Fade in. A close up to the tattered black and white mask of TRIV hangs on a hook.
“I would like to thank El Supervillaino.”
The camera zooms out slowly. As it does, it displays portraits of varying poses of four (or three-and-a-half, if you wish to get technical) men. A handsome young man grins while romancing a bystander at ringside. A tall golden masked man throws another into the stratosphere. A small ewok-creature threatens to shoot somebody. And TRIV himself, a bit more husky then than he is now.
“I would very much like to shake his hand because his…attempt to make me pay for the sin of saying no to him reminded me of the kind of man I am trying to be now. If it was El Supervillaino giving me the first beatdown of my career, I might have been scarred for life. I might have taken off this mask, came home, and let the dynasty die with a whimper. How fortunate, then, that it was not so.”
More pictures, much recent. A woman flings herself towards her students as if to teach them aerial attacks the hard way. A man grins as he shadowboxes.
“I feel sorry for him and for all the others whose masklines have been erased. To not remember where everything you are came from is in a sense a fate worse than death. There may be some freedom in building yourself. But who are you when the illusion fades?
Do you know what you are behind the ego and the money, Mutanto? Or are you just as blind as he is? I am sure you will have something to say about how you could buy me a million times over. You would be right. But what’s beyond that? Is it merely just avarice or is there something worth fighting amongst all the roaring?”
The scene keeps expanding. There are pictures are decades older, of men with their faces censored for the camera.
“I ask this because I know what I am. You may be riddled with gold, but my blood were known as diamantes. It was not easy for them to go through those wars and they didn’t get the chance to shine for very long. Yet they shone brighter than anyone. To this day, there are still people filled with envy over the mere mention of their name. The mention of my name.
I usually wear this mask to protect myself. But perhaps I also wear this mask to spare you? Honestly, Mutanto, your scales and fangs would be scarier if you had less limbs. But I know that you do not become a diamond without going through pressure.”
A shadow crosses over the ragtag altar to Santa Muerte and takes the mask from the hook. Just as quickly, the laces are tied tightly to his head.
“If I were to crack so easily, I would not be worthy of the weight I carry.”