Fade back in on Hayze, once again in the back of his van.
ALISTER HAYZE: You know, it’s always nice to hear that my peers are keeping up with current events. Yes, Marx, Doe and Antaeus attacked me. For the record, I have a sneaking suspicion that Marceau, with her tasty black, sicked you on me ‘cause I got all wise and stood up for myself. But for the record, Marx: I’d be on Rabesque’s side whether DREDD attacked me or not.
You people, your stupid gangs, your idiotic belief that numbers means power means gold means money. You guys bother me to no end. Maybe it’s because I like to do this lone wolf thing. You know, sans accompaniment. Solo. And because of that, it’s normally me against ten guys or so that think differently. But maybe, just maybe, ol’ Al’s heart is actually NOT a few sizes too small. Maybe I just see what you’re doing is wrong, man. Jean Rabesque has worked his ass off, he has climbed his way up the highest slope, and you? You’re just jealous. You’re jealous because you aren’t wear he is, and you think that the best way to get there is by building a human pyramid with you on top. I’ve got news for you, Marx. It’s not new news, but apparently you have an attention span that leaves a lot to be desired.
You’re not getting anywhere close to that belt. The minute you made friends with Doe, you made an enemy of me. I’m not gonna sit back and let little scumbags like you and John take that belt from Rabesque just because there’s two of you and one of him. I’m evening the odds, tying up the score, making sure that a hard-working, technically-gifted WRESTLER doesn’t get screwed over by two little nothings that want a bright and shiny new belt. And furthermore, those two little nothings aren’t even on the same page. Yeah, I get that you both hate Rabesque. The thing, I can’t see why. If the guy’s such an overrated asshole, then why couldn’t you take the belt from him in the cage, eh? The man has got talent, guys. It’s a hard thing for me to admit, but it’s true. That talent has earned him the World Heavyweight title belt.
And yeah, I want that belt too. That’s no secret. I mean, I’m in this tournament, right? And that’s the whole reason that I get you, one-on-one, all to myself, inside that ring. No steel cages, no brass knuckles, no hordes of friends. Just you, and me, in my favorite place to be. Your good, man, there’s no question of that, but inside of that ring, I am a GOD. And the thought that I’d get to pin your arrogant shoulders to the mat for a count of three…well…let’s just say that I don’t need the incentive of a title shot to make me take this match. You’re everything that I’d never want to be, man. You doubt yourself so much that you think you need help to do anything, and you’d rather take a shortcut than earn your shot. Everything that I hate…and after Rapture, you’re gonna be just another notch in the belt. You’re a W for me in the books. You’re a blow struck against all that is evil, and blah, blah, blah…
Basically, what I’m trying to say is, at Rapture, you’re all mine. And I personally cannot wait.
Fade to black.