La Media Raza sin alma.

White noise. The screen has that static most call snow on it. Suddenly it cuts to black, then flickers back onto the sight of a pitch black raven and a snow white dove flying. Below them, a Mexican man runs through an ancient ravaged Graveyard. The Man keeps glancing back behind him, as if something was chasing the frightened Latino. The man passes a statue of a Human female skeleton clad in a robe, Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte or Spanish for Our Lady of the Holy Death in English. He looks back one last time then as he turns back, he runs into a huge, muscular masked man. The large being’s mask is dark blue with a White A on it and his tights and boots are a matching blue with white lighting running across the pants. The smaller Mexican crawls back wards, before standing and turning to run. Instead he comes eye to eye with a small Latino woman with dark brown hair that ends just above her buttocks. The woman is dressed a white Sleeveless Short Loose Dress and white heels. She Smiles as she looks at the panicked man, who looks from her to the large man and back.



Man:¡Déjame solo! Hice todo lo que dijeron! Todavía tengo cuatro meses en mi contrato!


He glances back and forth between the mysterious duo, panic in his eyes.



Esperanza: I am Esperanza, and this being before you is not one of your petty demons. He is the chosen Angel of Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte. He is Ángel de la muerte, The soul reaper, the death bringer, and guide to the other side.



The man smirks a bit as he seems to regain some confidence.



Man:Aunque no puedo morir. Vendí mi alma para convertirme en el mayor delincuente en México. Nadie puede tocarme. Nadie puede matarme. No por al menos cuatro meses más.


Ángel: La muerte viene a todos.



The large masked man’s voice booms as he steps methodically towards the smaller soulless man.



Esperanza: Yes, Ángel, death does come to all. Especially those abominations who try to take the easy way out and sell their souls to advance in life. Do you know what happens to those that sell their soul Mr. Rodriguez?



Mr. Rodriguez: no?



Ángel:No hay vida después de la muerte para los desalmados. Sólo no existencia.



Esperanza: Purgatory shall be your final resting ground. Ángel it's time to ascend this man to his destiny.



Esperanza leans in and licks Mr. Rodriguez’s grimey face, before Ángel de la muerte reaches his massive arm towards the fallen man, who flinches back. As the colossal appendage wrapped around the small man’s arm, dark energy swirled and flew into the luchadors palm and forearm. The crime lord’s body started to shrivel and wither away. His sunken face forced his parched lips to make noise.



Mr. Rodriguez: ¡por favor no! ¡No, me arrepiento! ¡Lo siento! ¡Lo siento!


Esperanza: There is no repenting for those without souls.



The duo of death stare down at the withered lifeless body, a blank stare on their faces as their bodies contort and shift. The raven of death and the Dove of hope fly off.















Then the modern age came. More people started to disrespect death, they forgot to fear death or try to cheat it. Santa Muerte needed an avenging angel of force to walk the Earth and reap the souls of those whose time had come. She needed a warrior to catch and slay the perversities created by demons and devils and cheaters, both supernatural and natural. Ángel de la muerte, a mountain of a man, who as a young boy scratched and clawed to survive, but never once gave up, was chosen as her champion. But not wanting death to be completed feared, only respected, she gave her avenging angel hope. Esperanza was a young girl who, unfortunately went through every bad experience a young woman could go through, yet never gave up hope and dreams of a better life. Thus Esperanza was paired with her future Fiance, and guide to ascension, Ángel de la muerte.






Narcissistic personality disorder is a mental disorder in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for admiration and a lack of empathy for others. But behind this mask of ultraconfidence lies a fragile self-esteem that's vulnerable to the slightest criticism. The term comes from the Greek god Narcissus, a hunter who was so stuck on himself. The Aztec people had Macuiltochtli, five rabbit, being of over excess, over-indulgence and the attendant punishments and consequences thereof.



Esperanza and Ángel de la muerte appear standing in the middle of a maze, aka corn field.



Esperanza: There is nothing wrong with being confident in one's abilities. Like Ángel and I, we are confident in our ability to compete, more so we are confident in our ability to carry out our lord's duties. Unlike most gringos we, however, know that death comes to all. Ángel could brag about his size and strength. I could tell you of his familias many wrestling feats. He could pander to the crowd as if he was one of their own, as we have been all over the world reaping those whose time has come. But alas, Ángel does his duty, nothing more.



Esperanza runs her small hand up the large man’s chest to his masked face. An stands there as still as a statue.



Esperanza: Expensive clothing does not make you an Idol. Fancy words repeated to make yourself believe in them, do not make you a hero to the people. In short, Words do not make you a hero, a idol, or icon. Words do not make you a face, or the man to beat in anything. No, words make you a Perra sin pelotas.



As the camera pans out you can see the maze is cut to resemble angelic wings, at the center is where the Death duo stood. A large shadow creeps over the field, but the large masked man stands strong, and unyielding.



Esperanza: Shadows do not frighten us.



Ángel: Incluso las sombras mueren.



Esperanza: That they do my love. That they do.



Esperanza puts her hand up to the creeping shadow and a burst of radiant light fills the screen ending the transmission.






Epilogue:

Three way dance. Triple threat. Triangle match. Where three wrestlers compete under standard rules with the first competitor to achieve a pinfall or submission being declared the winner. Basically be the last man standing. The best of three dominant men.

Esperanza: This will not be a contest of words. A contest of wit. The soulless one and the self proclaimed face of the place shall fall to my Fiance’s superior genetics.



The petite woman never taking her eyes from the camera, runs her hands up her large soon to be husbands chest who stares blankly into the camera.



Esperanza: Shadowlove for someone who claims to be a cornerstone to UCI history, you fall short every time. I shall not call out your every failure as it's been done before, and you yourself have to live with it. No, more so I request of you a simple inquiry. Why do you keep this charade up? Why keep disappointing the fans, your loved ones and more importantly yourself? You had your chance to be the hero UCI not only wanted you to be, but the hero it NEEDED you to be. It's time for you to step aside and let a new generation do what you could not, me amigo. I shall keep an eye on your Miss Miyamoto and her goon squad as well. For such a great guy, such a fan favorite you have almost if not sins than our opponent.



Esperanza pulls Ángel’s massive hands down over here bosom.



Esperanza: Awe yes. Jonah Saint Remington. The UCI false saint. Saints do not sell there soul me amigo. Saints like our beloved Santa Muerte, worked hard and became great in the eyes of the followers and lords. Though I suppose Santa Muerte was Mictecacihuatl, goddess of death all along so not exactly the same. Regardless, you are an abomination of nature. You masquerade as this thick skinned big mouthed fool with a hidden heart full of compassion. Yet due to your own greed, your own lust for Bonnie Blue, your own ignorance, you let the only man to call you friend take the fall and burn in hell for your sins. Kraven Killjoy may not have been anywhere near a saint, but he never pretended to be. He however was trying to save you. Save you from a fate you chose. A fate your ignorance and laziness set you on. Ángel de la muerte, has trained since he was knee high to a saltamontes, his father's father was a wrestler. Each earning their dues. But you, don't care about all that do you soulless one. If it doesn't concern the great Remi than its is of no importance.



Esperanza looks down for several moments before looking up again.



Esperanza: In final thought, Shadowlove, Jonah Remington, Win, lose or draw, my finance, Ángel de la muerte will make an impact come Overload, and show you two that…



Ángel: La muerte viene a todos



The screen cuts to tv static as the speakers fill with white noise once more.