(The camera opens on a somber looking Mallory Montana flipping her hair out of her eyes as she stands in the foreground of the shot in a packed and dimly lit cafeteria.)
Mallory Montana: "Hello Wrestleworld. Today's story takes place deep within the underbelly of Wrestleworld Capital where we find a jam packed soup kitchen only mere hours after Wrestleworld's most successful double-header show "War of the Worlds". Even a utopia such as Wrestleworld has it's warts, for outside of our economy-driving main export of wrestling the job market tends to be extremely volatile. Hotels have gone out of business due to the advent of Eden, small businesses have been stricken with cease and desist letters by our very own chairman for what's been described as 'bootleg' merchandise, and some have even gone as far as to charge Architects and chairmen alike for monopolizing the airwaves and filling it with propag-"
(Someone whispers off-camera. The color drains from Mallory's face as she tugs at her collar nervously.)
Mallory Montana: "I-I know we're not doing an exposé, but I thought since we were here maybe it would be good to-"
(The whisper cuts her off once more as her shoulders slump and she lets out a beleaguered sigh. Mallory frantically whips her hair out of her face once more, revealing a painted on smile as she gives the high sign and mumbles through her gnashed teeth.)
Mallory Montana: ...fine, take two...HELLO WRESTLEWORLD! Today we're here at...a cafeteria. Yup, just a regular old cafeteria, not a soup kitch-...No-Not a supermarket. Yeah, that's what I meant to say. We're here for a super interview with the man who debut in the World Domination match; former Omega Heavyweight Champion The Derelict!
(The camera pans up and over to reveal the hulking, ginger bearded, behemoth standing mere inches out of shot as Mallory is seen halfway out of the shot mouthing "why can't we say 'soup kitchen?'.)
Mallory Montana: Now Mr. Derelict, why exactly have you shown up here in Wrestleworld? Is this a permanent residence? or are you just moseying through?
The Derelict: Well I heard about your awesome soup kitchens here and-
Mallory Montana: Oh for the love of..
The Derelict: You guys serve some top notch seafood here. How many soup kitchens do you know outside of this island with bouillabaisse on the menu? Not many. I get that it's cheap to just go out and fish it out of the ocean,but it's still quite the spread for a mainland shoobie such as myself.
Mallory Montana: Any other reason for being here? Are you sticking around? Are we going to see the mighty Derelict run through the DOMINION roster? or maybe spend a Chapter or two here in Wrestleworld?
(The camera pans back over to Derelict as he shoves a giant yeast roll into his gob and chomps it down greedily. Mallory stands in silence with a mixture of fear, amazement, and annoyance on her face as she watches the lumbering hobo scarf down the scone in one bite. He licks any lingering butter from his fingertips before catching sight of the camera back on him. He glances down at Mallory, then back at the camera.)
The Derelict: I'm sorry, did you say somethin' little lady?
(Mallory angrily nudges Derelict out of shot, snarling her toothy grin momentarily as she takes over the scene.)
Mallory Montana: And there you have it! This was just a one-shot appearance apparently-
(Suddenly, a disheveled looking Senor Pinchy crab walks into frame, his antennae bent and his wrestling attire ripped and covered shabbily in seaweed as he nudges past Mallory and the full-bellied and contented Derelict and heads toward the soup line. The edges of Mallory's smile begin to turn downward as her nostrils flare in disgust. She looks at Derelict accusingly before giving him a sniff and then recoiling in disgust.)
Mallory Montana: EW! That's a totally different kind of stink. I guess that briny odor of high tide was coming off of Pinch-
(Mallory's eyes narrow as the camera nods toward the hard up looking crab man as he shuffles sideways in step with the soup line. Mallory glances at Pinchy, and then back at the camera as she mouths "No!", but the camera persists as Mallory throws her hands down at her side, throws her head back, and rolls her eyes. The camera starts to head toward Pinchy without her, but is quickly intercepted as the clacking of angry stomping dress heels charges toward the crab man and Mallory reappears in shot.)
Mallory Montana: Pinchy, what are you doing here?
(Pinchy looks up meekly and motions toward his back. Mallory looks over his shoulder to find his back is bare.)
Mallory Montana: I don't understand. Where's your blue shell backpack?
Senor Pinchy: I threw it away.
Mallory Montana: Didn't it come back?
Senor Pinchy: Que? Oh! no, I ehhh...how j'ou say?...gave it back to Alice. Am sin casa now
Mallory Montana: Homeless? Pinchy, just go to Eden. They'll give you a room for free. You're Wrestleworld talent.
(This comment is met with a few over the shoulder glares from the less well-to-do Wrestleworld inhabitants. Mallory tries to pay it no mind as the line steps forward and she follows alongside Pinchy, unknowingly matching his crab walk pattern as she does so.)
Senor Pinchy: Is not the same. Am hermit crab, Sailory Montana. I ehhhh...do not do well with others.
Mallory Montana: Why don't you just get your old shell back?
Senor Pinchy: Finson and Searia destroyed it, recuerda?
Mallory Montana: Right, right. Speaking of which, where are those two? and Alice Gamer? It's very suspicious that all three disappeared, especially after the short-lived Hybrid reigns with you. Some tabloids are even saying you may have eaten them.
Senor Pinchy: Diciendo mentiras!: Telling lies! While true that it es not uncommon for crab to devour dead mangs on occasions, I would never eh...perdoname.
(Pinchy turns around to face the counter.)
Senor Pinchy: Uno devil crab bisque, por favor?
(The soup kitchen worker ladles some bisque into a bowl and slides it across the counter. Pinchy greedily catches it and turns to find himself facing down an accusatory Mallory. He cowers at the reporter's glare, hunching his shoulders nearly over his head as he tries to sink back into a nonexistent shell.)
Senor Pinchy: Es imitación crab, si? Am Sea-gan now. Only kelp e water chestnuts para this crab por now on.
Mallory Montana: Wow, I've never seen you like this before Pinchy. Usually you're the one trying-
Senor Pinchy: -eh succeeding-
Mallory Montana: -TRYING to intimidate me. This shell business has really taken you off of your game.
Senor Pinchy: Ah, si. Am muy vulnerable to the elements. Es not what I need going into match with main rudo of Luchamundo.
Mallory Montana: Wait...you think TJ Thompson's...
(Mallory tries to stifle her laughter as Pinchy's sad sack expression hardens into a scowl.)
Mallory Montana: Sorry, sorry. It's just that...I mean, c'mon! It's TJ.
Senor Pinchy: Si, he es whole reason for Pinchy a'being here in first place! a'speaking of diciendo mentiras, he was the one who started lying about the crab riots! So I come to defend mi raza del garra and he continues to be ehhh...how j'ou say? A thorn en mi thorax.
Mallory Montana: Well you have lost to him in tag action twice-
Senor Pinchy: No!
Mallory Montana: No?
Senor Pinchy: No! Incorrecto! Mi socias have lost in tag matches, but TeeHay has j'et to pin me!
Mallory Montana: True, although he has caused you enough of a distraction to keep you from breaking up pinfalls twice.
Senor Pinchy: Nunca me golpees: He never beat me.
Mallory Montana: Some would say that's splitting hairs Pinchy.
Senor Pinchy: What es...how j'ou say?: parting follicles? Es mammal thing?
Mallory Montana: Pinchy, you know what I mean. Sure, TJ may have never pinned you, but he holds two of the rarest victories over you in the record books. He even holds your half of the Hybrid Tag Team Championships now. Listen, I don't know what happened with your other partners. I don't know what happened with Jenson Lane-Kidd. You very well may have eaten them, and I don't think a court would convict you if you did. Those people constantly threatened to boil you alive.
Senor Pinchy: Si, a trend that TeeHay started.
Mallory Montana: All I'm saying is that maybe it's time you look at yourself and figure out why these people aren't around, why Amber Payne would stoop so low as to team with TJ Thompson just to get a receipt on you, or why TJ has such a strange hatred for you and crabs in general. These people hate you, Pinchy and they're not the only ones. I mean, my god, Betty White just showed up on my doorbell surveillance this morning while I was driving to make this interview with The Derelict. You've left quite the negative impression on people, Pinchy. Now you're alone, shell-less, and eating your own kind in a soup kitchen.
(Pinchy falls forward into his soup bowl bawling. Taken aback, Mallory tries to put some room between her and the crab man as the weary human refuse of Wrestleworld eye the spectacle and lock on target to what could be an extra bowl of crab bisque if they can manage to break from the pack and take down the vulnerable new guy in line. Sensing the hostility, Mallory comes back in and puts an arm over Pinchy's shoulder and guides the weeping crustacean to an empty table.)
Mallory Montana: Pinchy...you need to calm down. If you don't you might get kicked out of here.
Senor Pinchy: I lihihihied. This is real crab...
(Pinchy whimpers and takes a heaping spoonful and shoves it into his mandibles. Sniffling, he looks down in horror at the bisque.)
Senor Pinchy: It...it's delicious.
Mallory Montana: PINCHY! Snap out of it. You've got to pull yourself together and put up that old emotional wall.
Senor Pinchy: But...no shell...j'ou were right, Senorita MonTuna. I have to realize that when a whole roster calls me a jerk, that they might not be the jerks, si? A lo mejor si soy.
Mallory Montana: Never mind that sh*t! Here comes Derelict!
(Mallory ducks under the table as the sea of stoic gazing homeless men and women part as a pale, bald, spire of a man comes through the huddled masses of the island and stares down the sobbing soft shell. Derelict tilts his head in confusion at the sight of any kind of emotion, waves his arms back to make room for the two men, and then plops down at the table as Pinchy continues to shovel soup into his gob with self-loathing. Without speaking a word, Derelict reaches his arm across the table, extends his index finger, and matter of factly plops it down dead in the center of Pinchy's bisque.)
Derelict: My germs.
(Pinchy drops his spoon as the hulking hobo drags the bowl across the table with his index finger, only to toss it down his throat with one gluttonous gulp, and toss the bowl over his shoulder. Pinchy weakly tries to lift his claws off of the table in self-defense, only for the meaty hands of the Derelict to snap across the table once more and slam them back down onto the pine.)
Derelict: What seems to be the problem, friendo?
Senor Pinchy: Es no problema Senor Derelectric Eel.
(Pinchy averts his gaze more as Derelict stretches his massive frame across the table, sniffing Pinchy, and studying him with a keen eye. After sensing no resistance or struggle from the shelled husk of a crab man, Derelict lets go of his claws and settles back down into his seat.)
Derelict: Don't I know you from somewhere?
(Pinchy's antennae perk up as the slouching and self-pitying crab man shoots into an upright stance of fear as his eyes dart suspiciously behind his mask.)
Senor Pinchy: Eh n-no senor. We have never had de pleasure of meeting.
Derelict: I REMEMBER!
Senor Pinchy: S-s-si?
Derelict: Yeah, I know who you are!
(Pinchy's voice drops to a whistling whisper as his eyes bulge through his mask in horror.)
Senor Pinchy: ...si...?
Derelict: Yeah. Yeah I do.
(There's a long stretch of silence as no one within the soup kitchen dares move a muscle as the Derelict's evil gaze turns from confusion to half-co*cked malicious bemusem*nt as Pinchy sweats bullets at the prospect of his cover being blown. Derelict's sinister maw turns into a welcoming grin as his eyes light up with life.)
Derelict: Yeah man! You're that crab dude from the store-from television!
(The entire soup kitchen, including Pinchy, seems to exhale a collective sigh of relief all at once as Mallory crawls out from beneath the table, mic in hand, and a frustrated expression on her face.)
Mallory Montana: Are you kidding me?! I mean, we all know right? He's clearly The P-
Derelict: The Pareja Champion or whatever, yeah?
Senor Pinchy: Perdoneme...Realmente I am Hybrid Campeonato...or, eh...was.
Derelict: Wait, "was"? What happened? Your defense was impregnable. Your pinches were impetuous. Hell, I even dug your take on the claw slam. Thought about nicking it for myself...probably shoulda...
Senor Pinchy: J'ou are correcta Senor Derelectric Eel. Yo no era el problema: I was not the problem. Ehh...regardless to what some brujas may lead you to believe.
(Senor Pinchy gives Mallory an annoyed glance out of the side of his eye, prompting her to punch him in the arm.)
Senor Pinchy: AY!
Mallory Montana: YOU RUINED MY LIFE YOU JERK!
Derelict: Settle down Ms. Montana. I get how our fishy friendo here could rub you the wrong way.
Mallory Montana: Oh really? You do? You big, dumb, smelly ginger?! IS BETTY WHITE STALKING YOU!?! HUH!?!
Derelict: *ahem*
(Mallory catches herself leaning over the table, staring down the Derelict with a handful of his collar. She darts her eyes around the room, perhaps looking for a read off of someone, or maybe for help. Pinchy meekly shrugs as the rest of the homeless present go about their business as if they'd seen nothing. Derelict delicately removes Mallory's fingers from his collar, lightly grabs her shoulders, and gently lowers the stunned reporter back into her seat.)
Derelict: Like I said, I get how this rudo could rub you the wrong way. Now I'm not above claw slamming a pretty little thing like yourself through some lumber, but I'll let this little outburst slide.
Mallory Montana: Thank you Mr. Derelict.
Derelict: Please, my father's Mr. Derelict...actually, I don't know what his name was.
Senor Pinchy: Perdoname, we were ehhh talking about mi problema.
Derelict: Right, right. She blew off some steam. Now it's your turn.
Senor Pinchy: I don't know a'what to do. I am casa-less, amigo-less, and peso-less.
Derelict:....And?
Senor Pinchy: Hmmm, J'ou know something? Maybe confiding en bottom feeder was not de best course of action.
Derelict: I'm serious, Pinchy. I'm all of those things. Well, except penniless, but even when I was it wasn't a problem. Do you know why?
Senor Pinchy: Because people expect gingers to smell bad?
Derelict: No, because I was tough. I'm still tough, Pinchy. So are you. Even without the shell, I'm sure that muscle of yours is as rough and tough as tortoise skin.
Senor Pinchy: HOW DARE J'OU COMPARAR YO A TORTUGA!?! YO CRAB!
Derelict: Calm down, crab man. It was meant as a compliment. Clearly I'm right. Otherwise, you wouldn't be stepping to me right now. Right?
(Pinchy contemplates this possibility as Derelict leans in for the hard sell.)
Senor Pinchy: Okay, mang. Maybe j'ou are onto somet'ing here, si?
Derelict: Si.
Senor Pinchy: Regardless-
Mallory Montana: Ugh, that word...
Senor Pinchy:
REGARDLESS!I am still sin casa.
Derelict: Hmmm. Well, you know what always works for me when I'm hard up for an alley to sleep in?
(The camera jump cuts to Senor Pinchy standing in the back alley behind the soup kitchen with a broken down refrigerator box duct taped to his back. He tries to walk forward, only for the wind to catch the unwieldy box and nearly pull him backwards into it.)
Senor Pinchy: Es no bueno!
(The camera cuts ahead in time once more, this time to find Pinchy hemming and hawing as he tries desperately not to collapse under the weight of a charred and weather eroded oil drum that's tethered to his back with old shoe strings.)
Senor Pinchy: Es muy hard, but ehhh...muy pestado.
(The camera jump cuts ahead in time to Derelict staring off camera with an indecisive stare as Mallory Montana tries to fight back laughter once more.)
Derelict: I'm not sure about the structural integrity of this one.
(Pinchy storms into frame with his back covered in discarded and broken clam, crab, and lobster shells that he's clearly fished out from the garbage of a seafood restaurant. He opens a nearby trash can, turns, and shakes his butt in frustration to free himself of the gross Frankensteinian contraption.)
Senor Pinchy: BAH, A LA MIERDA!
(Once he's shaken the last crustacean husk from his back, he grabs the trash can lid and slams it down emphatically. He then pauses, looks at Derelict, then Mallory, as both he and Derelict glance down at the trash can lid.)
Senor Pinchy: Eh?
Mallory Montana: I'm sorry, what's going on?
Derelict: It could work I suppose...
Senor Pinchy: Si, si!?!
Mallory Montana: Oh you've got to be-
(The camera jump cuts in time to an upside down trash can. It slowly begins to rise, revealing the legs of Senor Pinchy beneath. Derelict circles it, studying it critically as Mallory stands off to the side with her face in her hands.)
Derelict: It's protective, that's for damn sure.
Mallory Montana: (to no one in particular) How do I always end up with Pinchy...?
Derelict: How's visibility?
Senor Pinchy: I can't see mierda en dis damn t'ing!
(Pinchy throws the can off of his head dismissively and storms out of the shot as Derelict looks on in confused disappointment.)
Senor Pinchy: a'screw it. I'll just tie de lid to mi atrás.
(Derelict and Mallory exchange glances as Pinchy grabs the trash can lid and swan dives into a nearby dumpster.)
Mallory Montana: See what I have to deal with?
Derelict: You know, I could still claw slam you.
Mallory Montana: Uhhh...what's that, Pete?
Cameraman Pete: Huh?
Mallory Montana: We're out of film you say?
Derelict: He didn't say-
Mallory Montana: Yeah, we're out of film. That's a wrap. Off to the next location.
(Mallory retreats as fast as her heels can carry her, punching the dumpster in passing as Derelict smirks at the reporter's fear as he watches her leave.)
Mallory Montana: SEE YOU LATER, PINCHY!...ugh, whether I want to or not most likely...
Senor Pinchy: Si, si! Adios! am busy!
(The camera fades to black as Derelict watches on with a pleased look on his face as empty bottles and wadded up paper flies out from the dumpster as Pinchy applies due diligence at making his new home. As soon as it fades out, the camera comes back to life to the sight of Pinchy standing with his trash can lid clad back to the camera, the lid affixed to his body with strong bungee cords twined around the lid's handle and stretched around his torso. He turns to face the camera, his eyes filled with a before unseen seriousness as he stares through the lens.)
Senor Pinchy: Today I'm going to habla Inglés because I want j'ou to understand what I am saying, TeeHay. Es muy importante that j'ou hear e understand my message. I do not a'like j'ou. I t'ink that is been established by now. Every time I get a little momentum in Wrestleworld, there j'ou are to stand in my way. And for what? Some cooked up cause that you've fabricated to justify your past losses? Some made up boogeyman you attribute all of your faux pas and shortcomings to? Well j'ou must've been a'convincing in describing this boogeyman, because here I am. I am the manifestation of all of your fabricated fears brought to life. There were no crab riots prior to j'ou saying there were crab riots. The crustacean nation lived in peace alongside mangkind. Sure, j'ou ate some of us, but we understood that was the way of the world. Big things eat small things, and smaller things eat small things. Parasites live off of big things. Is food chain. However, a new friend of mine has brought it to my attention recently that this is no longer the way. Pack mentality has driven him out of his former mountain kingdom. Little parasites bled him dry until there was no fight left in him to fend off a vulture. A small animal ganged up even smaller animals to nip at his heels until the entire order of things was thrown out of wack. That is kind of like our situation, j'es? My minion hordes of crabs now follow me into battle, ready to pinch at your Achilles and snip off your toes as I go in for the final blow. However, unlike those other animals in that other place that all ganged up on him and ran him off, I have the advantage of being the same height as you TeeHay. We're even the same weight. Unlike that tiny coward and his small-minded followers that took down a giant, we're on an even playing field. We're almost mirror images of one another; it's as if you created this single devil of yours in your own image. Now...I know that Ambergris Payne is on the outside. I know that j'ou do have a little bit of a leg up over my cluster of crab commandants with her in your corner, but I don't t'ink that helps j'ou. As a matter of fact, I t'ink that a'hurts j'ou. She's not interested in your vendetta. She has one of her own that I'm willing to bet my hard earned sand dollars on being more important in her mind than your victory. I don't want this to be a disqualification win for me, TeeHay. I want to shut up the doubters, the haters, and the mukbangers who fall in line behind you to boil me alive. I want to correct two errors on the books with an undisputed victory over j'ou via pinfall, submission, or referee stoppage. I want people to know that I beat j'ou. I want them to know it every single time they look into your pasty freckled face. I want them to know that if they try and bring a pot anywhere near Senor Pinchy that they're going to get the TeeHay Thompson Treatment. Now j'ou may be asking: What is the TeeHay Thompson Treatment? Well, that's when your nipples, nose, and ears are pinched off and placed into a fondue pot of melted queso to be marbleized. Then the rest of you is wrapped up into a California Roll. You may ask who eats this abominable concoction of blood, avacado, and ginger? Not me. My pallet is far more refined, but mi raza de garra? Sorry, I promised no spanish: My people of the claw? They'll slurp you down like oysters on a half-shell. And then? Then we take Wrestleworld Capital! Yeah! That'll change things for us! People will no longer see us as raving crab rioters, and view us as the diplomatic justice and truth seekers that we are! We'll take Crabwalker out of power and claim crab supremacy!"
(Pinchy removes his new trash can lid shell and hoists it up in the air triumphantly as he poses in a statuesque conqueror's stance. As he lingers on the camera, Derelict walks back into shot behind him.)
Derelict: Are you sure that's a good idea? I'm all for disrupting the status quo, but that kinda sounds stupid.
(Pinchy slowly lowers the trash can lid as his face droops in shame.)
Senor Pinchy: Ah, si. Es stupido. Maybe I...eh...maybe I just beat TeeHay and let the crabs eat him.
Derelict: That sounds good to me, but hey man; Keep up that conquering spirit. I'm going to catch the next train out of this Popsicle stand. I've been eating bisque for like a week now. I'm either developing a shellfish allergy or mercury poisoning...or it could be the radiation coming off of that power plant. Don't want to think too hard about that one..Besides, if I stick around they might try and put me back to work again.
Senor Pinchy: J...J'ou are leaving?
Derelict: Yeah. Like I said, I don't really do the 'group' or 'friend' thing. It's just more mouths to feed, but you do you crab man. You do you.
Senor Pinchy: Wait, but-
(Derelict walks off camera, pointing finger guns at Pinchy as he does so. The dejected crab man watches as his would-be friend continues walking away.)
Derelict: Adios!
Senor Pinchy: HEY! BENDEJO THIS IS AN ISLAND!
Derelict: I hear the train..
Senior Pinchy: J'OU CAN'T TAKE A TRAIN OFF OF AN ISLAND!
Derelict: Can't hear you, too far away ...byeeeeeee....
(Pinchy grumbles under his breath as he glares off-camera at the slowly exiting Derelict. He double takes toward the camera, seemingly surprised by it's still lingering presence after he'd finished his interview.)
Senor Pinchy: HEY! I thought you ran out of battery!
Cameraman Pete: Uhm...bye!
(Pinchy lunges at the cameraman as he turns tail and runs and the camera cuts to black.)
