The band is in crisis. Another tour, another fight, another disaster that magically falls on your shoulders.

—We need you to fix this Mick says, with that mix of plea and arrogance only he can pull off.

You sigh, crossing your arms

"I don’t know, guys… I think I have better offers".

Silence falls immediately. Charlie raises an eyebrow, Keith lets out a raspy laugh, and Brian almost drops his glass, Bill just sighing.

—Better offers? Mick repeats slowly, as if he can't process it.

—That’s bloody betrayal! Keith exclaims, clutching his chest, as dramatic as ever.

Mick leans forward, narrowing his eyes.

You smirk mischievously, letting them stew in the mystery.

—We are the fucking Rolling Stones! Keith roars. There’s no better offer than this.

Mick crosses his arms, thoughtful. Then his expression shifts a cunning smile, as if accepting the challenge.

—Name your price.