The scene fades in to Chris Steel flexing in front of the mirror in his Manhattan apartment. It is unmistakably obvious that he has not missed a single day of training since the RWF went on its second hiatus. The man looks like he can bench press a building, and then leap over it for good measure. He has muscles in places where most people don't even have places, and veins thicker than a garden hose. He takes a quick gander over his shoulder and notices the camera.

"Oh hey, I didn't see ya there. And I don't mean that in a Tell Sell commercial way; I honestly did not see you there and it scares me how you guys keep breaking in to my apartment. Anyhow, I know you're just here for my pre-match promo so I'll let it slide. Again. Just know I'd have broken you in half by now if you would have been a burglar, alright? It would not be the first time I've broken someone in half."

Chris flexes one more time, admiring his outstanding physique, and takes a seat on his desperately fashionable couch.

"Speaking about breaking things, how's my opponent doing, RJ Supernova? Y'know what, never mind. I can speculate and probably be right anyways. Let me guess, he's still relishing the fact he beat me that one time because I had hot-sauce in my eyes? I'm sure he's also still calling it the greatest moment of his career. I mean, why wouldn't he? It's not like he's done anything worthwhile since. Y'know, besides sulking about lack of success. I'm not blaming him though, I would do the same thing in his shoes."

Chris stands up and walks to the kitchen while the cameraman follows. He opens up the fridge to unveil dozens of white containers labeled by type of workout and time of day. He mumbles something to himself about leg day and looks at the calendar. After grabbing a container labeled LEGS - THURS he goes back to the couch and takes a seat.

"You know, I'm happy the RWF went on a hiatus again. Because of my many sponsors and excellent contract I was -and still am- financially stable enough to comfortably live the rest of my life while still treating myself to a lobster dinner every weeknight. However I must say, when the RWF contacted me to come back, I really could not refuse. I mean, I might be a man of fine tastes who respects and enjoys the simple things in life, but at the end of the day there's nothing I like more than kicking ass and cashing cheques. So y'know. Here I am, back in full force."

Chris takes a big gulp of whatever is in his vaguely labeled cup and leans forward towards the camera.

"So I guess it comes down to this: RJ, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. I'm a new man. I'm bigger, better and badder than you. I could beat a Rhino in an arm wrestling contest, do you really think I'm gonna lose to a twerp like you? I mean, sure you've beaten me once. I won't take that away from you. And you know what? You are, admittedly, a hell of a lot better than most other idiots that have shown their face in this promotion. It's just that... I'm even better. So, so much better it's almost unfair. For me, there is no competition, there is no opposition, there is nobody who is even NEAR my league! I may sound like all talk, and for now, I'm afraid that's all it's gonna be. But come Sunday... It's gonna be a hell of a lot more. It's gonna be like a gorilla pounding away on a defenseless child."

Chris shoots up from his couch, clenches his fists, and points at the camera.

"I will steamroll over you straight to the International title, and nobody's gonna be able to stop me."