The scene opens in a dimly lit room. A single, lazy ceiling fan spins above, casting awkward shadows across the space. A lava lamp bubbles lethargically in the corner, giving the room a faint, nostalgic glow. After what feels like a solid minute of dead air, Stu-E struts in to view wearing the HWA World Championship around his waist and a cheap foam sword dangles awkwardly from his belt, clearly bought at a Renaissance Faire.

His hand nervously taps it, the kind of tap that says, "I have no idea how to use this." The foam sword, a replica of something vaguely samurai-esque, is decorated with gaudy dragon stickers, peeling off at the edges.

Price mutters under his breathe, “I gotta sword, bitch!”

He crouches awkwardly, his foam sword bending under the weight as he plops it onto his knees. He motions for the camera to come closer with a flourish of his hand… then changes his mind and gives a sheepish thumbs-up instead before sighing dramatically.

"Y'know, I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out how I got here too, Sean. I didn’t want to be full time, it just happened."

A long, awkward pause as Stu-E looks off-camera, clearly forgetting his next line. After an eternity, he snaps back into character.

"I never thought I would win Ring Master, I never thought I would win the World title.. But it just, happened."

He smirks, the kind of smirk someone makes when they remember they left the oven on. The swaying fan above flickers slightly, making his foam sword glint for a moment—well, as much as foam can glint.

He whispers dramatically, “I never thought that one show could turn you in to a right bitch... but it’s bloody happened!”

He waves his hands dramatically, as if conjuring ghosts.

He speaks in a high-pitched voice, imitating Sean. "I was meant to fly, Stuart, I was meant to soar!" before switching to a deep voice, "Why don’t I open a window and you can fly out of that, you whiny, bitch!"

The fan creaks ominously, a breeze from nowhere causing his sword to bend even further. Shadows stretch awkwardly across his face, and Stu-E winces before continuing, sounding more annoyed than ominous.

"You wanna talk falling off ladders, I’ve fallen off that thing so many times, I’m practically banned from hardware stores.”

He taps his foam sword on the floor, the hollow “thud” echoing louder than expected. Price glances at it, confused.

“But seriously, I didn’t cry like you, I just carried on and kept working on my game, I knew it would come at some point. And now? I’ve held the real gold. Not this thing.” He pokes at the sword again, which bends to his touch. A gust of wind blows through the room, causing the fan to creak louder. Stu-E’s hair flutters slightly, but his focus stays locked on the camera.

"What probably boils your piss the most is although I thought it might come at some point, it wouldn’t have bothered me if it didn’t. Don’t forget I walked away from this business, and I was living a very happy life without it."

He straightens up—or at least tries to. The sword flops to the side. He doesn’t notice.

"What will you do if you lose at Road to Ruin? If Hans loses, he’s got a beautiful Child to fulfil his heart. If I lose, I’ll be appreciative that I made it and I’ll shake both your hands."

The lava lamp gurgles ominously.

"Oh, Sean, you thought I was worried about not being the World Champion? You can have the title from me, any time I want, now it doesn’t matter. Nobody will care or remember the second World Champion of the new era of HWA, every girl in my DILF club remembers their first conqueror, not so much their second.

And if I didn’t care for Michelle, so much, this is the part where I would say the only person who cares about you coming second would be her."

He stares at the foam sword, dramatically flexing his fingers around the handle before running them up the sword and back down.

"Did you hear that, Sean? You will only ever be the HWA World Champion because I will have allowed it. You can break through as many clouds as you want, keep going for as long as you want, because I’ll be standing on the ground with a cold beer watching your dumb ass fall to the ground with your waxen wings.”

Price takes a step forward, but his foam sword catches on the floor, he stumbles slightly, but plays it off with an exaggerated stretch.

"And when you pick yourself up you’ll realise my feet were on the ground all the damn time, watching everything and waiting for that split second.”

The camera zooms in on his foam sword. He taps it lightly against his palm, the sound more of a soft “squish” than anything threatening.

"And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my fans. And you will know my name is The Price when I lay my vengeance upon thee."

The fan spins slower, casting odd, jittery shadows across his face as Stuart holds his foam sword up like Excalibur.

"Stick your House of Assassin up you’re ass, Sean, House Price says we are the right!”

With an exaggerated, flailing motion, Stu-E swings his foam sword through the air. It wobbles awkwardly, making a pitiful “whiff” sound.

"In fact Sean, at the minute, you really are putting the ‘ass’ in to Assassin.”

The camera zooms in on his determined face. The lava lamp bubbles in the background. The fan slows to a crawl, casting one final shadow across his face as he steps into the centre of the room.

Price whispers, almost inaudibly, “Anastasia ni... er, no wait... Long live... the Price!”

The camera lingers awkwardly for a moment as the fan makes one last creaky spin before the scene cuts to black.