mocking

Third Person POV

The morning after Tupac's interview aired, the entertainment industry buzzed with conversation. The episode of The Tomorrow Show featuring Tupac Shakur recorded the highest TV ratings the show had ever seen. News outlets, talk shows, and radio stations across the country couldn't stop talking about the young rapper's bold claims.

Tupac's promise to make hip-hop the biggest genre in the world—bigger than rock and roll—became the topic of heated debates.

Some mocked him outright, dismissing his statements as the arrogance of a young man who didn't understand the history or dominance of rock music. Panelists on news shows argued about his audacity, with one anchor quipping, "Hip-hop overtaking rock and roll? Let's get real." Pundits on music programs called him delusional, saying, "Rock and roll built the music industry as we know it. What makes him think hip-hop could ever reach that level?"

In neighborhoods across the country, Tupac's interview was the talk of every barber shop, street corner, and schoolyard. To many black households, Tupac was already a hero. His words resonated deeply, especially with younger audiences who saw him as a voice for their struggles. For them, Tupac wasn't just talking; he was speaking their truth.

Even outside the black community, Tupac's reach was growing. Latino fans in neighborhoods across Los Angeles and New York began to gravitate toward his music. Mexican-American teens saw a kindred spirit in Tupac's defiance and the way he uplifted his community. Slowly but surely, he was breaking down cultural barriers.

In Detroit, the impact of Tupac's interview and the growing influence of hip-hop could be felt on a local level. Marshall Bruce Mathers III, a young man in his late teens, sat in his cramped bedroom with a notepad and pen, scribbling down rhymes. His Walkman blared Tupac's Dancing with the Devil on repeat.

Marshall, or "M," as his friends called him, had been rapping as a hobby for a few years. He'd started writing rhymes to cope with the frustrations of his rough upbringing, but something about Tupac's words struck a chord deep within him. Tupac didn't just rap about struggles—he made it seem like those struggles could be turned into power.

In Detroit, rap battles were starting to emerge as a big deal, and Tupac's influence had played a role in that shift. Before, rap battles in the city had been small, underground gatherings, barely noticed by most people. But now, thanks to Tupac and the growing popularity of hip-hop, these battles were being held in larger venues, drawing bigger crowds.

Marshall had attended a few battles, but he hadn't entered any—until now. Sitting on his bed, he thought about Tupac's words from the interview:

"Be a rapper, not a drug dealer."

It echoed in his head, pushing him to take his craft more seriously. He'd seen what happened to too many people in his neighborhood who tried to make a quick buck the wrong way. Tupac's success was proof that there was another way.

That night, Marshall met up with his friends, a small group of aspiring rappers who called themselves The Bassmint Crew. They spent hours in the basement of one of their homes, trading verses and hyping each other up.

"Man, did you hear what Pac said on that show?" one of his friends asked.

Marshall nodded. "Yeah, he said he's gonna make hip-hop bigger than rock. People think he's crazy, but I believe him."

"Me too," his friend replied. "It's not just music anymore. He's making it a movement."

Marshall tightened his grip on his notebook. "If he can do it, so can we. I'm done playing around. I'm taking this rap thing all the way."

His friends laughed, half in disbelief, half in support. "Alright, M, let's see what you got then. You entering the next battle or what?"

Marshall hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'm in."

Across the country, Tupac's influence was being felt in ways no one could have predicted. Rap battles became more frequent in cities like Chicago, Atlanta, and Detroit, giving young people an outlet to express themselves and showcase their talent. Underground scenes began to thrive, as more aspiring artists saw hip-hop as not just a passion but a potential career.

Tupac had sparked something. For every person who mocked him, there were ten more who believed in him—or at least believed in what he represented.

And for Marshall Bruce Mathers III, Tupac wasn't just a rapper. He was an example of what was possible. As Marshall stepped into his first rap battle a few weeks later, he carried Tupac's words with him:

"You're witnessing history."

Little did Marshall know, his own history was just beginning.

Shawn Corey POV

The faint hum of the TV in the corner of the room caught my ear as I counted cash on the table. Another day, another deal done. Selling drugs wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills. For me and my homies, it was survival. We were just a bunch of kids from Brooklyn trying to carve out a life where there wasn't much hope to begin with.

The voice of Tupac Shakur broke through my thoughts, and I glanced up. The Tomorrow Show interview was playing on one of those late-night rerun channels. I didn't think much of it at first—I'd heard about this kid Pac before. People were saying he was bold, loud, cocky even.

But then he said it.

"I made 3 million dollars in one week. No drugs, no crime, just music. Be a rapper, not a drug dealer."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I froze, the stack of cash in my hands forgotten.

2.5 million in a week?

I stared at the screen, watching Tupac lean forward with that fire in his eyes, talking about how hip-hop was going to be the biggest thing in the world. Bigger than rock, bigger than anything. For a moment, I didn't hear the rest of what he was saying. My mind was spinning.

I'd been in this game for years, working the corners, dodging the cops, hustling just to make ends meet. On a good year, I might clear $50,000 if I was lucky. And that was splitting the take with my crew. It wasn't bad money, but it came with a cost. I'd seen too many of my boys get locked up, and a few of them didn't make it out alive.

When I was younger, before all this, I had dreams. I wanted to be a musician, maybe even a rapper. But the streets got me first. There wasn't time to dream when you had bills to pay and family to look out for. Music didn't pay the rent. At least, that's what I'd always told myself.

But here was this 18-year-old kid, sitting on national television, saying he'd made millions doing what I used to dream about.

I turned the TV off and sat back in my chair, staring at the pile of cash in front of me.

---

That night, I couldn't sleep. Pac's words kept playing in my head like a broken record. Be a rapper, not a drug dealer. Be a rapper, not a drug dealer.

The next morning, I dug through some old boxes in the corner of my closet. Buried under years of junk was a battered notebook. The pages were worn, filled with lyrics and ideas I'd written when I was just a kid.

I flipped through it, reading the words of a younger version of myself. Back then, I believed I could make it in music. Back then, I hadn't let the streets take over my life.

Something shifted in me as I sat there with that notebook in my hands.

I wasn't stupid—I knew I couldn't just walk away from the game overnight. But maybe Tupac was right. Maybe there was another way out of this life.

I grabbed a pen and started writing. The words came slow at first, but they came.

---

Over the next few weeks, I kept a notebook with me everywhere I went. Between deals and late-night hangs with the crew, I filled those pages with rhymes and ideas. It felt good—like I was finally doing something that was mine, something that could lead to something bigger.

But I didn't tell anyone. Not yet. The streets didn't care about dreams, and I wasn't ready to explain myself to the homies.

Still, I couldn't shake the thought.

2.5 million in a week. No drugs. No crime.

That was real money. Life-changing money. And if Tupac could do it, why couldn't I?

One night, after another long day of hustling, I sat on the stoop outside my building, looking out at the city. My city. New York was a beast, but it was home. And deep down, I knew it was full of stories waiting to be told.

I clenched my notebook in my hands, staring at the skyline.

"I'm gonna make this happen," I muttered to myself.

For now, I was still in the game. Still gangbanging, still hustling to survive. But I had a plan. A vision. Tupac had planted a seed, and I wasn't going to let it wither.

This was just the beginning.

---

To be continued...

Author notes

By the way the two characters you see are not going to be introduced immediately in flew chapter when Tupac meet thim etc. it is going to take years for them to meet tupac