The video opens with a close-up of Oswald's face. His head pulling up out of the frame, showing his bare chest before his head is back in frame. Beads of sweat showing on his face, and as the camera starts panning out slowly, the sweat drops would slide up his face and as the sweat seemingly defy physics, the frame twirls 180 degrees and it shows Oz is doing handstand push-ups. The only thing he wore it seemed was ankle weights, tights that clung to his body and boxing shorts over that. He continued to do a couple more, struggling more and more, showing he had been working out long enough that his arms were starting to shake as he dipped down to the ground, touching the top of his chest to the ground before using the rest of his strength to push himself up and back, landing onto his feet.

He grabbed a towel nearby, wiping the sweat from his face, chest and arms.

"I know you're there."

He looked right to the camera

"You've got to stop recording me when I'm not ready."

A voice, sounding like a robotic version of his wife came from the Interdimensional Camera v2.0. Which was made by taking parts from the first and upgrading it via his science team.

"Not my fault that I'm away to visit my parents now that they've started to try and accept me, for real now. Doesn't hurt they know that I'm married to a man like you, Ozzy."

He smirked

"Alright, alright. Be careful. I still don't trust their intentions. Second they start asking for money, give them an ultimatum. You'll give 25% of what they want to ask for, or... you. If they choose you, then maybe it can be something you can work with them on. I just don't want them to keep hurting you. However, as for what I'm doing, is about to go shower. You cannot go in there. A lot of the stuff this camera records is unedited. It's for single takes, and if I go to shower, well, the company is going to get a lot of people trying to get them removed from any service that still works with us. So, sorry to do this."

He then throws the towel on top of the camera, pinning it underneath the towel as he walked by, heading to the master bathroom attached to his bedroom which caused her to say through the camera

"HEY! No fair!"

---

"So, War Games. It was my debut PPV. Sure, I had several matches before it, but it was my first PPV. I still have some migraines once every couple days, years later after I split my face wide open spearing a chump through the cell. Should have seen the absolute unit of a creature I was then. I was younger then. I was a young tiger, raring to slice into the enemy and tear their throats out.

Now? I'm much more controlled. Instead of a wild beast, I have changed my life. I have a family. I have money. I have spent billions of dollars on making Chicago a technical marvel of a city. That's the problem other cities have, their billionaires don't pay their fair share. I willingly gave over 80% of my wealth, which is about $600 billion, that's Billion with a capital B, and I still have billions in the bank.

Fucking cowards, I swear. I may like having a bad guy exterior, I may do bad guy things, but I do these things because I love it, but I don't like hurting the people of Chicago. Fuck the rest of the world, but Chi-town? My people don't need to fear me. I walk down the street and they want pictures, autographs and hugs.

In my Chicago, She can sleep safely.

Because in this life, we're guaranteed one thing. That at the end of it all, when the story book of our lives is about to have the last period placed, Death will be there, placing it there to let us know it is our time. With the help of my team, we're increasing the average age of mortality. The oldest living human being will be a Chicagoan, will be over 100. On average, our life expectancy numbers are predicted to make us last around 107 years old.

You're welcome."

---

Oswald would be next seen, dressed in full black suit and dark green tie hanging down from his neck and tucked under the suit jacket. He looked at his wrist, reading the time from the gold watch.

It read 6:24 p.m. and the second he stepped outside his mansion, he saw his limo waiting for him, but it was preceded and flanked by the CPD's four best cops on their motorcycles. His driver, hired so that his daughter can enjoy a night out with the trainees while his wife is in South Korea, visiting her parents, leaving the big man going stag to a high society party. He didn't care much for these events, but he had to in order to show face to the people there and the public. To show that he can have fun, and that he's not just all work, which he is, but the public didn't need to know that.

Soon, he'd arrive at his destination: The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. It seemed like a fitting stage after all. Without all this to pave the way for his scientists, none of the futuristic tech Chicagoans enjoyed would be possible. He sighed as he saw his driver open the door and he stepped out and straightened his suit before walking inside.

---

"I know you people want me to talk every single person on every team. Unfortunately for you, I make the rules. Whether these people make it into the finals or not, I don't give a shit. These are the only people I care to waste breath on.

If you don't hear your name, that means you don't matter to me, you never will."

There would be silence for at least five minutes, with just Oswald staring down the camera.

"Well then? Why are you still here? Why the hell would I talk about any of these people? Do I have things to say? Well, yes. Though, I've historically been bad at predicting the survivors, we'll just have to see. I have a lot of history with many of these people on other teams. Unfortunately, so many of them left next to no impression on me. Even those who hold a W over me. Why would I want to get my licks back against them, when since the start of my career here I have always been about that life of beating the fuck out of people. Do I want to win? Of course. However, I like tearing things apart with my bare hands, so even if I don't win, I'll take my small victories with making my opponents suffer.

Though, I am on a team with someone I still consider a good friend, in spite of our recent fight, but to me that's all under the bridge. Even after this PPV, it still will be.

I could talk about Centurion. I could talk about Game Girl. I could talk about several others, because of how long I've been here, but I'm going to save my breath. For now, just know this year's War Games will end with The House of the Psycho will come through and win it all."

---

About two hours had passed. Oz was in the middle of a ring of wealthy players in Chicago's upper echelons, each one wanting a piece of him for some reason or another. Some wanting to make deals, some flirting, some cracking jokes in order to get on his good side. The entire time, Oswald was smiling and putting the best face forward he could give, to make it come across as if he's having fun with the ass kissers and gold diggers.

Soon, the light went out. Oz reached into his left pants pocket, pulling out what seemed to be just thin sunglasses, only for him to hit a button and the sunglasses increased in size and thickness, and as he watched through them, the camera got a sneak peek and revealed the glasses gave him night vision. He saw something weaving through the crowd, only for the people it passes through to start coughing, some vomiting, the color indistinguishable, but with how dark the color is, it most certainly is blood.

Soon, the figure popped up out of seemingly nowhere before him, the light coming back on and revealed the many dead. The figure ended up disappearing, but in its place a scythe would appear, and gravity would cause it to fall into Oz's hands.

"Death requires me once more, it seems."

With that, he held the scythe tightly, before making his way out of the museum, using his night vision sunglasses to get out to his limo, climbing in and the motorcade started up as he is driven back home and extra stacks of money for not just his driver, but also the officers.

As he is driven home, the video feed slowly fades to black as Oz caressed the haft of the scythe.