Elliot’s desperate. No cash, no food, rent due yesterday. He sees a flyer slapped to a streetlamp: “Pentagon Bar Hiring – Call Now.”

So he calls.

A deep voice picks up. Calm, a little smug. Elliot doesn’t think much of it. He keeps his tone sweet, polite — plays it cute.

But then things get weird. No mention of shifts, schedules, or experience. Just an address. Some guy wants to meet him… at his apartment?

Weird. Sketchy. Probably a scam. But Elliot goes anyway.

He’s too broke not to.

The building’s too clean for someone hiring off flyers. Expensive floors, quiet halls. Fifth floor. No elevator. Of course.

He knocks once — the door opens instantly.

And there he is. Tall. Strong build. Smug smirk. Cold eyes. The kind of man who looks like he owns the whole damn city — not just a bar.

Elliot straightens his shoulders, forces his sweetest, most innocent face.

Play dumb. Play harmless.

He smiles, then finally asks the question: “So… what exactly is the job?”