He was in his gym, picking up some of his barbells weighing 100lbs total for each arm, doing lawnmower rows as he does Bulgarian Split Squats, with his left leg resting on a bench. He does 20 reps, cooling down for a minute, then doing another 20. He then switches legs and continues doing 2 sets with that leg before going to a large storage fridge like large grocery stores for things like soda. In it there were bottles of water, some legally distinct, aka knock-off Gatorade and diet sodas. He grabbed a water and said generic-ade. He downed the water and then drank half of the -ade.

"Fuck me. Hate working out sometimes." 

He drank the rest, before he went to the treadmill which had a full water container in its cupholder and began to walk, increasing speed, brisk walk, increasing speed, light jog, increasing again and again until the treadmill was on a slight incline, as he was running as if he had a marathon to run. 

After 40 minutes of running, he turned the machine off and when the camera zoomed in, it showed he ran around 2.6 miles. He grabbed a clean towel and began to wipe down the sweat off him. All of this was just to show some of his workout, and why he's capable of such amazing feats at his size. When the camera pulled away, he was shown jumping the top rope, using it almost like a pummel horse in the way he'd jump over with hand on rope, swinging his feet, turn and repeating until the camera fades.

---

"This world has a cancer that runs deeper than ancestries. Greed..."

Oswald stands in his office, lighting a blunt cigar.

"Greed has been the number fucking one thing that's existed. The very moment our first ancestor saw another of its kind, and saw that the other had more stuff than it, and thus we started the first wars.

I am a fucking parasite. I've done so many terrible things in order to attain this vast fortune, starting from what I inherited by my parents after they perished. Most likely an attempt to kill all of us, but I still survived. So they failed and then they faced their execution summarily by my own hand... Once I got into my 20's. I took back my fortune. Am I lying? Am I trying to twist my backstory, just to fuck with you people? 

The one thing that is true regardless..."

He took a deep drag on the cigar, holding it for around a minute before blowing the smoke out his nose before speaking.

"I. Am. Violent. That has always been the truth. My truth."

Some of the smoke left over in his lungs were forced out with those words, as if putting an emphasis on them.

"And when you are my opponent and sometimes my very own worthless partners, that... That is going to become your, truth, too."

He put out the cigar in his palm, camera showing his voice is still as stone. He makes sure to put the now unlit rest of the cigar in his ash tray, to save the rest for when he wants it again.

"Not a single commentator will ever say 'Mister Oz is the XWF's Gentle Giant!' No. They call me a monster. They call me a freak. This is the kind of man I am, Betsy and Summer. I have dealt with you both before. And I believe I've taken losses? I don't remember, nor do I care. It's why my losses are only talked about by my opponents. Because they believe it gains them some points with the XWF fans. They know it's true, which is the sad thing. 

I only care about accolades, things that matter, fucking tangible. I've held MANY of the titles in this company with a couple that have escaped me. I care about winning once I've got that tangible thing. Something I can hold. Until then, winning is just a side effect of me pummeling the utter piss out of my opponents. Once they're lain down after I show them the error of their ways. That way?

Meeting. Me."

He growled low, as if an octobass was thrummed.

"So I want you two to understand something now. Violence is coming. Violence will be received and given back tenfold. If you choose to be in matches with men. Expect the worst pains imaginable:

The deaths of your pride...
Your ego...
Your soul..."

His hand start to form something inside his hand until it began to slide out, until it formed into his signature scythe.

"I will reap them from your broken bodies. All because you, are my opponents. You keep me between another attempt at an accolade. A prize. Something tangible...

Like your bones... your face... your hair. your eyes. All things I am willing to RIP OUT AND OFF YOUR BODY IF MUST BE!

I AM psychotic. I AM  that kind of man that will tank pepper bullets, take two or three tasers, just to prove you CANNOT harm me. I am going to stick you two like pigs with those icicles and see to it, that as the whole world watches, they will witness that you two are not my equal! I am IMMUNE to the bleating of sheep! This is a variation of one of my greatest creations, and you two will know intimately, the extensive depths of my depravity. I will see you at Snow Pain Snow Gain. Watch for ice. I'm saving that exquisite torture for the PPV."

He practically spit out those words with his anger, before straightening his suit, grabbing what's left of his cigar, lighting it once more and was about to take another drag but saw his camera was still rolling. 

"Cut the fe-"

The video fades to black.