time: late evening; eight thirty.

day: september twenty-second; oh-five.

place: bailey's bay; engel residence.

(What is with society today? Picture yourself having a good life, working hard to earn your buck, and trying to support a wonderful family - then your daughter gets taken away from you. And why? You don't know, you just don't know - all you know is they want money, and a lot of it. So, not only do they want to threaten you and your daughter, but they want you to give them two and a half million. What sense does that make? Absolutely none. Absolutely fuckin' none, to be more dramatic. Fuck society, fuck these people who feel the need to pour salt in open wounds.)

(Fuck everyone.)

(I don't need you, I never have. All I need is my family, my love and blood. Yet, you feel the need to take that away from me - so here's a big fuck you from me.)

(Maybe I should pose the question "what is with society and my family today?". This girl that's been kidnapped is going through a second time of this bullshit. My own flesh and blood. My brother's former daughter, now currently my own. At least we knew who it was the first time around, now they're so discreet about it. All they want is money and maybe I was a random target. Maybe these guys know nothing about me, other than the fact that I'm rich and love my daughter enough to give up a surplus of funds to get her back. They might not know this is round number two with Alexia, but I swear they won't win it.)

(I swear. When the judges tally up the points for this round, my family will be on top.)

(And I'll be the one to save us all.)

(I miss her so much, I've made so many calls today. I've called around and talked to people I know personally in this kind of work, this mafia/crime organziation kind of work. I didn't get any information; nobody knew anything. Nobody knew of any plans to do this to me and if they did, they wouldn't have let it happen. I've got protection in that kind of way, but I guess it wasn't good enough. They took her. Right out from under my nose.)

(The police told me that they placed the time of death for the teacher at about seven twenty-five p.m, which means I was five minutes late. I could've saved her, I could've been there to protect her and maybe even save the teacher. Maybe I could've prevented this if I had been there earlier.)

(Or maybe if I was, I'd be buried along side her next Friday.)

(For every action, there is an opposite reaction. They took my daughter and they want me to pay them money to get her back. Yeah, we'll see about that. I'll pry her from their cold fingers and take every one of those bastards down if I have to. If it means getting my hands bloody to save her, I'll do it. I'll do it in a heartbeat.)

(And I'll win.)

(I am a shadow on the wall.)

(The police are doing everything they can, but they can only do so much. They'll imprison these people, when I want something more severe. Even if they catch them, they won't go to jail for life, maybe twenty to twenty five years. That's not enough for me. That can't possibly be enough. I'll answer the phone at ten and I'll let them tell me what I need to do and where I need to go, but they won't touch a fucking dime. They won't count a single bill. And I'll have my daughter in my arms and I'll be able to hug her and kiss her one more time.)

(Just one more time, please.)

(I put the video camera in its usual corner - facing the dark backyard out through my floor-to-ceiling windows. I sit in my usual spot, looking into the camera. With a new video tape inside, I press record.)

virus: You know, it's funny Erik. I watched your first promo and was slightly interested in what you had to say. I mean, you weren't exactly disputing anything that I said, more or less just babbling on about how I'm the "new guy" and you think I'll be some sort of an entertaining challenge. Okay, I guess, but you failed to enlighten me, or the fans, on any of the points I made in my previous promo. What is that, Murdock? Your attempt to ignore the facts? Your attempt to shrug off and evade like the plague information that could be detrimental to what you have to say?

Then, I watched your second promo. And it was like deja vu, man. They were practically the same thing. I honestly don't know where to begin and where to finish with you, but I figured pointing out that you basically said the same bullshit twice in a row was a good idea.

Another thing I'd like to point out is that when you were rambling on about other people, that - of course - don't even fucking matter, you were just making the same points over and over again. Yes! We get it, you don't think you're hype. You think you're the best Champion ever. You think you're the most physically dominant person ever and you haven't even been given any challenge whatsoever in your past matches. Your streak is untouchable, blah blah blah. I could summarize your half hour of boring repetition into thirty seconds and cover pretty much everything you said. You must like wasting air time, because I know you sure as fuck wasted my time.

(I roll my eyes.)

But, I appreciate the formal introduction, since I pretty much knew all of that already. Maybe you've got too much self-pride going on; who knows and who cares. I know you're champ and I know you're undefeated. If you actually paid attention to my last promo, I covered that and why both of those things do not even matter one single solitary bit to me, plus your height/weight thing. None of those matter and if you want to know why, check my last promo. You'll understand.

At least I hope you've seen it, because from the looks of it you have no idea what the fuck is going on. I hope you don't have that characteristic in the ring, buddy, because your streak's gonna get ended pretty damn quick if so.

One thing is for sure - I won't sit here and tell you you're nothing but hype. I won't sit here and tell you you're going to be a cake walk and I'll end your streak easy. I'm not like that, I can't predict the future. But having faith in my own abilities and being able to tell you that I will be the hardest opponent you'll face in your career in the PHW, I can do. And I will.

And you will experience that this Saturday.

We're being tested in the unknowns? Eh...maybe you are, but I'm not. Wrestling is wrestling. I've gone up against guys with your kind of style and physical appearance, I've gone up against guys like Thunderwolf - who aren't very big, yet very agile and versatile. What they lack in strength and size, they make up for in performance and talent. Maybe you're just OVERFLOWING with talent, but it doesn't matter - like I said, this isn't unknown to me. I've been in this business and around it for quite some time. I've seen men of all sizes and talent come and go.

You're just another contender, who happens to have a belt. Big fucking deal. See this face? This face is my "I really don't give a shit" face.

Because when it comes down to it, I have confidence in myself to be able to go the whole nine, ten, or even one hundred yards with you. I've done it many times in the past and I can sure as hell do it again. Last week against Vern was a fluke, but you can be rest assured it will not happen this week. I've studied, prepped, and trained way too damn hard to come out empty-handed.

I will be leaving with something, Erik; whether it be your pride or your respect.

And please, stop calling me Mr. Engel. This isn't the Matrix, and you're not Agent Smith. This is the real world, Erik.

And in the real world, your fame and fortune can end in the snap of my fingers, or the snap of your leg.

(I grin at the camera and then hit the stop button on the remote. I put the camera back into the corner and I notice Mia coming into the kitchen. She hops up on the counter.)

virus: I'm taking some money out of the emergency funds to buy a few weapons with ammunition. Just to let you know, since you like to be in the know about such things...

(I sit at the kitchen table, decked out in some regular blue jeans and a black shirt with a white Miller High Life symbol on it. Mia is sitting on the island counter, legs crossed, in a flower-patterned skirt and a white blouse. She looks at me with a sad look, but nods her head.)

virus: Please, talk to me. You've been completely silent since last night.

Mia: ....I....

virus: Yes?

(She stops and puts her head down again. Why won't she just talk to me? I'm right here.)

virus: Mia, please. Don't do this, it isn't healthy. What're you feeling right now?

Mia: Guns and ammo, Matthew?! GUNS? For what? You think you're going to take on these bad people that have taken our daughter? You have two guns at max, they have ten! Or fifteen! Be smart about this! It's your life and our daughter's life, or two and a half million. Which is more important to you?

virus: Do you even have to ask?

Mia: Then FORGET about the guns and PAY THEM. I want YOU and HER back safe and sound, I don't want to lose both of you. I love you both too damn much.

(I pause for moment, taking in what she's saying. I can't. I can't let them get away with this. They're going to pay for what they've done, that's how I feel.)

virus: They're gonna pay, Mia. I promise you I'll get Alexia back, unharmed. If these people just want money, chances are they haven't hurt her. I'll find out in about forty minutes, though.

Mia: Am I not being clear enough? Is it not getting through that hard head of yours? It's USELESS. There is no way you can guarantee you'll make it out alive with Alexia. There's no way. Your best chances are to pay them the money they want and forget this ever happened. We can afford to lose that much money if it means our daughter's life.

virus: Jesus fucking Christ, Mia! It's NOT about the money! I could care less. The money is shit to me, but these motherfuckers that have the audacity to kidnap OUR daughter are going to fucking pay. It's about principle, it's about revenge. Why can't you understand that? And why don't you feel that?

Mia: Oh believe me Matthew, if I had the opportunity to pull the trigger on those people, I would. But I wouldn't get that chance and you won't either! It's one guy against possibly ten. How are you going to make a difference? By hiring some of your goons in the mafia as back-up? They can't hit the broad side of a barn and you KNOW it! Just because you're an expert marksman, doesn't mean you can take on ten guys with guns. Every single odd that is humanly possible is stacked against you and you're risking your life and our daughter's life. If they don't get their money, she's dead - DEAD. Do you want me to spell it for you? Swallow your pride and get our daughter back SAFELY.

I mean, I love you so much Matt, but you can be a stubborn jerk sometimes. You're letting your pride and the act of vengeance blind you from the very, very slim chances that you'd actually survive trying to rescue her without the money.

(I don't answer. I look at her, then down at the table. The thoughts of saving her or paying those fucks the money run rampant in my head. I know Mia is right, but there's a huge part of me that just wants to ignore her and get my daughter back.)

virus: There's a twenty-four seven pawn shop that has what I need. I'll be back in an hour or two and I'll call you immediately after I hear from them.

(She was upset. Now she's furious.)

virus: Listen, I know. I know I'm being a stubborn jackass right now, but I will come back safe. So will Alexia. You'll see. And if I don't? Then, you can stand on my grave and tell me 'I told you so.' But right now, I need your full support. I need you to pray. I need you to have faith.

Believe, baby; believe.

(I get up from my seat, give her a kiss on the forehead, and then walk down the hallway to the front door. I pull out my keys, open the door, and lock the door from the outside. I hop into my corvette and cruise down the driveway, peeling out onto the main road.)

time: late evening; nine forty.

place: The Always Open Pawn Shop; Tucker's Town.

(I pull into the very small parking lot right next to the shop and get out of the vette, locking it and walking to the front. I walk into the store and there's a bald-headed, chubby man behind a cage of various weapons and objects. I walk up to the cage, looking at the very spread out variety of firearms to choose from. I see a Fifty Caliber Desert Eagle that interests me - silver with a black handle. I point to the gun.)

Baldy: The 'Deagle', huh? Thousand. Make it twelve with five clips of ammo. That's a deal and a half right there.

virus: Sounds good.

(I lay down twelve of the prominent one-hundred dollar bills, counting them out of course for him, and handing him the money. He checks them out through the light, nods his head, and grabs the gun off the wall. He grabs a big fifty-cal ammo box and fills up five clips for me and puts them in a plastic grocery bag. He checks the gun for bullets or any damages, then hands me through the small opening of the cage. He also passes me the bag of ammo. I nod and then walk out of the store, laying the stuff in the passenger seat of the vette. I hop in on the other side, and peel off back Bailey's and to the house.)

(Only about seven minutes away, it happens. The cell phone rings. Blocked ID. It must be.)

virus: Hello?

Villain: Hello and Goodbye are the only things you're allowed to say to me, so listen up. Next Tuesday, you're going to get on a plane and fly to Chicago. I want you in the country and nearby when I fill you in on the drop and exchange. I want to feel your fear, not just hear it over the phone. You will be watched, so please don't try anything - or your daughter will be filled with so many holes she'll make Swiss cheese look like a fucking joke.

You better be in Chicago by nine p.m, central time. You better answer your cell phone at ten p.m, like tonight. If you don't, your daughter will be shipped in a coffin back to your lovely home in Bermuda.

(We have just lost cabin pressure.)

(I hang up the phone and put it back in my pocket, zooming past beach and wildlife. I reach up to speeds of ninety five mph and finally reach my house. I go into the driveway, fast, and finally reach the house. I didn't bother to call Mia, I was two minutes from home - at least two minutes because I was doing ninety five. I grabbed the stuff, locked the vette, and unlocked the front door. Shutting it, I locked it back up. She heard me and came rushing to me.)

Mia: Please. Don't do it.

(I told her about the phone call, and we both sat in the living on the couch. The mood was depressing and the atmosphere was dry.)

(I've got to, baby.)