The phone in Luca's pocket rings yet again. He ignores it, and leaves it vibrating in his pocket, knowing better than to leave it on ringer. Luca knew who was calling him. It was the guy who called before this one, and the one before that. Jeffery Heiman. Luca hadn't bothered returning the man's multiple calls. He's too busy, for today looks like a day full of opportunity...

Luca walks into the restaurant he was standing outside of for the last 5 minutes. Some local place, he reckoned. He had never heard of this place in his life, until last night when it was designated as the meeting spot. The tables are dingy, as if they hadn't seen a thorough cleaning in the last decade. A bored college kid is manning the register.

Luca could pound the thing open and take the money without that asshole caring...

The last table in the corner is occupied by two men...

One looks rough, he's seen better days. That's for sure. He can't be any older than 34, and his hair is already graying. He's gotta be a veteran, Luca thinks to himself...



The second guy on the other hand looks like an average, everyday common man. Hell, a handsome one at that. No older than 25, but his eyes just protrude confidence and experience far beyond his age...



Luca takes the seat between the two men. They both glance at him, observing his every detail and mentally taking notes. This goes on for a few seconds before the younger man decides to speak up.

"So, you're the 3rd man, huh?"

"Yeah. So, what's the plan...?"

"Straight to business. I like this kid already, Jared."

"Same. Let's get to it, shall we?"

The older man, Jared, pulls a briefcase that Luca had not seen off of the floor. He fiddles with the combination lock and opens it up. Inside are multiple documents, one of which flies out of the pile and lands in the middle of the table. The floor plans to the nearby bank.

The "College Kid" sees this, and promptly exits his post. He walks up to the door, and locks it tight. The hinges creak a little, and the man walks over to the table, all the while the floorboards creak...

"So, this is the other guy..."

He offers his hand out to Luca, who shakes it immediately.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Back to business, this is the first floor of the bank. Pretty standard stuff, right? The layout of the building isn't a big deal, so let's move on."

The younger man searches through the brief case and pulls out 4 folders. He hands one to the other three, and sets the last in front of himself. He rummages through the papers, and places about a quarter of the papers into each person's folders.

"Now look, Jared and I will push to the vault. From there, Luca will get that thing open. Now Lenny, I'm going to need you to knock out the people in the bank already. The location of the outside unit for the bank's ventilation systems is in your folder, if you feel on going that route."

"Which I plan on doing..."

"Now, who's our driver?"

Footsteps can be heard coming from the kitchen of the grimy restaurant. They get louder and louder, and suddenly stop. The four look over at the doorway of the kitchen, and see before them a young lady, dressed all in black...



"Someone ask for me?"


"Mike Rhodes? Listen up, Mikey, you big dumb ape. I'm only going to say this once. You are not in my league!

Matter of fact, we aren't even in the same division. I'm here rightfully, a true professional. You on the other hand, you are a god damn amateur who's here by a fluke, and will be sent back to whatever hole of obscurity you came from once your fifteen minutes of so called fame are up...

We are nothing alike, Mike. You are a one trick pony, who's offense will fail as soon as there's a guy who's too big for you to pick up, or someone like me who's too skilled to let you get any offense in at all. I am as versatile as I am confident, a real man of my craft. A real man to be respected by all viewers of this industry...

Add in the concept of no rules, and you have an incredibly dangerous opponent in one Luca Arzegotti. You on the other hand, become less and less of a threat as the seconds pass. Such as the seconds that pass in your 15 minutes of supposed fame. Let that sink in. The fact that you are replaceable, generic, cookie cutter. A truly dime a dozen motherfucker. Mike Rhodes, your career was over before it even started, and I'm here to deliver that news to you personally...

In fact, I'll be the guy to staple the papers designating your release from the XWF right to your bags when I throw them out the door and into the streets, right back where they, and you by association belong."