“Necesito my wares. That sneaky tocapelotas El Masko got the no bueno policía to lock them all away, but it’s no matter porque…”
*Click*
“Tengo mi enfermera!”
Medico Muerte and Nurse Nightengale embrace, then a door creaks open.
“Coast is clear, Medico!”
Medico breaches the holding room followed closely by Nightengale, who stuffs a lockpick down her shirt…
“Necesito the right remedies for my opponents…”
Medico rummages through his wares in a hurry as Nightengale keeps watch.
“Necesito something that will cut that monstruo Martillo Negro down to size… No, not seroquel, something stronger— ketamine! That dose should sufficiently tranquilize him.”
“Necesito something that will distract our gatita Leona Del Sol long enough to throw her over the top rope, even if she lands on cuatro feet… not my keys, necesito those— healing crystals! Those will keep her occupied longer than King Homewrecker. Speaking of…”
“Necesito something for Rico Suave that won’t prolong his already-enviously elite stamina in a match based on outlasting everyone… not cialis, not viagra—”
Medico and Nightengale exchange a glance.
“—Necesito those. Ah, sí: horny goat weed! That should blow up his stomach enough to keep him from getting up and keeping it up until the end.”
“Necesito something that actors love to consume at their parties in Beverly Hills… no not marijuana, más fuerte— cocaína! Nightengale can put a line on the apron so Hollywood can blow as much as he does in character on his way over the top rope!”
“Necesito something a keyboard warrior would consume to stay up all night for a Warfcraft tournament… Adderall! Momento— necesito the opuesto—trazodone! Phonk will fall asleep faster than his fans watching his live streams!”
“Hurry up, Medico, we ain’t got all night!”
Medico rapidly collects wares now.
“Necesito sparkling water to pump into Mutanto’s gills, peyote to stuff in El Padrino’s cigars, rubbing alcohol to replace the rum in Pirata Aterrador’s flask, a grande vial of estrogen to counteract El Supervillaino’s blatant steroid abuse…”
“Nightengale, what do you gander TRIV needs?”
Both of them shrug. Medico cackles.
“Necesito epinephrine to bring you back from the dead, El Masko!”
Medico and Nightengale laugh maniacally.
“I gave you the shot you deserved at Unmasked because you don’t deserve a shot at the Grand Championship after what you did to me and my wares!”
Medico looks directly into the camera.
“Necesito the Grand Championship. Lo necesito más than anything you could ever imagine. I need it to prove on a personal level that on top of all my past accolades, and above my present peddling of the Mettle Championship, that I am the best luchador in Masqopolis and every other federation out there.”
“I’m a sick motherfucker, and at Super Smash Masks Turbo Remix I’ll steal what I need to get my fix:”
“And my fix is winning.”
“The Grand Championship is my remedio.”
“Necesito mi remedio.”
Sirens.
Medico and Nightengale abruptly make a swift exit out the door.
“Necesito a getaway car.”
*Vroom vrooom*