SOUND of a muffled, rhythmic BASS THUMP bleeding through a metal door.
The alley smells of stale beer and desperation. Rainwater, iridescent with leaked coolant from a wheezing A/C unit, pools in the cracked asphalt.
SHIRO (50s), weathered and worn, leans against the rough brickwork. He watches his breath plume in the damp air, a ghost of a ghost. He runs a thumb over a faint white scar on his knuckle. An old injury from a different life.
The fire door SCREECHES open, vomiting a rectangle of purple light and noise into the alley.
KENNY (late teens), all nervous energy, darts out. He clutches a small, padded envelope like a holy relic, eyes flitting around the darkness.
Kenny jumps, startled. He avoids Shiro's gaze.
Shiro’s gaze drifts past him, toward the alley’s mouth.
Two figures emerge from the sodium-orange glow of the main street, becoming sharp silhouettes against the light. They move with a fluid, predatory tandem.
Kenny sees them. The color drains from his face.
He makes a move, but the men block the only exit. Shiro sighs, a cloud of weary vapor. He pushes himself off the wall.
The two men step into the dim light. TALL GUY has a ragged scar cutting through his eyebrow. The other, FIRE HYDRANT, is built low and solid.
Kenny backs away, hitting the brick wall beside Shiro.
Tall Guy finally looks at Shiro. A flicker of recognition.
Fire Hydrant lets out a short, ugly chuckle.
He lunges for Kenny. It's sloppy. Overconfident.
Shiro moves. Not like a movie star, but like a tired man with deep muscle memory. He doesn't block. He simply steps in, hooks Fire Hydrant's arm, and uses his own momentum to send him stumbling face-first into a large metal dumpster.
A deeply satisfying CLANG echoes in the alley.
Tall Guy is more cautious. He pulls a KNIFE, the blade catching the dim light.
Shiro kicks a loose brick on the ground. It skitters across the wet asphalt. A clumsy, pathetic move.
Tall Guy glances down at it for a fraction of a second.
It's all Shiro needs.
He closes the distance. His hand clamps down on Tall Guy's wrist, twisting with a practiced violence that makes BONE GRIND. The knife clatters to the ground.
A sharp jab to the throat. A knee to the solar plexus.
Tall Guy collapses, gasping like a landed fish.
Shiro stands over them, chest heaving. The adrenaline tastes like bitter metal.
Kenny stares, mouth agape.
Kenny fumbles with the envelope. A small, metallic DATA CHIP falls out, unseen by Shiro. Kenny scrambles to pick it up, then shoves the now-empty envelope into Shiro's hand.
Kenny flees, vanishing into the night.
Shiro looks at the empty envelope, then at the two groaning men. This wasn't in the job description.
Shiro walks under the orange glow of streetlights. The damp chill seeps into his bones.
He finds it: a PAYPHONE, a dinosaur relic tucked into an alcove.
He feeds it a handful of coins. The receiver is cold and greasy against his ear. He dials a number from memory.
It rings four times. A CLICK.
A weary sigh on the other end of the line.
He glances down at his hand, and for the first time, sees the DATA CHIP Kenny must have dropped during the exchange. It's cool against his skin.
Silence on the line. A long, heavy pause.
SOUND of faint, rapid TYPING in the background.
When Nana speaks again, her voice has lost all its flippancy. It is cold. Urgent.
Shiro tells her the intersection.
CLICK.
The line goes dead.
SOUND of a monotonous, indifferent DIAL TONE humming.
CLOSE ON Shiro. He slowly lowers the receiver, his face illuminated by the sickly orange city light. He is alone again, a piece of serious trouble in his pocket, the ghosts of old theme music playing faintly in his head.
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