize the victory, and he even receded to the mind-crushing infamous 'mars bars'. But the number of times these lines were used against him was way beyond the imagination of the man in front of him.
The music that surrounded them stopped and the DJ in front of them changed it to a much more intense song. "Come on, Joe, you can throw back on this one." Those were repeated lines that he had heard multiple times and he is sure many others have too. Those cheers portrayed no encouragement; they were empty of emotion.
Joe raised his hand to stop the DJ. With a condensing look and tone, he spoke into the mic. "It's Raining Tacos."
Gasps emitted from the audience as all stared at the man with the scarf. He had suggested the infamous song that every one of the Robloxian hip hop community despised, to be played as a soundtrack to his rapping. The DJ looked into the eyes of the man, which were as fierce as that of a wolf. He hesitantly nodded at the man with the scarf, before pulling out a new disk from underneath. He quickly changed the soundtrack and as part of the audience began leaving, powerful lyrics started booming from the speakers.
He doesn't remember what he screamed into his mic, his fatigue slipping into his memory lane. All he knew was that the moment he was done, the fatigue that dug into his muscles had moved into his bones, his heaves had become audible, and he was deafened with cheers that rang in the audience.
As long as the audience likes it.
The opponent knelt in defeat, the microphone in his hand pressed to the ground of the cold stage. He muttered some curses under his breath that were inaudible to Joe, however, just as he slammed his free hand that was clenched into a fist onto the ground, the doors to the underground club flew open.
And the rest was a fever dream.
YOU ARE READING
Johnnie Joe's
ActionA wild world. One that attempted to drown him in abyss, yet he waded his arms through the ink of despair. As he made his way out, his tender humane skin had been reduced sonorous metal that clanked on light movement, and rubber-wrapped wires - flowi...
