November 12, 2006 Texas, just over the Rio Grande Young Rey frolics around, playing with his best friend El Pinepe (his big stereotypical Mexican Ludicolo) when suddenly a madman with a knife came along, attacking Rey. El Pinepe jumps into action, and while he failed to stop the madman from cutting Rey's face, he did thwart his attempts to take his young master's life... but at the cost of his own. The madman flees (his role limits him to one kill per night). Rey starts to sob profusely, cursing the world and swearing revenge. February 19, 2010 The Arctic Circle Rey (now dubbed ReyScarface) is now a man, having completed some sort of rite of passage. The spirit of El Pinepe has possessed him, infusing him with strength and courage. He has spent four years attempting to track down El Pinepe's killer. He is not alone in this task, though. You and a number of other superstars have been "recruited" to help him avenge El Pinepe. Back in the U.S., a news anchor reports that Flight 342 has still not been recovered. Using skill, cunning, and Google Earth, Rey has managed to track down El Pinepe's murderer to the North Pole. Rey abandons his compatriots and confronts the madman in a small igloo. As Rey unsheathes his trademark burrito knife, ready to kill, something huge and fiery crashes into the igloo, destroying both ReyScarface and the man instantly. You stand and stare dazedly for a few seconds, but then you rush to the scene of the explosion and examine the two corpses. First, your not-so-beloved leader: And next, his enemy: A brilliant white light emerges from the watery remains of the igloo. You hear a disembodied voice say, "My work here is done." The light floats away, leaving behind a small piece of paper. Having wrapped up business, you turn towards the plane, ready to go home. Unfortunately, a plot device causes the pilot to spontaneously combust. Oh, everything also goes dark because Alpha Centauri is no longer present. A tremor of worry echoes through everyone present. "Surely we have another pilot amongst us!" you yell. You do indeed. A voice resounds over everyone. "Yeah, I'll fly this plane. But sorry, guys. Our next targets are Multiple Millionaires, which all of you happen to be. Only disciples of Zidane - the Sports - will be boarding this plane and surviving." Another voice - one of sweet seduction - rises to counter the first. "Actually, we're the only ones leaving. You simply don't meet our standards. Face it, we're simply too beautiful for you, and we can't let you all taint Hollywood with your inferiority.. We're the Sexy - and only the Sexy will be leaving this place." A third powerful voice shouts above the rushing wind, "Fine. If you're not going to cooperate, the rest of us will weed you guys out. Each day we'll vote on someone to throw into the ocean. I'm pretty sure we, the Celebrities, have enough provisions to outlast both of your groups." You wonder if there's anybody out there who doesn't fall into any of the three groups - "Neutrals" so to speak. You return to your tent and find a flashlight. Canned caviar for dinner for the fifth time this week. You really need to get out of here.