Cameraman Never Dies

Judge exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the chaos of fists and flying bodies before them. "Amber."

"Yes, dear brother?" she asked, as though they were having afternoon tea and not standing on the precipice of an all-out alley brawl.

"Let's try not to use any principles."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because," Judge said, watching as a man took a wooden plank to the head and crumpled like a poorly structured sandcastle, "if we go full force, we might kill them, and that would be very rude." He dodged a flying bottle with a casual tilt of his head.

Amber sighed, "What's your plan then? I don't think diplomacy wouldn't work here."

"I just meant using your two good old fists," Judge sighed more heavily, punching a guy's gut lightly. "Besides, think of it as a learning experience."

Amber sighed dramatically. "Fine. No principles." She rolled up her sleeves. "But if someone stabs me, I'm lighting them on fire."

Judge didn't argue. Instead, he turned to face the nearest thug — an absolute mountain of a man with knuckles the size of dinner plates. The thug looked at him, cracked his neck, and grinned. "Why are you in an alleyway like this, little lordling? You lost or what?"

"Oh, absolutely," Judge admitted cheerfully. "Just taking a scenic route home, and what a lovely bunch of violent miscreants we've stumbled upon."

The thug scowled, but before he could do anything, another man — a wiry fellow with a scar running across his cheek — pointed at them. "They must be from the Red Hounds! Get 'em!"

Judge blinked. "Red Who? Do you guys even know how to name?" He dodged a shabby punch, letting the man stumble forward. He twisted and kicked the guy in the back, sending him crashing into a nearby wooden crate pile. "I mean, who even names their own gang "Red Hound"? That is soo nineteenth-century."

Amber sighed. "Why do people always assume we're part of something? Do we look like we belong to an underground crime syndicate?"

A third thug, this one holding a rusted frying pan like it was a sacred artifact, narrowed his eyes. "You're dressed too fancy to be lost."

Both just ignored Judge's remark as if he did not even exist, leaving Judge a 'little bit' angry.

Amber scoffed. "Oh, so now dressing well is a crime?" She cracked her knuckles. "Unbelievable."

Judge dodged the next punch with a sidestep, letting the thug's momentum carry him forward before giving him a well-placed kick to his groin, sending the man sprawling.

"Oh, he's not gonna get up for a bit." He growled.

"Wow, you are a monster lad," Another one made a remark.

"Thank you."

Another came at him swinging wildly. Judge weaved between the punches, effortlessly avoiding each one before grabbing a half-broken chair and slamming it over the man's head. It shattered instantly, and the thug blinked, more confused than hurt.

Judge clicked his tongue. "That works better in tavern stories."

Amber, meanwhile, had opted for a more straightforward approach. She ducked under a wild swing and delivered a sharp jab to a thug's ribs, making him wheeze like an overstuffed accordion.

She caught another's wrist as he tried to grab her and twisted, flipping him onto his back with all the grace of a seasoned brawler. "Honestly, this is just embarrassing for you lot," she muttered, stepping over the groaning body.

The frying pan thug charged at Judge, weapon raised high. Judge barely ducked in time as the pan whooshed past his head. "Oh, come on, a frying pan? Really?"

"It's all I could find!" the thug yelled defensively, swinging again.

Judge, even though he did not want to admit, was thankful toward the thug for at least giving a validation toward his presence.

He dodged another swing, grabbed a discarded crate, and chucked it at him. It hit with a resounding thud, and the man went down like a sack of overripe potatoes.

Amber snatched a broken bottle from the ground just as another thug lunged at her. She sidestepped, holding the bottle up in a way that made the man pause. "Oh, now you're hesitant? You were fine throwing punches a second ago."

"That's glass," the thug pointed out nervously.

"Yes, and?" Amber twirled it lazily.

"I... uh... I just remembered I left something on the stove." And with that, the thug turned and ran.

Judge whistled. "Effective."

Amber tossed the bottle aside. "Oh, that wasn't even close to my best work."

A particularly persistent thug tried to grab Judge from behind, only for him to elbow the man sharply in the stomach, then spin and deliver an uppercut that sent him staggering into a pile of trash. "Oops, my bad," Judge said, not looking the least bit sorry.

Amber caught another attacker by the wrist, twisted it expertly, and sent him crashing into his own friend. "This is getting a little too easy," she remarked.

Just then, another man came in through a door, a burly man with a missing tooth and an impressive collection of scars, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Enough!"He bellowed, "What is all this ruckus outside?"

Judge and Amber exchanged a glance.

He looked at the two of them, "Huh, Kids?"

"An extraordinary observation mister," Judge clapped.

"Who's kids are you?" He sat on a box nearby. "I don't think anyone with such clothes would be wandering the streets looking for fights."

"Oh trust me, we do," Judge answered before Amber could speak, "We just never get permission."

He sighed, "Judging by your tone, can I take it that you guys started this fight?"

"Of course not," Amber stepped in, "You think we have the motivation to start an unnecessary fight in the alleyways."

The guy went into deep thought for a brief moment, "Alright," He spoke again, "If my underlings started this, I apologize on their behalf."

"Apology accepted," Judge said half heartedly and began to walk off, dragging his sister with him.

"Wait," The guy called from behind.

Judge sighed and rolled his eyes, "What?" He turned around.

"Just try not to meddle with any of the Red Hounds," His tone was of a genuinely concerned acquaintance, "They don't go easy on kids, and especially on the rich ones. They would see you as quick money grabs — not even thinking of the consequences."

"Yeah we'll take care," He waved his hand, and Amber turned and sped up her pace — grabbing him on the way.