We then cut to Duncan walking up towards a building on a dangerous, disgusting street corner. He approaches a person, whose name on the back of his hoodie reads, 'Jude', who's smoking a joint, and gives him a dick slap.

"Fuck you, Duncan," he said, as he flicked his joint at him.

"I'm just a bad guy, who gets paid to fuck up worse guys," Duncan said through voiceover. He then enters a building, which has a sign in front of it reading, 'Sister Stephanie's School for Wayward Girls.' "Welcome to Sister Stephanie's. It's like a job fair for mercenaries. Think of us as really fucked up tooth fairies, except we knock out the teeth and take the cash."

We get a full view of the inside of Sister Stephanie's. We see a plethora of lowlifes, scumbags, mercenaries, and servers in skimpy outfits. "You'd best hope we never see your name on a gold card," Duncan said through voiceover. He then approached the bar, where his best friend was working. His friend was a tall, skinny Caucasian male with curly red hair. He was wearing a blue shirt with a picture of 'Space Invader' on the front, khaki pants, and black and white sneakers. His name was Harold.

"Duncan Wilson. Patron saint of the pitiful. What can I do for you?" Harold asked.

"I'd love a blow job," Duncan said.

"Oh, God, me too," Harold said

"The drink, dork. But first…" Lays Cody's gold card on the countertop. "And I ain't takin' any babysitting money. Make sure that gets back to Jen."

"You sure?" Duncan nods. "You know, for a merc, you're pretty warm-blooded. I bet you let the kid off easy, too."

"Oh, he's not a bad kid. Just a little light stalking. Though, I did take out Scott."

"Really?" Harold seemed surprised

"Yeah. He was a dick. But back to Cody. I was way worse than him when I was his age. Traveling to exotic places. Baghdad, Jacksonville, Ontario. Meeting new and exciting people. And then…

"Killing them," Harold said, finishing Duncan's sentence. "Yeah, I've seen your Instagram. So what was special forces doing in Ontario anyway?"

"That's classified," Harold said. "Though, I should mention, an island was involved. Two islands actually."

Harold finishes making the drink. "Alright, Kahlua, Bailey's, and…" Tops the drink with whipped cream. "Whipped cream. I give you a blow job." Harold looks disgusted by it. "Why do you make me make that?"

"Carrie, Carrie, Carrie…" Harold stops one of the servers and places the drink onto her serving tray. "Take that over to Rodney and tell him it's from Chef. Little foreplay." Duncan then turns back towards Harold.

"Remind me what good will come of this?" Harold asked.

"I don't take the shits. I just disturb them," Duncan answered.

Rodney then approached Chef, with a look of anger on his face. Rodney tall, muscular Caucasian male with orange hair combed back. He was wearing blue overalls over a white t-shirt and gray shoes with white soles. Chef was a tall, muscular African Canadian male with no hair, but rather a chef's hat on his head, which gave him his nickname. He was wearing a white Chef's apron, a black shirt, green shorts, white socks, and green army boots. Rodney sets the drink down in front of Chef before punching him in the face. A major bar fight ensued, with only Duncan & Harold not joining in. Rather instead, they're having a couple drinks.

"Cheers. To your health," Duncan said as he raised his glass.

"Fuck you," Harold said, as he downed a pitcher of beer. Chef then grabs a stool. "That's a new stool."

Chef smacks it against Rodney, but Rodney doesn't even flinch. He then grabs Chef and throws him down onto a table, causing it to break. "Stay the fuck down," Rodney said. He then punches Chef one more time, causing there to be blood coming out of his nose and mouth.

When everyone sees this, the bar calms down. "Alright. Move, move, move, move. Go rest, Rodney." Harold approaches Chef and places a hand mirror in front of his mouth. Chef breathes onto it. "Yep, he's still breathing." Everyone groans in annoyance. "Nobody wins today." Harold approaches Duncan. "Nice try, Duncan."

"You got me. I picked Chef in the dead pool. Who did you pick?" Duncan asked Harold.

"Um… about that…" Harold looks nervous to answer.

Duncan puts the pieces together. "No. You did not bet on me to die." Duncan looks up at a chalkboard above the bar.

The title reads, 'Sister Stephanie's Dead Pool.' It includes the following categories: 'Player, Bet, Pick, and Age.' Among them include Ryan betting $50 that Topher would die at the age of 38, Dwayne betting $100 that Cameron would die at the age of 27, and Weasel betting $200 that W. Wilson would die at the age of 39, as well as Ryan betting $80 that T.J. Miller would die at the age of 35. We also see Duncan having bet $150 that Rodney would die at the age of 47, and right below it we see Harold having bet $200 that Duncan was going to die at the age of 39.

"You bet on me to die." Harold smacks him across the face. "Motherfucker, you're the world's worst friend. Well, joke's on you. I'm living to 102 and then dying. Just like the city of Detroit."

"I'm sorry," Harold said, regretfully. "I just wanted to win money. I never win anything."

"Whatever," Duncan said. He then turns towards everyone in the bar. "Soldiers of fortune, drinks on me!" They all cheer and raise their glasses.

"Domestic, nothing imported." Harold said to everyone.

Eddy then begins counting his money when a server approaches him. She was a slender female with tan skin, short brown hair, and red lipstick. She was wearing a skimpy black dress and a pearl necklace, as well as black high heels.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, baby. Are you sure you wanna shoot you whole wad?" she asked. Duncan looks her up and down.

"Uh… Tight," he said, impressed by what he sees. He holds out his pinky, which she takes.

She then introduced herself. "Courtney."

"Duncan. What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?" Courtney smiles. Rodney then slaps her butt.

"I'd hit that," he said. Duncan then grabs him by the back of his overalls and spins him around to face Courtney.

"Courtney, you'd best apologize before…" Courtney doesn't wait for Duncan's chivalry and grabs Rodney's balls, squeezing them, causing him to inhale deeply. "Yeah, that."

"Say the magic words, Hillbilly Wreck-It-Ralph," she said to him, menacingly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't have a filter between my brains and my…" Courtney squeezes his balls tighter, until Duncan stops her.

"Okay. Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, hakuna his tatas, he's sorry," Courtney lets go of his balls. "Get out of here. Go. Go play the jug."

Courtney notices Duncan has his hand on her arm. "Hey, hands off the merchandise," she says, as she removes his hand.

"Merchandise, huh? So um… do you bump fuzzies for money?" Duncan asked. Courtney nods. "Rough childhood?"

"Rougher than yours," Courtney said. "Daddy left before I was born."

"Daddy left before I was conceived." Courtney looks confused.

"Ever had a cigarette put out on your skin?"

"Where else do you put one out?"

"I was molested."

"Me too. Uncle."

"Uncles. They took turns."

"I watched my own birthday party through the keyhole of a locked closet, which also happens to be my…

"Bedroom," Courtney said, completing his sentence. "Lucky. I slept in a dishwasher box."

Duncan gasps. "You had a dishwasher. I didn't even know sleep. It was pretty much 24/7 ball gags, fudge mix, and clown porn." Courtney snickers at this.

"Who would do such a thing?" she asked.

"Hopefully you, later tonight? Courtney looks interested. "Hey, what can I get for, uh, $275 and a… Frozen Yogurt rewards card."

"Maybe about 207 minutes of whatever the fuck you want." Takes the rewards card and places it in his mouth. "And a low-fat frozen yogurt." She then turns around and leaves. Duncan watches as she exits the building. Duncan looks excited while Harold looks confused.

"Did she just put a gift card in your mouth?" Harold asked.