The scene opens out onto Hans von Richtoven's Empire States Building apartment once more. It's just before midday, and all is quiet. Hans is lounging on one of the black leather couches, attention fixated on a book held between his hands.

The sound of the door to the bedroom opening breaks the reverie, although Hans’ gaze doesn’t shift. Into view steps Vanessa Lang, dressed for her lunchtime date with fellow commentator Jason. Dropping her handbag on the dining table, she starts to button up the buttons on her coat, glancing over at the camera, and then at Hans as she does so.

(Vanessa): You're not going to be at this promo all day are you?

(Hans): I'll be at the gym with my brother before you've even ordered your starter.

She completes the buttoning of her jacket, picks up the handbag and takes the few steps towards Hans.

(Vanessa): Right, I've got to be going.

She leans over, kissing Hans on the lips, before readjusting her grip on the handbag, and turning around for Hans to cast his eye over her complete outfit.

(Vanessa): What do you think? Suitable for a lunch date?

(Hans): *Deadpan* Well you wouldn't have chosen your outfit if you didn't already think it wasn't.

Vanessa playfully hits Hans on the shoulder.

(Vanessa): Very funny mister.

Hans glances up at the clock, before getting to his feet, ushering Vanessa across the floor and towards the door.

(Hans): Look, you'll be late, and the last thing I want is a concerned call from Jason.

He opens the door, before kissing Vanessa one last time.

(Hans): Enjoy yourself, but be responsible with the mimosa's…

Vanessa smiles innocently at Hans, as she pulls the door shut. The sound of her heels can be heard as she walks away down the corridor.

Turning to face the camera, Hans motions for the camera to follow him back across the room. Settling himself down onto one of the black leather couches, he begins.

(Hans): Allow me to get a few things off my chest. Firstly, HWA's latest acquisitions, the Canadian and Iranian 'terrorists'. You claim to hate the United States, yet so willingly work for, and take payment from, a company that is very much American. Not only that, but rather than go down the route of your ‘average’ terrorist, go to a madrasah, be indoctrinated and then go out to find paradise via an explosive end, you pair instead decide to put in the effort required to graduate from a wrestling academy and then perform for the entertainment of those you claim to despise?

The corner of Hans’ lips curl upwards in disdain, his expression that of a man unable to believe what he’s having to say.

(Hans): Do you honestly believe anyone in the HWA; any one of the current 'champs' will open one of these so called 'care packages'? Bryan Deas may be the human equivalent of a sound byte on permanent loop, but he's not stupid enough to take and deliver packages from a crazed Iranian sexual pervert and a Canadian taking every opportunity to shout the praises of Allah.

Disdainful expression still evident, he continues.

(Hans): Then of course there's the small fact that you announced your intentions in front of camera. Now while I'm sure that whatever intelligence network the FBI has in place isn't perhaps always capable of stopping a potential attack along the lines of what that Umar Abdulmutallab was trying, but I'm pretty sure that it's more than capable of catching someone that airs their plans on international television…

He sits in silence, his head slowly moving from side to side, a low chuckle eventually filling the silence, as he leans forward, the palm of his right hand meeting his forehead gently.

A few moments pass.

Exhaling loudly, he moves back up to an upright seating position, crossing his left leg over his right as he does so.

(Hans): Moving on to another topic that fills me with disbelief; Ronnie McNeil. Yet again, you’re wide of the mark my friend. But allow me to move my stance so that you can actually get a hit in for once…

The trademark derisory smirk flashes.

(Hans): You ask why you have to step into the ring with Lucas and Lunatik? Why Ronnie, it’s because much like our former colleague Merlyn, you seem incapable of fulfilling basic contractual stipulations outside of turning up for matches… and even then, I have my doubts that you’re doing that… I see you’ve taken to giving us the equivalent of a sound byte, a quick dig, an attempted dose of verbal superiority… ‘attempted’, being the word.

His arms extend outwards, palms open, to show openness.

(Hans): I’ve placed no roadblocks in your path Ronnie, as I’ve said before; you got picked by the other members of the Circle of Champions to compete in the All-Star tournament. ‘Contrived tournament’? If that’s your way of diverting attention from your capitulation, then so be it… I also extended the offer of a title shot seeing as how you felt it was due you. A title that’s become worth something since I took it from Eddie I might add. Where once was a division consisting of solely a champion, there’s now a regular, if unsuccessful, supply of challengers, and flourishing like nothing else… but I wouldn’t expect you to see that through the haze of jealousy.

He stabs his right index finger straight at the camera, jabbing it forward to emphasise his upcoming remarks at select points.

(Hans): I didn’t quibble over the fact that you didn’t actually deserve to challenge for my title. I didn’t raise issue with the fact that you’ve got history for walking away from title shots and then complaining that you’ve been hard done by, and I certainly didn’t think you’d be complaining after you’ve been offered three chances... I didn’t complain over the fact that you walked back into this company mere months after saying ‘good riddance’ and washing your hands of HWA, expecting a title shot like it was your due. I should have.

His hands are placed on his knees, as his upper torso leans forward, his voice dropping in volume, a hard edge coating his words.

(Hans): So listen Ronnie, and listen well. You’ve had weeks to just pluck up the courage to name when you think you’ll be ready to face me, and you’ve not taken that chance. You’ve whined that I don’t want to face you, when on the contrary, I’d like nothing more, but you’ve yet to actually accept and give me a date. It’s that simple Ronnie, and despite that, you’ve let it slip. Enough is enough though. This week’s your last opportunity to accept a free title shot, because I really don’t see you actually earning it by taking down Lucas and Lunatik…. If you fall silent, as expected, then it all comes down to beating them, or not, either way, stop that shrill cry that proclaims how hard done by you are. It’s unbecoming… but then again, with the overwhelming scene of failure that exudes from your every pore, it's not surprising that you wish to blame others so readily…

He holds his position, leaning forward; for a few brief moments, his gaze burrowing into the camera lens.

Expression softening somewhat, he leans back, relaxing.

(Hans): And now finally to my opponent. An eloquent speech Buff, you’ve certainly always enjoyed your sports. I remember the occasional night in Dark Horse Towers, you’d come across to converse with myself and Reaper. Ice hockey was a particular favourite, was it not?

His attention drifts for a moment, reliving the memory. Abruptly, he continues.

(Hans): Losing to win you say? I certainly wouldn’t call it that frankly, but we both have our rights to interpret it differently. Allow me to explain why I interpret it in the manner I do though. It’s been ‘how’ long now Buff, since you last held gold? As Senester said, it’s better to be a ‘has-been’, than a ‘never-was’, and you certainly have a claim to the former, albeit with the utmost respect. You’ve spoken to rising from the ashes though, but your talk is certainly not that of the man I once knew, the man I once walked alongside with at the behest of Senester. You say that you care-less for my title, but then in the same sentence say that you’ll be taking it nonetheless…

His left hand moves to scratch the back of his head in an absent minded manner.

(Hans): … You willingly admit that you’re in the current position you’re in down to your own decisions and actions, yet say, much like Bryan Deas, that you’ll be back up top in no time. While of course your words are more credible than Bryan’s, few would take heed. To bring up our former master once again, it’s like you can motivate yourself for the occasional match, bi-monthly at best. That's not the man you once were.

The tempo of his speech increases, his hands moving animatedly as he continues.

(Hans): The Buff Bridges I knew wouldn't come on camera and like a scolded child, ask that they not be made fun off for the manner in which they won. Yes, if it wasn't for Lucas, there would be a good chance that I'd be facing Ronnie, but nevertheless, it's not the end result that concerns me, it's what occurred in the run-up to me calling an end to that match. The Buff Bridges I knew wouldn't feel the need to bring up that he plans on going into a match with no worries or concerns.

A genuine smile breaks across his face.

(Hans): You say I'm at the top of my game, thank you, and I do mean that. Sadly though, I cannot say the same in return, as much as it pains me. I don't need to really talk myself up Buff, immodest or not, I know that I'm arguably one of the most consistent performers in the HWA, and at a level that's brought me a Tag title, my current All-Star belt and the successful defences of it thus far. I've even been flattered by Senester mentioning my name in the same breath as the World title, but that's for another time.

His demeanour brightens as he mentions this, obviously pleased with the recognition but wishing to mask it.

(Hans): You speak of my All-Star title as though it will suit you, when in fact it's the best you can hope to achieve at this stage of your career. No shame in admitting that, but you won't. You can't. You've been in the graces of those who booked the shows for far too long, always around or where-about the World title scene, long after anyone else would have been moved down a notch for lack of success.

He exhales loudly, settling himself further back into the couch, as he concludes in a matter-of-fact tone.

(Hans): I don't fear you Buff, I see an opportunity to help cement my foundations as one of the greatest All-Star champions. I asked for you to be in this tournament afterall… so don't worry; I'll be hungry for victory. I'll be in that ring as the 'better man'. And while you can fight me with all the strength, vigour and determination you can summon, I'm still going to be walking away as the All-Star champion. I hope I'm not disappointed in doing so however…

The scene fades to black.