Moxxie paced the balcony of the I.M.P. headquarters, the red sky of Pride Ring casting long, jagged shadows over his trembling hands. In his grip was a crumpled script, translated entirely into Italian, titled L’Opera del Delitto .
Moxxie sighed, straightened his bowtie, and stepped into the spotlight. As the accordion began a frantic, minor-key polka, he cleared his throat. OH MOXXIE / HELLUVA BOSS PARODIA / Italian Version
"Millie," he squeaked, his voice cracking. "I can’t do it. The cadence is all wrong! How am I supposed to sing about a gruesome assassination when every word sounds like I’m ordering a three-course meal in Tuscany?" Moxxie paced the balcony of the I
Millie skipped over, her combat boots thudding cheerfully against the floor. She snatched the script, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, stop it, Mox! You sound sophisticated. Besides, Blitzø already spent the entire quarterly budget on that vintage accordion and a crate of imported espresso." Moxxie sighed, straightened his bowtie, and stepped into
"Moxxie! My favorite little meatball!" Blitzø shouted, striking a pose. "The cameras are rolling, Loona is halfway through a bottle of Chianti, and the target is in position. It’s time for the big 'Parodia' number! Give me passion! Give me drama! Give me... whatever '🤌' means!"
"Senti, amore mio," Moxxie began to sing, his voice transitioning into a surprisingly soulful tenor. "Il lavoro è sporco, ma il cuore è puro..."