Behind his desk, a suited man stared. Hands together, fingers crossed, elbows firmly on the wood, he glared with the intensity of a slighted boss.
"Hello, you may call me Mr. Kickman. You haven't heard of me," he got up, "however I have heard of you. More importantly, I've heard of this little tourney you're hosting. I must admit, I am… intrigued; mostly by the cash reward being offered."
"However, do not be alarmed. I have an interest in proving my abilities and can assure you my initial approach will be legitimate. And know I do have abilities to boast of. Murphy, would you please? "
The frame moved right, revealing four gray henchmen holding up boards at varying heights.
"Thank you."
Kickman threw off his tie, took a deep breath, and unleashed a whirling tornado kick that shattered all four targets in rapid succession. Splinters showered the office. Only after the fourth one broke did his feet touch the ground.
"You can see how I earned my name." The camera followed him back to the desk. "Thank you, Murphy. Now, I'm aware it may not be as impressive as making fire or summoning dragons, but I have confidence it will be enough. Especially considering the fighting youth of today."
He finished putting the necktie back on.
"Yet if I should somehow fall short, I know you. You're a fair man, a generous man, a forgiving man, so I'm sure the two of us could come to an… arrangement."
Out of the sides, four armed greys pointed their rifles at the camera. Their laser sights reflected off the lens. Through the crimson glare, a smirk crawled onto Kickman's face.
"I'm glad we had this talk."
Tape end.