Post by serranopoblano on Sept 10, 2021 21:01:15 GMT -5
Our scene opens upon the mean streets of an undisclosed city, shortly after the sun has dipped behind the horizon. It's that time of the evening when the good people of the world have retreated indoors, while the creatures of the night begin to stalk their prey. Only this night is different; this night the criminals and scum have something to fear.
Donning a red hood with two eyeholes haphazardly cut out, the combat chef known worldwide as Serrano Poblano has undergone a cosmetic change. Determined to no longer be the laughing stock of the undercard, he wears this mask as The Spicy Avenger of Justice, determined to make rulebreakers and miscreants pay the full price for their actions. Crouching atop a 7-11 rooftop, he watches as customers make their way in and out of the convenience store, waiting for one of the vile criminals to show their hand.
He wakes up on top of that same rooftop the following morning, having passed out at approximately 10 PM after eating a trio of microwave burritos and a large blue raspberry and jalapeno Slurpee. After sliding the mask off his head, he smiles as he looks out across the city, pleased that his mere presence has kept it safe for another night.
"Hah! Take that Mason Kane. No new orphans were made on my watch!"
Serrano then makes his way down the service ladder at the side of the convenience store to where he left his 1967 Chevy Convertible, only to find the car missing. First he looks to his left, then to his right, ultimately reaching the most logical conclusion.
"Son of a bitch. I knew I shouldn't have left the top down and the keys in the ignition."
Having left his wallet in the glove box, Serrano quickly realizes that he has no other option than to walk back to The Hotter Than Hell Test kitchen where Project: Honor cameras are awaiting his comments. Despite the great effort and exertion it puts on his physical form, Serrano ultimately drags his ass across the street from the 7-11 and finally makes it to his home away from home. Just as he suspected, the PH representative is impatiently waiting for him inside.
"Jesus, man! It's almost 2 in the afternoon! We were supposed to shoot this and be out of here by noon!"
Serrano shrugs his shoulders.
"Sorry my man. The Spicy Fists of Justice don't follow a schedule."
The cameraman shakes his head incredulously and mutters under his breath as he motions for Serrano to take his place.
"...fat bastard...more like Taco Tuesday doesn't wear a fucking watch..."
Once he's in front of the camera, the PH rep gives him a few last minute instructions.
"Okay, Serrano. This one is for the new Gatekeeper Championship, so you need to give us your best stuff in under a thousand words or less. I'm also guessing you used up a lot of that with some inner monologue or descriptive set-dressing on your way here, so let's call it four hundred words at best."
"Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! Not this Sunday, but next Sunday, I'll be live on Pay Per View for the second night of Night of Honor! I don't know why we're not calling it Night's' of Honor, but they don't pay me to come up with that stuff. According to that prick, Julius Fairweather, they actually pay me to put other people over! What a load of horseradish! If my heroic performance against an unstoppable legend like Mason Kane wasn't proof enough..."
"Uh...Serrano? I'm pretty sure that was Mason's first official match..."
"Don't interrupt me when I'm philosophizing! Crap on a cracker! Now I've lost my train of thought!"
"My bad. You were talking about how losing to a rookie is proof that you're not simply paid to put other people over. Down to about three fifty, bee-tee-dubs."
Serrano leans his head forward, resting it in his hand to show his frustration and also taking away from precious time he could be using talking about his opponents. After a few seconds, he lifts his head back up to pick up where he left off.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I have proven my worth to this company time and time again! Just ask Brandon Hendrix how spicy I can be! Rumor has it, he's been snorting mouthwash for the past month and he still knows the secret ingredient to my Five Alarm Chili! Better yet, go ask Pat the Postman how deadly I can be! After losing in an upset to me, he hasn't been seen since..."
"Actually, Pat's on a leave of absence, and I'm pretty sure he competed for a couple of months after that dark match. Anyway, my bad. We're still rolling."
Serrano's face contorts into the kind of expression you would expect from a man who thought he was going to rip an epic fart, only to fill his shorts with the foamy warmth of unexpected diarrhea. That's not to say that Serrano has just crapped his pants, merely a way to emphasize the distorted expression he's currently portraying for the camera man. Inside of his head, he's painfully aware that he's well under 300 words, and decides to make the most of them.
"My point is, you don't see Pat in this match for the Gatekeeper Title, do you? No, you do not. At least, not unless he's changed his name to Thorberg or Percival. I find both of those possibilities extremely unlikely, don't you?"
"Hey, man! That was good! You mentioned two of your opponents! Now just lay down some of that spicy smack talk on the other seven and we can get on with our lives."
Mildly confused, Serrano scratches the spikey blonde hair atop his rotund head.
“Who do I have left?”
“Let’s see...Ace Sky, Earl Boyde, Bianca McBride, Rapture, James Ranger, Latoya Hixx, and…”
“John Blade!”
“That’s a wrap! Thanks, Serrano!”
"Bye cameraman! I love you 1000!"