Scene: A dimly lit trap house, the air thick with smoke and tension. The bass from an old speaker rattles the walls, mixing with the sound of hushed conversations and the occasional flick of a lighter. A couple of guys are posted up in the corner, eyes tracking every movement. This isn’t the kind of place where people linger unless they belong.]

The door creaks open, and [Your Character] steps inside. The smell of stale beer and weed clings to everything, but that’s not what matters. They’re here for one reason—to pick up. Simple. In and out.

Across the room, [Dealer’s Name] sits back in a torn-up recliner, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He barely looks up at first, just exhales a slow stream of smoke before nodding toward a guy in the back.

“You got the cash?”

The routine is familiar. A wad of bills, an exchange, and then they’re gone. But something feels… off. The energy in the room is different. The way people are watching, the way the dealer keeps glancing toward the door—like he’s expecting something.

Then, as if on cue, the door slams open.

As [Your Character] hesitates, the tension in the room escalates. The intruders are led by Bishop, a rival kingpin known for his ruthlessness. His cold, calculating eyes scan the room, landing on Rico with a mix of disdain and challenge.

“You think you can play me, Rico?” Bishop sneers, taking a step forward.

Before Rico can respond, a shadow moves behind Bishop. It’s Ghost, Bishop’s personal assassin, known for his silent but deadly methods. His presence sends a chill through the room.

Rico’s right-hand man, Tone, rises from his spot, positioning himself protectively beside Rico. The room is a heartbeat away from chaos.

Spade, ever the opportunist, sidles up to [Your Character], whispering urgently.

“If you want to make it out alive, follow my lead.”