Name: Redd White
Vehicle: Coche de Oro (Spanish for 'Gold Car'. As the name implies, White's vehicle of choice is a Lamborghini made of pure gold and is the only thing in the known universe even remotely capable of matching its owner's sheer gaudiness.)
Vehicle Armor: 1/5 (Who needs such trivial things like defense when you have the wondamazarious splendor of a gold car that shines brighter than three suns? Not Blanco Nino, that's for sure.)
Vehicle Speed: 5/5 (This vehicle moves as fast as its $7.5 million price tag is high.)
Vehicle Handling: 2/5 (Coche de Oro was made to be shiny and look pretty, not turning, a task it accomplishes in spades.)
Special Attack: 4/5 (Wave of Splendiferosity- By utilizing the combined gleam of his car, teeth, suit, and rings, White is able to unleash a mighty burst of light powerful enough to blind all opposing drivers within a four-mile radius of him.)
Bio: Greeyultations, simple viewers! I am Redd White, the former CEO, or president, of Bluecorp, the most fantazing information-collection business to ever exist. But I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you were already furnished with this fact. After all, I was one of the most influential people in Los Angeles, if not the entire world. All it took was a mere glance from me to make women swoon, public officials wet themselves, and people from all walks of life give me nice things. I know that my fantabulistic splendor may frightimidate you mere peons, making you feel as if your shallow, meaningless lives could never hope to compare to my lofty accomplishments. But believe it or not, at one brief point, I was in your shoes as a feeble nobody that no one cared about. However, with hard work, deterministence, and a little bit of luck, I built my business up from the ground and into a mighty empire over the course of ten years- something even you pedestrian commoners could do if you were blessed with my tactocialite personality and expanormous intellect. But alas, not everyone… Wait! What do you mean I only have 30 seconds left, Mr. Cameraman? Do you know who I am? I'm Redd White, I made… Get your dirty serf hands of me, you filthy barbragamuffin!
Kristoph is standing by the side of the road, patiently waiting for the winner of Debauched Steel to arrive so that he can give them their reward: the ability to wish for nearly anything that their heart desires- a powerful prize indeed.
Suddenly, the psychotic host is blinded by a bright light, forcing him to cover his eyes as the sound of a roaring engine fills the air. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the light is no more, allowing for Kristoph to lower his hands from his face and see Redd White standing triumphantly next his garish abomination of a car.
"Greeyultations, Mr. Host!" White says, flashing Kristoph his best winning grin. "I am Redd White, the former CEO of Bluecorp."
Please, oh please, if there's a merciful God, let this end quickly. "*Sigh…* I know who you are, Mr. White."
"Mr. White was my father's name, Mr. Host. Please, call me Blanco Nino!" White cheerfully states as he wraps his arm around Kristoph's shoulder, earning a faint guttural growl from the host of Debauched Steel. "It's the title of my personage that all my friends use- something a powerful man such as yourself is more than qualified to be."
"Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. White." Kristoph says as he pushes the pink-cladded man's hand of off of his shoulder.
"You're rejecting my friendship!?" White gasps, reeling back out of sheer shock from such a blasphemous act. "Is there something wrong with you, Mr. Host?"
"No, I just don't want to be friends with a grating, flamboyant, washed-up, pathetic excuse of a man whose outfit produces more light pollution than the eastern seaboard and uses more nonsensical words than a Dr. Seuss book." Kristoph wryly comments with crossed arms.
"Abridipreculous! Just because you lack the expanormous intellect necessary to grasp my divarigeneous use of the English language does not justify your absurdulous reasoning!" White snaps.
"This… This is what I'm referring to." Kristoph lets out an exasperated sigh as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I may hate Phoenix Wright beyond all belief, but for all that idealistic fool's irritating personality traits, at least he was able to speak proper English- which is more than I can say for you."
White shakes his head. "Mui big mistake, Mr. Gravelybin. I'm the last guy you want to make angry."
"Oh, I sooo scared..." Kristoph says in an over-the-top voice. "What are you going to do, butcher the English language some more? Or are you-"
Kristoph is interrupted as White punches him in the face, leaving a noticeable welt on the demented host's left cheek.
"How do you like that, Mr. Gravelybin? Because there's plenumerously more where that came from." White says with a smirk as he rubs his knuckles.
"Please don't waste your energy, Mr. White." Kristoph calmly replies as he heals his wounded visage with a mere snap of his fingers, much to the pink-cladded man's surprise.
"But… But how? I- I-" White sputters as he tries to grasp just how Kristoph recovered from the blow so quickly.
"It's rude to stutter, Mr. White, especially when dealing with a man who can bend reality on a whim. And just as these powers of mine can heal, they can also cause pain… and lots of it. So unless you want to find out first-hand just what kind of anguish I can inflict unto you both physically and mentally, please tell me your wish like a normal human being." Kristoph wryly states, flashing White a glare intense enough to make the pink-cladded man loose his usual confident smirk and cross his arms as a few drops of cold sweat drip down his brow.
"F-Fine… What I desire is simple: I want the fame and recognition that was wrongfully taken away from me."
"So you want your old life as the CEO of Bluecorp back?" Kristoph asks with a sinister smirk.
"Such small thoughts, Mr. Host! I don't want that dingy desk job, I want more! I want the entire world to know my name and face! I want to gaze down upon the mere commoners of all nations and be worshiped like the god-like being I am!" White arrogantly demands, acting as if Kristoph hadn't just threatened his life mere moments ago.
"Granted." Kristoph sneers as he digs his fingers into White's skull, sending bolts of electricity into the pink-cladded man's body as a blinding light is emitted and the sound of the flamboyant business man's screams fill the air.
When the light diminishes, White finds himself high above the city of Los Angeles, the people below appearing as mere ants as they point up and scream at him as if he is some freak of nature.
"What is bothgruntling you, people of LA? Is there something on my…?" White asks as he tries to feel his face, only to find that he can't move. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Host? Why can't I move?"
On the roof of a rather tall skyscraper, Kristoph looks up and admires his handiwork in the form of the entire sky being replaced with White's face which has a giant nametag reading 'Hello, my name is Redd White' attached to his forehead.
"I know that this may take some getting used to, Mr. White, but look on the bright side- no one will be able to take their eyes off you." Kristoph sneers as the military arrives in the area and aims numerous rocket launchers and missiles at the flamboyant business man. "… Or their crosshairs."
The ex-attorney turns to the camera. "I'm Kristoph Gavin, and I thank you for watching Debauched Steel."
