(Cuz I need to finally get this plotline started)
Two street cleaners worked on the busy streets of the city; Well, one worked, the other leaned lazily on his litter collector, talking to the other one.
"It's all a scam, dude. We have to stand out here? Cleaning up trash? In the goddamn rain?" He asked, shrugging.
"Yeah, we do. That's called a job. Now why don't you do your job, and actually help me out? Get going over there." The hardworking cleaner pointed his stick behind his lazy counterpart, To which his partner shook his head as he trudged over to slavery. The two workers worked in silence, indifferent to the other, or the bustle of soldiers that came past them. Once they were alone, the lazy worker's stick hit the ground with a present thud. The other, annoyed, turned back to yell at him.
"Dude, Cmon! We have--"
The cleaner was shocked when he saw that his partner was nowhere to be found, the only trace of his presence being his cleaning equipment and his trash bag, which spilled onto the ground.
"Are you kidding me? Now's not the time for a fucking brea--"
Another thud. Not from a stick, but the lifeless body of the cleaner dropping from the building above. His skin was an unhealthy gray, and his body had almost no fat. He was a meat coated skeleton, with the only signs of life being his pitiful quivering and moaning, as he looked with sunken eyes towards his friend.
The cleaner stepped back in horror, bumping into something heavy behind him. Recoiling forward, he turned around quickly, and towering over him was an almost seven foot tall suit of armor, with a scorpion's tail gently waving behind it. It took a step forward, to which the cleaner panicked and raised his stick, pointing it's sharp end right at the armored man's face.
"S-Stay back! I-I'm warning you!" He shook slightly as he tried to maintain his hold on his composure. The man in armor casually grabbed the tip, yanked the man close, and then effortlessly bent the stick, curving it so the sharp end pointed directly at his face. Then he threw it to the side, ripping it out of the cleaner's grip with hardly any resistance. He then gripped his clawed hand on the top of the man's head, lifted him off the ground, and forcibly drained his life force from his body, watching as he went within seconds from a hollering, plump, bright-skinned middle aged man to a mumbling, discolored bag of bones, which he promptly dropped to the street below.
"This is unit 5, we have an eye on the target."
SYM-04 turned around, seeing a man pointing a rifle straight at SYM-04 with one hand, and using the other to grip a walky-talky, detailing their current position to the best of his ability, before the symbiote lunged forth and plunged his claws square into his chest before he could fire a bullet, rapidly draining his Ki before dropping his husk to the ground. With three victims, SYM-04 was ready.
He knew they were coming.
"Awww little doggy. What's his name?" Calvin cooed, squatting over.
"Sir..." The pet store employee began, his voice being showcase of his instantly shattered will. "That's a female. Also, it's a turtle. Third, this is an aquarium. I think I'm just going to have to ask you to leave."
Calvin walked out of the aquarium. Was that Japanese for pet shop? He didn't know; No dog, no way to track down the fighting stadium. He decided to use his last resort:
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk outside of the store, trying to find the stadium, completely oblivious to the firestorm of news that circled around on just on the display TV of the video store next door, much less any bit aware that he was just one block away from SYM-04's feast.