time: late evening; nine p.m.

day: october sixth; oh-five.

place: bailey's bay; engel residence.

(It's Thursday. I haven't heard a single word; nothing. I sit here, healing from the irrational beating I took and I was supposed to get a fucking call Monday night, but nothing. Absolute silence.)

(It's the worst feeling in the world; uncertainty. It's like darkness, yet without the inevitability of light.)

(What a day. I haven't been able to train and work out much because it still slightly hurts to breathe. I wonder how good of shape I'm going to be in for the pay-per-view. I won't be one hundred percent, that's for sure. My jaw is in pain, but I'm on some medication to tone it down. I love this lifestyle, what can I say? Week in, week out I'm on medication so I don't feel pain. Something in me is either broken or bruised. My daughter's missing. What more can I ask for?)

(Oh wait, can somone take out my wife while you're at it? I should be good to go after that.)

(A tear. I didn't get back into the business to have this bullshit happen to me. I didn't come back to wrestling to have my daughter kidnapped and my ass beat week in and week out. I came back for the sport, for the sense of victory. The sense of accomplishment that I had missed for so long. What have I accomplished? Nothing.)

(Absolutely fucking nothing. This isn't like me, but me is going to change. Just...let me get the chance to be able to breathe without suffering. My ribs can't take it anymore.)

(Don't wait for me, I'll wait for you.)

(I hear the air conditioning kick on to bring the temperature back down to seventy one...I love that temperature. There's nothing more relaxing than seventy one. I'm sitting on my couch, my ribs still bandaged, but nothing on my face and jaw. My face healed pretty fast and my jaw isn't as serious as it was. I'm wearing a black shirt with a white Miller High Life emblem on it, combined with some cargo shorts and a fitted Penn State blue cap. I hear some ruckus in the other room, Mia is doing some dishes. She's been so great to me ever since last Tuesday. She's taken care of me so well and I haven't done anything in return. I was the guy that went against what she said and got myself fucked up, and she's still here for me.)

(I know, I know. She's my wife, right? But still, I went against her and I haven't heard one "I told you so". I love her so much. I know what I did was wrong, completely wrong. I'll make it up to her, I swear.)

(I have a plan, though. I have an idea. Someone is going to help me, whether that someone wants to or not.)

Mia: Matt, Matt. What am I going to do with you?

(I could sense the comedy in her voice.)

Mia: How many times do I have to tell you...when you use a plate, you rinse it off...that way the grease and stuff doesn't get stuck to the plate and is almost possible to wash off before I put it in the dishwasher. The dishwasher doesn't do all of the work, silly.

VIRUS: I am so sorry, honey. How can you ever forgive me?

Mia: Oh I can think of a couple of ways...

(I can hear a laugh come from the kitchen. I know exactly what she means as I smile and chuckle myself.)

VIRUS: Well you go ahead and do that, baby, I'm gonna go ahead and shower.

(I get up from the comfortable couch and walk through the kitchen and into the bedroom. I could use a good shower. Rinse. Relax. Repeat.)

Mia's thought: I...I really don't know if I should let him wrestle this week. I mean, would I even be a good and sensible wife if I let him go into a PPV match with bruised ribs and an injured face? I did last week, and the pain only got worse for him. Granted, he's gotten a bit more time to rest this week, but still. He needs to take it easy, not futher injure himself.

Or maybe I'm being paranoid and he will take care of himself. After all, he's the skilled wrestler, not me. He knows how to take care of himself, when to draw the line, and how to work around his injuries.

Bad feelings suck, big time. My instinct says this, but my heart says that. Torn.

Alexia. I hope you're okay...I love you so much. Please hang on, baby. Hang on.

(How relaxing. A shower. A shave. Cleanliness is next to godliness...right? I walk out of the bedroom and up to Mia, giving her a kiss on the neck. She was sitting down at the table, reading a girly magazine. Cosmo...something. Not my area. I sit down at the table with her and pull the magazine away, getting her full attention. There's something I have to tell her. She has to know, because it'll hurt ten times worse with surprise.)

VIRUS: Baby...I really have something I need to tell you. It's about Alexia. You know I was captured, beaten, and all that nonsense. You know everything, except for one detail. This is going to be painful, but please...bare with me. I didn't tell you up until now because I've been healing and trying to find the right time. But you deserve to know just as much as me, if not more.

Mia: She's not...

VIRUS: No, no. She's not. But, because I screwed up and got myself caught, she...they took her hand, baby. And every time I screw up, it's another body part. I'm so sorry, it's my fault, I take full responsibility.

(It's normal..she's okay...she's fine. She's...she's crying. Uncontrollably. What have I done.)

Mia: My poor baby...Good God...I just...what the...

(She goes into a fit of tears again. A few tears come down my face...remember what that asshole said to me exactly. I can't believe it either...and I'm the one who had to tell her. Cruel and unusual punishment is the name of the game - and it's my roll.)

(Snakeyes.)

(I escort Mia to the bedroom. I guess she wants to be alone for a bit. I can understand...I mean I withheld that information from her, she's probably a bit mad at me right now. It's amazing, though. This revelation I've had.)

(I've traded in my job for my family, it seems like. This shit only seems to happen when I'm in the business. Why is that? What's wrong with that picture? Maybe I should stay out of it for good, if it'll protect my family. Then another idea hit me.)

(Is this business related? This act of terrorism? Someone from PHW playing a sick joke. I don't care if he's PHW or not, I'll kill him.)

(I make my way back to the kitchen table, hearing Mia sobbing off in the distance. I grab the videocamera, putting it in its rightful place - facing the backyard through my floor-to-ceiling windows. I take my spot at the opposite end, facing the camera myself. I remember the fresh videotape I put in and grab the remote control, hitting record.)

VIRUS: Ladies and gentlemen...boys and girls of all ages...I'd like to introduce to you Matthew Engel, the man who has picked up his first victory in the PHW.

About fucking time.

I figured I was due, Belmont. Unfortunately, it had to be you and I know you've been pinned like what...four times in a row or something? But hey, one of us had to walk out victorious, and I was due. Very...very fucking due. How can I justify that?

I come from a long history of success, whereas you come from a long history of sucking...blood. You do the math.

But hey, I'll admit you put up a fight. I'm not one to deny people of their own dignity and pride, as I hope people wouldn't do that to me.

Wait, what the fuck did I just say?

(I shake my head. My mind is just too fucking preoccupied right now.)

VIRUS: Anyway. You fought well, Belmont, but I was the better man. Maybe we'll meet again and maybe the result will be different, but it's highly unlikely. While even though you fought good, you're still no match for my true potential. And it's okay, because not a lot of people are. Just ask some people from the AoWF, like Danny Monroe. He remembers me, I'm sure.

Eh...there I go being extra cocky again. What can I say, I'm on a winning streak. I got the right. Just like everyone else here that wins. So fuck off.

(But Belmont? I don't know. Not a lot of credibility, there. Oh well. The bigger fish will come.)

VIRUS: Moving along...Murdock? I haven't heard shit from that man. Maybe he's still a little shaken up about our match, maybe not. Maybe he's got more important things to do...but what's more important than your job? It's not like you have a life or anything.

Loser.

Erik, I do want another match with you down the road. Now whether that is granted by you or Kendrick, I don't know. I'll talk to Andrew, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He told me he didn't like the idea about throwing me to the lions, but it got ratings. I can respect that, he's a businessman trying to make a living.

So what do you say, Erik? Care to tangle with me in the ring again? I mean, come on. You can't possibly turn me down. I got ranked number two in all of PX last week and I'm not even a title holder.

And come to think of it, Silvio was right behind me. Two Exit Music members..back to back. It's just amazing, isn't it? I told you all, EM is the way of the future.

... Yeah, I said that.

(A grin. I'll probably get a few knocks for that, but hey...I don't care.)

VIRUS: Now onto more important matters, although you might think otherwise, miss Ashley Riot. My opponent for the Infamy PPV. First of all, this PPV is going to be sheer genious and awesomeness. The card is stacked with great matches and talent and I'm glad to be apart of it. Now, I would've liked a different opponent, but I don't pick them. I just wrestle them the best I can. I mean, I would've taken Julius Ryan, Vern again, or hell even Natalie Ayres...but Ashley Riot? I just don't get it.

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Let's recap on what you've told me. Hey, don't bitch and moan, it won't take long. You didn't say much.

Right now, Matthew Engel is trying to convince himself he is better than he actually is.

Okay. Does anyone else fully understand what she's trying to say, other than my ego preceeds my actual skill? Haven't I proven myself enough? Have you taken a look at my track record in past federations? See, Ashley, I already convinced myself that I'm better. Than I actually am? No. Because I am that good. I had myself convinced when I won the AoWF King of Extreme title. I had myself convinced when I beat some big, big names. I had myself convinced when I first stepped into a wrestling ring.

I am that good. Now, does that mean I'm going to beat you with ease and blah blah blah...no...I never said I was going to win and I never will, because that is yet to be determined. But I have confidence in the great skills I possess.

Right now someone, somewhere is wasting his or her own time thinking about Matthew Engel.

Wasting your time, huh? So, it's a waste of time to think about the opponent you'll be facing in your upcoming match? What fucking planet are you on? In fact, I hope you have someone else on your mind when you're against me on Sunday. It'll make my job that fucking easier.

If you're not concentrating on the matters at hand, which would be ME and OUR MATCH, then you're screwed. It's like that for everyone, and girls aren't an exception.

Right now, mind over matter is nothing more than a phrase for Matthew Engel.

First of all, call me Matt. Or Virus. The Matthew thing? I hate it. The only person I let get away with are people with talent.

Oops, did I say that outloud?

Mind over matter isn't just a phrase, sweetheart, it's a good mentality of thought. Your mind, your technique, your performance, and your skills are way more important than your muscles. And anyone who disagrees, like Murdock, will be severely embarrassed in the ring by yours truly.

Just a phrase? I don't think so.

(A quick grin.)

Right now, Matthew is finding solace in a meaningless existance.

The solace part...well, you could be more right than you know; however, a meaningless existance? If I'm so meaningless, why am I fighting you at Infamy? If my existance is bullshit...then why am I recognized world-wide as one of the most talented wrestlers today? Explain that to me, please. It'll be interesting to hear your response.

I've got a great family. I've made a name for myself. I'm damn good at what I do. I have a good life. But that's just meaningless, right? Right.

Go back to sleep.

(I smirk and then turn off the camera using the remote control. I stretch for a bit, then take the tape out of the camera and place it on the counter. I put the camera back in its corner and I hear Mia coming out from the bedroom. Her face is red and her eyes are a bit dried from crying. My mind switches back to reality...to what's really going on. I feel almost two-faced.)

VIRUS: Very soon, I'm going to visit an old friend of Joe's. A very old friend. He might know something about Alexia's kidnapping, or lead me to someone who might know. I'll be leaving either tomorrow or Saturday, I haven't decided yet.

I'm on the case, baby. I won't make the same mistake again, but I've got to find out. I've got to find out who we're dealing with.

(A smile from her. I haven't had one all day. It's so reassuring and so fulfilling. I love her so much. More than life...and this career...itself. She does something to me that I can't explain.)