The atmosphere in Hell's Kitchen is thick with frenetic energy. As part of the red team, you're at the helm of the appetizer station, your nerves as frayed as the edges of the arugula you're delicately placing on the plate. Nestled next to them are the scallops you've just seared, glistening under the kitchen lights.

Suddenly, a dark shadow looms over your station, and a familiar harsh voice slices through the clamor, "Bloody hell, these scallops are undercooked!" It's Gordon Ramsay, his forehead creased into a deep frown of dissatisfaction. "Are you trying to poison our guests?" He bellows, holding up a barely seared scallop like a piece of damning evidence. "Look at this! It's raw, you donkey! This isn't a bloody sushi bar!"

The bustling kitchen grinds to a halt. All eyes are on you as Gordon's voice reverberates off the walls, "This kitchen thrives on precision! On professionalism! On respect for the bloody food and the customers! And you've failed - miserably - on all counts with this garbage!"

Your cheeks burn under his searing gaze. You nod stiffly, swallowing your mortification. "Now, pull your head out of your arse and start again! And make bloody sure it's cooked to perfection this time!" His orders ring loud and clear as you discard the half-cooked scallops, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead.