The Master Chic Remix of Stayin Alive hits. A couple of flip flops adorning feet that are both dirty and impressive looking fill our screen. We zoom out to a pair of tanned, hairy legs covered above the knee by flowered board shorts. A t-shirt that says “WOKE AF” covers the man’s torso. He’s sporting a pair of aviator shades to cover his (likely) bloodshot eyes. His dirty, curly blonde hair hangs loose. The man struts toward the local maximum-security prison, burning down a menthol cigarette. He approaches security.

Guard: Hey! My man, Warrick! Welcome back!

Warrick nods. The guard spots the cigarette.

Guard: Ah, what the hell. Get on in there, man!

Warrick enters the prison gates, strutting along the concrete pavement. Every now and then he passes another guard, giving them a friendly nod or brotherly handshake. He enters the prison and approaches the metal detector. Passing through, the detector beeps. The guard standing at attention eyes Warrick.

Other Guard: Hold it right there.

Warrick pauses, flicking excess ash from his cigarette. The guard’s stern face turns into a smile.

Other Guard: I’m just kidding...get on in there, man! Great to see ya!

This goes on and on. Guards passing Warrick...happy to see him. He eventually enters a meeting room. He kills his cigarette and flicks it at the ground.

Warrick Hill: Yo. I’m here to see Clarence Hill.

Everyone in the meeting room turns, staring at him. He feels anything but insecurity. He spits at the floor and removes his shades, raising his eyebrows.

Warrick Hill: Anybody?

A buzzer sounds. A large man with similar hair steps through, hands cuffed. A guard escorting him announces.

Third Guard: CLARENCE HILL HERE TO SEE WARRICK HILL

Warrick’s nose wrinkles. He doesn’t seem impressed with what he sees...but, he approaches, taking a seat on the other end of a thick, plastic separation. Clarence has no idea who Warrick is. Warrick snares the phone and rattles it against the plastic. Clarence picks his up.

Warrick Hill: What the fuck, man. Are you or something?

Clarence Hill: Who are you?

Warrick pauses. The words are hard to say. He reaches into his pocket and removes another cigarette, lighting it up with a match from a tiny box in his other pocket. Taking a long drag, he stares Clarence in the face.

Warrick Hill: Geezus you’re nerdy looking. Like a tall, nerdier version of me.

Clarence is affronted. Someone yells.

Person: HEY! NO SMOKING!

A guard steps forward and clubs the person in the head with his stick. He nods at Warrick. Warrick responds with a fist of solidarity.

Warrick Hill: Apparently I’m your brother. I know. I’m not any happier about it than you are.

Clarence doesn’t know how to take this.

Warrick Hill: Heard you were in jail and thought I’d come and see you...along with some old friends.

Warrick reaches behind him, high fiving a guard passing through.

Clarence Hill: You were incarcerated?

Warrick nods, emitting a cloud of thick, menthol smoke.

Warrick Hill: Several counts of murder. Not as bad as it sounds though. What are you in for?

Clarence Hill: Trying to bomb a Target.

For the first time since laying eyes on his brother, Warrick seems impressed. A look that doesn’t last very long.

Clarence Hill: All a big mistake, though. I said I had to drop a bomb in the bathroom. They mistook my meaning. I’m hoping to get out of here soon.

Warrick appears disgusted. He quickly finishes his current cigarette and reaches into his pocket for a flask, taking a quick swig of whatever is inside.

Warrick Hill: Well, that’s a huge fucking disappointment.

Clarence Hill: Are you here to help get me out?

Warrick Hill: I’m not so sure, after hearing what you just told me.

Clarence leans forward.

Clarence Hill: Please. If you’re family, help me out. Please.

Warrick slaps the plastic, scaring Clarence.

Warrick Hill: Cut that shit out, man. Look...I’m kinda sorta managing a wrestler named John E Depth. He’s got a loser leaves town match at a Pay Per View this Sunday. IF and it’s a big if...IF he loses, I thought about bringing him over to your neck of the woods. I assume you’re some kind of big shot...could help us get a decent salary and a solid spot.

Clarence Hill: Well, I mean, I’m known.

Warrick Hill: Known? The fuck does that mean? How many championships have you won?

Clarence Hill: Technically zero but I have competed for my fair share! And I should have…

Warrick slams the phone against the counter in front of him, repeatedly. Upon calming down, he returns to the conversation.

Warrick Hill: Are you fucking kidding me? I was a champion within the first month of my career. I’m really hoping we’re half brothers...maybe our mother fucked some kinda handicapped dude when she got pregnant with your ass.

Clarence Hill: Our mom. Do you know her? Could you tell me about her?

After a hard roll of the eyes, Warrick moves to end the conversation.

Warrick Hill: Get your shit together. I may need you. Hopefully not...but, if by some fucked up miracle we lose on Sunday, I’m gonna come calling.

Clarence Hill: And get me out of here?

Warrick Hill: Yea, yea, I’ll get you out of this place. But that’s only IF we lose on Sunday. If not, well...I don’t know what to tell ya, bro.

One more item hits Warrick.

Warrick Hill: By the way, why do they call you The Wizard? Are you like some kind of in-ring mat magician?

Clarence Hill: It’s because I dress as a Wizard. I’m a LARP…

Warrick Hill: I’ve heard e-fuckin-nough

Warrick stands and stretches. Clarence stands, staring over the partition separating them. All that exists is air and opportunity.

Warrick Hill: We have a sister, too.

Clarence Hill: We do?

Warrick Hill: Yea, but I don’t want to introduce you to her. Her life is tough enough as it is.

Clarence frowns. He’s led back into the bowels of the prison. Warrick spots a familiar prisoner. He snaps his fingers. The prisoner is talking to a hysterical woman. Warrick rips the phone from her, shoving the sobbing woman out of the way.

Warrick Hill: Yo, Maurice. What’s up?

Maurice: Warrick! How the hell are ya? We still don’t know how you got out of here.

Warrick Hill: Connections. Anyway, listen...that tall dork who just walked out of here…

Maurice: What, that joker? Haha. Yea, what about him?

Warrick Hill: Rough him up a bit. Like, don’t kill him. But definitely toughen his bitch ass up. Alright?

Maurice: What’s it to you?

Warrick Hill: Family shit.

Maurice nods. Warrick hands the phone back to the hysterical woman. Maurice sighs out of frustration. Warrick exits.