The first week as Marshall Mathers was a blur of confusion and adaptation. Jay—no, Marshall—woke up every day hoping it was all a dream, but each morning brought the same tattooed hands and the weight of fame.
The doctors had cleared him to leave the hospital, labeling his collapse as exhaustion. No one suspected the truth: Jay Carter, a nobody from Detroit, was now trapped in the body of one of the most iconic rappers in history.
Back at the sprawling mansion—his mansion—Jay marveled at the luxury surrounding him. The walls were adorned with platinum records, awards, and framed photos of a life he'd never lived. It was overwhelming, but one thing became clear: he couldn't afford to mess this up.
---
The first challenge came sooner than expected. A call from Paul Rosenberg, Eminem's longtime manager, yanked him from his thoughts.
"Marshall, I'm glad you're feeling better," Paul said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of urgency. "We need to talk about the album."
"Album?" Jay echoed, panic creeping into his voice.
"Yes, Revival Redux. You're scheduled to finalize the tracklist by the end of the week. Dre's waiting for your input on the mixes."
Jay froze. He had no idea what Paul was talking about. How could he? But he forced himself to sound confident. "Uh, yeah. Of course. I'll, uh, review it tonight."
"Good. And don't forget the freestyle event this evening. Everyone's expecting you to headline."
The call ended before Jay could respond. His heart raced. An album? A freestyle event? He didn't even know the lyrics to the songs, let alone how to pull off a performance without the real Eminem's skills.
---
Jay spent the next few hours rifling through the notebooks scattered across the house. They were filled with lyrics—raw, unfiltered, and brilliant. Some pages were scratched out in frustration, while others contained verses that sent chills down his spine.
"This is... insane," he muttered, realizing the depth of Marshall's genius.
But as he read, something shifted. The words resonated with him in a way he didn't expect. They spoke of pain, resilience, and redemption—themes that mirrored his own life.
Maybe this wasn't about pretending to be Eminem. Maybe this was his chance to become him, to channel his own struggles into the music.
---
By the time the freestyle event rolled around, Jay had a plan. He'd spent hours practicing in front of the mirror, mimicking Eminem's flow and delivery and somehow ideas kept popping into his head as he realized he also had Marshall's genius rap skills. But he knew he couldn't rely on imitation alone. He needed to bring something authentic to the table.
The venue was packed, the energy electric. As Jay stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted into cheers. The spotlight burned down on him, but instead of fear, he felt a strange sense of calm.
The beat dropped, and he began.
The words came out in a torrent, raw and unapologetic. They weren't Marshall's lyrics—they were his own. Jay rapped about his old life, his regrets, and the surreal experience of living in someone else's skin.
The crowd fell silent, hanging on every word. By the time he finished, the room exploded in applause.
Backstage, Paul clapped him on the back. "That was incredible, Marshall. Where did that come from?"
Jay shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just... felt inspired."
As the night wore on, Jay realized something. This wasn't just about keeping up appearances. This was about redefining who he was—both as Marshall Mathers and as Jay Carter.
For the first time in years, he felt alive.