"ALL HAIL! THE ALPHA MALE!"
Nicky Delabonte Jr. would remove his headphones as his limo would arrive at it's destination. He'd been listening to his wrestling theme song playlist on shuffle, perhaps looking for inspiration, or otherwise. The driver would walk over to the back and open the door, helping Nicky out of his seat and placing his wheeling oxygen tank next to him. The Elderly Young Man was able to walk under his own power fine, but still needed extra oxygen in his body as he continued to recover from being stabbed through the lung by Michael Tarver. It was sad. It was unfair. It was disgusting.
Roberto Mendez would step out after, his arms bound behind his back with zip ties to keep him from being able to run. Though, if he did, he'd get nowhere quickly -- he and Nicky were in the middle of a far off desert, in front of an emerald mansion which stuck out in the middle of the sand and cacti like a can of ecto cooler in a zoomer's recycling bin. Nicky's driver, who doubled as a sort of body guard, would force Roberto onward, Nicky following by at his own pace. The group would reach a guarded gate, guns drawn on them instantly. It was all about to be over until Roberto stammered out a good reason for being there.
"Estamos... estamos aquí para ver a Don Alexando. Por favor, dile que Nicky Delabonte Jr. está aquí por él."
The guard would nod and allow the three men to enter the mansion. The walls were adorned with portraits of several famous mexicans -- General Antonio López de Santa Anna, El Chappo, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, El Hijo Del Crusher, and Grimace. It wasn't long before the trio entered a large banquet hall, a round table in the middle -- with the true man of the hour, Don Alexandro, sitting at the head. He was a leader. A tribal chief, if you will. The Greatest Drug Lord of All Time. He was also a long time partner of the Midnight Marauders, his self-portrait once hanging in the hallowed halls of Nuestra señora de esclusas habituales de las piernas, a once fortune 500 wrestling school in Mexico that shut down years ago. Nicky would slowly stalk his way towards the don, wheeling his oxygen tank as it squeeked along the pristine granite floor -- as he reached him, he'd get on a knee, take the don's hand, and place his forehead to his knuckles.
"Don Alexando, Nicky se le acerca respetuosamente y le pide que le facilite el número de teléfono del gordo. Hay agitación entre los merodeadores, y él se propone arreglarlo. Si puede proporcionarle esta información, volverá a estar a su servicio."
