***The Following Day, Hours Before the Interview***

Free Continental Breakfast: three words that spell out exactly where you'd expect every family with two fat parents and three whiny, screaming children to congregate towards was eerily barren in the early hours of the morning. Early in this scenario being roughly 6:00 AM, the time in which the alarm clock on Teodoro's phone blared him into consciousness. In a groggy daze, he stumbles through the hallway with a sense of urgency toward the sparsely populated lobby, where the granite countertops that he had thought were out of place when he checked in became the storing places for trays of food left out in the open air without a care (#rhyming).

It wasn't until he had made it to the buffet, totally biodegradable paper plate in hand, that he noticed the man seated at the small, circular table in the far corner of the lobby. A slight motion in the corner of his eye, the sight of a hand moving across the tabletop and clutching onto a white plastic spoon. He jumps forward an inch at the display, almost slamming knee first into the hardwood of the counter's base.

"Oh shit..." he mutters under his breath, concealing the reaction with a sigh. Shuffling along the buffet line, he settles on a croissant and tosses it onto his plate. When he makes it to the coffee maker, he fills his cup halfway with pitch black coffee before scanning the buttons on the front of the machine.

"Hmm, where is the Starbucks button?" His fingers tap lightly against the black plastic, before ultimately deciding it pointless to continue the endeavor. He pulls the cup away from the maker's nozzle and along with his plate, makes his way over into the area of still empty tables, all except for the one in the corner, occupied by the man who Teodoro had just caught his first full glimpse of.

The man was dressed in a long, black trenchcoat, a 1920's newspaper reporter's hat resting atop his head. With a smile, he waves his hands to catch Teodoro's attention, and then waves him over to join him. Uneasy, he decides the best course of action would be to act as if he never saw the invitation and make his way towards an empty table as far away from the man as physically possible.

In a frantic rush to get away from the man, he scarfs down the croissant in a matter of two bites, not stopping to enjoy the bland, tasteless piece of dough bought from a local grocery store. Staring around the room, not wanting to keep his eyes trained on the stranger, Teodoro begins to stare intently at the potted decorative fern that stood in the "real" lobby while he waited for his coffee to cool. Just kidding, he takes a swig from the cup, its contents still steaming and promptly spits most of the coffee back into the cup.

That's what he gets for drinking it before it was cool.

Suddenly losing his appetite for the beverage, he stands up and tosses the still half full cup in the trash can along with the barely stained paper plate and walks out of the room, keeping one eye on the man in the corner of the room as he walks by.

Once in the hallway of the building, he pulls out his phone to immerse himself in the always exciting (and never monotonous) world of untapped potential known simply as Instagram. However, upon clicking the home button of his iPhone (with a Vampire Weekend sticker covering the Apple logo), he notices that while eating and glaring, he had received a text message. From an unknown number. That said, at least from the preview that appeared on the screen: "I see you."

Teodoro's heart sank into the deepest pits of his stomach upon reading the three word message. Looking over his shoulder, he sighs in relief, seeing that no one is following him currently. However, as he makes his way down the hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that something or someone was watching him. Following him. This of course wasn't helped by the commotion caused by the sea of families with fat parents and screaming children congregating towards the very same area he just left bringing about stomps and shrill shrieks. Covering his ears, he continues forth down the hall, stopping finally at the very end. Room 128. Reaching into his right front pocket, he pulls out his card and slides it down the scanner.

A couple seconds pass before the green light flashes and the sound of the door automatically unlocking makes a weak jab at the ongoing, inconsistent spurts of deafening noise and slightly less deafening noise. Twisting the door handle, he pushes the door open and slips inside the room, slamming it shut immediately after. Phone still in his hand, he presses the home button once more, only to be greeted by the "One text message" prompt. Sighing, he unlocks the phone and clicks the square labeled "Messages."

"I see you."

Even though he knew it was coming, he jumped and felt the same sinking feeling rereading the message.

"Who is this?" He knew he was going to regret this, but that wasn't enough to stop him from pressing the send button. Falling back into the unmade twin bed he slept in the night prior, he waits with baited breath for the response.

"I was in the lobby with you. I saw you spit out your coffee." Teodoro's jaw drops and hands open, his heart begins to pound rapidly in his chest. He shoots up to a standing position and frantically looks around the room, ripping the covers from the mattress and tossing them across the room.

"Where the fuck are you?!" he screams to no one.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Someone, or something was tapping on the window, still covered behind the mask of the blinds. The phone vibrates in his hand once more.

"Look out the window."

He inches his way to the window, reaching out with an unsteady hand and very lightly gripping onto the corner of the curtain. "On three," he whispers to himself.

"One."

"Two."

"Three..." He yanks the curtain away, coming face to glass with the trenchcoat clad man from the lobby. The man looks up from the ground, allowing his face to be seen for the first time.

The man was no older than thirty four, and yet possessed the same drooping, dejected eyes of a seventy five year old cancer patient that clashed with the almost full, jet black goatee on his face. He possessed more than a few scars, though from the rest of his demeanor, suggesting they were from anything more than getting his ass kicked would be a logical fallacy. Clearing his throat, the man says loud enough in a nasally, grating voice to penetrate the glass window:

"Teodoro! Teodoro!" while flailing his arms about wildly, not unlike when he was struggling to get the man in the room's attention at breakfast. Teodoro however, does not appear to be nearly as thrilled to see this uninvited, unwanted stranger. He opens his mouth to speak, but then decides to text the question instead.

"What do you want?"

Seeing the message, Trenchcoat McGee whips out his own phone and fumbles with the keyboard, ultimately sending out this English abortion as a response.

"Interveiw now cum out pls"

"Sayors?" Teodoro mutters under his breath. He had seen a picture of the man the night prior, and the two seemed to have nothing in common appearance wise. However, while this rational thought was happening, something else came to his head: if this guy wasn't Sayors, how would he know about the interview? Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he turns and exits the room, forgetting his room key on the floor where he unknowingly dropped it and walks out through the side door of the hotel, towards the interviewer and his first step as a professional wrestler...