[9 hours before the cage match, Liànyù Maximum Security Prison, Director's Office]
The cold, steel-lined office buzzed with an air of anticipation as the prison warden and prison director engaged in a verbal tango, their words dancing through the dimly lit room. Sunlight, weary from its journey, cast long shadows that played upon the walls like ghostly apparitions, while a solitary desk lamp bathed the scene in a soft, amber glow.
The warden, a toadlike plump man of erratic temperament with graying hair askew, leaned back in his creaking leather chair. His eyes, wild and feverish, darted around the room, always searching for the next spark of chaos. His voice, punctuated with cackles and giggles, echoed through the chamber. "Director Shang, sir, can't you feel it? The sweet aroma of carnage and anarchy. Ah, the potential for profits, it beckons us. Let us seize this opportunity, fill our coffers with the spoils of match fixing!"