Oswald looked at his phone, seeing the messages scroll about his stocks, his wife and child. He then saw that his wife was calling, so he snapped his fingers, causing the music to pause. The song that is her ringtone being Doja Cat's song Say So. He smirks and then answers the phone.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

He chuckled softly

"She did what? Tell Fuzen to call me. I'll talk with her. Love you babe."

He smirked before making kissing sounds at the phone before ending the call. He waited in the silence, well, as silent as a limo-jet can be. Soon, he heard the sound the ringtone he set for his daughter started up. The song being Gladiator by Mick Gordon. He let it ring a bit inhaling before slowly exhaling before answering.

"So, kiddo, you uh... beat someone's ass at school today, huh?"

He grinned wide

"That's a good girl. Don't tell mommy, though. When you get to your room, open your science book, there'll be a hundred dollars waiting for you."

He laughed softly

"Of course I'm not mad! You're a Sephtis! Break all the bones you want! If they fuck with you, you break them! Fuck their feelings!"

He laughed harder as she can be heard laughing as well

"Now, be a good girl in front of Mommy, ok? And don't let her see the money! If she sees a hundo appear out of fuckin' nowhere, she'll know it's me and it'll be my ass on the line!"

They laughed again before he shook his head

"I love ya, Fuzen. I'll see you later tonight."

He nodded his head before ending the call. He then snapped his fingers again and the song resumed, turning the heads of those watching the limo-jet drive by and blasting the song. Oswald's head bobbing with the music. Soon a ring came over on his phone, so he grumbled and growled as he snapped his fingers, stopping the music in the limo and answer the phone.

"Did you think about what I said?"

He scowled

"You WILL make concessions with everyone in this goddamn town and you will make my belt in a month. Put all hands on the making of it. If it's less than what I want to see, you will find yourself out of a job. Now, get to fucking work."

He angrily pushed the end call button and snapped his fingers, music blasting again as he gets back into bobbing his head with the song.

"Take me to a boxing gym. I need to get out some aggression. Also, call whoever is the biggest and baddest so I can spar. Understood?!"

The servants nodded quickly as they all got onto their phones, as the music turned down a bit so they can communicate, but loud enough for Oswald to enjoy the song.

---

"So, Gilmour. You and I know each other well. You've already established our career together. Problem is, we're even right now. You may say 'Well, I beat Ghost Tank', yes, you did. You beat my BROKEN creation. It's like beating Phantom Panzer. It doesn't matter. We're one to one. This match is not going to be in your favor, either. You may think so, after all it's an X-TREME rules match. Problem is, it's happening in a prison, Gilly. You presume to not know my name, so you call me by Ghost Tank, Broken Oswald. That's not who I am. I AM Money Oswald. I bankroll B.O.B. I give them money, I back their tech. Every day we're getting cheered for being bad motherfuckers and you've got me to thank for that.

Our faces are everywhere. Our names on everyone's tongues. These sheep have no clue nor a care what my chemicals do. By now we've got the people balls deep in our pockets, and if the side of good comes at us, they can expect a horde of fans collapsing on them!

You say I'm pretending to be a Billionaire? You stupid bitch, I've got clothes that cost more than your plastic surgeon gets paid every time you gain 300 pounds and become a fat cunt and decide being a trashbag of a human being doesn't work, so you get that liposuction to lose all the fat you gained. You lose and gain weight so much that Christian Bale would look at you and say 'Man, I think you should stop. It's gonna kill you in the end.' And you would be wise to listen to him if he told you that. I've been me for years, I have spent years of my life, working with the money I got from the estate and money my family left behind when they died. I turned a quarter billion dollar business into a multibillion industry. I'm so fucking rich I could buy your contract, terminate it, and force you back into the indies.

You call my belt a trinket, but also say if I was a man I would put it on the line. Gilly, if my belt was such a "trinket" why would you want me to put it on the line. If you want it so bad, you need to pay me 50,000 XBUX. Only way you get a title shot for our match. If I see that dough in my account, you get your shot. We'll talk about terms after it happens. Pay half up front, half after the match if you want. I'm a generous businessman after all.

Also, this belt has at least 50 million bucks of gold, diamonds and rare stones embedded and woven into it. My belt would set you up for life if you melted it down. You poor excuse for a human being. You look at women and expect all the female wrestlers here as well as the refs to suck your dick as if sucking it will get them all the riches in the world. Too bad that sucking your dick will actually put them into the poor housing districts, where they become crackheads in order to try and forget that they put that inferior cock in their mouths.

You can act however you want. I'm a man that can make all your wildest dreams come true, if only you actually showed respect. You bring up other matches, you talk about how you're going to be a five time Hart champion. Must I remind you, that my first Hart reign is all I needed to break your first? You needed to win again in order to beat my single reign. That's all your life is, Peter. You constantly tout you're the best, but, every time I've had a title, your reign was deigned OB-SO-LETE! I only need one run with a title to put yours into the ground. That's how terrible you are. You are on the top 50 out of pity, not out of actual talent.

So, may I ask you something, Gilly?

Who the fuck do you think you are? You act like you're the best, I've proven time and time again, you're only good at losing your titles and winning them a lot more than me. What makes you think you are a better fit as champion than me? At least I can hold the title and make something out of it. I can make any title more fuckin' prestigious, just by holding it and defending it! That's what this title deserves. A champion who gives a FUCK about holding the title and isn't going to lose it as easily as dropping doughnuts from a diet like you had to do, for the fiftieth time.

Stick to one size, you bulimic twatwaffle. Maybe you'll win those titles and hold onto it without dropping them like fries into your fryer.

Last stab at your weight, promise.

In all seriousness, Peter, I respect you to a small degree. You've made a big name for yourself and ingrained yourself into everyone's minds. The problem is, over time you lose grip. You lose grip of who you are and what you're capable of. At Relentless, you will lose. I will gain the Hart title shot. You will be left in my dust and pinned.

I'll see you at Relentless, Peter. It will be the end of our feud. I will come out on top, as your #1 Hart Champ contender, and soon after that, your NEW, REIGNING, DEFENDING HART CHAMPION!

Also, don't forget something.

Join. B. O. B.

Maybe you'll become a winner again."