Andy Hughes stood against an alleyway wall, hood up, on the Thirty-Fifth floor of Metro-Tokyo. He had arrived in the city just weeks before, and was currently thinking of ways to start off his movie. He was thinking of starting it with a big turf war between some major gangs, but was a bit reluctant to send himself into the middle of one, knowing of the sheer brutality of some the big name organised crime syndicates. Maybe a bar fight would be a better opening, just to showcase his skills as a fighter against some (hopefully) drunk men. [i]‘Yeah, that’s what I’ll do,’[/i] he thought, stepping away from the wall.

At the press of a button on a touchpad, reading [b]RETURN & STOP REC[/b], which he’d had attached onto the sleeve of his hooded top, he summoned forth his trusty camera, the Panasonic Paracam, which he affectionately referred to as Bill. The camera had been acquiring footage of the city streets, hopefully catching some dodgy, illicit activity as it unfolded, to provide the viewers of the currently untitled Ultimate Action Movie an idea of just how corrupt and unsafe Metropolis was. The small, sleek, compact drone hovered down towards Andy, lowering itself to the ground, keeping off it only by a few centimetres. Using the touchpad, he commanded Bill to focuse on him, pressing record as he walked out into the streets.

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A certain bar had caught Andy’s eye, and he was hoping it would contain some sort of drunken thug itching for a fight. It was called ArcCorp Bar, owned by one of the many corporations that used Metropolis as their base of operations. Beverages were generally cheap there, though the prices went up the more drinks one ordered. Call it a side effect of corporate greed.

Andy entered through the bar’s doors, hood still up, head down, his hands in his pockets. Bill followed silently, his ventilation fans barely making a sound, lens aimed at his owner in an over-the-shoulder shot. The main bar stood in the centre of the building, the menu and a television screen hanging from its wall, bar stools in place in front of the barman, who wore a suit and sunglasses. On either side of the entrance were tables, drilled into the floor, surrounded by cushioned seats. All were occupied. Suspended from the ceiling were replicas of parts from the rockets that were once used in the ages of old, to add a touch of the past to all of the modernity in the building. 

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As Andy walked down the three steps leading to the bar, he got hostile looks from a group of four rough looking men. [i]‘Perfect,’[/i] he thought, keeping a stoic expression, [i]‘they might be the first people to star as cannon fodder in the movie. Awesome.’[/i]

Taking a seat on a bar stool, he ordered a regular beer, paying the amount that was required. Keeping his head down, Andy emitted a brooding aura, recalling his acting lessons of the past. Looking over his shoulder as he took a sip from his beer, he saw that one of the rough men had gotten up out of his seat and was on his way to Andy, fists clenched and shoulders tensed. The man stopped centimetres from Andy, whose back was turned towards him.

“Aren’t you a little young to be in here, kid?” remarked the man, his breath reeking of alcohol. 

“Aren’t you a little drunk to be talking, mate?” retorted Andy, prepping for an attack that may come his way.

The man, who shall be referred to as Cannon Fodder #1, suddenly snapped, the alcohol taking over his thoughts. He grabbed Andy by the shoulder, about to pull him off the stool and onto the floor. But Andy was ready for this, and he raised the arm closest to Cannon Fodder #1, turning towards him, knocking his arm off his shoulder. He followed this up with a punch directly onto the guy’s nose, the extra substance provided by the knuckle dusters on his gloves making it easy to break it, causing blood to spurt down Fodder #1’s face. And just like that, he was out of the running.

Seeing this, Fodder #1’s friends, Fodders #2, #3 and #4, got up out of their seats, stumbling drunkenly towards Andy. Fodder #3 and #4 made to grab one arm of Andy’s each, in an attempt to give Fodder #2 some easy hits. However, before they could even reach him, Andy let loose a combo of a roundhouse kick to the face followed by a spinning hook kick, the first attack connecting with #3’s cheek, the second with #4’s temple. They both crashed to the floor, landing one on top of the other, leaving only Fodder #2 to deal with. Seeing the drunken fear in #2’s eyes, Andy raised his arms in the air.

“I give up,” said he.

“W-what?” 

“I give up.”

“O-oh! Good. Y-you’re no match for me anyway,” blabbered Fodder #2, stepping within Andy’s reach, not realising it was a ruse before it was too late, a fist meeting his face, knocking him out and thus ending the fight.

Andy then proceeded to placing some extra cash on the bar counter, before turning around and walking out of the bar. As he walked, he noticed that the entirety of the bar’s customers had watched the fight, and were still watching him as he exited the bar. Commanding Bill, which had filmed the entire goings-on in the bar in the best angles possible, to stop recording, Andy took a breath of not-so-fresh air.

“Scene 1 of an undetermined amount completed. I think we’re off to a great start, Bill.”