There’s no denying it, Metro City is a terrible place to live. Crime is so bad here that people don’t leave their homes for fear of being mugged, even though most people don’t have anything worth being mugged over. The populace is beaten into submission and have, in their complacency, willingly turned their streets over to the gangs, who wander around town, busting open oil drums and cans, searching for weapons to pawn for drug money.

The new mayor, what can he do? He ran on a platform of change; he said he was going to clean the streets up in his campaign ads, but everyone knew that was kind of bullshit. He’s just one former professional wrestler. They’re an entire city full of punks, thugs, and strongmen. It seems like all is lost in Metro City. The good people here, they might as well pack up their bags and head to their places of origin.

Then, one day, it happens. The mean streets of Metro City finally meet their match. Two men – both trained in the ancient martial art of kicking ass with impunity – walk from block to block punching and kicking people to death.

Punch punch kick. Punch punch kick. Kick.

Who are they? They’re men on a mission to save the mayor’s daughter from the Mad Gear Gang. The people whose blood coats their fists might not be involved in that situation, but they’re getting their asses kicked anyway. No one on this street is innocent today. Everyone is dealt with equally.

These guys mean business. They lay down the law. They don’t have the time to stop and ask themselves, ”Do all these people even belong to the gang that is holding the mayor’s daughter for ransom?” No. Of course not. But that’s the deal. If you’re on this street right now, you’re getting your ass kickboxed out of commission.

Punch punch kick. Punch kick. Punch punch punch. Kick. Kick. Punch.

The fists and feet are flying so fast that none of these methhead, long-haired street rats can react fast enough. They amble in from every direction, trying to get the best of these two, but end up head first in the concrete, chipped teeth in their stomachs.

Do their victims die? These guys don’t even bother to check. They move on to the next block, and then the next one, because they’re desperate for more ass to kick. And it’s true what they say: ask and the Lord provides. Pretty much anything with a pulse has it put it rest, even the boss of the slums is laid out.

They descend into the subway, where the scene is different – murky, with graffiti – but the gig doesn’t change. There are hundreds of men to disarm and then pummel into submission here, too. They have weird names like Tad and Grock. Nobody has a gun, because everyone wants to prove to themselves that they can kick these guy’s asses.

After the subway it’s on to somewhere else. It doesn’t matter where. It’s all going to be the same, no matter where they end up. Plot, variety, sense of place — that’s all window dressing to two guys on a warpath. They’re moving full speed ahead, regardless of their mission, two crazy windmills dishing out as much nonlethal pain as possible for another hundred blocks.

Punch punch kick. Punch kick. Punch punch punch.

The mean streets behind them are left bloodless, but a little bruised, and the mean streets ahead of them, well, we can’t possibly know that, but we can safely assume that it will include punching to death a lot of people.