In his bog-standard apartment in Westbrook, Maine, Scott was seen laying on the couch. His arms spread across two pillows that were perched on the couch beside him, and his legs rested upon the side of his coffee table. It was nothing too out of the norm, with exception of the sun beaming across the room because the curtain was not able to cover that bit of exterior light entering the room. It did not phase Scott at all. In fact, he was more concerned with what was on the television that laid about his chester draw that was about 2 meters away from him, than some pesty light interfering in his day. 

Scott slowly leaned forward from his relaxed position, with both of his hands clutching together and feet firmly pressed upon the ground. His eyes squinted, and his head learned forward to get an even closer look at the match. With his teeth clenching, it was visible to note that Scott felt aggravated at the viewing at this point.

Scott reached his right arm out towards the remote, and grasps it within his palm.

The LCD screen snapped to black, as Barnett still kept his eyes fixated on the screen, but his right arm was seen extended and pointed towards the television screen with his thumb pressed against the "switch off" button. He had enough of what he saw. He knew what came next, since the scenes of that match is still dented in his memory. He sighed in relief, as he bent his head down in shame. The shame ate away on Scott for a few mere seconds, as figured he had lost his drive at that very moment in the match. It wasn't enough to put down a "newcomer" in the sport, and this put Scott at unease. He was able to recollect himself, as he cautiously scanned his surroundings. The living room was clean, with the walls purified by a white glaze. It was the only item misplacement here and there that kept the room from staying idyllic. The funny thing about all of this, is that the apartment that Barnett had been living in juxtaposed the lifestyle he portrayed. 

Scott was known for his out-of-ring flamboyance, sporting Armani suits, Rolex watches, and oozing a classy charisma from his pores. However, it was nothing like Scott ever wanted. He just wanted to be normal, and lived a life where he could generate money, whilst in parallel, exceed expectations that was given to him. Once again, Scott found himself in a reflective mood, before an unexpected noise found it's way into his attention.

*THUD, THUD*

TBC.