--note to reader, picture michael clark duncan from the green mile here, annnd ACTION--

A door is halfway open. A jail cell door, mind you, but a door nonetheless. A guard proceeds to lead a tall black man into the chamber, before locking it back up. The inmate turns back toward the guard, holding his cuffed hands upward, to which the guard replies with a key from his loop of many.

"One more day, E.G. One more day. Hang in there, and when you get out? Do me two favors. Stay out of trouble, and make me proud."

"Yes sir. Have an excellent day."

The officer walks away, as the monster of a man takes a seat on the edge of the bottom bunk. He stares intently ahead, never once sharing his glaze with the camera.

"XWF, none of you know me.... But you will. I've been spending 18 long years in a solitary cell for armed robbery. I'm coming to XWF to make a new life for myself. A good life. A life worth living. I was watching the set the other day, saw a man by the name of Sal, manager of the behemoth himself, Brock Lesnar. Sal, I get out of this joint in the morning, and I'd love to do business with you.The name's End Game, but you can call me Michael Othello. I'm a brawler, a survivor, and any manager of The Beast must be good at his job. Hit me up on FaceBook if you're interested, and take care."

Mike pulls out a pack of smokes from his breast pocket, lights one up, and takes a drag, as the camera fades out with a puff of smoke.

--exhale--