The Adventures of Negropolis and Mason - Episode 2 - Arrival at the Pole

Scene opens on a snow-swept, barren landscape. A small, shabby cargo plane taxis to an awkward stop outside a lonely research facility. The words “Welcome to the South Pole Research Station” are emblazoned on a creaky wooden sign, half-buried in snow. The hatch creaks open, and a disoriented Negropolis stumbles out, clutching a tattered suitcase. Madman Mason follows, nonchalantly adjusting his scarf, his air of confidence annoyingly intact.

Negropolis: (rubbing his eyes groggily, stumbling) “Brrrr... It’s colder than a penguin’s popsicle out here! Why do my legs feel like jelly? Mason, tell me we’re here at the North Pole, with reindeers and candy canes and all that...”

Mason: (gruffly, rolling his eyes) “We’ve landed. But there’s been a...small logistical hiccup.”

Negropolis: (squinting at the sign and flailing his arms dramatically) “South Pole? South? Are we in some kind of mirror dimension? Did we fall off the Earth? Is the plane upside down? How could this happen?”

Mason: (patiently, with an air of condescension) “Because you, my geographically-challenged tag team partner, insisted on hiring me to book the flight. And let’s just say, the pilot and I had a slight directional disagreement.”

Negropolis: (panicking, stomping in the snow, his foot getting stuck) “Slight directional—? Mason, I told you, my job is wrestling, your job is...well, directions! I can't believe you booked a flight to the WRONG POLE! How are we supposed to cause trouble for the North Pole Championship Wrestling if we’re stuck down here, wrestling penguins?”

Mason sighs and yanks Negropolis’s foot out of the snow. As he does, Negropolis accidentally falls face-first into a snowbank. He pops up, looking like a snowman.

Mason: (dryly, brushing snow off Negropolis) “Relax. The South Pole’s just like the North Pole...except with fewer elves and more scientists. We’ll improvise.”

Negropolis: (snorting indignantly, still brushing snow off himself) “Improvise? Improvise? Mason, I’m not an improv wrestler! I need a ring, an audience, a...a game plan! All we’ve got here are...are...” (gesturing wildly at the research station) “...a bunch of nerds in lab coats. You think they’re gonna cheer when I put you in a headlock?”

Mason: (coolly, walking toward the research facility) “Stick with me, kid. The great Madman Mason never gets derailed for long.”

Suddenly, a scientist pokes his head out of the station, baffled by the new arrivals. Negropolis waves enthusiastically, nearly toppling over from a particularly strong gust of Antarctic wind.

Scientist: (shouting over the wind) “What are you two doing here? Are you...supply pilots?”

Negropolis: (leaning in close to Mason, whispering) “Supply pilots? Do I look like I know the difference between a rotor and a rubber band?”

Mason: (whispering back, smirking) “Let me handle this.” (calling out) “Yes, we’re...uh...freelance logistical specialists. Top-notch. World-class. You wouldn’t have heard of us—we’re that exclusive.”

The scientist looks skeptical but shrugs and waves them inside. Negropolis follows reluctantly, pulling his suitcase through the snow and muttering to himself.

Negropolis: (grumbling) “Freelance logistical specialists. Sure. My specialty’s gonna be not freezing my rear off while you figure out how to explain to Count Vlad we’re lost...at the BOTTOM OF THE WORLD!”

Mason pauses at the door, smirking over his shoulder.

Mason: “Look on the bright side. At least we’re not in Siberia.”

Negropolis groans, Mason chuckles, and the two hapless wrestlers trudge inside, leaving a trail of comedic chaos—and misplaced confidence—in their wake.

Cue dramatic music and a fade-out to the sound of Negropolis sneezing.