The following is the full text of the AI “ARMS Movie”, a source of many in-jokes in Experience Point.
Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Sequel
Part 1
My name is Masahiro Sakurai. Today, we’re going to discuss the plot of the upcoming ARMS movie.
You might think that an ARMS movie focuses on Spring Man. But since Mr. Yabuki told me that in ARMS, everyone is the protagonist, I instead decided to settle on Min Min. I hope you’ll forgive me.
The movie opens on Min Min in her restaurant. It’s a childhood flashback — a happy moment without strife or conflict.
Then, the unthinkable happens. She looks down while helping her mother cook to find that her arms have started to distend, going springy and collapsing to the floor. Her face turns pale, and she screams. The camera cuts to show her parents’ reactions: shock, horror, and then a quick glance at their daughter before they rush out of the kitchen.
Five years pass in the blink of an eye. We’re looking Min Min in the eyes — and where there used to be innocence, there’s now only green, spiraled eyes and an orange mask.
She’s on her way to a fighting tournament — the ARMS grand prix. To the public, it’s an exciting, if dangerous, event. To Min Min, it’s a death match.
Min Min has been training for this day for five long years. And when she finally arrives at the venue…
…she falters.
She finds herself in an arena, with Spring Man in the opposite corner. The crowd is cheering for him. They like him. They don’t know him like she does.
They don’t know he’s different.
Spring Man bounces towards her, his extendable arms launching towards her. She steps out of the way, retaliating — her own arms extending and grabbing him.
A clean hit. But it doesn’t kill him. It never will.
He bounces back, hitting her with both extendable arms. She blocks with her own, but she knows it won’t be enough. She can’t take many more hits.
One more hit, and she’s down. She lies on the ground, looking up to the ceiling…
… She takes a hit to the stomach, and she feels her organs grind against each other — she doubles over, falling to her knees.
This is what defeat feels like.
But this isn’t over yet.
She’s on her feet again, blocking another hit. Again, she hits him back. Again, he hits her back.
A fearsome exchange of blows, arms stretching and retracting, blocking and attacking.
But then, Spring Man does something he hasn’t done before. He begins to glow, his eyes flashing red.
And then he lets out a deafening shriek.
It’s enough to wake Min Min up.
A bad dream. A very, very bad dream.
She looks around herself. She’s covered in sweat, lying in a bed. She’s safe. Everything’s fine.
Her alarm clock goes off. It’s time to train. Just another day…
This is just the beginning of the movie, by the way.
We meet Min Min’s family again — still five years older. The ramen shop they run has seen better days: it’s empty, and old. The only customer they have is a… stranger.
By this point, you probably already know who the stranger is.
He sits down. “How have you been?” he asks.
“We’re doing alright,” says her father. “What can we get you? A cup of coffee?”
By this point, Min Min has walked up to the front, staring at the stranger. “Do we know you?” she asks.
“We’ve never met,” says the stranger. “Ah — but you must be her daughter. My name’s Hayate. I’m a… fan of the place.”
ARMS players will recognise him, of course. But the audience is too stupid to work that out, so we’ll just pretend they don’t.
They talk for a while — innocuous talk, the sort a ramen shop owner uses to entertain a customer. It’s good money, after all.
But then, Hayate gets to the point: “I’ve heard there are some fighters who rely on special powers.”
The question hangs in the air. Min Min knows what he means, after all. The ARMS ability — the condition that’s made her own arms a deadly weapon. It’s kept her alive all these years, and she’s never questioned its presence… but it has made her life more difficult.
But she doesn’t want to talk about it. She looks at her father for help, but he barely meets her gaze. Even he, who has defended her since birth, refuses to talk about her… condition.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Hayate asks. “Being different from everyone else?”
“Leave her alone,” says her father, his voice a little unsteady.
Hayate looks at him, then back to Min Min. “I have a proposal for you.”
He pauses — meets her father’s gaze again. He finishes his noodles, then stands up to leave.
“Spring Stadium,” he says. “I’ll meet you there.”
He leaves. Min Min stands alone with her father behind the counter.
“Tch,” her father complains. “I shouldn’t have talked to him. I don’t like how he looks…”
“What was all that about?” she asks.
“Nothing important,” he says. “Just the ramen business. Now, help me with this.”
Min Min helps her father prepare another order. But her eyes never leave the doorway,.
Cut to Spring Stadium — the shiniest ARMS fighting ring in downtown.
A conference is being held. Reporters from Golden TV are interviewing celebrities about the upcoming ARMS grand prix.
“It’s the biggest tournament we’ve ever had,” says one excited reporter. “There’s a lot of money on the line.”
“I bet on Spring Man, of course,” says another.
“I bet on Ninjara,” says a third.
“I have a lot of faith in the commish,” says a fourth.
“I like Ribbon Girl — I think she’s got what it takes to win.”
“I love you, Twintelle!” says a fangirl.
“Spring Stadium is the place to be this weekend,” says a popular TV personality. “These ARMS tournaments never get boring!”
But Min Min walks past the bright lights and cameras. She’s not here for the showy heroes and their fans — she’s here to find Hayate.
Around the back of the stadium, she finds him. He’s leaning against the wall, waiting for her.
“You came,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d show.”
“I almost didn’t,” she admits. “What did you want to talk about?”
He looks around, making sure no-one’s listening.
“It’s bullshit, isn’t it?” he says. “All the flashy lights; the glamorization of people like us. We’re not heroes. We’re not supposed to be.”
“People like… us?”
“Your arms. They’re not normal. You can cover it up with that jumper all you like; I know you’ve got the condition. I do, too.”
Min Min’s breath catches in her throat, and she watches as Hayate pulls up his sleeve to reveal his arm.
His arms are made of chains — metal, intertwined and forming a sturdy, iron-hard material rather than the rubbery material of her own arms. It’s this material that forms his ARMS ability.
She rubs at her own arms. ARMS players will know what her arms are made of, of course. Noodles, like her father owns. Ramen noodles, to be exact.
Yes. Noodle arms. Mr. Yabuki is serious about this character.
But where was I? Oh, right. Hayate’s ARMS. They’re not noodle arms, of course. He doesn’t have the condition that she does. But they’re a close second, because his ARMS are made of…
“Chains,” she says. “You have chains for arms.”
“And that’s why we’re not supposed to be heroes,” he says. “People aren’t supposed to be able to just change their bodies like we do. It’s dangerous, and unnatural.”
“But the fans love it,” she says.
“Yes. We’re nothing more than freaks they throw coins at,” he says.
“That’s too harsh.”
“It’s the truth.”
There’s a long pause. He looks down, staring at his chained arms. She looks at her noodly arms, and wonders why she thought this was a good idea.
Then, Hayate looks up, and seems to make a decision.
“You know how it is,” he says. “That mask you’re wearing — they gave it to you, didn’t they? You fought for their amusement in one of these arenas, and you got your life back in return. The only way you can control your arms is to keep wearing it. Even when we’re free of the arena, we’ll never be free of the chains.”
She looks down at her arm, at the bright, colorful noodle cuff. She’s never thought of it like that before now.
“So what do we do?” she asks.
He pauses, then smiles. It’s a small smile, but it’s still confidence.
“What if we could stop the Grand Prix? If all the ARMS players walked off the job, the matches couldn’t happen. The league would fall apart. The champion would have to give up, and all of this would end.”
Min Min stares at him for a long time. It’s a thrilling scene, as you can guess.
But then, she shakes her head.
“I can’t,” she says. “I’ve already walked away from that life. All that matters to me now is my family’s noodle shop.”
Hayate frowns, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks at her for a long time. Then, he speaks.
“I understand. I won’t try to convince you anymore.”
She stares at him. Then, she smiles.
“You’re giving up? Just like that?”
“I won’t get through to you. You like your new life, with your new friends. You won’t trade that in for revenge.”
“Revenge?”
He hesitates.
“It’s of no concern,” he says. “Enjoy your noodle shop.”
There’s a puff of smoke — and then Hayate is gone.
“Hayate!” she yells. “Come back!”
But there’s no response. Nobody else is around to hear her shouting, anyway.
She sighs, shaking her head. Her noodly hand touches her mask, and she seems aware of it for the first time in years.
For a while in the movie, Min Min tries to go about her usual life. We can tell, like before, that her family business is losing money and customers. All the colour from her earliest memory in this place is drained.
One night, she watches the ARMS grand prix unfold on the TV.
She sees him.
Spring Man. A rising star in the league.
He’s talented, charismatic. And a cheater.
But she tries to put it out of her mind. She washes the dishes, and hums, a little tune to herself.
“Hey! Do you have any more of that spicy ramen?”
She turns around, and she sees him. Hayate.
She tilts her head, staring at him.
“We’re closed,” she says tersely. “You should go.”
She turns away. She starts to hum again, but then she hears him sit down at the bar.
“It’s annoying, isn’t it? Watching him win?”
“I try not to think about it.”
“The ARMS League’s a corrupt organization. All these people care about is money. It doesn’t matter how you win. As long as there’s a winner. A popular winner like Spring Man? He’s practically untouchable.”
Her hands slow, as she stops washing the dishes. She sighs — and then turns around.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Let him win. I made it to the final rounds, and that was enough. Enough for freedom…”
“You call this freedom?” Hayate says, casting a glance around the dingy noodle shop. “You’re stuck here, wasting away.”
“I’m not wasting away.”
“Maybe not. But this place certainly is.” He moves in his seat, drinking a glass of sake.
He can drink sake from nowhere, by the way. Mr. Yabuki insisted.
“Think of how much money someone like him makes,” Hayate says, looking at the TV. “He’s practically a corporate sponsor. He doesn’t need that money. Not like you do.”
“I thought you wanted to take the league down. It sounds more like you’re trying to get me to join it again.”
“I’m talking about the inequality of it all. All that money, and do you think Spring Man earned every red cent? No, he just took it. Stole it from hard-working people. People like you.”
She pauses. Her brow furrows, and she bites her lip.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, let’s fix this. For good.”
She stares at him. He stares back.
We cut away to the ARMS league headquarters. The reigning champion, Max Brass, a giant man in full power armor. He stares down at the arena from his seat in the sky box, grinning.
“Come on out, Little Mack!” he says into his microphone. “Let’s see how you handle this!”
From the tunnels, emerges a tiny, pink creature. It looks like a strange animal, maybe a cross between a panda and an earless rabbit. It looks adorable.
What looks less adorable are the creatures approaching it — strange, goo-like creatures that look almost entirely transparent, except for their eyes, which are a deep red. They seem to hover, without any discernible legs. They converge on the adorable pink creature.
“The newest subjects,” Max says. “This should be over quick, Biff. Watch, now.”
They strike with remarkable speed, the tiny pink creature barely dodging in time. It attempts to hit back, but its attacks are easily avoided. Eventually, it’s struck down.
“That… that was depressing to watch,” Biff says.
“I thought so, too,” Max says. “A disappointing display, that.”
He stands up from his seat, looking down at the creature’s corpse.
“Do you think it really felt anything?” he asks. “Or perhaps it was all for show.”
He turns, heading towards the exit.
A jumpcut back to Min Min. She’s in her room, alone — looking through old memorabilia. Her time as a fighter.
It’s a sad moment, I guess. It’s meant to be, anyway. It’s a time in her life she didn’t go through out of choice, but rather, out of desperation. It was all to help her family.
She’s thrown it all away now, though. She doesn’t have to do this anymore.
But that’s naive.
When she goes downstairs to serve customers the next day — well, you can imagine who’s waiting for her.
Hayate grins.
“I thought you were going to think about it,” he says.
“I did,” she says.
“And?”
She stretches her arm towards the end of the bar, drawing across a bowl of noodles.
“Spicy, as requested,” she says.
Hayate grins.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she says.”
His eyebrow raises — anticipation.
We don’t hear her answer. Why would we make you listen to it? It’s obvious what she’s going to say. The first rule of cinema — show, don’t tell.
We instead cut elsewhere. A cheering crowd; Spring Man and Ribbon Girl in the middle of the ring; the stench of blood and anger filling the air. It’s a busy night at the ARMS League Arena.
Min Min and Hayate watch from the stands, dressed innocuously. Min Min sips from a can of something — it’s not soda, as it’s a greenish color.
It could be anything.
“Look at him,” Hayate hisses. “So high and mighty. But we’re going to take that spring out of his step.”
The fight rages on — a spectacular battle between two worthy opponents. Ribbon Girl manages to knock Spring Man’s back, but he ends up hitting her with a well-placed leap and punch.
Then, her mask flies off.
Hayate’s face drops.
“Oh, no.”
There’s a moment of silence — then Ribbon Girl’s arms stretch out and writhe in all directions, flailing uncontrollably and shrieking in pain. She collapses on the ground, and Spring Man quickly runs over to her, grabbing her mask and putting it back on her. He signals for a medic, and the fight is over.
The crowd roars. Hayate and Min Min watch from the sidelines.
Min Min looks on in shock — and I’m not just talking surprise, I’m talking real Vietnam-level shock. Her skin fades to a ghostly white.
Another flashback. We’re back where we started — the family restaurant. Min Min’s curled up on the floor, her arms stretching out and flailing uncontrollably. The same painful spasms as Ribbon Girl. She lets out a shriek, which soon turns to tears.
Then she’s back in the present — looking on, horrified, as the medics carry the girl out of the ring.
“What’s wrong with you?” Hayate says.
“That’s what happened to me,” she whispers.
Through the crowd, Hayate’s eyes follow Ribbon Girl as she’s carried out of the ring.
“Now imagine the ones who aren’t lucky enough to win a mask,” he says. “They’re out there, right now. Suffering. You know it’s true.”
They watch as Spring Man strides up to the center of the arena, all concern dropping as Ribbon Girl fades from view.
He’s a real bastard, that Spring Man. ARMS players will surely be thinking, ‘That’s not what he’s like.’ But this is how he really is. Mr. Yabuki said so.
On the screen, the words ‘Next Match’ appear. The crowd goes wild.
“What do you say?” Hayate says, looking on. “Do we take them down?”
Min Min puts her hand on her mask, thinking for a moment. Then she nods slowly.
“Tell me the plan,” she says.
There’s a montage sequence. You know the sort: energetic music, quick shots of ours heroes planning, training, getting themselves ready.
Ready for what? Well, I can’t tell you that. If a movie reveals a plan before its execution, it’s always going to fail.
Then, we cut to them, side by side, at night. They stand in an alleyway, staring out down the road. It cuts to a shot of what they’re looking at: the ARMS League arena, covered with streams of people coming in and out.
“Welcome back to the spotlight,” Hayate says. “Go on — show them your stuff. And do your best to keep them distracted.”
“Right,” she says.
She looks nervous. Her hand touches her mask.
She breathes in — and steps out into the crowd. People turn to look, cheer.
“And there she is, ladies and gentlemen!” one of the TV cameras says. “The people’s champion returning to Spring Stadium, Min Min!”
“Go get ’em, girl!” someone in the crowd says.
“Min Min, win this one for every working-class person out there! Show these elitist pricks who’s boss!” someone else says.
“Alright then,” Hayate says. “I’ll be watching from the sky.”
He leaps out of the alleyway, and makes his way across the rooftops.
Walking into the arena, Min Min sees her opponent already waiting for her. ‘A. Changer’ is written across the screen alongside his name. From what she’s seen of other ARMS fighters, she can only guess that the A stands for ‘Arm’. He’s a large man, wearing a full-face motorcycle helmet. It’s a deep red, with a yellow A displayed on the front.
His ARMS stretch out, taking the form of two large red gauntlets with a terrifying claw at each end.
“So, you’re that hotshot from a few years back?” he grins. “You’ve got some skill, I’ll give you that — for a noodly little pipsqueak, ha! But I’m a different beast altogether.”
“You’re all beasts,” she says.
He grins. “C’mon, little girl. Let’s see what you’re made of!”
The crowd cheers as she takes up her stance. But there’s a fierce determination in her eyes.
She’s here to put on a show — to distract them whatever Hayate’s doing.
A. Chaser’s ARMS surge outwards, stretching to their full length. His fingers twitch, and the ARMS begin to spin like a saw blade as they hover in front of him.
“Come on, then!”
He lunges forward, and she leaps back. The ARMS fly forward, hovering just in front of her as she dodges.
She stretches her own ARMS to meet his. The ends connect, and they each take up a stance, pushing against each other. A. Chaser grits his teeth, struggling to push her back. She grins, slowly pushing him back.
He snarls, headbutting her and pushing her back. She slumps against the ground, and he lunges forward, shooting his ARMS forward like a spear. She rolls to the side, kicking one away, and retaliates with a punch. It connects to his stomach, sending him hopping backwards.
She swipes her arms forward, launching her ARMS out like a whip. The tips latch onto his arms, and she yanks him forward. He stumbles towards her, and she slams her fist into his stomach again. Then again. And again. And again. And again!
Half the crowd groans; the other half cheers. A. Changer grunts, his face going red. He struggles, but she continues to beat him. He goes cross-eyed, only seeing blackness. She sighs, as the ref calls the match.
AARRRGGHH!
His arms fly forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her against the ground.
“I’m not done yet!” he grins. “The commish said he’d pay handsomely for anyone who knocked you down a peg, and I’m going to do that and more!”
He snarls, grabbing her and swinging her into the air. Her body twirls, flying through the air and onto the ground with a thud. She slumps against the floor, groaning softly — then only just rolls out of the way as his ARMS shoot forward, crashing into the ground where her head was.
She quickly rolls to her feet, but A. Changer isn’t far behind. She leaps out of the way, but his hand shoots up and grabs her leg. She falls with a scream, and he flies forward, grabbing her other foot and holding her upside down.
The crowd is a cacophony of noise. Some boo, some cheer. Some are too stunned to make any noise at all.
“Well, look what we have here,” A. Changer grins. “Not so tough when you’re–GAH!”
Her fist flies into his mouth, shooting blood as he staggers backwards. She quickly pulls herself up, grabbing his helmet and smashing it into his face. He stumbles backwards, and she lets go, grabbing his arm and flinging him over her shoulder. He flips through the air, smacking into the ground with a thud.
He rolls to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he growls.
“A-hem!” the referee coughs.
A. Changer turns to him.
“Yes?”
“The round’s over.”
A. Changer snarls, turning away.
“Fine…”
A. Changer storms off, heading out of the arena. Min Min is victorious — but Hayate, as she glances around, is nowhere to be seen…
Very mysterious, isn’t it? And very bloody. The original game was nothing like this. But the executives said that this would be the best way to go — more people would be drawn in by the gratuitous violence, which is why they hired on so many people, and spent so much money on this project.
I’m not going to give everything away, of course. You’ll have to watch the movie for yourself to figure out what Hayate’s plan was, and what happened to Min Min, and what her history with Spring Man is. But I will give you this hint:
No secret is ever a single one.
Of course, I could just be bullshitting you. But you’ll have to buy a ticket to find out.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s break time.
[THE END]
Part 2
Alright. I’m back from my break. Today, as a treat, I think I’m going to tell you a little more about the movie.
So, where were were?
Ah, yes. That’s right. Min Min was fighting A. Changer in the ring. As I said before, she was victorious. However, Hayate was nowhere to be seen.
There’s a brief moment of victory; the uproar of the crowd, the announcer screaming into his microphone.
“And the winner is… Min Min!”
The announcer’s voice echoes through the building, and the crowd goes wild.
Min Min looks off into the distance, as if recalling a memory — and a few moments later, we see her very first victory in an ARMS match, several years ago. The screen is in sepia, the audio is blurred — you know, all the usual tricks to tell the dumb audience that it’s a memory.
She’s standing over her fallen opponent — a ninja dressed in green. He shakes his head, smiling.
“You’re good,” he says. “One of the best I’ve ever faced.”
She grins.
“Let’s do that again sometime,” she murmurs. “Without the crowds.”
He laughs weakly — then falls unconscious, a haziness overtaking his body.
And then she’s in the here and now, staring around the arena.
The scene breaks, and she’s in the alleys behind the stadium. Hayate leaps off the building, somersaulting through the air.
“Not bad,” Hayate says. He’s as mysterious as ever. “I see you’ve still got what it takes to be the champion.”
“Of course. But you said you have a plan to take down the ARMS League. If I’m going to keep on winning, I need to know what it is.”
He chuckles, sipping on his sake. “All in good time, noodle girl. All in good time.”
“Noodle girl?”
He grins, then hops over a wall and disappears.
Very mysterious. But I’m sure we’ll find out what he’s talking about eventually.
In the next scene, Min Min’s back home at her noodle restaurant. On the TV, we can see her match against A. Changer — the brutal, bloody match that’s still got people talking. The reporter, a blonde woman with her hair done up in a bun, smiles nervously and speaks into the camera.
“And in other news, the ARMS League has ruled that Ribbon Girl, long-time fighter and podium winner, is no longer able to fight on account of ARMS-related injuries suffered in the arena. Let’s go over to Ticky Cleav for the latest on this.”
“That’s right, Linda,” says a short, stocky reporter. “I spoke to Dr. Coyle, the head scientist of ARMS Labs, about the situation. She says that even with state-of-the-art cybernetic implants, Ribbon Girl may never be able to fight again. She may not even be able to use her arms for daily tasks.”
The story trails on, but shortly cuts back to Min Min’s fight.
It’s the talk of the restaurant. The patrons are all talking about the fight, but Min Min’s father is oddly silent.
“So,” he murmurs to her while washing up. “You’re fighting again.”
Min Min doesn’t meet his gaze. She doesn’t want to fight. But…
“I have to,” she says.
“Is it about the rent?” her father sighs. “You don’t need to do this. We’ve got it covered, your mother and I. Place has seen better days, but–“
“No.” Her voice is sharp. Determined. “It’s not about the money. It’s more than that.”
Her father smiles sadly. “Then I guess I can’t stop you.”
They don’t speak of it again.
One week later, the next match is announced. It’s against Storm Cloud, a powerful opponent that she’s fought several times before. His ARMS are made of tesla coils, with lightning speed and an innate control of electricity. He also has a mohawk. Mohawks are unforgiving.
They’ve fought many times. Every victory against him has been hard-fought; every defeat brutal. But she prevailed once. And she’ll prevail again.
Right?
The day of the fight, she’s in the waiting area. Her stomach is in knots.
“You look nervous,” a familiar voice says.
She looks over. It’s Hayate.
“How did you get in here?” she asks. Her voice is serious, but there’s something lighter to it; teasing. A little flirtatious, even.
But not too flirtatious. This is a family movie, despite all the violence.
“I have my ways,” he answers, smiling. “So, Storm Cloud. He’s a dangerous one. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I know he’s hard to predict. He can channel lightning through his coils at any moment.”
“He’s had some upgrades since your last fight. He won’t be easy.”
She glares at Hayate. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Hey, I’m on your side.”
She sighs, and smiles at him. “…It’s okay. I’ve grown since then, too. I can take him.”
“I almost believe you. But do you believe in yourself?”
Before she can ponder this bizarre riddle, the announcer’s voice booms throughout the arena.
“Welcome, ONE AND ALL, to the ARMS League Championship!” the announcer shouts. “We’re here today to see which of our talented contestants will come out on top! Let’s give a big Valvados welcome to today’s two competitors!”
As the audience cheers, Storm Cloud makes his entrance.
“From Lightning City, it’s Storm Cloud! And from a little noodle shop you might know very well, it’s two-time champion, Min Min!”
The crowd cheers loudly, and Min Min waves. As always, Hayate stands by in the booth.
“I’ve always wanted to ask you,” he begins. “If a swallow swoops at sunset and lands in the moon, what does it become?”
“What?”
He grins. He’s so very mysterious, that Hayate.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll understand when the time comes. Just trust me.”
Before Min Min can give it more thought, the announcer speaks up again.
“Let the match… begin!”
And they’re off — a flurry of blows, of lightning, of noodles and punches and electricity. She dodges a stream of lightning, ducks beneath a tesla coil, leaps and lands another punch.
She’s doing well. Too well, if you know how drama works.
Soon, the inevitable happens. She makes a wrong move. Storm Cloud knocks her back, and she tumbles off the stage. But she’s a resourceful girl. She grabs on to the edge of the stage with her noodly arms, pushing herself up like a spring.
A spring. She learned that one from a certain someone. But he’s far from her mind right now; far away as she leaps down from the sky, as her arms extend towards Storm Cloud, grabbing him.
She grabs him by the head, her fingers wrapping around his head. By now, the announcer is speaking in slow motion. That’s how you know it’s dramatic.
A brief pause — then her arm crashes against his skull, knocking him unconscious. The crowd is hushed for a moment. Then they cheer wildly, leaping to their feet to give her a standing ovation.
“And the match is over! Min Min is the victor!”
She raises her hands in the air, basking in the glory of her victory.
Cut to black.
Min Min’s locker room. A dark, dusty place; low-hanging lights, a faded poster from the glory days, that sort of thing. Real environmental detail, you know?
The door opens. She walks in, tossing her key card to the side as she sits on a bench.
“That was quite the match,” Hayate says, already inside. “Quite impressive.”
“So much for him being unpredictable.”
“Perhaps he was just holding back last time. Or perhaps you’ve improved just as much as he has. In any case…”
He flips her a green vial. She catches it clumsily, staring at the swirling green contents.
“What’s this?”
“What your little match helped me to steal. You know what this is?”
She stares at it. There’s a pattern like a swirl inside; and for a moment, the goo almost seems to breathe.
“I don’t.”
“Then let me describe it with a proverb. A warrior must be able to recognize his enemies, his allies… and himself.”
She stares at the vial, turning it over in her hands. “…What?”
He stares at her again — that same, mysterious smile.
“I trust you know what to do next.”
She stares at the vial for a while, trying to decipher his words. But they make no sense to her.
“Myself?” she says. “What do you–?”
She looks up. He’s gone.
She sighs, putting the vial away. She’ll give it to him later, she thinks. When she figures out what he’s going on about.
But… something tells her that might take a while.
—
Min Min’s room. A familiar setting by now.
She holds the vial in her hands; looks at it through the light, watching the pattern of the swirling muck in its contents.
Even bottled away, it smells horrible. Like sewer muck scraped from a wall and left to curdle for a while.
She’s still trying to figure out Hayate’s words. She knows what enemies are, of course. And allies. But… herself?
Who is she, really?
—
A flashback. We’re back in Min Min’s childhood — just a few days after her ARMS developed.
There’s piano music playing. A real sad number; think a song from a sad Disney movie, played by a tired pianist who has lost the will to live.
She’s in a medical room, with her father standing by her side and a doctor examining her newly-developed noodle arms.
“Can you fix it?” her father asks.
The doctor looks up at him through his glasses.
“Mr. Min. You know what this is, I trust?”
Her father grimaces. He does, of course. But he wants to tell himself that it’s different for his daughter; that it’s curable. He doesn’t want her to suffer.
He deludes himself.
“The ARMS condition,” he mutters.
“Yes,” the doctor confirms. “I’m sorry.”
He sighs, rubbing his eyes.
“Will she be able to lead a normal life?”
The doctor shrugs. “Some can. How does it feel, Min Min? Any more movement in your arms?”
She stares at the ground. Barely responsive.
“She has… episodes,” her father cuts in. “Moments where she loses all control — where the arms just… flail about like crazy.”
“I see. Episodes such as these are to be expected.”
“Is there anything we can do?” her father pleads. “Anything at all?”
The doctor pauses. He glances over at a diagram of a mask.
“There is one option,” he says. “But it has a cost.”
—
Back in Min Min’s room now. She stares at the vial some more.
She’s wondering about Hayate. About who he is, what he is, why he’s helping her… and whether she can trust him.
She doesn’t know. She’s not sure.
For a moment, she puts the vial to one side. She stands up, stretching her legs, and looks out across the sunset.
A beautiful world, by all accounts. The orange colours filter through the city skyline, painting the sky a fiery shade of maroon. She smiles.
Harmony is a beautiful thing.
But even the greatest of symphonies can be brought down by a single, discordant note.
—
There’s a montage sequence. Min Min fighting her way through the next few challengers, closely watched by Hayate. This is the part where the obligatory pop song plays. You know the one; the one they make specifically for the movie then play again and again on the radio until you’re sick to fucking death of the thing. It’ll have some inspiring lyrics — something about winning the fight, about beating the odds. A noodle reference, maybe. Something easy to market. Maybe we’ll call it “Noodle Power” or “Serving Up a Bowl of Pain”. Maybe even “Ramen Knows Nothing Of Loss”.
She goes through a whole laundry list of opponents. There’s Mechanica, Twintelle, Byte and Barq, Jax, Helix, Ramhorn, Master Mummy, Riptide and more. Every one of them falls before the power of her… ramen.
If you’ve seen one fight, you’ve seen them all. There’s nothing new here, just another tired retread.
That’s all the movie industry is, though. It’s all been done before. The studios know that they can make more money rehashing old ideas than trying to do something new, so that’s all they do. I mean, think about it. Even this movie is basically just Rocky except he’s being followed around by a ninja. And if Rocky was taking down a megacorp. It’s like the writers are too scared to try anything new, so they just stick to the same old ideas because people will still go see it.
Fuck this movie. Fuck Rocky. Fuck the studios. Fuck you if you’re still reading this. And double fuck you if you’re still watching the damn film.
Fuck. Anyway. Where was I?
Fuck, I’ve lost my train of thought now.
Ah, yes. The montage. Right.
So she’s winning fight after fight after fight. Her fame grows, and so does her confidence. Her ratings go up. The world is Min Min’s oyster.
We see her climb the tournament ladder one at a time, slowly but surely making her way to the top. She wins fight after fight, people cheering her name at every turn.
There’s only one fight left. Only one more opponent.
But it’s him.
—
“Spring Man,” Hayate says, leaning against Min Min’s locker. “It’s been some time since you last fought him.”
“I know,” she says. “It feels like years ago.”
“You nervous?”
“Of course I am!” she snaps. “He’s — he cheats. He always wins.”
Hayate smirks. “And what do you do against a cheater?”
“Dump him.”
Hayate chuckles. “Correct.”
She stares at her noodle hand. “Hayate, I can’t just… I mean, I’ll win. But what happens after that? I mean, he’s…”
“You leave all that to me,” Hayate says. “We’ve gotten far, you and I.”
“You barely did anything.” She’s joking around, though there’s an accusatory glint in her eye. What IS his plan?
“You’re right. But that’ll change soon.”
“So, you going to tell me your plan?”
He smiles. “Absolutely not. Just focus on your fight with Spring Man. I’ll handle the rest.”
“You’d better.” She pauses, frowning. “Hayate?”
“Yes?”
“Who are you, really?”
He laughs. “A guy who really wants to bring down the ARMS league. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “You know why. Our chains–“
“Forget about the bloody arms for a second. Why do you care so much?”
He stares at her blankly. “That’s a stupid question.”
“Is it?” she presses. “I don’t get you, Hayate. I don’t get what your angle is. You’ve been helping me so far, but I don’t know what your agenda is. What do you want?”
“Would ‘revenge’ satisfy you?”
“Would ‘no’ answer you?”
He sighs.
“Look. I’ll make you a deal. When all of this is over, I’ll tell you what you want to know. How does that sound?”
“How do I know you won’t just vanish and leave me to take the blame for what you’re planning?”
“You’ll just have to trust me, I suppose.”
She slaps the locker shut.
“Cut the bullshit, Hayate. Just tell me what you’re planning, and what your angle is.”
“Fine,” Hayate says. “The truth? I don’t like you.”
“What?”
“I never have. And I doubt if I ever will. You took everything from me, Min Min. My chance at fame, my fans, my legacy. I could have been the greatest ARMS fighter in the world.”
He glares at her. Finally — finally — there’s a flicker of recognition.
The ninja. Her first victory, all those years ago.
“You…!” she gasps. “You’re…!”
“Yes,” he mutters. “I’m glad you finally recognize me. But I’m not here to talk about the past. It wasn’t your fault, anyway. You were just a cog in an unfair system. A cog just like me; vying to work your gears to the top,. Only, unlike you, I found myself crushed by the machinations of the system itself.”
“So that’s your revenge,” she mutters. “I see. So I set you on this path to vengeance.”
“No, Min Min. You broke my chains and set me free.”
He leans in close.
“Now,” he whispers, “your opponent is waiting, champion.”
Without another word, Hayate turns and leaves.
—
It’s then that we realise we’ve come full circle. We’re at the beginning of the movie. Min Min is preparing to fight Spring Man in Spring Stadium. Her home city; but his home turf.
Hayate’s words ring in her head.
‘When all of this is over, I’ll tell you what you want to know. How does that sound?”
She frowns.
What is Hayate planning?
What does he want?
In the distance, the stadium door opens once more. Her heart pounds.
Spring Man.
The fight is on.
Min Min takes her position in the ring. The audience cheers her on — the loyal fans that have stuck with her since the beginning.
Spring Man springs over the rope, smiling and waving to the crowd. Then, his gaze meets Min Min’s, shining with familiarity.
“It’s been a while, Min,” he says. “How’s your pops?”
“He’s alright,” she says. “Doing better than you’ll be in a minute.”
“Oh boy. Sounds like a challenge. I’m always up for one of those.”
He bounces on the spot for a moment, then stops.
“Shame, though, Min. I remember your noodles being spicier than that.”
Then, before the timer’s done, he’s launched his fists forward.
She rolls under the first, swats the second aside with a swift kick, then leaps over a followup. She turns in mid-air and lands perfectly, planting her fist into his gut. He doubles over and she follows up with a rising knee to the head.
Spring Man waves at the camera with a toothy smile, his face contorted in pain. He winces, then lets out a pained chuckle.
“Not bad, kiddo,” he says. “Reminds me of the times we used to spar round Senior’s place. You remember? The smell of burning insulation and the taste of those noodles he always made…”
“Shut up and fight!”
“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s going easy on you, kid,” he says. “But if that’s how you want it…”
A sudden barrage of punches thuds into her guard. One, two, three… she steps backward to avoid a fourth. She knows his maneuvers intimately; knows the predictable fourth punch, jutting from the thumb side of his hand, will lead into a left hook. Spring Man knows it too; he brings his right fist back down and crosses over with his left.
Spring Man’s left hook strikes her head cleanly. Her vision darkens for a moment, then fades back from black. She feels blood trickle down her nose as she staggers backward.
He’s not even using his full strength…
But he doesn’t need to. She’s already struggling to keep up. Her body feels heavy; her limbs are slow to respond.
“Min,” he sighs, walking slowly towards her. “That’s the thing you never understood. You only became champion that one time because I let you win.” He pauses, then shines his toothy grin. “Because of what we had.”
He bounces on the spot, as if he’s just warming himself up.
“And we had some great times, didn’t we? The things we did, Min… They really put a spring in my step. I loved every moment of it.”
She wipes her nose; sees the blood staining the noodles, and feels her lunch churn in her stomach.
She charges forward, swinging both fists wildly. Spring Man slips past them with ease and backs her into the ropes. She tries to twist away, but he catches her with a hook to the cheek. She falls to the ground.
She staggers back up — but he grabs her.
He can’t do that, you might say. That’s an illegal move.
But the crowd doesn’t care. They’re too busy with the spectacle.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Min. Your friend — Hayate, was it? We have snipers trained on his position.”
“Bullshit!” she spits.
He smiles.
“One wrong move from you, and he dies.”
He brings his knee up into her stomach. Another illegal move. But that doesn’t matter anymore. With a sickening crack, her back arches backward and she collapses into the ropes.
“And I’ll let you in on another secret,” he says. “This crowd? It isn’t real.”
He snaps his fingers — and the crowd, like a hologram, suddenly flickers and disappears.
Min MIn’s eyes widen in horror. For in the rows of seats surrounding the sparring ring, there are no people. No soldiers, no medical staff, no technicians.
She’s staring at a hundred and some-odd metal skeletons.
“The latest and greatest from ARMS Laboratories,” he says. “Replicas, all of them — there’s hundreds of me, Min. I wanted to call them the Spring Soldiers… but they settled on a simpler name.”
“Funny,” Min Min chokes. “Replacements. Just like you replaced me.”
Spring Man grabs her by the neck and hauls her up.
“I didn’t replace you,” he snarls. “I realised you were weak. I realised you were holding me back. I threw you away. Remember that.”
“And what does that make you to the ARMS League if they made hundreds of you?”
He spits in her face. “I’ll tell you what it makes me: the best. They wanted to perfect human abilities. They wanted a master of ARMS. Well, they couldn’t do that with weaklings like you. They needed a real fighter.”
She laughs weakly. “A real fighter who can’t ever win fairly.”
He throws her to the ground, looming over her. “What does it matter when I’ve got all the power?”
“Because you’re weak.”
“Shut up!” he roars, booting her in the ribs.
She coughs, spitting out a tooth. “No, James,” she says. “You’re weak. That’s why they’re replacing you.”
The robotic Spring Men stand up, their eyes glowing red. Min Min looks up, panicked — but realises that they’re also looking at Spring Man with murderous intent.
He turns around, bewildered. “What?”
And then, the robots rush at Spring Man. He lets out a yell of surprise as they push him to the ground and start tearing him apart. He tries to fight back, flailing wildly — but he’s no match for hundreds of Spring Men.
“MY ARMS!” he screams. “MY FUCKING ARMS! MIN! HELP MEEEE!”
But Min Min doesn’t help. She can’t. She has to watch him die, writhing in the grip of his hundreds of replacements, as a handful of them advance towards her.
“Fighter name: Min Min,” one of them says, eerily robotic. “Arms material: noodles. Proposition: conversion to Springtron unit.”
“Go to hell, rust bucket,” she hisses — then throws a punch at him.
She must be out of practice, because he dodges with unnatural speed. Another punch, and another dodge. Soon, she’s surrounded by Spring Men, dodging punch after punch.
It’s no use. She’s going to die.
Except she isn’t, because no movie kills off its protagonist mid-climax. Except Psycho. But I’m not Hitchcock, so you know she’s getting out of this.
“Need a hand, champion?”
Hayate. He appears from the smoke, brandishing a lightsaber. The Spring Men back off, intimidated by the humming blade of light.
How did we acquire the rights to a lightsaber? We didn’t. But this movie isn’t ever getting made, so Disney can go suck eggs.
“Hayate,” Min Min breathes, taking the proffered lightsaber and standing up. “Always a sight for sore eyes.”
“I’ll say,” Hayate says. “What happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way. If we’re quick, we can…”
A metal hand shoots out of the pile of corpses, grabbing Hayate’s ankle. He yells as he is dragged towards the pile, but Min Min’s on the ball this time. Her arm extends, her noodly arm, slamming the robotic limb against the ground.
“Come on!” she says, grabbing Hayate and pulling him away from the pile of metal.
They run, and the Spring Men follow in close pursuit.
“There’s snipers,” Min Min gasps as she runs.
“We’re in the middle of a–” Hayate sees what she’s pointing at, and gulps. Dozens of men in third-storey windows of adjacent buildings, rifles aimed down at them. “Great. Just great.”
“We need to find cover!”
“Where, though?” Hayage says. “We’re in the open!”
They run, as the rifles follow them, taking shots. Hayate sees one to their left, and has an idea.
“Come on!” he says, grabbing Min Min by the wrist and launching her forward with his arm. She flies up into the air, extending her own arm out, and grabs him herself, throwing him even higher.
Together, the two of them flip and tumble through the air, as bullets fly below them. Hayate looks down and sees the metal army, running in formation.
They start running up the wall, because we gave up with this movie’s script, and converge on the sniper position. Their arms take out rows at a time, as Hayate and Min Min reach the window. They both launch themselves inside, Hayate rolling and coming up in a fighting stance, and Min Min… somehow doing a backflip before hitting the ground.
I don’t know. It was cooler in my head.
A single sniper remains in the room, and Hayate takes him out with a spinning top-level kick to the side of the head. He slumps against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“We need to move,” he says.
Hayate nods, and they continue out the window and onto the rooftops. The Spring Soldiers are not so nimble, and can’t follow. They’re safe…
…and then, a familiar figure lands on the rooftop in front of them.
“James?!” Min Min gasps. “How–?!”
Spring Man. But there’s something off about him. His arms are mechanical; his legs fleshy in places, but steel in others. His face has been replaced by a steel plate with one large eye. His chest is also steel, with only a few wires and lighting visible from the inside.
“I’ve evolved,” he says. “And you, Min… You’ve stagnated. You and Hayate there.”
“You’ve become a tool of the ARMS League,” Hayate says, taking a fighting stance. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“No,” Min Min says. “He always was a tool.”
“I evolved,” Spring Man says — if he can be called a man. “I became better. I’m on the cusp of becoming a god here, thanks to Doctor Coyle.”
“A god of what?” Min Min scoffs. “Annihilation? Destruction? You’re a killing machine with no purpose but to…”
“I want to be better,” Spring Man says, fiercely. “I want to be advanced. I want to be the best. And I’m willing to wipe out anyone who gets in the way of that. I want the weak to die, so only the strong can continue.”
“You’re not strong,” Hayate says. “You’re not a man. You’re a monster.”
“And what are you,” Spring Man says, “but a sword for a absent master?”
Something in Spring Man’s words provokes Hayate. He throws himself at Spring Man with an agonized yell, but Spring Man is prepared. He catches Hayates wrists, and twists his arms around behind him, pushing him forward so his face slams into the concrete.
Then, Hayate’s arms — the chains that have given him so much strength, that have fuelled his hate for so long — are his undoing. Spring Man twists Hayate’s arms around and slams them down on the concrete again and again and again, shattering both of Hayate’s arms.
There’s a metaphor in here somewhere. I was too drunk to figure it out, though, so it’s all on you.
Spring Man kicks Hayate in the stomach, knocking him several feet back. Hayate’s now unable to do anything but crawl, but Spring Man isn’t letting up. He stomps on Hayate’s back, shattering his spine.
“NO!” Min Min screams, leaping forward.
Spring Man swings around, his fist catching Min Min in the side of the head and sending her to the ground.
“It’s as I said, Min. You’ve always been weak.”
Slowly, surely, she gets to her feet. A heroic last stand in the face of certain doom. If there was a narrator, this is where they would say she had a spark of hope in her eyes, or some other bullshit. This is where the music would swell.
Spring Man swings, his fist landing in her stomach. He moves to punch her again but she catches his arm.
“I really loved you, you know,” she says.
Spring Man says nothing, and instead brings his knee up to slam into her face. Her body goes limp, but she still holds on.
“I looked up to you as an athlete. I looked up to you as a person. I looked up to you as… as…!”
A moment of weakness. Not in her, but in him. A look of hesitation, of regret.
Then, Hayate pierces his lightsaber through Spring Man’s back.
It’s a fatal wound.
The two of them stare at Spring Man as he looks down at the blade, too surprised to fight back. Slowly, he falls to his knees, then over to his side. He twitches a few more times, and then he’s still.
How is Hayate holding a lightsaber without arms, you ask? With his teeth, dumbass.
There should be a moment of victory. But Min Min is by Spring Man’s side.
Don’t ask me why. She should hate his fucking guts or something. I mean, he’s tried to kill her six or seven times in this movie. She should want him fucking dead.
But it’s a movie, so the protagonist needs some kind of strange love interest with the antagonist to get the fanfiction writers working.
She holds him, in his dying moments. He looks up at her with a weak smile.
“I see… a noodle shop, Min. Your dad’s place. You and me, sitting across from each other, eating noodles and laughing. Let’s do that… again…”
“Like old times?” she says.
He smiles. “Yeah. Like old times.” He pauses, gasping his last few breaths. “We’ll meet again… in the sequel.”
Then, with a gurgle, he falls silent forever.
Spring Man is gone.
We fade out on Min Min, kneeling over his broken body. This is a tragic scene… according to test audiences. They wouldn’t stop fucking crying.
So what did we learn about writing movies? Anything is possible as long as the characters are likeable enough for the viewers. Fuck realism, fuck intelligence, fuck logic, just make them likeable. I’ve trained an entire generation of people to love the stupid and hate the smart. Congratulations, America, you’re now a nation of lobotomized manchildren.
Thank you for your continued support. This is Masahiro Sakurai, signing off.
Jesus fucking Christ. What a fucking ride.
The Sequel
Ugh. Fine. Fine! You want to hear more about the ideas we had for sequels before everything was shut down? I’ll tell you. I’ll humour your morbid fucking curiosity. But we didn’t write a script for this one, since the original film never even made it past pre-production. So I’ll just be ad-libbing this one — like a slightly drunk stand-up comedian forced to improvise a shitty ending to an even shittier stand-up routine.
Ready? Alright. Here we go.
First off, it was going to be called ARMS 2: ARMageddon. Yeah, I thought it was a stupid title too. Actually, that’s being generous. It was fucking pretentious.
But that’s what happens when marketing takes the wheel. But the marketing department knows best, they say, so every piece of media that ever gets released is just watered-down, bland and shitty enough for the largest demographic to tolerate. So we’re not getting anything else that’s even remotely original or challenging anymore, because the marketing department knows what’s best.
Fuck the marketeers, and the markets they rode in on.
Sorry. Where was I? Oh, right. ARMS 2.
So we open on Spring Man’s funeral. Remember? He got killed at the end of the last one, or something. It’s, like… it’s a moment of continuity between the films, or whatever. Basically, it’s there to remind people that he’s dead.
At the front of the funeral, before Spring Man’s coffin, we see the CEO of the ARMS League. Max Brass, the deepest-voiced motherfucker you’ll ever hear. He’s got brass balls, too — or maybe they’re bronze? Fuck it. Point is: the speech sounds great. Really smooth and sombre. It sets the tone for a movie about a children’s fighting game.
“We are gathered here today,” he announces, “to honour the life and death of a great warrior. A bold and daring man who strove against all odds. A champion who defended his title with all his heart. Once, he was known as James. A simple, humble man from Spring City, who loved and was loved. Yet, through sheer force of will and the graces of an unknowable providence, he became a hero to us all. When he first stepped into the ring under the title of Spring Man, his youthful courage and brash enthusiasm were matters of legend. His first opponent was Riptide, a veteran and a specialist in low kicks. But Spring Man’s speed and agility led him to an easy victory. His second opponent was Ribbon Girl, a world-class acrobat known for her deadly use of ribbons in combat. But Spring Man’s exceptional reflexes allowed him to dodge every strike, leaving him with another easy victory. His third opponent was Ninjara, a stealthy specialist who relied on shadow and poison techniques. But Spring Man’s instincts allowed him to sense every movement, leading him to victory once more!”
For some reason, there’s a round of cheering. In a funeral. Really cult-like, you know? But I guess after watching the ARMS league for so long, a person just gets brainwashed.
I mean, I’m starting to buy it. I’m starting to think Spring Man really was a hero…
“Yet his legend was only just beginning,” Max Brass continues. “He was a young man, still in his prime, with many years ahead of him. He had legions of fans and a seemingly unstoppable fighting style. But, sadly, Spring Man was taken from us too soon. The terrible accident that–“
Max Brass does something weird here. He kind of stops talking and looks out into the crowd, as if he’s staring right at you.
“Well… I hardly need recount the details here. But his death was hardly meaningless. Spring Man will live forever in our memories, and in the ring. Let us never forget his deeds, and let us never forget the fire that burned within him. And let us always remember: fame, glory and the love of the crowd are eternal!”
Another cheer. Freaky shit, really.
“And now,” Max says, straightening his tie. “We commit James to the earth. To dust you may return, and from dust you came, but your spirit will never die. Always, it will live in the hearts of all who loved you. Always, it will live in our hearts. James! We will never forget you!”
The cheering goes on, and on, and on.
And then, it fades out. Max’s shoulders lose their tension — and the funeral scene around him fizzles out into nothingness.
A hologram. A simulation. Call it what you will; the point is, it wasn’t real.
“Excellent speech, sir!” Biff says, waddling out of the shadows. “A few more rehearsals, and I think–“
“This speech is hot garbage, Biff,” Max spits. “You think they’re gonna buy this kind of sentimental crap from me? I need something with more… pizzazz! Something that really turns the heat up!”
“It’s a funeral, sir,” Biff says. “Pizzazz might be a bit misplaced.”
“Pizzazz is always appropriate, Biff. You think a corny eulogy like this is gonna get me good ratings? You think it’s gonna have the ladies crying and the men bragging to their friends that they had tears in their eyes when they watched it? No! This thing needs to be edgy. It needs to be memorable.”
“If I may say so, sir, your fans are grieving the death of a hero quite adequately already.”
“I’m not saying set the coffin on fucking fire, Biff! I’m just saying it needs to be more exciting!”
“Well, it’s your funeral, boss,” Biff sighs, shaking his head.
“It’s Spring Man’s, actually,” Max says, staring at the coffin. “And it better be fucking sensational. Now go away. I need to think.”
Biff nods, and disappears again.
As silence falls, there’s a somber look in Max’s eyes. He stares at the coffin for a while, and a faint smile creeps across his face. He even chuckles to himself.
“You always did know how to make an impression,” he says quietly. “You had star quality, kid. Played the public well, too. Always knew what they wanted to hear from you. You had them in the palm of your hand. And then…”
He sighs. You’d almost feel bad for him, if he hadn’t been talking about livening up a funeral.
“What can I say? You were the perfect puppet.”
He turns and leaves, and all the lights go out — leaving only Spring Man’s coffin in the center of the screen, eerily illuminating it in a harsh white light.
We stare at it for a while, contemplating the nature of life and death. I actually thought about letting it linger there for a minute or two. Let it soak in, like one of those artsy films that people pretend to appreciate but no one actually does.
Then again, I didn’t go to film school.
Anyway, we then cut to two years later. Because two years have fucking passed, for some reason.
A familiar locale at the edge of town. A low-lit, cosy noodle shop, the same as it was in the last movie.
A few bowls of ramen slide across the table, passed out to various customers all at once.
That’s right. It’s Min Min. She’s our protagonist again, because audiences like familiarity.
“Enjoy,” she says, smiling as she bows slightly.
A few of the customers say their thanks, while others chow down immediately.
This is a good day. The sort of day you see in the first acts of movies in order to establish the basic idea that life is good, and then everything goes to shit.
You know the sort of thing. We all do.
For a while, Min Min’s just sort of going about her day. Cooking noodles, serving noodles, eating a few of the leftovers. Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s happy, though. Happier than she was two years ago, at least. Her smile is earnest, and she carries herself with a spring in her step.
Business, by the looks of it, is also booming. The shop is almost full, and there are a few people waiting for a table.
Other things seem to be going well, too. Her relationship with her dad, since I guess that was a plot point in the last film, has gotten better. He’s even opening another restaurant in the next town over!
Maybe she’ll fill us in on this with a voiceover.
Filmmakers say that’s a lazy way to do exposition, but filmmakers are wannabes and poseurs, and if I wanted their opinion on filmmaking, I’d beat it out of them.
Maybe I should become a filmmaker. I already know enough about it to get by.
Anyway. The movie.
Right.
The only thing that’s not perfect is her love life.
Because, like any teenaged protagonist of an indeterminate age, she can’t get over her old love.
Yeah, I’m talking about Spring Man.
She thinks about him a lot. She thinks about how he was always there for her. She thinks about his winning smile and his easy-going nature. She thinks about the time he tried to murder her on top of a skyscraper while a hundred robots in his image tried to kill her.
The first two, she likes. The third one, not so much.
But she’s still in love with him.
Why? I don’t know. But it makes for a raw emotional hook at the start of the movie, so deal with it.
As if to illustrate the point, there’s a TV spot about Spring Man. It’s been two years since his death, but he’s still as popular as ever. There’s a movie about his life coming out starring a popular actor who doesn’t look a goddamn thing like him, but whatever gets people into the cinema, I guess. Same rules apply even in a fictional world.
She sighs. The restaurant is bright and colorful, but there’s a certain melancholy about her.
“Hey, Min,” one of her co-workers — a girl around her age named Bo — says, as she enters the kitchen. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Min Min smiles. “Just a little tired.”
“The restaurant was packed. It’s alright to be tired.”
“You got everything under control?”
Bo nods, and smiles. She has big, round eyes and a charming smile. She’s the “best friend” character: hard-working, sympathetic, understanding.
“All good here,” she says. “If you need to step outside, you know, for any reason, I can keep an eye on things.”
“Thanks, Bo. I might just do that.”
“Alright. If you’re sure you’re okay.”
Min Min flashes her a smile back, and then puts her apron aside, stepping out into the city.
She walks for a little while — takes the most photogenic route, since this is a movie and that’s what you’re supposed to do — and makes her way along the shore.
She sits down on a bench, watching the sun set.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind her.
She smiles.
It’s Spring Man’s voice.
“Reminds me of all the times we’d walk along this way,” the voice says. “Just me and you. Those were the days, huh?”
“You were a murdering psychopath in the end,” she says, without looking round. “But, yeah. Pretty great.”
He chuckles. “Harsh, Min. Harsh.”
The waves lap at the shore.
“You still thinking about me?” he asks.
“All the time,” she says.
“You have to move on eventually,” he says. “It’s been two years, Min. Two years too long.”
There’s a pause. The seagulls cry out overhead, and the tide ebbs and flows.
“I wish everyone else would move on, too,” he says. “I don’t get why they’re making a movie about me. What’s it called?”
“‘The Rise of Spring Man’.”
“Sounds pretentious,” he says.
“You were a pretentious guy.”
He chuckles again.
“Touche, Min. Touche.”
She turns around, and he’s not there.
The bench is empty.
She stands up, the cold wind nipping at her ankles. As she gets ready to go, she receives a notification on her phone.
One new message. It’s from Bo.
“hey min!! all closed up now, see you in the morning :)”
She hits “read”.
She pockets her phone, and walks back to the restaurant.
Then, we cut to an office. Sleek, stylish, modern. The office of a real go-getter. A motivational poster stands on the wall, showing a picture of Max Brass admiring a picture of Max Brass.
If you hadn’t figured it out yet, Max is a bit full of himself. A man after my own heart.
He’s also our “Big Bad”, the main antagonist for this movie. He does the whole villain monologue thing a bit later on, but we’ll get to that. For now, the man himself sits behind his desk, making a couple of changes to his will on his computer.
He’s an aging man, but tireless.
His face is creased with wrinkles, his hair starting to grey. He has bags under his eyes, but they’re not due to a lack of sleep. They’re due to a life too well lived. He’s dressed in an intricately embroidered golden jacket with black pants and a black shirt, no tie. A golden bracelet clasps his right wrist, while a golden ring graces one of his fingers and a golden chain hangs around his neck, upon which rests a diamond-encrusted letter “M”. He’s the very image of a self-made man.
As he types, Biff shuffles his way in. Biff hasn’t changed. Biff might be fifty years old, or he might be five hundred. It’s hard to say.
Either way, he makes his way up to Max’s desk.
“Amending the will again, sir?” he asks.
“I’m adding a stipulation,” Max says proudly.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m leaving it all to myself. That way, there’s no confusion.”
He bursts into laughter. Biff joins in after a moment, although much less enthusiastically.
“That’s a good one, sir,” he says.
“No, seriously. Look.”
“I believe you, sir. But, if I might discuss the ceremony for tomorrow…”
“Ceremony?” Max asks.
“The Spring Man Memorial Charity Drive, sir,” Biff says.
Max scoffs. “What’s there to discuss? We’ll flaunt the twerp’s image, raise millions, and I’ll buy a new boat.”
Biff is clearly not amused by the joke.
“Right, sir. But Dr. Coyle has insisted–“
“Hah! Who cares what the doc ‘insists’ on? She’s not paying for it. I am!”
“She’s financing this entire company, sir. She’s not paying for the festival. She’s paying for you.”
Max’s typing slows, and he peers down at Biff. A lesser man would be cowed by his intimidating glare. But Biff is no lesser man.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “What does the doc want from a champ like me?”
“We’re introducing Spring Man’s successor at the end of the event. Dr. Coyle has hand-picked her by herself–“
“Her?” Max asks. “The next Spring Man is a woman?”
“I don’t believe she plans to be called Spring Man, sir,” Biff says. “She’s a very talented fighter, just like her predecessor. Although her background is considerably different.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Max grumbles. “How so?”
Biff smiles. We’ve never seen Biff smile before, and by the looks of it, neither has Max. The big man seems slightly unnerved by it.
“Why, sir — she comes from the very same place as you,” he says. “You know what I’m referring to, I trust?”
Close on Max’s face — his smile has vanished.
And then, we cut away.
That’s right. We’re setting up mysteries. Like J. J. Abrams, except we’ll actually answer some of these questions by the end of the movie.
We’re back with Min Min. It’s the end of her next day, and she’s talking with Bo as they close up shop, helping her tidy away all the pots and pans. I’ve never actually worked in a noodle bar, but I guess that’s what they have to do, right? Although the one down the road from my office is always a fucking mess by the end of the day — plates everywhere, sauce splatters on the walls. God, it’s like walking into–
The movie. Sorry.
“The Charity Drive?” Bo asks. “Yeah, a couple of people were talking about that earlier in the day. Even now, Spring Man’s–“
“He’s the talk of the town,” Min Min murmurs. “Two years on, and people are still going on about him.”
Bo falls silent for a moment. She knows about Min Min’s relationship with Spring Man, I guess. Then again, it was a big enough thing that it probably hasn’t been forgotten.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Min Min smiles. “I’m fine. It’s just… a weird time of year, you know? Seeing him on TV, even when he’s…”
She sighs, then shrugs.
“It’s dumb. But I guess some feelings are harder to shake off than others.”
“You don’t need to explain it to me,” Bo says. “I get it.”
“Thanks.”
They clean up for a while longer. It’s quiet, peaceful. A real slice of life. If this was animated, it’d cost us a fucking fortune just to animate them tidying away plates. But since it’s live action, we can make them take as many shots as we need to do the most mundane tasks. Spread those budget savings onscreen, where the audience can see them.
Min Min and Bo pack away the last of the pots and pans, then turn to each other once more.
“Say,” Bo starts, “maybe it’s a little out of nowhere, but… wanna grab a drink or something?”
Min Min looks surprised.
“What, you and me?” she asks.
“Why not? Better to take your mind off something than let it sit and stir all day. We stir enough noodles as is, right?”
“That we do,” Min Min says with a laugh. “Alright. I guess it’s not like I’ve got any plans.”
“Perfect. There’s this nice little bar just down the road from here. We could walk there in five minutes.”
“Perfect,” Min Min smiles. “Let me just go wash my hands.”
A scene break, since it’d be boring if we showed her walking to the bathroom and then coming back. We’ll save the money, and the time, since as we all know, every second of screen time has to be earned.
What do you mean, ‘that’s contradictory to what you said just a few seconds ago’? You know what else is contradictory, my friend? The fact that we’re all living in a vast, unchanging universe that began fourteen billion years ago, but is still expanding and creating new things all the time. Oh, shut up and keep watching the movie.
We’re in the bar now. It’s got a clean, modern look to it — lots of brushed metal and smooth, curved edges. There’s a low disco beat thudding somewhere in the back — like when you’re trying to sleep but your roommates are watching a movie down the hall, and you can just hear the bass thump-thumping away.
There are plenty of people here — some are lounging at the bar on leather stools, some are on dates, sitting in little booths along the wall. Min Min and Bo sit at the bar, side by side. They talk for a while — mundane stuff. I’ll figure out the dialogue later.
You’re probably wondering where the plot is. Well, it’s about to come in.
You see that guy at the end of the bar, with the short hair and the dark sunglasses? He keeps looking over there. Over at Min Min.
He’s a red herring, though. Where you should really be looking is further back in the shot, above the guy’s right shoulder. There, you see him? The huge guy, wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
Master Mummy.
He’s here to cause trouble. You know it. I know it. But the thing is, Bo and Min Min don’t know it.
We see Bo order a beer and Min Min ask for another sake. The bartender brings their drinks, and that’s when it happens.
An extendable arm — arms made of bandages — launches straight towards Min Min. But this isn’t the kind of movie where the bad guy attacks without reason. No, there’s always a reason. We just haven’t reached it yet. But I promise you, it’s tragic. Or something.
Bo notices it, but she’s not fast enough to stop it. The arm strikes Min Min in the face, knocking her clean onto the floor — and everyone in the bar screams in horror.
She jumps to her feet, but Master Mummy keeps his distance, stretching his arms out to attack her again.> “Bo!” Min Min yells. “Get back!”
“No need,” Master Mummy says — a deep, booming voice. “I’m just here for you.”
Master Mummy leaps over the bar, knocking drinks and bottles to the ground. The bartender starts yelling, but quickly realizes that getting the hell out of there would be a much better plan.
Min Min’s own noodly arms extend out, clashing with Mummy’s. But she doesn’t last long, as she’s swept off her feet and sent into a table. Bo attacks, but Mummy grabs her by the hair and sends her clean across the room.
“Say out of this, pipsqueak,” Master Mummy growls at Bo. “I don’t want to hurt anyone I’m not meant to hurt.”
With that, he advances on Min Min — his extendable arms outstretched, ready to strike again.
Slowly, she tries to stand — but it’s a struggle, and his arms strike out straight into her face, sending her into a table.
“Master Mummy,” she gasps. “I… What are you…?”
“It’s nothing personal, Ms. Min,” he says. He sounds like he means it, too. “But I’ve a job to do.”
She stands again, but he kicks her in the gut and sends her back down to the floor.
“I’ve been ordered to break your arms, Ms. Min,” he says. “They don’t want you interfering in what comes next.”
“W-who…? I-in… what…?”
Master Mummy doesn’t reply. Instead, he reaches down, grabbing her by the throat, and lifts her up into the air. She kicks and screams, scratching at his arms, but it’s no use. He grabs her left arm, twisting it around her back. She screams as he twists it further — on the verge of breaking.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Bo yells.
Master Mummy doesn’t even turn to look at her. “This has nothing to do with you, kid.”
“I don’t care! Let her go!”
Min Min gasps and writhes, but still to no avail. Master Mummy stares at her, almost sadly, then looks away.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Min,” he says. “This is just business.”
And with that, he snaps her arm like a noodly twig.
It’s a horrible sound — Min Min’s scream, Bo’s cries, and the sound of her arm breaking all mixed together, forming a horrible chorus of pain.
This is a children’s movie, by the way.
Blood trickles down her forearm, and she cries in agony as Master Mummy drops her to the floor.
“Now, for the other one,” he says, reaching for her again.
“No! Don’t! Leave her alone!” Bo yells.
And then, in a shocking moment, her own arms extend. Not as stretchy as Master Mummy’s, but they reach him nonetheless, sending him toppling over.
“Get away from her!”
Bo looks down at her arms in surprise, as if she’s just as shocked as we are. Master Mummy gets to his feet, staring at her with a mixture of shock and delight.
“Well, well,” he says. “An awakening in the flesh. This one must mean a lot to you — eh, pipsqueak?”
“Leave her alone,” Bo says, her arms outstretched and ready to attack.
Master Mummy sighs. “I have my orders. I’m sorry, kid.”
With that, he leaps forward, his arms outstretched.
Master Mummy looks up at her, shaking his head. “No,” he says, slowly standing up. “But I see it now. I see the spark of a fighter in you…”
He leaps forward again, and Bo only just manages to avoid his grasp.
“Come on, then!” he shouts. “Let’s see what you’re really made of!”
As the two of them square off against each other, we cut to Min Min — crumpled on the floor, but watching her friend in awe.
It’s an ARMS awakening. Bo, in her determination to save her friend, has unlocked the power within her. It’s an exciting moment, no doubt, but it’s also heartbreaking.
Now, Bo has the same curse as Min Min does. The curse of ARMS.
The battle between Bo and Master Mummy continues, all the same. This time, Master Mummy is much more careful.
He doesn’t make any wild movements, instead choosing his spots to strike. Bo is faster, though, and her arms can extend just as far as his can.
Her arms are unlike anything else we’ve ever seen. Min Min has noodles for arms, Master Mummy has bandages — but Bo’s arms have taken the form of a weird, green goo. It’s flexible, it’s strong, and it’s… sticky?
Perhaps sticky is the wrong word. Let’s go with… adhesive.
Bo manages to catch one of Master Mummy’s punches. She grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.
He throws his other arm back to stop her from twisting his arm off, exposing his chest. Bo takes the opportunity, ramming her other fist into his stomach and tossing him aside.
Master Mummy slams into the bar, shattering wine all over his head and drenching his bandages in alcohol. His eyes, for a moment, glaze over. He looks dazed. Maybe even a little drunk.
Bo presses the advantage, extending her arms down low to trip him up. He falls flat on his face, and she drops down on top of him, grabbing both his arms and pinning them behind his back.
“Give up?” she asks.
Master Mummy laughs. “Not likely, kid,” he says.
He swings his legs forward, catching Bo off guard and throwing her over the bar.
And then, just in the nick of time, Min Min strikes him in the face — with her unbroken arm. It strikes him right in the eye, and he falls to the side, howling in pain.
“He’s all yours, Bo!” she cries.
Bo delivers the coup de grace, punching him in the face and knocking him clean out.
The destroyed bar settles into silence — Bo standing over Master Mummy’s unconscious body, Min Min crumpled on the floor.
Their eyes meet, burning with a hundred questions.
Then, we cut away again. A black screen. The artist’s dramatic transition. It’s an underrated filmmaking technique, really — not that I’m a filmmaker. But if I were, I’d use it all the time, just to stick it to J.J. Abrams.
By now, the audience should be in a heightened state of emotion. They should be thinking, “What the fuck was that all about? Why were her arms made of green goo? Are they a couple? Why was Master Mummy attacking her?”
Don’t answer those questions. Not now, at least. It’s best to keep the audience guessing. You don’t want to spoonfeed them everything. You have to drip feed them information. Really make them thirsty for it. And then, eventually, you give them a big glass of water, and it’s all sweet and good and refreshing.
Wait, what the fuck am I talking about? Jesus Christ. Maybe I’m the one who needs to have a glass of water.
The point is, don’t explain everything right away. Let the audience read into it and come up with their own theories. It makes them more involved in the story. And by now, the audience should be talking. Well, the stupid ones are, anyway. The rest have fallen asleep due to the sheer boredom of this movie.
The important thing is, we cut away to black and leave them wondering.
We’re taking a risk by ending on that shot. A big risk. We’re banking on the audience wanting to see more, which means we need to keep them interested. And that’s what we’ll do in Act 2. We’ll finally satisfy their curiosity. We’ll answer all their burning questions. And have a lot of fun while doing it.
We’re done with the set-up. We’re ready to rock and roll.
Buckle up, buttercup. It’s gonna be a fun ride.