The scene opens out onto a view of Hans von Richtoven’s hotel room at the Langham Melbourne Hotel. It’s late in the evening, and Hans is currently reclining on the leather couch in the corner of the room, eyes fixated on the television screen across the room, displaying the recorded announcement of Logan Neilson’s card for the upcoming Havoc.

(Reporter): With von Richtoven's words still fresh in the minds of everyone, and given the past history, this is certainly going to be one match that will be on the lips of the fans.

Hans slouches forward on the couch, eyes pinned to the television screen as he stops the current show, and begins flicking through the various recorded promos. Locating Senester's earliest promo from that week, he thumbs the play button on the remote, and settles himself back in silence to watch.

Throughout the majority of the promo, he remains motionless, until near the end, when Senester broaches the subject of the upcoming Havoc's. The camera zooms out, bringing the television into focus. An almost imperceptible whitening of the knuckles of his left hand; already clenched, greets Senesters words.

(Senester): Do not look to Logan Neilson for help; or to My Baron as they take the reins of Havoc in upcoming weeks.

The fingers of his right hand flex outwards, the digit of the index finger depressing the pause button gently. A moment's pause before it moves to settle over the rewind button.

A low sigh breaks the silence, as Hans' head droops forward slightly. The rewind button is pressed briefly, before it moves across to the play button.

His eyes stare blankly at the carpeted floor, no hint of the turmoil behind them.

He presses the play button.

(Senester): Do not look to Logan Neilson for help; or to My Baron.

Hans shuts his eyes, clamping them tightly, as his lips draw taut. Again, the pause, rewind and play buttons are pressed.

(Senester): Or to My Baron.

He repeats his actions, the camera panning around to settle on the television screen. Senesters face takes up almost the entire screen.

(Senester): To My Baron.

The camera zooms in on Senesters mouth, his porcelain white teeth annunciating every syllable with perfect clarity as Hans once again pauses, rewinds, and plays.

(Senester): My Baron.

Hans almost stabs the pause button, avoiding the almost beatific smile on Senester's face as he turns on the couch, hand dropping the remote onto the side table, and then rifling through the scattered electronic items on it for his iPhone.

The camera pans to look over Hans' shoulders, as his fingers tap across the touch screen, locating the previous list of text messages between them, and tapping on the blank bar beneath them to bring up the keypad.

His eyes flick up once more towards the smile on the television screen, as his fingers tap out his brief message to Logan.

‘Why?’

He drops the phone next to him on the leather couch, picking the remote back off. His eyes staring once more at the serpents smile, before his fingers stop the scene entirely. He moves up the list of recorded promos, coming to Senester’s next one.

His head tilts back, eyes closing, as he allows the words to tumble out of the speakers.

The scene fades out momentarily, before coming back into focus onto Vanessa Lang’s mobile. In the background, the sound of a shower can be heard. After a few moments, the phone begins to vibrate loudly, as Hans’ name flashes up on the screen.

It goes to voicemail.

(Vanessa): Hi this is Vanessa; sorry I can’t make it to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you though!

(Hans): Vanessa…

He sighs loudly, an almost grateful edge to his words.

(Hans): … I just thought I’d call to say, don’t worry. Erm…

A forced chuckle of amusement escapes him.

(Hans): Actually, I probably don’t. Know what the real reason I’m calling you that is. Listen, I guess I just needed to hear your voice, and now I’m rambling.

He falls silent briefly, the faint rustling sound of him running his hands through his hair all that can be made out.

(Hans): I… I guess Logan’s choice of match threw me for six. And, yet I’ve always known that I’d have to face him one day. And I guess I’ve had these thoughts squirreled away, gathering weight as the months went by, convinced… absolutely convinced that he’d have taken the verbal tiff’s we had around the time Butch and Matthew got injured as a sign to go for me…

He swallows hard.

(Hans): And then I get Logan, a man… a friend, picking me to face him. And he responds…

A muffled sound of consternation ekes from the back of his throat.

(Hans): He responds… it’s just a match. Just a match? And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry over this. All of these pent-up feelings, and I get him coming out and saying it’s justa match. I… I…

Again, another sigh comes from his lips.

(Hans): I don’t know what to say… it’s… it’s like I’m nothing but a drained husk I guess. He says he doesn’t want to play Logan’s game… does he even have an agenda? His idea of a night out ends in a drunken brawl. Complicated plans of deceit, no offence, seem beyond him.

He falls silent again, going over the thoughts in his head.

(Hans): I hate being used. Inadvertently or not…

He trails off, before returning, his voice forcibly more lighter in tone.

(Hans): Look honey, I’m sorry to waste your time with all this. I’ll be round to pick you up for the drive to Perth tomorrow. Love you!

The call disconnects, and the scene fades to black.