The Underground Circuit

The venue was different tonight – an abandoned warehouse in Queens, transformed by speakers and makeshift lighting into something between a fight club and a concert hall. Marcus stood backstage (really just a sectioned-off area behind some shipping crates), watching the crowd grow larger than any he'd seen yet. This wasn't just the local scene anymore; people were coming from all over the city to witness battles.

"Ready to make some money?" Rico Martinez asked, counting out bills from last week's performance. "Tonight's purse is triple what we started with. Word's getting around about you."

Marcus nodded, scribbling last-minute adjustments in his notebook. His reputation had grown quickly over the past three weeks – undefeated in seven battles, with videos (albeit shaky phone footage) starting to circulate. In his previous timeline, it had taken months to build this kind of buzz.

The current battle was reaching its conclusion, the crowd's reaction telling him everything about who won before the DJ even made it official. Marcus recognized his upcoming opponent – Andre "Swift" Thompson, known for his rapid-fire delivery and complex wordplay. In the original timeline, Swift had never made it big, eventually leaving music for real estate. But right now, in 2003, he was considered one of the best in New York's underground.

"He's been watching your battles," Rico said, following Marcus's gaze. "Been adapting his style. Think he's got something special planned for you."

"Let him try," Marcus replied, confidence born from having already lived through every possible battle scenario. He knew exactly how to handle speed rappers – let them tire themselves out, then strike with precision.

The DJ's voice boomed through the warehouse: "Next up – the undefeated freshman taking the circuit by storm... MARCUS J!"

The crowd's response was immediate and electric. Marcus stepped into the circle, the energy hitting him like a physical force. Swift stood opposite him, tall and lanky, already bouncing on his feet with nervous energy.

"Coin flip says Swift goes first," the DJ announced. "Two rounds each. Let's go!"

The beat dropped – a classic Pete Rock sample that Marcus knew Swift had specifically requested. The speed rapper launched into his attack:

"Coming at the kid with supersonic pace

Bout to put this prodigy back in his place

They say he's nice with it, say he's got gifts

But tonight he's gonna learn what it means to be Swift..."

Marcus absorbed the onslaught, noting the patterns, seeing the setup. Swift's style was impressive – syllables stacking rapid-fire, internal rhymes weaving complex patterns. The crowd was with him, caught up in the technical display. When he finished his round, the warehouse erupted.

Marcus took a breath, centered himself, then began:

"You come with speed but no substance behind it

Like a clock spinning backwards trying to rewind it

I've seen your future, know exactly where you land

Trading bars for houses, real estate your final stand

They call you Swift but your movement's predictable

Every pattern you build, to me it's visible

I'm seeing double – past and present align

While you stuck in one dimension, running out of time

[Hook]

Living in the loop where everything's clear

Seeing all your moves before you even get near

Time gave me vision that you can't comprehend

Every bar I spit already knows how this ends"

The warehouse fell silent for a moment before exploding. Marcus had deliberately dropped his speed to half of Swift's pace, making every word land with precision. The references to time and future knowledge – things the crowd took as metaphors – let him hide his truth in plain sight.

Swift's second round came with even more intensity, but Marcus could see the doubt in his eyes. When it was Marcus's turn again, he shifted into what he called his "future flow" – a style that wouldn't become popular for another decade:

"You throwing punches from 2003

While I'm flowing from 2023

Every bar you spit, I've heard before

In memories from a different door

Think you swift? I'm moving through time

Each verse I drop becomes paradigm

You stuck in patterns that already died

While I'm bringing flows from the other side

[Hook]

Time is a circle, I'm ahead of the curve

Knowledge from futures that you ain't yet deserved

Running patterns that your mind can't perceive

Building bridges to things you can't believe"

The warehouse exploded into chaos. People were recording on their flip phones, others were running the bars back, trying to decode the complex patterns. Swift stood there, shaking his head in amazement as the DJ declared Marcus the winner.

"Yo, what was that?" Swift asked afterward, genuine curiosity replacing competition. "That second round – that style... I've never heard anything like it."

"Just experimenting," Marcus replied, aware of Rico watching the exchange carefully. "Trying to push boundaries." 

"Well, it's working. Listen, I got a friend at Hot 97. They do this overnight show, underground stuff. Let me make a call, get your music in rotation."

Dante stepped forward, business mode activated. "Let's talk details."

As they exchanged information, Marcus noticed a group of industry-looking types watching from the VIP section. One of them – a woman in sleek business casual – was filming on a professional camera. The future was starting to pay attention.

His phone buzzed – a text from his mother: "Where are you? It's past midnight."

The guilt hit him hard. Another late night, another lie about studying at Trevor's. He typed back quickly: "Heading home now, Mãe. Lost track of time."

"Two grand," Dante said, handing him his cut of the night's earnings. "Plus whatever comes from this radio play. You're building something special here, kid."

Marcus pocketed the money, already planning to slip it into his mother's purse without her knowing. In his original timeline, these years had been the hardest for her. This time, he could ease her burden, even if she didn't know how.

Walking home through Queens, then catching the train back to the Bronx, Marcus composed in his head:

"Moving through time like a ghost with purpose Every step I take comes with double service Building futures while preserving past Making sure this time the good things last..."

He had to be careful – success was coming faster this time around, drawing more attention. But with every battle won, every connection made, he was getting closer to the future he wanted to build. Not just for himself, but for everyone around him.

The question was: how long could he keep control of a timeline that was already starting to spin in unexpected directions?