📍 SCENE: A city with no brands. No logos, no ads, just generic-ass everything. The crew been wildin’—roasting, exposing, flaming existence itself. The world was supposed to be 'peaceful' without branding, but these niggas found ways to cook regardless.

🟥 MG: standing in front of a plain-ass store Nigga, what the fuck is this?

🟨 OV: reading the sign 'Fast Food Restaurant.' Nigga, that’s it?

🟩 GU: looking at the menu Bruh, this shit just say 'Burger' and 'Drink.'

🟥 MG: Nigga, ain’t no combos? Ain’t no sauce names?

🟨 OV: Nigga, I asked for Coke, they said 'carbonated dark beverage.'

🟩 GU: laughing Nigga, we in a world where Pepsi and Coke never beefed.

🟥 MG: deep breath …Nigga, we gotta go.

The crew walking down a plain-ass street. Everything feel soulless. They flaming shit, but it ain’t the same.

🟨 OV: Nigga, I’m realizing something…

🟩 GU: nodding …The flame don’t hit the same when there ain’t a name attached.

🟥 MG: EXACTLY. Ain’t no point roasting 'Fast Shoe Store' when I can’t say Nike been selling the same shoe for 10 years.

🟨 OV: Nigga, this like beating a game with no boss fights.

A dimly lit alley. The crew sitting on a bench, lost in thought. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows.

🕴️ Mysterious Man: calmly You seem… unfulfilled.

🟥 MG: Nigga, obviously. This world drier than Popeyes biscuits.

🟨 OV: You erased capitalism, and somehow made shit worse.

🕴️ Mysterious Man: smirks Then… I have an offer.

A suspicious briefcase appears. Mysterious Man slowly opens it. Inside: a glowing, cursed-looking contract.

🕴️ Mysterious Man: Branding returns. Logos, marketing, names—but not as you remember them.

🟩 GU: squints Nigga, what’s the catch?

🕴️ Mysterious Man: smirking Everything will be… off-brand.

The crew looks at each other, processing.

🟥 MG: Nigga…

🟨 OV: …We ‘bout to see Adidos and Mike again?

🟩 GU: Oh fuck.