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Hanari Carnes · (06-28-2022)

THIS IS THE HANARI CARNES WARFARE PROMO:

FOR ENGLISH, PRESS 1

PARA ESPAÑOL PRESIONE 2

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"Thank you all for tuning in on this glorious Dominican day! I paid to make sure that I got this on the airwaves before it was too late, because I think that it is muy importante for the fans of the XWF to know.

There isn't much hype around this match. Mastermind made it that way. He did not want to be a let down, again, by pumping this match up and losing on the biggest stage. So let me tell you all why it is important, since he won't.

This is a tale of two totally different men. Two stories that are a complete 180, and two paths that couldn't be more separated. Mastermind is playing the pitty party, coming in as a feel good redemption story and hoping you will all root for him. He is literally XWF's Make A Wish kid. He has been sitting around, feeling sorry for himself. He has been trying to find motviation from anywhere to even get out bed in the morning.

Hanari Carnes has been back home doing what he does best, holmes. Makin' money and eatin' pussy! Ha-hah! I have been moonlighting with some of the hottest women in de world while my opponent was one more bad day away from hanging from his ceiling fan. I have been training my ass off in case the opportunity came where I needed to return--staying in shape.

He has been training his ass off because he NEEDED to return. See?

The scene cuts to Hanari sitting on a beach cabana chair. He has dress pants on, Marc Jacobs shoes and shades, his silk designer shirt open to reveal a chiseled chest and abs. Next to him, interlocking her arm with his, was Dominican model Dulcita Lieggi. She sipped on a fruity drink with her other hand, staring at something across the pool area with her Dolce shades. Hanari ashes a cigar, tapping it twice on the ash tray.

Hanari looked around the pool area, to the beach and ocean just over the ledge. He brought the cigar back to his lips and took a few puffs as the Caribbean breeze blew over him, ruffling his silk shirt edges. The small things in life that he took for granted, would be a lifetime achievement for others. Guys like Mastermind would do anything for this view, anything to be able to say they made it....

Anything....to matter.

He sighed a bit, unlocking his arm with hers.

"Baby girl, I need to stretch my legs. If you need anything just flag down Emmanual....put it on my tab, si?"

She nods, a slim smile across her perfect lips.

Patting her arm twice, he stands up, walking across the pool area towards the pavilion.

This coming show was going to be hell, and he knew it. Brutal stipulation, pain with a lot of blood, and a chance to put another man on the shelf for good. He was going to hurt someone, and hurt them badly.

He would be lying to himself if he said it wasn't a bit of a thrill.

Reaching the pavilion, he stopped for a moment. The air had a particularly strong salt smell here, as it was the closest point of the resort to the Atlantic Ocean. He sniffed at the air, and exhaled a long, deep breath.

He knew Mastermind was going to put out some somber promo about his brain bleed recovery, like one of those ESPN 30-for-30 documentaries, only shittier. God he sucked at everything.

Perdedor.

He refused to be sucked in. He was going to enjoy his life. There aren't many people who went through the rigors of professional wrestling and lived the life that he did. He was paid to hurt people. He was paid to be an enforcer. He was paid to play the game, and win.

Ganador.

Opening his eyes he looked out over the sun-kissed blue abyss. The ocean was so vast, the horizon so endless.

A career criminal, a kid from the gutter, and the most dangerous man on the planet. How could things get any better?

He saw life for what it was. He didn't let himself be pigeonholed by a few pieces of gold or a couple of awards. Some people, like his opponent this week, were so narrow minded. So weak and frail. So broken. They only mattered to themselves if they mattered in the eyes of everyone else.

So fucking pathetic.

Débil.

To him, life was about living. Was about over coming the odds. For men like Mastermind, it was about being pat on the back and looked up to. Hanari didn't want to be a role model, and he strongly advised that childen don't see him as such.

The pavilion had a bar, of course. His drink was already made for him the second he stepped foot onto the stone floor patio.

He was a celebrity around here, though he didn't show ut. In his eyes he was just another self made rich guy from the islands, but to everyone else he was a hero.

What a catch-22 that was.

Grabbing his chilled Tequila off the bar and squeezing in the lime, he flipped the bartender a peso coin.

Turning back to face the water, he took a sip.

He was going to hurt a man this week, and that was perfectly okay with him.

++++++++

His drink was empty, his cigar was gone, and the sun was going to start to set over the ocean in an hour or so. He would go back and check on Dulcita. Surely she must be bored by now! She was a rather needy broad.

As he passed by the massage parlor and spa, he saw a rather tall man in a resort polo squeegeeing the floor to ceiling window. The water was running down the tempered glass with an array of suds, washing off the salt and grime that accompany life in the tropics.

Hanari could see his reflection in the window. Damn he looked good. The man could also see him, and stopped what he was doing to turn and face him.

"Don't mind me, I am just admiring what a wonderful job you're doing on the glass."

The man, who had AirPods in, huffed and nodded, turning back to the task he was surely underpaid for.

Hanari took a few moments to look at himself in the window before tapping the man on the shoulder.

Irritated, and sweating, the man turned around. "One more question my man.......what kind of glass is that?"

"The fuck if I know.....I just get told to keep it spotless."

"And spotless you do....bravo for that. But, I mean, I guess....I just wonder if a man around your size...what would you say you are, 6'4 or so?"

The man nodded, looking skeptical.

"A man around your size.....tall and skinny for your height like you have never even heard of a Pollo Guisado much less eaten one.....could a man of your 'dimensions'.....if he were to say....be throw into that window....go through it?"

The man immediately got into a defensive stance.

"Relax....relax mi hermano....I am simply asking for a friend...."

The man looked back into the window he was just cleaning. He could see the grin on Hanari's face in the reflection. He turned around but it was too late.

Women screamed as the staff ran towards the now shattered window and heavily bleeding associate. When they reached the man, whoever did this was gone. On his chest lay an AMERICAN EXPRESS credit card and note to charge all damages to it.

A piece of paper blew away in the Dominican breeze that read "GAME ON."

Somewhere, Hanari sipped tequila.

He was going to hurt a man this week, and that was perfectly okay with him.

"It has been a long time since we have done the salsa in that ring, eh? It has been a while since Hanari Carnes has physically dominated you in every aspect of the match. It has been a long time since anyone has taken you seriously, and a long time since I broke your arm and took your belt.

Broken bones heal hermano, broken spirits do not.

You were never the same after running into me. You never made it back to relevance, and then you left with a serious medical injury. I went on to win titles, break more bones, and be part of some of the most epic matches of the year 2020. Win some, lose some, but steal the show every time. What were you doing? Sitting in your house in New Zealand, watching and wondering what could have been. What could have been if you never ran into Hanari Carnes. What could have been if you weren't such a loser.

That is what you are, and that is what you will always be. A loser. A loser who validates themselves on the titles they have won, not the talent they posess. A mark, I believe they call it.

A fucking mark, chico!

Me? I validate myself on what I do in the ring. Win, lose, or draw when you leave the ring after a match with me, you fucking remember it. I stepped into the ring with you and all I got was that lousey tee shirt!

But it sure looked good in the fire pit. Eh! Fiesta!

The burning question that everyone has been asking is why I just couldn't leave well enough alone. Why I had to come back after my hiatus, out of the blue, and ruin what should have been a special time for your career. Your "coming home", if you will. It's simple. Hunters hunt.

You're a prey animal. You're an easy target. You thought the coast was clear to come out into the open and I had to step in and show you that this is still my territory, ese. No matter where you go, you're on my turf. I have branded you prey, and I will draw blood.

You think you have this game wrapped around your finger, pulling the strings, making Hanari look estupido. Man, you couldn't be further from the truth. This whole game has been a clusterfuck from square one. And why? Because I don't think you know what to do. You didn't expect to see me again. You expected balloons, a cake, several pats on the back and everyone to welcome you with open arms. You panicked and I kick myself now for not placing a bet that you had some caca on those trousers. You wanted to sick your minions on me first, give ya time to think and do laundry. But then you realized what the world realized....I would have beaten them, all of them, to within an inch of their lives without as much as breaking a sweat. Whoever was your advisor there did you well. So then you come on TV and pull them out of the match, claiming that was the plan all along. What was? To embarrass me? I got paid for the appearance and didn't even have to get my hands dirty. The only one who looked bad in all this is you, cabron. EVERYONE knows that your panicking. They know you have no idea what to do. They think you're a coward. Sicking them on me in the first place without confronting me mano-y-mano made you look like you had no spine, but then your little stunt last Warfare?

If anyone took you seriously before, they certainly don't now.

If you're scared, say you're scared. You will earn a lot more respect than hiding and then calling it a "game" when in reality you're as soft as baby shit and we all know it. You pulled out of the Pay Per View and moved the match up to Warfare. Why? You don't want people to have to pay to see you lose? May as well let them watch you lose for free, eh holmes? What sense does that make? Further proves that you have no earthly clue what you're doing. You're grasping at straws and its so delicious to watch. It's literally so pathetic its funny. You think being Anarchy Campeón makes you more magnífico now. It just further shows how much of a pussy mark punk you are. Talking all that trash with your chest out, holding onto a belt from a third rate show like you sit in the same company as Alias.

You're not even in the same restaurant.

So flaunt whatever you need to flaunt, and keep ducking me, but sooner or later I will get my hands on you and when I do.....you'll be begging your brain bleeds one more time so you can leave for good and never have to face Hanari Carnes again.

Because there will be an again. You and I will forever be interlocked. As long as you are in the XWF, I will be here to make your life miserable. I am going to expose you for the weak minded little punk you truly are. When Warfare is over, a broken arm is going to be the least of your worries.

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