A faint, fuzzy sort of noise droning in the back of his ear gave Scott the first inkling that he might -in fact- be awake. His heavy eyelids groggily opened to find his body splayed out on his couch, an empty takeout box on the floor next to his resting spot caught his attention. The man's early morning thoughts raced and scattered about trying to discover its importance while he stretched his limbs.

[I] I never get take out [/I] 

This sudden realization jolted his train of thought towards its destination at a lightning pace. He never got take out unless it was a special occasion, there weren't any holidays he was aware of this month, nor was his birthday yesterday. Which means...

[I] Oh shit today's opening day isn't it [/I] 

A sudden burst of energy coursed through his limbs as he jerked up and stumbled over to the small callendar he kept hanging in the otherwise austere room. Sure enough all the days were marked with a red X leading up to one date circled with the words "OPENING NIGHT" written in bold and underlined far too many times. The previous day's events came back to him with a crystal clarity, he'd been able to install the sign he'd commissioned for the building. Today was finally the day he'd get to open up shop. This thought proelled itself through his mind like a torpedo as he scrambled about tidying up his apartment. The portable radio which was the source of the noise that woke him up was blaring some peppy ubeat song. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it had an alright beat as he switched to play CD's in annoyance. His precious copy of [I]The Essential Daryl Hall & John Oates [/I] was already loaded and began dispensing sweet, sweet blue eyed soul. He cranked the volume up to the max and scrambled into the bathroom to take a quick shower, singing along to the lyrics of [I] Las Vegas Turnaround [/I] as he washed. As soon as he was satisfied with his overall cleanliness he bolted out and into his tiny bedroom as quick as he could, throwing on a clean pair of dark blue jeans, a white buttondown shirt, his beloved pair of [I] Interceptor [/I] black steeltoed boots and a nice looking charcoal vest. His appearence presentable, he took a quick look at the time on his phone, it was just shy of 11:00. 

[I] Lot of time to kill [/I] he muttered to himself as he headed to the main room and reached into the refigerator, grabbing one of the legion of cans of various sodas that lined the door's storage frame and dominated two of the three interior racks. In one smooth motion he cracked it open and downed a swig, Cherry Dr. Pepper, today was a good day. While savoring it he pondered over what to do today. He was in a better mood than usual, feeling very jittery with butterflies in his stomach, there were a few things he could do to calm his nerves. 

[I] Didn't that arcade have a Third Strike cabinet? [/I] his thoughts queried his memory, the cool head that a fighting game required often put him in a state of calm, especially one as technical as Street Brawler III: Third Strike. Regardless of whether or not they did have it, heading over there was still something he could do to kill time. Thus Scott rifled through his belongings to find spare quarters, quickly accruing a nice little pile of about ten. He casually shoved them into a pocket as he took the time to scan his apartment for any last thing he might've forgotten about. Quickly spotting a portable chalkboard with the words GRAND OPENING 4:00 PM FIRST ORDERS ON THE HOUSE" written surprisingly neatly on it.  

The radio turned off, the chalkboard in one hand and a fresh can of soda in the other, Scott set off to begin the day proper. A short walk down the stairs and clever application of foot to door handle later and he emerged into the bright, bustling sprawl of Shine City. The sudden assault of bright light and loud noise helped him swing back into his usual mood. 

"Why's it always got to be so damn hot out" he grumbled to himself as he plopped the chalkboard down in front of the bar. From there he began his long walk to the arcade, longing for the sweet release of air conditioning. Everyone he came across always seemed so damn cheerful that he couldn't help but think that they all were hiding something. Fortunately he didn't have to ponder long before reaching his destination. 

Normally he avoided places like this, the roaring clamor of conversation and loud electronic beeps and sounds as they fought to stay louder than the other grated on his nerves. A lot of arcades reeked of tobacco which always put him on edge. However, the games themselves were worth it, ever since he'd been a kid he'd [I] loved [/I] fighting games, and nothing beat a solid Arcade's lineup of cabinets. Steering clear of the newer additions and heavy crowds, Scott ventured to the back corners where they kept the older machines. One could always expect a small amount of old school vets like him back in these rows stubbornly refusing to move on to newer more polished systems. Once he finally rounded the corner into the row he was looking for, he spied a small crowd gathered over a [I] Blazblue [/I] cabinet, seemed a small tourney was going on, one particular player was kicking all kinds of ass though he couldn't quite get a look at them. He nonchalantly strolled past them while searching for his target, finally finding it next to a Delta 3 machine. There was a girl at the helm ripping apart the AI. Stepping up to his own cabinet of choice, he gave her a nod of approval and a thumbs up, he'd never quite gotten into Delta 3 but he respected skill whenever he encountered it. Regardless, he had his own game to butcher, so without further adieu Scott inserted his quarters, popped his knuckles, selected his main man Dudley and set to work climbing the highscore ladder as high as he could.