time: monday afternoon

day: january twenty eighth, oh eight.

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

(To those who understand, I extend my hand)

(To the doubtful I demand, take me as I am)

(Not under your command, I know where I stand)

(I won't change to fit your plan, take me as I am)

(Sweat drips down my face from every direction as I drape a towel over my head. I look up at the gym called my basement and think about losing it all. I think about what life would be like if I never had any of this. I think about what I could be doing if I wasn't so caught up with the wrestling world. I guess I should be grateful. Some people go their whole lives not knowing what they were destined to do; I'm lucky I found it. This is destiny.)

(I stand up and shut off the lights, making my way up the stairs and into the kitchen. I grab a glass out of the cupboard and pour myself some water. I take it down in just a few seconds. I pour another. Same result. I pour a third one and decide to savor it. I turn around, my back to the kitchen sink, and find a note on the refrigerator.)

(OUT FOR ERRANDS, WILL BE BACK SHORTLY. LOVE, MIA)

(I wonder what she had to take care of; it must've not been that important if she didn't bother to tell me while I was working out. I shrug my shoulders and finish the glass of water. I clean the glass real quick and put it back in the cupboard. I sit down at the kitchen table, my back to the sandy beach and the crashing waves just thirty yards away. I grab the video camera from the kitchen counter and place it in front of me, with the beautiful view behind me. It's the least I could do. I hit record.)


VIRUS: Well, I see that I am one of the first to speak regarding the upcoming main event at Rampage. That's fine; I don't mind being the first in the pool. Back in action since about a year now, I'm put right in the fire: a street fight tag-team main event match. The gold, along with pride and personal health, is on the line. And I have no idea who the fuck my opponents are. I guess that's one disadvantage about stepping into a federation where you know maybe two people. However, one of them is my sister, and I find it very necessary to be here.

Unfortunately, I wasn't there when Project X had a tantrum like a five year old and attacked my sister. Bad move, champ. I'll be sure you pay for that.

(A sudden look of intensity takes its place as I pause for a brief moment.)

VIRUS: So who are those two unfortunates that my sister and I are facing this week? I've no clue, but from what I can gather, the big guy is a drunk and the girl is jungle freak. That could spell trouble, considering there is only one rule in a street fight match: there aren't any rules. I mean, the big guy might knock me down with his half-empty bottle of whiskey and the girl could unleash an army of monkeys on my sister. What would we ever do?

Fight fire with fire, you should say. I've got plans.

But seriously, while they certainly don't lack creativity, they can't make up for it in talent and endurance. I don't care if that girl plays with snakes, that doesn't mean she can withstand getting body slammed onto the barricade. Me? I've proven that I can; I've survived more hardcore matches than either of you and I'll prove it to you on Rampage.

I don't know if Chamelion thought it would be funny, or was doing it as a gift for me signing with the PWA, but a hardcore tag-team match is pretty much right up my alley.

My last match, over a year ago, almost took my life. I gave everything I could to win, but came up short. I endured more pain in one night than you probably would in a lifetime. That is no exaggeration.

So please, show up to Rampage and give me everything you got. Surprise me, surprise yourselves. I assure you I've got a few tricks left up my sleeve.

(grin.)

VIRUS: I can't say that I'm not happy with this match, but I can't help but feel a bit paranoid. This is what's obvious: my sister is my partner, so naturally I'll have one eye on her and one eye on my opponent. Maybe that'll handicap me, maybe it won't. Maybe I'll be able to beat down both of you by myself, maybe I won't. It's not like I haven't done it before, something mentioned the last time I was on air.

It's nice having a shot to capture another set of tag titles. Icetank, Kirlia...I promise you you're in the fight for your lives. I won't guarantee you that we'll win, but I'll guarantee you that you'll be battered, beaten down, and screaming for it to stop.

No one will hear you scream, because you won't be able to. It's the kind of scream that is inside your mind because your body can't take it anymore. Trust me, I've been there.

You want those tag titles? Bleed for it.

You want to face Sirus and Randall Moran at Genesis 8 as tag team champions? Make us bleed for it.

If you're not willing to do both, then you sure as shit won't be champions after this Friday.

When the bell rings on Friday, it won't be a wrestling match. It will be a war, and all of the atrocities that come with it. Passion and dedication are two strong suits in the Engel family and when we have passion for something, we take it to the extreme. I love this sport and I love pleasing the fans. I also love winning. I will do everything and anything to do so. I can only expect the same from both of you. If you don't put your body and mind on the line this Friday, you won't win. It's as simple as that.

You're listening to a former AoWF King of Extreme champion -- the most coveted hardcore belt on the planet. I'd take notes.

I do not forgive.

I do not forget.

Greatness befalls those who want it most.

(fade.)