time: monday, early morning

day: march third

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

(Home. I finally slept in my own bed for the first time in nine days. It was fantastic to feel the comfort of my own sheets and the warmth of the body of my beautiful wife next to me. Hospital beds are killer and do more damage than good. Lying down on my leather couch, watching ESPN, I can hear Warren downstairs in the basement training harder than ever before. He's really pushing himself past his limits for his next match. Good.)

(He's going to need it. I saw his match...and he got lucky. He's going to need to push himself even farther if he wants a true victory. I reach for the video camera on the coffee table and let out a grunt. I'm still in a decent amount of pain. I hit record.)

VIRUS: It's early Monday...and I'm not in a hospital bed. I'm not in a coma. I don't have any more IV's in me. I'm home and getting ready for this Friday. I'm sure a lot of you didn't expect me back so soon. That's fine, it makes it all the more worthwhile. My scheduled release, after my awakening last Wednesday, was supposed to be early this afternoon. However, due to reasons which I cannot share here, I was released a day early.

I flew home yesterday, finally. Spending a week and some change inside a hospital room isn't fun at all. But, I have Corey Lazarus to thank for that. And rest assured, I will be thanking him vividly.

Corey, I've been trying to keep up with what's been going on. I've been trying to put things together and get my moral compass fixed. But, I can't seem to do it. I really can't. All I can think about is ripping you apart.

I can't even talk to my own family without thinking what I'd like to do to you. I can't enjoy a good movie without thinking how bad I want you to bleed. I have no taste. I have no smell. Colors are blending together. I haven't anything...all I have is you and your demise.

Maybe you're the only reason why I'm awake, Corey. Maybe I wanted my revenge so badly that I decided to come out of my coma. I'd really like to sit here and tell you my friends and family helped me through it and with their support I was able to recover very nicely. But...most of me says that I was fueled by my desire to end you. So, if I can wake myself out of a coma with that desire, imagine how impossible it would be to stop me.

You can't dodge fate, you can't supercede inevitability. You signed your own death warrent in blood. Consider me your own personal Grim Reaper.

(I pause for a moment. The bandages around my ribs are visible through my shirt. Only a few hours ago I was coughing up a little blood, but I'll be fine. I promise I'll be fine.)

VIRUS: Only you, Corey, would talk up a shit storm to somebody that's in a coma. What, the fact that you knew eventually I would hear your ramblings makes it okay? I made it personal. Ha. Give me a break.

You told me how easily you could handle things like that. A shot to the head with some brass knucks and you turn into the Incredible fucking Hulk. Who made this personal, Corey? Not me. You did, when you started hanging out with my sister, getting her drunk, and claiming your own sexual fantasies with her. You son of a bitch. You started sealing your own fate, and the last of it happened when you put me in a coma.

Fact: you should've killed me.

Fact: you're going to regret not killing me.

Fact: you're a fucking pussy. Go to the DRWF with your "Killer Instinct".

As far as Warren is concerned, this isn't his fight. He knows it. I've told him repeatedly not to get involved, and he hasn't. He doesn't have anything to do with this and if you open your mouth about him again, so help me God, I will knock out your fucking teeth.

(I strain for a moment, my ribs giving me more and more pain. It's fine...it's fine. Just soreness.)

VIRUS: Underestimated you? Can you hear yourself? I just want you to replay that over and over in your head. I took it to a higher level and knocked you out. You attacked me from behind, Corey, you fucking coward. Look at you...claiming you've already won this war.

It isn't even close to being over, Corey. It's only just begun. You're going to be severely beaten, multiple times. I'll make you a bloody pulp and beat you within an inch of your life. Insert any more cliches here.

Don't think so? Think I'm just...underestimating you? So be it. When you're crying for mercy, I'll remind you of that. I'll remind you that you thought you'd won and I was just being an ignorant fool.

It's going to happen, Corey. Nobody can help you. Not Enika. Not Price. Not Hiro. Not even God.

I'll destroy a whole army just to get to you.

And I won't do it with your back turned to me. I'll want you to see what happens to you.

(I cough a little bit, putting my hand over my mouth. I look down and see a little blood on my hand. Shit. I hide it from the camera.)

VIRUS: As for my opponents this week...all of you have remained silent since Rampage. That's fine. I've been silent for over a week now. But, no more. It doesn't matter what any of you say or do. You won't win. I'll begin training again tomorrow and that will be plenty of time to get back into decent shape for Friday. And at decent shape, I'm still better than all of you.

So is my partner. Forget about Payton Strader. He doesn't matter anymore. Let him have fun with his TV title and low card antics. You and I, Flynn, are better than that and have got business this week. I don't know why we've been put together as a team. I have my brother and sister as my true tag partners. Sommers has a weird way of booking, but I don't question it. I only hope he gives me the only match I want: a rematch with Corey. That's all I want...and I will get it. This tag match? I could care less.

It'll just be another tag win for me, out of the twenty I have already. Story of my life.

Wilkie and McNasty are nothing. Sure, they've got a couple of titles, good for them. But those mean what to me in a tag match? Absolutely nothing. Put aside your individual efforts and accomplishments and show me what you can do as a team. I assure you, it doesn't measure up to what I've done with multiple partners over the years.

And whatever you present to me, it doesn't help your case knowing that Jamie Flynn is my partner. Jamie's got a quality that none of you have: exceptional talent. Him and I come from a similar breed of wrestlers, where intelligence and skill blend into one thing of excellence. I'll admit that Corey comes from that blend too, but not lately. It's not smart to put someone in a coma and not expect any recourse.

(I sit up for a moment and cough some more. I take a deep breath and try to relax. Resume.)

VIRUS: Pohatu? Come on. You never stood a chance against my sister, and had the match not been tampered with, she would've put you away. What makes you think you can beat me? Because you'll put a shock in my system? Please. Go through what I went through and then you'll understand why how trivial that is...and how trivial you are. You're just a stepping stone, kid. I'm not one to shatter dreams, but I'm taking yours down with a sledgehammer.

You won't win. Plain and simple. And your partner, who's a monster of a man, won't stand a chance either. Deacon Frost. Who is he...and why do I even care?

Because he may or may not be across the ring from me at some point in the night? Great. Grand. I'll destroy him. I'll destroy Pohatu. And if Wilkie and McNasty even want to tango with me, I'll destroy them too. Maybe Flynn won't even have to break a sweat. I'm that determined.

And here's why: to me, you're all just an incarnation of Corey Lazarus. Sounds crazy, but that's all I can think about. I can't imagine that changing when I step into the ring.

Stepping stones, all of you. Not to a title, or whatever glorious prize you can think of, but to one man. One match of revenge and redemption. Until I have my match, I think of nothing else. I want nothing else. I taste nothing else.

I do not forgive.

I do not forget.

When it's all said and done, I'll walk out of Rampage a winner and that much closer to ending Corey Lazarus.

(fade.)