Bad Contract 2 (Part 1)
They say the greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment.
Such was the reaction on the Star Wars fan community, Theforce.net, just a week after its release.
"Hmm."
In the dead of night, Sion sat in front of his monitor, slowly scrolling through the pages with his mouse. It was a massive CRT monitor, practically a giant metal box. The computer tower hummed with a loud, mechanical whir, and the dial-up internet connection was painfully slow. But to someone who had returned from the future, it possessed a distinct, nostalgic retro charm.
This is right around the time internet communities are starting to enter the mainstream.
Google had been founded in 1998, and Napster, the P2P file-sharing service, would emerge in 1999. Debates surrounding Star Wars: Episode I were erupting in online forums, eventually making their way into newspapers. Intrigued, people were gathering online one by one to join the conversation...
It really is a monumental film, regardless.
Even though everyone was criticizing it, it was only because they cared so much. If it had been truly boring, it wouldn't have generated this level of buzz in the first place. Sion had enjoyed it too.
In my past life, I was cooped up at home cursing the world when this came out, so I never got to see it in theaters. And maybe because Elena played the heroine, Padmé, it was actually more entertaining.
In his past life, Elena wasn't the type of actress to appear in these kinds of massive blockbusters around this time, but her performance in Star Wars: Episode I was quite impressive. Sion figured that because of his knowledge of the past life, George Lucas must have taken notice of Elena's shifting image and career—which had transformed through her association with him—leading to this casting.
Above all, it felt like she did her absolute best within the environment she was given.
He could clearly feel that she had poured her heart and soul into the physical acting, something she hadn't really done before. Yet, because of external factors, those efforts weren't highlighted as much. When the film received mixed reviews for similar reasons, she must have felt disheartened, seeking comfort and acting spoiled in his arms. Sion understood why she felt that way... and at the same time, he found it incredibly endearing.
No, seriously.
A gorgeous, professional actress who was flawless in both her work and private life, whimpering like a child in his arms in private. Asking him to pat her on the bottom.
Not bad at all.
...In any case, Sion continued to check the reactions, clicking through pages that took quite a while to load. Then, an interesting post caught his eye. When he clicked the title, a video play button appeared on the screen.
Wait, it's already on the internet?
When he clicked it, a grainy, bootleg video recorded with a camcorder inside a theater began to play.
Chhhhhhh—!
On the dark screen, a display case packed with all kinds of firearms appeared.
"Uoooohhh...!"
At the same time, the theater audience erupted in cheers. Men appeared on screen, picking up the displayed weapons one by one. The camera panned rapidly past them, focusing on a man sitting at a desk, smoking a cigarette. It was Hollywood's legendary noir actor, Joe Pesci.
"Are you ready?"
Bang!
With a sharp, explosive sound, the logos of the production company and distributor flashed onto the screen. While the first film had leaned heavily into the action-packed trends of the era, this sequel boasted a much richer noir flavor. A story of friendship and betrayal among men living in the criminal underworld. The second installment of the franchise, exploring why the protagonist had no choice but to live as a mercenary. And as always, the protagonist's sharp wit remained fully intact.
"Tsk... Dammit."
"Uoooooooooooooooooooohhhhh—!!"
The protagonist, Alex, stood behind a wall, armed with nothing but a single handgun. A hail of bullets rained down toward him.
"Man, how did I get dragged into this again? ...Still, I'm glad I have you."
Alex, speaking as if to a partner standing right beside him, smirked and looked down at the grenade in his hand. He threw it, and it exploded. A motorcycle tore through the smoke and debris. With a seamless transition, Jodie Foster's face flashed across the screen. As the tension mounted, Sion Lee and Joe Pesci faced each other, guns drawn. Sion Lee spoke first, his face etched with exhaustion.
"I never imagined a day like this would come."
"But a contract is a contract."
Joe Pesci replied flatly. Immediately after—
*Bang!*
A gunshot rang out, and the movie's logo materialized.
In Theaters June 5th.
...So it was a bootleg.
Though the quality was terrible and the video itself was highly illegal, hearing the audience's live reactions gave it a raw, immersive charm. There were already nearly fifty comments on the post.
There were positive reactions, as well as skeptical ones. Opinions were divided between those who worried it would be just another run-of-the-mill action blockbuster and those who felt that even if it was, that would be more than enough. It was exactly the response Sion had anticipated, and he could naturally foresee that this mounting anticipation would translate into excellent box office results.
As the reception of Star Wars: Episode I demonstrated, sequels always carried the risk of massive disappointment if expectations were set too high.
But that's only possible because of the foundation we built in the first film.
As the face of the franchise, Sion had involved himself in various aspects of production to design exactly this outcome. He smiled in anticipation.
June 5, 1999.
It was an era when legendary films destined to leave their mark on cinematic history—Star Wars: Episode I, The Matrix, Notting Hill, Austin Powers, The Mummy, and Tarzan—were pouring into theaters. And among these giants, the sequel to Bad Contract boldly threw down its gauntlet.
The second installment of the film that had recorded astronomical box office numbers upon its release in 1997, centered around Hollywood's next-generation poster boy, Sion Lee. The film brought together Sion, the veteran Hollywood powerhouse Joe Pesci, and the stunningly beautiful, immensely talented Jodie Foster. Reminiscent of the classic trio of Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo, movie posters featuring the two men and one woman were plastered everywhere.
With the star power of the cast, the halo effect of the first film, and blockbuster-level marketing, public attention was instantly captured, driving a box office storm from its very first week. Still, with so many formidable competitors, there were concerns about whether it could sustain the same level of interest as its predecessor... but reviews poured out from journalists who had attended the advance screenings, instantly setting the internet ablaze.
And so, audiences flocked to the theaters, buying popcorn and settling into their seats.
"Didn't I say I'd kill you if you ever showed your face here again?"
Inside the darkened theater, the screen showed a dimly lit room. The man smoking a cigarette had a gaze and a rugged expression that naturally exuded menace. Behind him, a wall was lined with every imaginable firearm, instantly signaling to the audience that this was no ordinary character. The tone of the film seamlessly shifted into a gritty seriousness.
The man sitting across from him was covered in wounds. His face was bruised and plastered with bandages, and his skin was caked in grime and sweat.
"If I hadn't come here, I'd probably be fish food by now anyway. *Ugh*..."
Pausing to convey his pain, Alex let out a wry, bitter smile.
"Hurts like hell. Seriously."
This was a line Sion Lee had delivered after numerous takes, choosing the one he felt captured the moment best. Representing CK Entertainment—which co-produced the film alongside Warner Bros.—Sion had personally communicated with Joel Silver, suggesting, "Let's go for a more serious tone." On set, he had actively proposed acting choices and directorial tones to director Tony Scott, exerting immense influence over the entire film.
Yet, it wasn't a case of everyone blindly agreeing with Sion. Instead, experts from each department contributed their own expertise, offering counter-proposals like, "This would be slightly more realistic," resulting in the sophisticated, polished noir tone the film now possessed. It didn't feel like a futuristic, boundary-pushing film like The Matrix, but rather a delicious distillation of the absolute best of 90s blockbuster cinema.
The audience was utterly sucked into its world.
After thwarting a multinational defense corporation's biochemical terror plot, Alex had returned to his life as a mercenary. Though he had become a hero who saved the United States and the world, his life was no different than before. He was still a man with nowhere to belong. And that premise resonated far more deeply with audiences living in 1999 than it ever had before.
Who am I? How should I live?
The protagonist embodied the cynical, end-of-the-century disillusionment of a man plagued by those very questions.
"Still, could be worse. At least I didn't get shot."
His dry, deadpan delivery drew chuckles from the audience. Esposito asked:
"Doesn't look that way right now. Your backside looks like minced meat. What the hell happened?"
"A big mess. A real, proper mess. I needed a place to lie low."
This was the arms dealer, Esposito.
"Funny story. Since when do you trust me?"
"I do. At least you're not the type to kill me on someone else's payroll."
"True... because I'd rather do it with my own hands."
Esposito bared his teeth with a low growl. But the hostility was short-lived. Seeing how exhausted Alex looked, Esposito sighed, his tension draining away, and stood up.
"I'll hide you for a few days. Figure out whatever you need to figure out by then."
"Got a spare computer I could use?"
"What, do you think this is a hotel?"
Despite his gruff words, Esposito was helping Alex. The film established that he was actually a fairly successful—if illicit—arms dealer. The scene revealed a massive underground warehouse where his henchmen were busy transporting crates of weapons. Alex quickly assessed the operation and fit right in. Watching him, Esposito remarked:
"If you hadn't pulled that stunt, you'd probably be the number two in my crew by now."
"What stunt?"
"Fooling around with my daughter."
"..."
"Don't tell me you forgot."
"Of course not. But hey, that was a mutually agreed-upon arrangement, Esposito."
Alex awkwardly averted his gaze. The scene then cut to the CIA headquarters.
Miss Silver, who had been promoted to a field agent in recognition of her role in stopping the biochemical threat alongside Alex in the first film, was currently tracking a hotel shootout that had occurred in Italy. As she reviewed the retrieved CCTV footage of the scene, her eyes widened in shock at a familiar face.
"Alex Riley...?"
The very case she was investigating had him written all over it. And he was right in the thick of it, firing wildly. Sensing that something was deeply wrong, she began a full-scale search for Alex. Just then, a senior agent approached Miss Silver from behind.
"How's the investigation coming along?"
"I've got a lead. Found a guy who always seems to be in the wrong place at the worst possible time."
"It's a major case. Just the kind of trouble our great American hero would get himself into."
"I didn't say it was him. It's someone else."
Miss Silver brushed off the senior agent's probing and continued her search. At that same moment, Alex was talking with Esposito.
"You want a job?"
"...What?"
"Easy work, high pay. Cargo escort. I need someone with your skills."
"No thanks. I'm in no condition to take on jobs. I haven't even fully recovered yet."
"All you have to do is keep watch on a ship. One hundred grand. How's that sound?"
"Make it three. You know my situation."
"What, raising a daughter? Sure, daughters are expensive. Buying dresses every day... But for a guy who's barely holding together, a hundred grand is generous. I can't go any higher. Beggars can't be choosers, Alex."
Alex hesitated for a moment under Esposito's persistent pressure, then finally nodded.
"Fine, alright. I guess this is the weight of being a provider. It's been a while since we worked together."
"Welcome back to the real world, Alex."
"...How's Miranda doing?"
"Keep my family's name out of your filthy mouth."
Alex chuckled at Esposito's sharp, protective snap. The scene shifted, showing a ship cutting through the dark waters.
Esposito was an arms dealer who dealt primarily in illicit black-market trades. His method involved dropping cargo at sea, where buyers from North Africa would rendezvous to pick up the weapons. To ensure such transactions went smoothly, serious muscle was required. Ultimately, Alex had embarked on the mission before his body had even fully healed. He looked up at the shipping containers stacked on the deck and asked:
"Headed to North Africa, then."
"Yeah, mostly. Some of it, I don't even know. They pay, I ship."
"I'm surprised you're willing to carry cargo this hot. Truly."
"It's all for the money. Can't help it. It's for my family."
At this point, the audience was left with three major questions. Why had Alex been caught in the hotel shootout in the first place? Why was the CIA tracking that specific shootout? And what was going to happen next? Those questions were answered soon enough.
Men in wetsuits silently boarded the ship as it sailed across the Mediterranean. This was... a clear prelude to the intense shootout about to unfold on deck. While the other mercenaries on board remained completely oblivious, only one man—Alex, whose body hadn't even fully recovered—noticed the intrusion early on. He let out a weary sigh.
"Dammit, here we go again."
And as if it were just another Tuesday, he pulled back the charging handle of his assault rifle with a sharp *clack*.