Butch is sitting in a black leather recliner behind a plush wooden desk in his personal cabin on the Lady Moura, having just viewed Buff Bridges' recent ramblings. He is attired in an unbuttoned white Ben Sherman shirt and a pair of navy blue ¾-length shorts. He mutes the television before reaching forward and taking a sip from a glass of Whyte & Mackay's Scottish Single Malt whiskey, smacking his lips lightly at the fiery, golden taste of the liquid. He opens a white Macintosh laptop, powering it up and setting it up for recording a promo of his own, broadcasting live on to the HWA's official website. Butch remains in his lounged posture for a moment, draining the contents of his glass before sitting forward and acknowledging the live feed.

(Butch): Buff Bridges, the Real Stuff, The Dark Angel, Angel of Death, Angel of Darkness….Yes, you've gone by many names in your time in this company. And now you can misguided fool to that growing list. Or try disillusioned? Washed up? A shadow of his former self? A man clutching onto a legacy that has long since deserted him? I could go on for hours Buff but my intention isn't to hurt your feelings, more to make you embrace reality and prepare for the storm that is coming; not just in your direction. But to this entire entity. You think what Katrina did to your precious New Orleans was bad? Boy, I'll be a shit storm in your worst nightmare after The Other Side, I'll personally guarantee that.

You see, what did I earlier wasn't a message, it was only what you chose to interpret it as and if that was me proving a point, well if that makes you happy then so be it. For me, it was practice, a warm-up, a dress-rehearsal…it was fun. You think I care about some pathetic piece of shit Senester pulled off the street and hurled into servitude? Thousands of people disappear from the streets of countries the world over and are never heard of again; sometimes things just go bad and unfortunately for him, "sometime" was that time. And before you go off again, no I don't have any plans on beating you to death with my bare hands and feeding your stinking corpse to the sharks. I have something else in store for you Buff, much different than any other time we've crossed paths.

Yes, we've fought countless times over the years Buff, sometimes for gold, sometimes for pride, sometimes for glory…But the fact of the matter is this Buff, you are in over your head more than you can possibly imagine. The ramifications of my involvement with Senester run deeper than that of the biggest Canadian Redwood so do yourself a favour and don't try and understand or fathom my reasons for being who I am or doing what I do? You think I perceive myself as "evil"? Evil is nothing but a point of a view, Buff, a word tossed around far too often. So many people over the years have been hailed as evil. Adolf Hitler, Ted Bundy, John-Wayne Gracey, Sadaam Hussain, even Senester himself; would you put me in the company of men such as these Buff?

Butch allows a callous smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth.

(Butch): No, of course you wouldn't. In retrospect, Buff, you should actually be thanking me aswell as Talon for giving you this match. I'm quite sure that if the reasons for my return hadn't transpired, I'd say you'd be left squabbling for scraps on the bottom rung of the ladder wrestling dark match after dark match. But it seems God has handed you one last golden carrot. A chance to show you've still got what it takes to pull in some ratings and wow the fans. It's just unfortunate luck that the fans aren't going to see one of our old classics. You see no one likes to a see a one-sided mauling but that's just what is going to happen. See Buff, you can't possibly prepare for something like this; it's beyond anything you have in your repertoire. Your killer instinct has disappeared whereas mine has bloomed. You had your chance last time, to step and prove to the world that you're still worth a damn but you failed against me. I watched you dangle precariously from the top rung of the ladder, holding for dear and life and I stamped on your fingers and watched you fall from grace. At the time I felt bad, knowing that I might well have just extinguished the flame of the career of the great Buff Bridges but what have you done to redeem yourself? You tried to capture the All-Star belt and you were cut down by Hans. What next? Oh yeah congratulations on beating a drunken schizophrenic who's best choice for a tag team partner is Bryan Deas, who like yourself, is nothing but a sad shattered mirror reflecting nothing but broken pieces of a lesser son of a greater father.

Butch arises from the chair and begins to pace slowly back and forward but still in view of the camera. He looks at the floor for a few moments, before looking back up.

(Butch): You can keep babbling about how much of a coward I am, how I keep coming back time after time and achieve nothing. If memory serves me correctly, the last time I returned after foreseen circumstances rose, I won my second World Championship, whilst decimating your good self along the way. So yeah, you can keep talking about how my days are numbered, about how my career is coming slowly to an end. That's all you seem to be doing these days Buff; talking. Talking of promises of return to your former glory, promises of not being kept back any longer, promises of more title reigns. But all you've done is talked the talk but you've shown no signs whatsoever that you can still walk the walk.

Butch rises from his chair after draining his glass and walks over to the lavish mini-bar, spooning in several ice cubes and decanting the contents of the Whyte & Mackay into the emptied glass. He takes another sip before grabbing the bottle and walking back around to the monitor and continuing

(Butch): And make no mistake, Buff, my soul is nothing but lost; quite the opposite, my soul has never been purer, it has alive with a purpose and a cause far greater than your feeble mind can possibly comprehend and that is what drives me forward from now on. But you are right on thing, you aren't the same man I faced last time but neither am I, Buff, are you so stupid you don't realise that? You've never tasted man at his most desperate and most despairing Buff. You're Buff Bridges, multi-time World Champion with the world at his feet without a care in the world who can't make up his mind about whether he's a millionaire playboy or a tortured soul using comic book villains and cheap parlour tricks to try and get people saying his name again.

So, my advice to you is just keep looking out onto that shoreline. Look at all that oil wreaking havoc and destruction on the water. Soon, just like that ocean, you'll be consumed, suffocated, destroyed, leaving nothing but a void that not even the seagulls will want to pick at. Need I say more Buff? You're attempts at instilling any sort of fear or doubt in my mind are nothing short of dismal. This contest at the Other Side will not be a match, Buff, it will be a lesson in gratuitous violence and you will learn the lesson that it's not in anyone's best interests to doubt what I am capable of. You could never match any of my aggression, arsenal, or firepower and that the only that's changed this time around is I have more aggression, a bigger arsenal and a lot more firepower. Simply put Buff Bridges, you are matched in every single way possible, need I say more?

Butch drains the glass again and slams it hard on the desk.

(Butch): One more thing Buff; You won't have to worry about meeting me on the Other Side, because I'm already here, waiting for you.

Butch abruptly ends the feed as the scene fades to black.