time: afternoon, roughly three o'clock.

day: saturday, january thirteenth, 'seven.

place: bailey's bay, bermuda; engel residence.

(Do you feel the way you hate?)

(Do you hate the way you feel?)

(Always closest to the flame)

(Even closer to the blade.)

(The murky clouds lay shadow over the beautiful islands of Bermuda this weekend. I was hoping for better weather this weekend, but it seems the higher power wouldn't allow it. I guess you can't have every weekend with clear blue skies and the warm sun. A postponement is in order for our family picnic tomorrow; perhaps we'll try next weekend, or next month. It just depends on everyone's availability.)

(I tell ya, I wouldn't mind not having it at all. Family is great and all, but a monthly picnic...it just seems unnecessary. A lot of things seem unnecessary right now.)

(Resting from a three-hour training session downstairs in the gym, I kick back with some local weather channel action and an ice cold glass of water. You know, I've always had a thing for female meteorologists. It'd be great; a nice, candlelit dinner, followed by some passionate loving, and then afterwards she could give you the weather report for the next day. I mean, what more does one need?)

(Wait, what? What the hell did I just think about...sex with a weather woman? Damn.)

(Taking a gulp of my water, I reposition myself on the couch a little more comfortably. I hear some noise and footsteps in the kitchen. Mia just got back from the grocery store, I believe. I get up and give her a hand unloading the groceries. I do what I can. Thanks, she says, in a somber voice. I give her a slight massage on the shoulders and ask her what's bothering her. She told me there was an incident at the store; a robbery, to be exact. That's why she took so long to get back. I would've seen the news had I not been daydreaming about banging the weather woman.)

(Two men in black ski-masks robbed a local grocery store today, said the reporter. A grocery store of all places. Why not a bank? Why not something else with more money? Then again, a grocery store had less security, one would think. The robbers got away with a couple thousand dollars, they say, with the police baffled as to where they are. Sons'a'bitches.)

(People will do anything to get money these days. Anything.)

(I comfort Mia some more, telling her everything will be fine. I feel grateful she wasn't a hostage or anything of the sort. I feel grateful she came back to me. But, I feel terrible she had to go through that. It's not fair. Life isn't fair, it seems. What a broken record. Fuck.)

(I tell her to go lay down in our bed, I'll finish the groceries. She does so and as she leaves I tell her if she needs anything, just to come and get me. She gives me a kiss on the cheek, telling me how grateful she is to have me, even though ten minutes ago I was thinking about another woman. What an asshole. I smile as she goes into the bedroom. Finishing up putting the groceries away, I sit down at the kitchen table. Remembering what I was going to do, I put my videocamera in its usual spot. A great view of the backyard, not to mention myself, I hit the record button on the camera, which starts to record the blank tape.)

VIRUS: I don't know, Jacob. When I used the expression "grown-up adults", I don't see how that is redundant, especially in your case. I see how, not looking at the context of which it was used, you could come up with that assumption. But, a supposedly adult male acting like a child -- which you were -- doesn't make you very grown up at all, now does it? Before you break out your intelligence on these matters, don't leave any loopholes. Not all adults are grown up, in a mental and mature sense. Good try. I must say your attempt to take my words, skew them, and make a folly out of me was a decent attempt, but to no avail.

I understand you have to have some kind of sense of humor to be able to listen and comprehend anything you say, Jacob. My apologies, I haven't been around this atmosphere for quite some time. I'm what you say...rusty. But don't let that get to your head because the rust has been purged, both here and in the squared circle. I don't take you for a person that would underestimate your opponent, but I'll give you a fair warning like I do everyone else: don't do it.

Because the moment you do, is the moment you fall.

(I clear my throat a bit. It's a bit scratchy, perhaps from the early training session.)

VIRUS: Don't worry, I won't be underestimating you. I've seen what you've done and I know what you're capable of, which is all fine and dandy. I know you've been pushed to the limit, and then some, by some of the top superstars to ever grace an AOWF event. That's great. I'm happy for you. But so have I. I've been pushed around, thrown around, and beaten near to death by some of the greatest. I've also returned the favor.

You mentioned Tommy Riley. Been there, done that.

Randall? Check.

Dustin? Yes sir.

Nightstryker. Yes, I do believe.

Ridel. Check.

Showtime? Definitely.

Yet you sit there and try to slight the AJWF, a federation that held some of the best AOWF talent. Tsk tsk. I understand that you don't fucking care about because you weren't in it. Hell, I didn't care about a lot of the other federations in the AOWF, except the one I was in. But don't make the mistake by saying no one cared about it, because I assure you... a lot of people did. Every one of those names I mentioned cared about the AJWF. It was apart of their careers. They all met me in the squared circle, one way or the other, and all fell to me, as I fell to them as well. The AJWF was a great time and a prominent federation; so please, shut the fuck up.

(Cough. Shit, I better not be getting sick again.)

VIRUS: I liked your bit about how extreme wrestling has out-grown me. That was pretty hilarious. I'm sure I told you, though, that I left the scene for a different wrestling style and way of life, did I not? I thought I made that clear to you, yet you sound confused. Well, allow me to clarify it for you.

I left the hardcore scene because it was getting old. It was time to move on. I was bored with bashing people's heads in week after week. I wanted something more out of wrestling, not a bloodied opponent lying there motionless for the one-two-three every week. Who's to say I would have won if I couldn't have used weapons or been hardcore? No one, because we could have never known. That's why I left...because I wanted to find out if I had what it takes to compete in a weapon-less match. I wanted to know if I could stand toe to toe with some of the greats and take them down with my skill and ability as a wrestler, not an extremist.

As cliche as it sounds, I found out the hard way. I had little success at first, but then my abilities grew and well, I don't have to say the rest because as they say, the rest is history.

And like I said before, the wrestling world is calling upon me once again to go back to the old ways. To throw the technical book out and bring in the old warhorses of extreme. You say I'm out-dated, I say you have no fucking idea what you're in for.

(I can hear a faint cry from my bedroom. Gotta wrap this up.)

VIRUS: You can wrestle? Wow, that is a shocker. I really don't fucking care if you can wrestle or not, Jacob, because that's not what this match was about. I was simply telling you why I left the extreme scene so long ago because I wanted to be a skilled and talented wrestler and be able to hold my own against the best. You? I could care less if you can wrestle yourself out of an armbar or some ridiculous submission move. Those won't save you.

Being able to bleed for a long period of time, that could save you. I hope you're not a hemophiliac.

There's a reason they call this title the King of Extreme and there IS a reason I'm holding it. I proved myself to be the King of Extreme back then and I will happily do it again. I'll do it for everyone, the fans, the millions watching; hell, I'll even do it for you, Jacob. The only thing I can do is step into that ring on the twenty sixth and prove to you why I believe I am a living legend and why I believe I am the King of Extreme. I may have left the scene a long time ago, but it never left me.

I still have the same drive and urge to beat people to a bloody pulp. I still have the madness I once possessed in the UHWA. I still have the adrenaline rush of a thousand men, as they used to say about me, when it came down to the final moments of a hardcore match. I'll show you everything, Jacob, and then in those final moments, everything will be made clear.

You'll understand what it's like to be in the extreme, because everything you've done up until this point hasn't even come close to prepare you for what's ahead.

Giddy up.

(I can still hear Mia in the background as I hit the stop button on the camera. I take out the tape, put it on the counter to be mailed, and head over to the bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, next to her, I stroke my hand across her cheek. I try to calm her, but she's traumatized. Trauma...it never seems to go way.)

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