Oswald stands at the edge of Lake Michigan. While there were no sheets of ice yet, it still was a very cold night, dropping to near 2 degrees. Oz was dressed in one thing for his entire body in order to have some decency: a speedo that showed the man's moose knuckle. He would do a few jumping jacks, some twists of the upper body, grabbing his foot as it went up to stretch the hamstring as the camera showed 10lb ankle weights on. He wasn't preparing for running, no. He was simply trying to warm up a little bit right now. 

Behind him was his wife, and several attendants who were hired to make sure he lives through this training of his. He then leapt into the water, and began swimming lower and lower into the water, which stung his flesh from how cold it was and the attempts at crystallization even beginning on his beard and ice trying to form on his lashes and attempting to freeze his eyes. However painful it was, he was swimming to go as deep as he could, or else this training would be obsolete. 

Once he was deep enough that he couldn't see any light from the stars and the buildings nearby, he closed his eyes and began to meditate. He shoved the feelings of being ice cold, the feeling of water freezing on his lashes and trying to get into his eyes like before. Every inch of the big man, bits of flesh would start forming ice crystals on small almost invisible tiny hairs all over his body.

He sat on the lake floor near the edge of the Chicago side of the Great Lake, for almost 11 minutes before his lack of oxygen was starting to take hold, and in which he moved for the first time, as ice broke off his body and he swam to the surface. As he got to the surface, and got to the shore, the more he revealed himself, his wife and medical crew would see the large man covered in flakes of ice from head to toe. 

"These people don't deserve me."

He chuckled as his body shivered, not a single time did his voice show how cold he truly is as he goes to his medical crew, who begin to warm up his body, which also started to show beginning signs of frostnip, as some extremities showed bits of a darkish red hue. 

"They need me."

He was dressed in warming blankets and clothes, his wife dressed in her furred and thick clothing as his deep red colored skin being covered to match his normal clothes, but thicker. An expensive black suit, bright green tie, a fur lined hat to keep his head warm as well as earmuffs. If he hadn't left the water when he did, the man might have had to either no show Anarchy or fight with frostbite. 

"These people don't understand what they need of me."

To finish his look, he was handed his cane with the ornamental head resembling a human like skull. The man looked like more like a Cybergoth pimp than a billion-going-on-trillionaire. As he stood in front of his wife, she grabbed his beard whiskers and gently pulled ice off of the beard before kissing him softly and quickly before the two held hands as he walked to his limousine, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter first. He looked to his servants, who gave a light bow before they head into their own vehicles as he entered inside to drive to a gala with her, so glad to have her back home.

---

"You people need a savior. I realize that now. Not a leader. No. What you need is someone willing to grab you bastards by the fucking jewels and say in your faces 'You will never be my equal' before destroying your body.

Lionel, you are my first of three tonight. We have to fight over who gets thrown first into some tables. You have no past in my eyes. Until you fight me, I don't give a shit. Because I am going to save you, by giving you a high profile wrestling match. You're goddamn welcome for this opportunity to help you grow. 

Some call themselves Redeemers. Some call themselves Saints. Some believe they're true evil. How many times do I have to prove to you people that all of them are nothing but ankle biting shit talkers that can't back up a damn thing they say.

Match after match, when I say I'm going to hurt you, I make sure that I hurt you. The weight of my anger, of my hate, will become most unbearable for you as I place my hands upon you, and begin to make you wish you a true Yogi by the way I will twist and turn body parts of yours like you're nothing more than a human fucking action figure.

The weight of my fury will be exactly like it's the gravity of Jupiter. Your body will crackle and pop, waiting for the damn snap that will never come. 

I am the right hand of Hate. I am the left hand of Anger. 

I am the Avatar of Pain, coming your way. Coming the way of Marisol and Graves. Because this show needs it. Needs an injection of venom, and if I have to, I will bite you and make my first victim of my vitriol.

I will see you soon, Lionel. Train well and get your will updated."