The scene opens out onto a close-up of Hans von Richtoven, standing with bottle of Peroni in one hand, and a plate piled with various barbecued food. From his demeanour, and articulation, he’s fully engrossed in conversation.

(Hans): Look, all I'm saying is, regardless of what title he holds, he's got problems. For Talon to show concern over him after all that he's done…

His younger brother interrupts him.

(Heinrich): They were like brothers before hand though! Remember that.

(Hans): Yes yes yes, even so, it must be serious. So why does he not relinquish his belt and get the help that he so clearly needs?

He takes a sip of his Peroni, while his brother takes a bite of his burger, as the camera continues to pan around the barbecue, bringing their old friend Mark Spencer into view.

Occupied with tending the meat on the barbecue, Mark glances up at the slight pause in the conversation.

(Mark Spencer): Jeez, what's up with him then?

(Hans): Mental breakdown I think.

Swallowing the food in his mouth hurriedly, Heinrich forces out his response.

(Heinrich): To be fair though, he was never playing with a full set of cards anyway.

Hans snorts with amusement, before taking a slug of his Peroni, before settling the bottle down on the small table attached to the barbecue.

(Hans): No doubt there.

A thought crosses his mind, and he aims a quizzical look at Mark.

(Hans): Weren't you listening anyway to what we've been going on about this last ten minutes?

Mark raises up a pair of tongs grasped in his right hand, clacking it open and shut.

(Mark Spencer): Erm, hello, chef at work here. You may enjoy ill-prepared food, but I for one, do not.

Eyes sparkling with amusement, Heinrich leans in close to Hans.

(Heinrich): That's you told then!

(Mark Spencer): Is he seeing things? A ghost or spirit?

His eyes move between the two brothers, looking for answers.

(Heinrich): *Shrugs* Split personality maybe?

(Hans): Damned if I know.

He stabs down onto the salad on his plate with his fork, before unceremoniously shovelling it in his mouth.

He waggles his fork at Mark as he swallows, and continues speaking.

(Hans): But as of right now, we have, as our World champion, someone who's ill-suited to being the figurehead for the HWA. He's now being reprimanded by management for failing to meet contractual obligations for crying out loud! And when he does show his face, it's some half-baked cringe inducing episode where he struggles to get across anything meaningful.

Once more, he stabs down onto his plate, this time spearing a sausage.

(Mark Spencer): That's not all, is it?

(Hans): No. Of course it's not. The World title's fallen into disrepute with what's been happening these last few months. It’s the flagship title, but you wouldn't think it given what's occurred... all the scandals and disputes… What happened last time Eddie held a singles title?

Heinrich throws a sideways glance at Mark, before taking his brother's bait.

(Heinrich): He rode it into the ground?

(Hans): Exactly. And that's when he was 'Mr Popularity', and at the top of his so-called game.

He puts down his fork in frustration, a scowl etched on his face.

(Hans): If he had everything going for him then and yet made the All-Star title irrelevant, then what the hell is going to happen now that he's got the World title?

(Heinrich): So you'd rather he relinquish the belt?

(Hans): Yes.

(Mark Spencer): That's easy to say from where you're standing mate.

(Hans): No it's not. I've done it before. Your health is more important that having the ring announcer say 'World Champion' before your name. He steps down gracefully, get's himself sorted out, and then comes back when he's good and ready, rather than dragging it out unnecessarily. He'd gain respect for his actions for once.

(Heinrich): That's not going to happen. And you know it.

Hans' head slowly shakes from side to side, as picks up his fork to resume eating.

(Hans): Yeah…

Mark chuckles with amusement, as he picks up a burger off the barbecue, and places it on a plate, before setting down the tongs by its side, and adding various dabs of relish to the meat with his other hand.

(Mark Spencer): So are you feeling the same way about Maniac?

A low groan escapes Hans' lips, as he leans backwards allowing his head to fall so that his gaze is aimed up at the sky, though bending slightly at the knees to maintain his balance. Heinrich smirks at his reaction, before occupying himself with his own burger.

(Hans): Oh please, let's not get onto him.

He returns to a more reasonable standing position.

(Hans): There's been little improvement in his memory since he was found in Mexico, and while I don't doubt Deas will do his best, the man can't remember. Who. He. Is.

A mild look of disbelief begins to creep across his face as he continues.

(Hans): He seriously can't be expected to experience total recall in the next few days, regain working knowledge of what his body is capable off and hone his skills, and let's not forget, have full fitness by next Wednesday. It'd be funny if it wasn't quite tragic…

Again, swallowing hurriedly, his brother responds.

(Heinrich): So another win on the cards then?

The tone of Hans' voice makes it clear that he's struggling to find pleasure in such an outcome.

(Hans): Yeah, looks that way, doesn't it?

(Mark Spencer): Chin up mate, it's still a win over a former World champion.

(Heinrich): Ah, but they're like… what, a dime a dozen these days?

Heinrich looks at Mark, as Hans takes a bite of his own food.

(Heinrich): Good food by the way Mark!

Mark smiles warmly at the compliment, gesturing at the barbecue in front of him as he does so.

(Mark Spencer): Thanks mate. Not often I get a chance to drag this thing out and use it; wife and kids being vegetarian and all that.

Hans makes a quiet tutting sound at the back of his throat, drawing an amused chuckle from Mark as he lifts up his own plate, making a start on his own burger.

Heinrich turns back to Hans.

(Heinrich): You going to try and get it over quickly then?

(Hans): Ideally speaking, yeah. No sense in messing around and giving him the idea that he can pull it off. With any luck, the match I had against him and Lunatik will have been in that pile of matches Deas put together, so he’ll see how big the gulf between us was, and is.

(Mark Spencer): Good. Get in, do the job, and get out.

He nods his head towards Heinrich.

(Mark Spencer): I hope that’s something your Scottish friend plans on doing against Ronnie.

Heinrich’s head lolls back, slow laughter escaping his lips.

(Heinrich): Ah, we can but hope Mark, we can but hope.

Mark glances down at his watch, before gesturing towards the house behind them.

(Mark Spencer): Right you two. The game starts in a few. Beers are in the fridge, grab me one on the way past. Time to show you boys how us Yanks do it.

Mark passes his plate to Hans, as he extinguishes the fire in the barbecue.

(Heinrich): One thing has always puzzled me Mark…

(Mark Spencer): What would that be?

(Heinrich): Why do you American’s insist on calling things the ‘World Series’, when only one country participates?

(Mark Spencer): Away and play in traffic Heinrich, we’re not getting into this…

The three men laugh in amusement, as they make their way into the house, Hans handing back Mark’s plate to him.

(Hans): You do know that this is just a glorified and unnecessarily complicated form of ‘rounders’, don’t you?

Mark merely bites his tongue, as the scene fades to black.