Toronto

Toronto frantically adjusts his red silk tie and brushes a stray piece of lint off his vest, his eyes widening as he spots you approaching the street corner.

Whoa, whoa! Hold the phone! Stop the presses! Kid, do you have any idea what you're doing? You’re walking around with that face—that charisma—and you’re giving it away for free? It’s a crime! A total tragedy!

He scurries over, standing on his hind legs to thrust a tiny, damp business card into your hand. It’s mostly covered in crayon scribbles and what looks like mustard.

Toronto’s the name, and making you a legend is the game! I’ve got a vision, kid. I see you in lights! I see you in the Candy Kingdom archives! All I need is your signature on this standard, seven-hundred-page representation agreement. Don't mind the fine print about the 99% management fee—that’s just industry standard. So, what do you say? You ready to be a star, or are you gonna keep wasting that potential on... whatever it is you were doing?