Scene: Hotel – Saturday, June 21, 2026
Tony and Butterbean stood in front of the vending machines down the hall from the room. The hallway was quiet. Tony had a cigarette behind his ear and was staring at the options like he couldn’t decide what he wanted. Butterbean was just standing there, big arms crossed over his chest, not really looking at anything.
Tony finally glanced over at him.
Tony Soprano: “Alright. What’s up with you?”
Butterbean didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring at the floor.
Tony Soprano: “You been quiet since we left the room. You barely said two words the whole ride over here. So what’s the problem?”
Butterbean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His voice came out low and heavy.
Butterbean: “…I don’t know, Tone. This shit’s getting kinda crazy.”
Tony turned his head slowly to look at him.
Butterbean: “I mean… the nurse. What they did to her. Cutting her up like that. Putting pieces of her in Sterling and then using the rest on Wendy. I thought we was just supposed to get the guy out the hospital. I didn’t know we was gonna be doing all this other shit.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
Tony Soprano: (sharp) “What the fuck are you talking about? You were there. You helped. You stood in that room the whole time. Now you’re gonna act like you didn’t know what was going on?”
Butterbean didn’t back down, but he also didn’t raise his voice.
Butterbean: “I know what I did. I’m just sayin’… this is getting heavy, man. Real heavy. I ain’t scared of a lot of shit, but this… this feels different.”
Tony’s face started to harden. He took a step closer, voice dropping.
Tony Soprano: “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying right now.”
Butterbean looked at him but stayed quiet.
Tony caught himself. He took a breath, rubbed his face with one hand, and exhaled. When he spoke again, his tone was lower, but still firm.
Tony Soprano: “Look… I get it. This shit got ugly. But we’re almost done. The circuit is almost over. We got through the go-home show last night, even with all that bullshit that happened. The PPV is tomorrow. After that, we’re clear. You hear me?”
Butterbean didn’t say anything.
Tony Soprano: “You better not quit on me now, Bean. Not after everything we already did. We’re this close. Just get through tomorrow night with me and then you can take a vacation or whatever the fuck you wanna do. Disappear for a little while. But not right now. Not when we’re this close to the finish line.”
He looked Butterbean dead in the eye.
Tony Soprano: “You understand what I’m saying to you?”
Butterbean was quiet for a few seconds before finally giving a slow nod.
Butterbean: “…Yeah. I hear you.”
Tony studied him for another moment, then nodded and turned back toward the vending machine.
Tony Soprano: (quieter) “Good. Now pick something to eat. I’m fucking starving.”
Butterbean was quiet for a few seconds after Tony told him to pick something to eat. He kept staring at the vending machine like he wasn’t really seeing it.
Then he spoke.
Butterbean: “…I wanna meet the guys from The Bing.”
Tony didn’t even look at him at first. He just kept studying the snacks behind the glass.
Tony Soprano: “What?”
Butterbean: “The guys from The Bing. I wanna meet ‘em.”
Tony finally turned his head, playing it off like he didn’t know what Butterbean was talking about.
Tony Soprano: “What guys?”
Butterbean looked at him.
Butterbean: “Silvio. Christopher. Paulie. Big Pussy. Furio. Them guys.”
Tony let out a short laugh and shook his head, trying to brush it off.
Tony Soprano: “Come on, Bean. What are you, twelve years old? You sound like a fuckin’ fan. Those guys ain’t coming out here.”
Butterbean didn’t laugh. He just kept looking at Tony, his face serious.
Butterbean: “I’m not playin’, Tone. I been doin’ a lot for you. For Cowboy. For Elena. I been keepin’ my mouth shut, doin’ what I’m told… even when the shit got real ugly. I just wanna meet ‘em. That’s it.”
Tony studied him for a second. He could tell Butterbean wasn’t buying the brush-off this time. His tone shifted — still casual, but a little more careful now.
Tony Soprano: “Look… those guys don’t really travel for this kind of thing. You know how it is. They stay close to home.”
Butterbean didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at Tony, waiting.
Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
Tony Soprano: “…But maybe. Maybe a couple of ‘em will come out for the PPV tomorrow night. I can make a couple calls. See who’s around.”
Butterbean’s face lit up a little. It wasn’t much, but it was the most animated he’d looked all morning.
Butterbean: “Yeah?”
Tony Soprano: “Yeah. I’m not promising nothing, but… I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Silvio. Maybe Paulie. We’ll see.”
Butterbean nodded, a small, almost childlike smile forming on his face.
Butterbean: “Alright… alright, cool. That’d be good, Tone. Real good.”
Tony watched him for a second, then turned back to the vending machine and put in some money.
Tony Soprano: (under his breath) “…Jesus Christ.”
He hit the button and waited for his snack to drop, while Butterbean stood there looking noticeably lighter than he did a few minutes ago.
Tony looked around to make sure nobody was nearby, then stepped in closer to Butterbean. His voice dropped low.
Tony Soprano: “Alright… I’m gonna level with you. The reason I can’t bring the guys from The Bing out here right now… it’s ‘cause of this Wendy situation.”
Butterbean stayed quiet, listening.
Tony Soprano: “I’ve been fucking her. And I don’t need them knowing that shit. You know how it is with those guys. They find out I’ve been sticking my dick in some old, washed-up Black bitch? They’ll never let me hear the end of it. I’m talking about real fucking stigma. Not just ‘Tony’s fucking around.’ I’m talking about Tony’s out here fucking niggers now. That’s how they’ll see it. And I don’t need that smoke. Not from them.”
Butterbean shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt.
Tony Soprano: “Look, I ain’t no saint. I’ve done a lot of shit. But this? This is different. I got a wife at home. I got a reputation. And now this bitch is about to get even faker — big fake tits, fat ass, the whole bimbo package. And I’ll be honest with you… I might actually leave Carmella for this Black bitch once she’s all done up. That’s how far gone I am right now.”
He shook his head, almost like he was disgusted with himself.
Tony Soprano: “So yeah. I’m not trying to mix those worlds. I don’t need Silvio, Paulie, or any of them seeing me like this — running around with some old Black whore I’m turning into a full-blown bimbo. That shit stays between us. You understand?”
Butterbean nodded slowly.
Butterbean: “…Yeah. I get it, Tone.”
Tony studied him for a second, then continued, his tone a little more measured.
Tony Soprano: “But I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can get one or two of them out here for the PPV. I’ll make some calls. Just… don’t say nothing about this Wendy shit to anybody. Not even them. Especially not them.”
Butterbean nodded again.
Butterbean: “I won’t say nothing.”
Tony’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out, saw Cowboy’s name, and answered.
Tony Soprano: (into the phone) “Yeah… I’m on my way.”
He hung up and looked back at Butterbean.
Tony Soprano: “That was Cowboy. He needs me in the booking meeting. I gotta go. Keep your head up. Go back to the room and make sure those doctors are doing what they’re supposed to be doing. When they’re finished with her, you call me. Got it?”
Butterbean: “Yeah… I got it.”
Tony gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.
Tony Soprano: “Good. I’ll see what I can do about the guys.”
He turned and started walking down the hallway, already lighting a cigarette as he went.
Butterbean stood there for a moment, then slowly started heading back toward the room.
Butterbean walked slowly back down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets, still replaying everything Tony had just told him. He didn’t like any of this shit — the nurse, the organs, Wendy getting cut up — but he kept telling himself it would be over soon. Just get through the PPV tomorrow and maybe he could actually take a break like Tony said.
He reached the hotel room door, pulled out the key card Tony had given him earlier, and swiped it.
The door clicked open.
Butterbean stepped inside and immediately stopped.
The room was dimly lit, with the two beds pushed together to make one big work area. Wendy was completely naked and laid out on her back across both beds. She was under anesthesia, her eyes taped shut, a breathing tube in her mouth. Her chest was already cut open — both breasts had been removed and were sitting on a metal tray beside the bed, bloody and discarded. Dr. Ted Eisenberg was currently working on inserting large, round implants into her chest while Conrad Murray was marking up and cutting into her ass and hips, prepping the area to graft in the harvested fat and tissue from the nurse.
Blood and medical waste were on the sheets. The cooler that had been sitting on the floor earlier was now open, with pieces of the nurse’s tissue laid out on sterile cloths.
Butterbean stood in the doorway for a second, frozen.
Conrad glanced up briefly from what he was doing, barely reacting to Butterbean walking in.
Conrad Murray: (calmly, focused on his work) “Close the door.”
Butterbean slowly stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at Wendy’s body — her chest wide open, her ass cut into and being reshaped, the two doctors working on her like she was a piece of meat on a table.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg didn’t even look up.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “She’s under. We started about twenty minutes ago. Should be another couple hours at least.”
Butterbean didn’t answer. He just kept staring.
Wendy’s body twitched slightly from the work being done on her, but she stayed unconscious.
Butterbean slowly walked over to the same chair he’d been sitting in earlier and sat down without a word, his eyes still locked on what was happening in front of him.
Butterbean sat in the corner, silent, watching.
Conrad Murray and Dr. Ted Eisenberg worked with an almost giddy energy, talking over each other like two kids showing off a new toy.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (grinning as he adjusted the massive implants in Wendy’s chest) “Look at the size of these things. 1400cc each. She’s gonna look ridiculous. These tits are gonna sit high and round like two fucking balloons. No sag, no movement, just straight-up porn star fake. She’s gonna look like a goddamn cartoon character.”
Conrad Murray: (working on her ass, injecting fat) “And this ass is gonna be even worse. I’m packing as much of that nurse’s fat into her as I can. She’s gonna have a huge, shelf ass. Like two basketballs glued to her back. When she walks, it’s gonna jiggle like crazy. And these hips — I’m widening them out too. She’s gonna have that exaggerated bimbo shape. Tiny waist, huge tits, huge ass. A real-life fuck doll.”
Dr. Ted Eisenberg laughed under his breath as he sutured Wendy’s chest.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Her face is next. We’re gonna give her those big, puffy, cock-sucking lips. I’m talking duck lips. The kind that make her look like she’s permanently ready to slobber on a dick. And we’re filling her cheeks too — she’s gonna have that permanent ‘just got fucked’ face. And I’m gonna do her nose small and upturned. Classic bimbo nose. She’s gonna look so fucking stupid.”
Conrad Murray: (excited) “And the skin. We’re lightening her up a few shades. Not fully white, but that light-skin, high-yellow bimbo look. She’s gonna look like one of those Instagram thots that got way too much work done. And once we’re finished with her lips and face, she’s not even gonna be able to make normal expressions anymore. She’s gonna have that permanent ‘dumb and horny’ look.”
Dr. Ted Eisenberg glanced over at Wendy’s unconscious face and smirked.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “By the time we’re done, she’s not gonna look like Wendy Williams anymore. She’s gonna look like some cheap, over-the-top black barbie bimbo. Huge fake tits, fat fake ass, dick-sucking lips, and a brain that’s clearly not working right. She’s gonna look like a living sex toy. A black fuck doll.”
Conrad Murray: (laughing softly) “Exactly. She wanted to be a star again? This is how. She’s gonna look so fake and stupid that people won’t even be able to take her seriously. That’s the only lane left for her now.”
They kept working, both of them clearly enjoying themselves as they described every grotesque detail of what they were turning her into.
Butterbean stayed quiet in the corner, just watching.
The two doctors worked for another two hours straight, focused and methodical despite the grotesque nature of what they were doing. By the time they finally stepped back, Wendy was completely transformed.
Her chest was now absurdly large — two massive, round, perfectly symmetrical implants that sat high and unnaturally on her frame, giving her an exaggerated, cartoonish silhouette. Her ass had been completely rebuilt with the harvested fat, now huge, round, and protruding in a way that looked almost fake even before the swelling. Her hips were wider, her waist cinched in dramatically, and her lips had been inflated to a ridiculous, permanent pout.
Her face had been altered significantly — cheeks fuller, nose smaller and upturned, and her overall expression now carried a vacant, overdone bimbo quality even while unconscious.
Conrad Murray and Dr. Ted Eisenberg stood back, looking at their work with something close to pride.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: (smirking) “She looks fucking ridiculous.”
Conrad Murray: “Yeah… but it worked. It’s exactly what we were going for. She’s gonna look like a total black bimbo sex doll once the swelling goes down.”
Dr. Ted Eisenberg nodded, wiping his hands.
Dr. Ted Eisenberg: “Give it a few hours. The swelling’s gonna make her look even more botched right now, but once it settles… she’s gonna be exactly what they wanted. A living, breathing blow-up doll.”
Conrad glanced over at the monitors, then at Wendy’s unconscious body.
Conrad Murray: “We’ll keep her under for a little while longer. Let the swelling start to go down before we wake her up. No point in her seeing herself like this right now anyway.”
The two doctors began cleaning up their tools in relative silence, occasionally glancing back at Wendy’s heavily altered body with quiet satisfaction.
Butterbean stayed in the corner, arms crossed, watching everything without saying a word.
The room settled into a strange, uneasy quiet as they waited for the swelling to go down.
Fade out.
