(Two men sit across from each other in a darkened warehouse, only a sliver of light being illuminated by a single lamp hanging from above. The men are both in wooden chairs, their elbows touching a large, brown wooden desk. One of the men can be clearly seen as the Alternate Championship Wrestling superstar, Andrew Reynolds, while the other appears to be some sort of an associate of Reynolds. Tension arises from this scene as both men refrain from speaking a single syllable, let alone allowing a breath to escape. Reynolds' large, pale hand grips the cold steel of a magnum, his brow curved in both hesitation and anger. Reynolds thinks to himself how he could have possibly gotten himself into a situation such as this one, despite the fact that he operates a somewhat large cannabis cartel. Moments of silence abruptly halt when the man across from Reynolds begins to laugh in a rather deep tone-of-voice.)
Man: "What's the matter, dear Andrew? Are you nervous?"
(Andrew keeps his vision centered upon the gun in his hand before slowly shifting to the meet the man's eyes. Simultaneously, Reynolds smiles before opening his mouth to reply.)
Andrew Reynolds: "Why would I be nervous? It isn't like this is the fist time I've played Russian Roulette. The only question here is are you nervous, my dear, dear Aaron McAllen?"
(As Reynolds addresses McAllen by name, it becomes clear that he is none other than the man whom was previously mentioned during the phone call between Reynolds and Celeste. One can only infer that this man is related to Reynolds and his drug trafficking. McAllen laughs the notion away before replying sternly.)
Aaron McAllen: "Of course not, I've got this ol' Irish blood in me. Not a bit nervous, mate. Give it a spin, it's your turn. This is for the jackpot. You survive this one and I'll not only guarantee all of your legal issues will go away, but I'll throw in some more profit."
(Sanders spins the cartridge of the gun and hastily sets the barrel of the gun against the side of his right temple. Sweat beads flow freely down Reynolds' face, making the only noise they can be heard in the entire complex. Gulping and shaking furiously, more and more after each second, Reynolds' finger begins to pull down on the trigger. He closes his eyes. Nothing. Not a sound, apart from the clicking emanates from the gun. Reynolds turns it over to McAllen. McAllen grabs the gun as if to be courageous and spins the cartridge. He sets the gun upon his head and smiles before pulling the trigger. Nothing. Reynolds, flabbergasted, lets out a sort of yell in response.)
Andrew Reynolds: "You lucky son of a bitch, you. You know what this means now. We both win. And since you're being so kind to me, I might as well give you an offer?
Aaron McAllen: "And what would that be, mate?"
(Reynolds smiles before setting the offer.)
Andrew Reynolds: "I would like for you to becoming my wrestling manager."
(A look of anger flairs across the face of McAllen. However, moments later he begins to laugh and grabs the right hand of Reynolds, as to accept the offer set by Reynolds. Reynolds can do nothing more, but smiles in response. Laughing ensues as the light begins to flicker on and off at a rapid pace.)
End of Scene
