The camera slowly fades in to a hotel corridor in Omaha. It does not look like a four-star rating, but while quaint it looks clean at least. A hand comes into view, knocking at one of the many non-descript doors and after a moment a tall, blond, bearded man opens the door, better known as Christer “Fenrir” Lundmark, both hair and beard unbraided, showing their true length for the first time. He opens the door fully and steps aside, allowing the cameraman in, who positions himself in a little sitting arrangement in the corner, next to the window. Christer takes a seat opposite him and picks up a Frozen Over fan program, which has been opened to the page with the information on their match.
Christer: KC3, "Next Generation God", how much more pretentious can you be? I am all for honouring the father, but it can be a very fine line between confidence and arrogance and you, KC, definitely have gone off the deep end in this department. When I hear about your strained relationship with your father, seeing you now I can just imagine why you did not get along well, two huge egos butting heads. Despite that you had the luxury of having a professional train you in wrestling, not that I ever heard of Mr. Pollux, but then again, you don't get much of that in Europe, especially when you spend time in the mines.
He shakes his head and gives a short, mirthless laugh.
Christer: I can almost picture you scoffing at me mentioning the mines and working in them, but not everybody has the opportunity to be brought up in "the business" and hone your skills and train every day with that goal right in front of you. Try putting in countless hours underground, mining for ore and then try to train after that, to be able to put food on the table. Try to live in a place, where you will not see the sun, or daylight for that matter, for weeks at a time. Have you ever lived through the experience to see friends and colleagues have their psyche deteriorate because of the darkness to the point that it pushes them over the edge and into suicide? I did not think so.
Your extreme arrogance is a sign that you’re either overcompensating for what you never had or trying to ingrain it into your own brain that you are superior to everybody else to boost your confidence. Whatever it is, you can just drop the act. If you feel that you have to build up your ego like that, it just shows me how weak you really are instead of just approaching your opponent straight up. You have to exalt yourself above others to make yourself feel more important than you really are.
He picks up the program again and flips through the pages.
Christer: Look at who I faced in CWF. A self-proclaimed Angel of Death, Avenging Angel or whatever he calls himself these days, an evil clown, I mean, come on. Everybody calls me a Viking, but just because I am tall, Swedish, have a beard and all does not make me a Viking and most of all, I am not trying to pretend something that I am not. I am not psychotic, I am not a weirdo with an identity crisis that has to talk about God and all that bullcrap to make himself look taller and better than he is, I am not just a facade.
Look at me. What you see is what you get. I know my strengths and my weaknesses, I am not trying to mask them, but by knowing them and admitting them to myself, I can overcome them. I don’t have to talk myself up and over the moon to tell myself that I am self-confident and the best and indestructible and deserve to fight for the top belt or against the top tier or whatever else, I don’t let it get to my head. Sure, you won the WCWA Lightweight belt, but what does that really mean? Granted, you beat Impulse, so I have to give you that. But beyond that?
He makes a dismissive gesture.
Christer: If you think that whatever gold you bring to the ring will impress me or change my perception of you, just forget it, you could show up with a freaking tiara on your head and it wouldn’t make a difference. The people out there might fall down laughing, but that’s besides the point. I started at the bottom of the pyramid, working my way up. It is true that I don’t play well with others, if I get just thrown together with someone, but that is not what I came here for either. You feel entitled to jump right into the main event picture without paying your dues first. Oh, you are the “next generation god”, I forgot, the rules of the regular footfolk do not apply to you. Let me grovel in the dirt underneath your feet for that.
He gives a derisive snort.
Christer: As if… You, KC, are exactly what people almost all over the world think of when they talk about an archetypical American. Brash, arrogant, feeling like the centre of the universe. You love to hear yourself talk, probably because you say exactly what you want to hear. Guess what, step out of your dreamworld and come out into what real life is about. This is not about the make-believe, this is not about what you envision before your mind’s eye of where and what you should be. What happened to you against Ataxia is what this real world is about - you actually lost. Granted, Ataxia is not one to take lightly in any way, shape or form, but in the end it does not matter, you - lost. And you will lose again.
Christer sits forward, staring daggers right into the camera.
Christer: I know that you firmly believe that you are your God’s gift to mankind, when in truth you are just a little chihuahua barking like crazy, trying to impress the big dogs and make them think you are badder and fiercer than you really are. I’ll be the Jämthund to your chihuahua. Your barking does not impress me.
You might be the “Next Generation God”, but you forgot one thing - in this generation you are nothing but a mere mortal who’s shit stinks just as much as everybody’s else’s. See you in the ring, KC, and don’t forget to bring your Sunshine Band…
The picture turns black.