Jake Anderson was supposed to come up with a video idea, one that would make his audience be entertained, it's been a week since he went to the Great Wall of China and that would be his most popular video so far.
Out of two videos he made, and the results went like this.
China Video: 1,083 views, 93 likes, and 83 new subscribers gained.
Wandering New York video: 738 views, 35 likes, and 4 new subscribers gained.
The difference was clear, though the videos were almost exactly the same, although some places were more popular, they were still major areas in the world.
Was it about the fact that he was called slurs? That happened in both videos too... So, there's only one conclusion.
The fans want violence, and with that in his head Jake decides to use one of the biggest cons of this world to his advantage. Racism.
Specifically, the one to mutants, he can pretend he's a mutant due to his Travel ability and then get people to attack him, and he can't really get in trouble because the people would assault him first.
Self-defense am I right?
...
The video fades in—wide shot of Rue Saint-Honoré, sunlight cascading over cobblestone streets. Paris looks picturesque, almost too peaceful. The shot pans slowly, taking in the hustle of pedestrians, the distant chatter of tourists.
"Alright, so here's the theory—if you pretend to be a mutant in New York, there's a good chance someone loses their mind and tries to fight you. But what happens when you do the same thing in Paris?"
"Welcome to another episode of Flam Shenanigans, where I scientifically test how much random violence people are willing to commit against strangers."
The camera pulls back, revealing Jake walking deliberately slow, shoulders relaxed, expression neutral. His right hand sparks faintly with an illusionary energy effect—just enough for observant people to notice.
"Maybe I get jumped. Maybe I just get ignored. Let's find out."
I would like to call this section Parisian Stares and Failing the Experiment
The next frame transitions to casual footage of Parisians reacting. A few lingering gazes. A woman furrows her brow, adjusting her purse strap. An elderly man scowls, muttering under his breath.
Someone spits near Jake's feet.
"Okay. That's hostility, but it's not the kind that gets me a fight. Hate crimes with zero commitment—very disappointing."
Now that I think about it, that could've probably allowed me to assault someone right?
A group of university students sitting near a pâtisserie watch him, whispering in French. One of them gestures toward Jake with mild curiosity but doesn't approach.
"We're two hours in. No punches thrown. Paris might actually be too classy for street violence."
The clip transitions—Jake standing near the Seine, arms crossed, analyzing the lack of action.
"Honestly, I was expecting way more aggressive racism here. This is kinda anticlimactic."
What Paris didn't lack on was the quality of food.
"Since street fights aren't happening, might as well eat something before I leave."
The next frame is tight close-ups of a croque monsieur, golden cheese bubbling over toasted bread. Jake lifts the sandwich, steam curling into the air.
"Okay, first bite. Let's see if Paris redeems itself."
Slow-motion captures the moment—cheese stretches as he pulls away, the soft crunch ringing through the mic.
He chews once. Pauses.
"Holy—okay. France officially wins. I don't even care about getting assaulted anymore."
The footage shifts to him drinking coffee, checking his phone.
"Since Paris failed me, I'm teleporting somewhere objectively more dangerous. Welcome to Plan B."
Screen flickers—new location setting appears on his interface.
"London, baby. Let's go."
...
The video fades in from black—streetlights flickering against damp pavement, the muted hum of late-night traffic filling the air. Camera tilts slightly, capturing raindrops sliding down a neon-lit storefront as Jake's voice cuts in.
"Alright, chat—new strategy today. Turns out Paris? Kinda boring when it comes to street violence. So I figured, why not take things up a notch? Welcome to London. Let's see how long I last without getting shanked."
The frame steadies, revealing Jake in the middle of a poorly lit alley in East London, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. His clothes are slightly looser than normal—his black jacket worn just enough to make him look more like a target than a traveler.
"Pretty sure someone's already clocked me as an easy mugging opportunity."
A soft beat of silence. The audio picks up faint voices in the background—someone talking fast, sharp words exchanged just beyond Jake's sightline.
"Yep. We got company."
The camera's angle shifts subtly—a group of three men emerge from the shadows, their postures switching from relaxed to aggressive in seconds. The leader, tall and broad-shouldered, steps forward with a practiced swagger.
"Oi, mate. Got a minute?"
I mean, they even talk like the memes I don't even want them to smile at this point.
Jake doesn't stop walking. The shot catches his smirk—mild amusement, no fear.
"Nah, bro. I really don't."
They close in faster, boxing him in.
"Bag. Wallet. Phone."
"Or what?"
A flick—the light catches the sharp glint of a blade, small enough to be fast but lethal enough to ruin his day.
"Or you leave without a pulse."
These dummies didn't know if I had a gun or not, though I don't need that to beat bums that can't contribute to society.
The pause is brief. Then—movement. The camera jerks slightly as the attacker lunges. The blade arcs downwards, slicing the air toward Jake's ribs.
Slow motion kicks in—Jake pivots hard, his upper body twisting just enough to evade the first strike. The knife barely skims his jacket, slicing a clean tear through the fabric.
Before the man can retract his arm, Jake's right fist rockets forward—knuckles colliding with his jaw in a brutal, precise hit. The crunch of impact reverberates through the audio, sending the thug staggering back.
"Man, your form is sloppy." Jake says while bouncing up and down on his feet.
The second guy rushes in—faster than the first. Jake steps into the attack, twisting low—his knee snaps upward, slamming into the thug's stomach with crushing force.
"Yeah, you felt that one."
The third man moves—a knife again. This one aimed dangerously close to his side. Jake twists, dodging barely—the steel missing his ribs by an inch. Before the thug can adjust, Jake snatches his wrist, yanks him forward—then drives a brutal knee strike into his crotch. The thug drops instantly.
"Oh, now that was just unfortunate, man." Jake says while he walks on the thug and then does a little dance on him.
The aftermath of the conflict is brief but tense mainly due to Jake emoting on the downed thugs.
The leader grips his jaw, shaking off the hit. The second thug steadies himself, breath ragged. The third is still half-conscious on the ground.
"So, we done here?"
No one answers. Then—they scatter. Fast.
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
Jake exhales sharply, adjusting his jacket—the torn fabric revealing the cut mark from where the knife barely grazed him. He lifts his hand, tapping his watch.
"Alright, chat—I think we got enough content. Time to get the hell out of here."
A soft green flicker engulfs him—next frame, he's back in his apartment. The camera steadies, capturing his exhausted expression as he sits down.
"And that, folks, is how you successfully farm content using London's crime rate. Like, comment, subscribe. Flam Shenanigans—out."
Although I do it, please don't try and get people to assault you in foreign places, unless you're me... Just Joking.
The video cuts to black.
...
Jake Anderson has just finished editing the video and has named it with a very serious and meaningful name, British NPCs try to jump me in London. (I whooped ass)