time: five o'clock; early evening.

day: september twenty nineth; oh-five.

place: unknown.

(Darkness. Silence. Handcuffed. In serious need of medical attention. All four conditions apply to what's going on right now, and then it happens again.)

(Slam. I get another pair of knuckles across the face.)

(I've gotten used to it by now because it's been going on for what it seems like a millenium, but maybe just an hour or so. My mind was solely focused on my daughter and her condition right now. I didn't care about me, or anybody else, I just cared about her. I hope I wasn't the one to jeopardize her. I hope I wasn't the one who got her killed. Something gave it away that I wasn't planning on coming in and negotiating easy, but what? What are the possibilites? I can barely think right now, I wish these bastards would let me go and show me their faces. I'd tear them all apart, but I'm handcuffed to a steel chair, which won't seem to budge at all off the ground.)

(Another. I feel my mouth fill with even more blood this time and decide to spit it all out on the floor below me. Maybe I hit someone's shoe, maybe I didn't. I didn't care.)

(What'd I do wrong? Was Charlie in on this? Was it the cute girl at the front desk? Who knew. But, somehow they found out my intentions...and I just supplied them with some extra guns and ammo. Stupid.)

(I get a punch to the chest this time, feeling the writhing pain of my already-injured ribs. Son of a bitch. Let me go and we'll see how fucking good you are. I should've listened to her, I should've listened to Mia. Now I'm in some god-awful place getting the shit beat out of me - way to go Matt, way to fuck it up. I hear a man whisper "Stop" and footsteps approaching. Thank God I still have my hearing, obviously they want to tell me something. I'd be dead by now if they didn't need me for anything.)

(So she must be alive...right? She must be. They still need the money.)

(I hear a manical laughter in front of me. Then a voice speaks.)

Man: Matthew, I'm really, really disappointed. A checkbook?

(Some brass-knuckles this time across the face. More blood. More disgust. I let out a loud grunt.)

Are you fucking kidding me? Sure, I'm going to let you write me a check and as soon as I cash it, I have the entire FBI on my ass in two hours, maybe less. Do you really think I'm that stupid? Because if you do, then you're in for a rude awakening.

(Story of my life.)

Listen, I'm a businessman, as are you. While my methods prove to be a bit rough around the edges, we're still alike in that sense. So, I'm going to give you another chance. Your daughter is alive and well, we're keeping her in good health because I want this transaction to go as smoothly as possible. However...

Unfortunately, tonight she lost one of her hands. You know why, Matt? Because you fucked up. You came here with the intention of rescue by means of "One Man Army", not financial means. For that, she is punished, as are you. Don't worry, I had her fixed up. She's fine now, but the next time you mess up Matt? She'll lose something a bit more valuable and every time after that, it's going to get even more valuable. Her leg, an eye, both ears - you just never know.

Then it's bye-bye Alexia and the rest of your family will be next, unless YOU deliver. And I mean cash this time, you fuckwit. Do not question our capabilities, Matthew. We are so hidden and undetected that God couldn't find us.

(Tears. Loads of tears run down my face as I think about my baby girl with only one hand. I hate them, I hate them so much God. Please...please help us. My hands are released, but immediately afterwards my arms are grabbed for control. My blindfold remains as I'm pulled up from the chair and walked to...God knows where. I hear a door open and I suddenly get thrown with immense power. I land on concrete. Not even attempting to remove my blindfold, but writhing in pain.)

Man: I will call you on Monday, Matthew. 10 p.m. Now please, get the fuck out of here and get to a hospital.

(The door slams, echoing in the distance. I remove the blindfold and notice a sunset in the distance. Some abandoned warehouse it looks like. My face and ribs are so fucked up and it looks like there's a river of blood running down my shirt. I can barely move, but if I don't, I'm dead. Then where will Alexia be? Dead as well. And, I can't have that.)

(I find myself getting up to my feet, stumbling a bit, and walking down a road. I feel in my pockets for anything, I still have my wallet and phone. At least they left with me that, those motherfuckers. I pull out my phone and continue to walk down the street. I try to find out just where I'm at and if I'm still in Chicago. I look at my phone...Thursday, September Twenty-Nineth. Holy...shit. I'm on the corner of Fargo and Vliet...I don't know if that's Chicago or not, but it's worth a try.)

(I hit the numbers nine...one...one. Emergency Operator. I tell her where I'm at and that I need an ambulance right away. My voice is a bit slurred, so I hope she understood me. She asks me what's happened and I tell her that I was in a fight and need some medical attention right away. She lets me know that there's an ambulance on the way and to stay on the line.)

(Fuck. It's freezing out here. I should've brought a jacket.)

(Ten minutes passes and I hear it. The whining sound of an ambulance comes closer and closer. I'm lying down on the curb, just minding my own business. This part out of town seems deserted right now. On the side of the ambulance says "Cook County Hospital". I guess I'm still in the Windy City.)

(The EMTs get me strapped in the ambulance right away and the driver heads back to the Hospital as the other one starts to medicate me and take care of me. "You're going to be just fine" he keeps saying. I doubt he'd say that if he knew the whole story. "A fight, huh? Who won?" he'd say, with laughter. I'd tell him if I could, but I just smile.)

time: seven thirty; evening.

day: september twenty nineth; oh-five.

place: room 131; Cook County Hospital.

(I find myself awakening in a normal hospital room, not feeling as much pain as I was earlier. I stretch out a bit, noticing an IV in my left arm. I noticed some bandaging and such around my chest. I hope I'm okay in that area, I need to wrestle this weekend. The doctor is just outside my room, talking with someone. Her voice so familiar, so relaxing. It must be. The hospital must've gotten ahold of her.)

Doctor: He's going to be just fine, Mrs. Engel. He has some very bruised ribs that surprisingly did not crack or break - and I say surprisingly because we can tell how much pressure and strain has been put on them. However, he has a cracked jaw. His nose took a beating, but the bone will be just fine. Your husband is very lucky because we can definitely tell he took quite a beating and he only has some minimal damage.

Mia: That's good to hear, minus the cracked jaw. Well, you know he's a wrestler, Doctor. In your professional opinion, will he be able to compete this Saturday night?

Doctor: Unfortunately I cannot prevent him from doing so, so you and him will have to make your own call. In my opinion, he should rest and take it easy. However, cracks in the jaw are not as severe as people think they are. The jaw is very, very sturdy compared to most bones and if he's feeling good on Saturday, then he can make his own call. If his jaw is in a lot of pain, I strongly recommend him not competing. As for the bruised ribs, those should be practically gone in a week or so, but if he takes severe beatings in his match to his ribs, it could cause further damage.

Mia: I think we're very aware of the consequences. I'll let him make up his own mind, since he's always so adament about doing that. Hopefully he'll make the right choice.

Doctor: Me too, Mrs. Engel. I'll be in to check on him again. We'll release him in a half hour. Thanks for coming up.

Mia: Thank you so much, Doctor.

(Mia walks into the room, knocking first of course. I respond with a faint "come in" and she walks in, so beautifully. My love, my dream. She comes over to me, almost in tears herself, and gives me a kiss on the forehead - the only real part of my face that isn't damaged in some form or fashion. She sits down on a nearby chair and pulls up close to the hospital bed as close as possible.)

Mia: Baby, you've got some bruised ribs and a cracked jaw. They're going to release you in a half hour with some medication for the pain and instructions for sleeping and mobility for tonight and tomorrow.

(I nod my head. Such good news, I'm glad I'm getting out of here. That wasn't a long visit at all, I don't think. Unless it's suddenly Saturday and Slaughterhouse is going down. I'd be really pissed.)

Mia: The doctor says you should rest from wrestling this week, but he's not going to force you to do anything. He doesn't think your injuries are severe, but they still need proper treatment and proper rest. I know you'll make the right choice, whichever you want to do. The doctor recommends that you take this weekend and rest as much as you can. What do you think?

(I shrug my shoulders. I really don't know, because I'm not in a lot of pain right now. It just hurts a little bit when I breathe. I wish I could jump up and hug her, I love her so much. I'm glad she came.)

virus: Than..thank you for coming.

(She kisses me again, a big smile on her face. I see a few tears run down her cheek, but I wipe them away from her. I know what she's crying about. She's happy that I'm okay, but she knows Alexia is still out there, somewhere. I think about Alexia again...and what they did to her. How could I possibly tell Mia that? I can barely talk right now. What am I going to do...)

time: nine thirty, late evening.

day: september twenty nineth; oh-five.

place: room 586; embassy suites.

(I find myself lying in my bed, watching some PHW TV. I'm propped up with some pillows against the backframe of the bed. With no shirt on and the obvious bandages to my ribs and face, I lie there chatting with my lovely wife. She's lying next to me, her head on my shoulder. I massage her thigh as we both watch Belmont's latest promo. Disgust.)

virus: You know, I should've brought my camera. That medication I took really took the pain out of my jaw and I can talk fine, now. It's amazing, haha. It's like nothing happened, except for the obvious bruises and cuts.

Mia: Well, I have my digital camera in my bag. You know I take it everywhere with me, no matter what. But I don't think you should be talking for long periods of time, Matt.

virus: Haven't you been watching this? I won't have much to talk about. The only thing is that I'd have to wait to send it in tomorrow, because I'll have to put it on a DVD R and send it in.

Mia: Well, look at you, Matt. You're a mess. Don't you think they'll know something is up? Plus, we're in a hotel room, not our home. It'll just make those rumors even more suspicious.

virus: A couple solutions to those problems are we tell them I got into a bar fight and was triple teamed and that we decided to take a trip to Chicago to see the Sears Tower. What's the harm in that?

Mia: I...guess. I just don't see--

virus: Honey, it's okay. They're admire me a bit more, I think, for even doing this for them in my condition. The only backfire is that I staged it and am trying to get some sympathy because I think I'm going to lose. But, that thought will be erased WHEN I beat Jeremiah this weekend. Get it?

Mia: Grr...alright, I'll get the camera.

(For some reason, that brought back an exciting memory. Anyway, Mia grabs the camera out of her carry-on bag and places it on top of the TV. She turns off the TV and gets the camera set up. She tells me when to start it and I say...now. Lights, camera, action.)

virus: Hey Jeremiah, where did you get the idea that I have you completely figured you out "down to a tee"? I understand you? No, I don't. Didn't I make it perfectly clear that I don't know who you are, what you've done, and where you've came from? So...doesn't that completely contradict what you just said? Thanks. Next time, actually listen to me, dumbfuck.

However, let me bring something else to everyone's attention. By now, you're probably wondering where the hell I am and why I look like a mummy. Well, two answers really: we're in Chicago because my wife and I wanted to see the Sear's Tower, so we took a trip; secondly, I got into a bar fight tonight and was triple teamed by three guys who could play for the Harlem Globetrotters. I've got a few bruised ribs and a bit of a messed up jaw, but don't worry Belmont; I'll be perfectly fine this Saturday. I know you won't show me any sympathy.

In fact, I know you'll take advantage of every weakness I might have. But what if I don't have any? What if I'm perfectly fine?

Then you better get on your knees and starting pray to whatever god you like

(A half smirk. That...kind of hurt.)

virus: So, you're going to let me have fun, huh? So it'll be like Apollo Creed and Ivan Drago in Rocky IV, correct? You'll let me attack you, try to phase you, but you'll snap and just go apeshit on me and end up killing me.

For fuck's sake. If you think it's going to be like that, then please don't even show up because that won't be as embarrassing as what I'd do to you. If you give me the chance to have fun with you, you won't recover. Ever.

And I'll make you beg for mercy, bitch.

Cockiness is a form of confidence, and you've got my number. So you just admitted to being cocky, which is perfectly fine, right? But I can't? Ohhh...Mr. Engel, you can't be cocky. That's that hypocrite Jeremiah's job. I see.

Well, you haven't got my number, because my number is unattainable.

You won't rape my dreams, because I wouldn't let you touch her.

You won't pillage my body, because that sounds disgusting as fuck. If you so much as touch me in any other manner than trying to out-wrestle me, so help me God will I beat the ever-living shit out of you.

(My jaw...it's really starting to ache. I can't do this anymore.)

virus: As for the other people I've mentioned before, well, if my jaw wasn't in a lot of pain right now, you'd get your five minutes.

As for you Jeremiah, there is no hope for you. You will suffer yet another loss.

(Mia turns off the camera right away, staying right there for me and out of the picture. I love her so much, she'd do anything for me. What more could I ask for in a woman?)

(She crawls back into the bed with me, tucking underneath the covers. I feel her legs wrap with mine and I kiss her on the lips. She cuddles with me very gently, not squeezing my ribs at all. I lay back...and relax. One step closer to Heaven.)