time: sunday afternoon

day: march sixteenth

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

(We open up with a nice view of Bermuda's beach, a Landshark Lager, and me sitting in my screened-in patio. It's an area of my house where I can go to and clear my mind. However, lately I haven't been able to do so.)

(I have the video camera ready, but I'm not. I take a swig of my beer, and watch the waves crash onto the beach. High tide. The families are back farther on the beach than normal. I've lived here for a long time, and yet I've been out to that beach only a few times. I'm busy.)

(Dressed in cargo shorts and a plain white tee, I take off my shades for moment so you can see my eyes. I hit record on the video camera, and my eyes are like fire; chaotic, destructive, and something you can't live without.)

VIRUS: You can hear the rise and fall of waves and it comforts you. It lets you know that you're in a tranquil state of mind, trying to escape reality and all of its harshness. You can see families together on the beach, enjoying what Bermuda has to offer at this time of the year. You can almost feel a sense of harmony amongst humans, animals, and nature. Then you snap back.

Thoughts of destruction and chaos fill your mind. You can't control them, you don't want to. You let it control you, and all you seek is vengeance. Things become miniscule, the water has no comfort, food has no taste, and love is nonexistant.

 (I take my eyes off the eye for a moment. I look out there for the answer, but I can't find it.)

VIRUS: Drama Queen? I'm the PWA Drama Queen. You just have no idea, do you Alex? Here's where I'd tell you to buy a clue, but I'm not a walking cliche. I'm me, and that's all I ever claim to be. What I do and how I do it are mine and mine alone, and I do it flawlessly. But don't worry, Alex, I'll get to you in a moment.

 (I return my eyes to the camera.)

VIRUS: How pathetic can you get, Trevor? You represent a group that made me believe you had kidnapped my wife -- again -- only to lure me out for a four or five -- or however many the fuck there were -- on one beatdown. You represent a group that could have possibly ended Jamie Flynn's life, let alone his career, only to blame it on me. You represent a group that has done nothing but cause problems ever since its inception.

Yet, you're breaking out of the mold. You're crashing into a new era. The elite?

No, you've done nothing to represent a new breed of the MoA. You represent the same monotonous trash that infected the AOWF years ago like a cancer. I'm not claiming to be a cure for cancer, but consider me your chemotherapy.

 (The sun is blinding, but it doesn't bother me. I've got no reason to hide behind sunglasses.)

VIRUS: You talk about how your group catapaults careers...have you forgotten about the careers you've ended? I would say that out-weighs the amount of careers you've catapaulted into stardom.

You targeted me, Trevor. Your group did. Maybe that's what you needed to get into the spotlight. Fine by me. But, do you think I'll sit here and do nothing? Especially when you try to recruit my brother to your ranks? You've gotta be kidding me.

Consider your days numbered.

We've got enough cliches here.

 (These worlds collide, but the distance remains.)

VIRUS: Now, let's go back to a man whose best line was calling me a drama queen. Wilkie, how many times did I tell you what my goal was? I didn't care about our tag match. I had other things going on, more important things, and unfortunately they were taken to a level beyond my control.

But hey, I used my wife as an excuse to escape the clutches of GRADE A. That's what I did. And hell, since I didn't want Jamie Flynn to suffer at your hands, Alex, I lured him to the back and clocked him with a two by four. My plan, all along. I even paid the Masters to come back to the PWA to pretend that I had no hand in what was happening. I paid them to end Flynn. I paid them to beat me to a bloody pulp.

Hell, I even paid for their suits.

I did it all, Alex. You've got me. I'm the mastermind, the man behind everything.

 (I start to laugh.)

VIRUS: You're a moron, Alex. Plain and simple. I walked out on our match because it wasn't worth my time. I walked out because I thought at the time my partner was conspiring against me. I walked out, because you simply represented Grade F material and not Grade A. You're a fluke of a tag partner, and an even bigger fluke of a champion.

The whole wife thing happened when I was going backstage, not when I was in the ring. That's a huge hole in your theory, Alex. But, I'm assuming you didn't stick around to see the end of the show. You know, when everything was revealed to the thousands watching? The Masters arriving on scene...Flynn being the captive, not my wife.

Nobody stole my wife, Alex. That happened years ago, and will never happen again.

You can't leave your work at work, what's wrong with you? We're sports entertainment; keyword, entertainment. People drag your personal life into everything because that's what we do. You sit there and talk about how I need to leave my work at work, and yet you can't get enough of the Matthew Engel drama hour.

Look at you, you're craving it. You're using it against me, my own personal life. How dare you? Leave my personal life out of it, and let's just talk about work.

See how ridiculous that sounds? You can't. And the sooner you realize that, the less of an idiot you'll come off as.

 (I return my eyes to the tranquility of the beach, trying to calm myself down.)

VIRUS: I don't know how to pull off a good promo. Now I've heard everything. I guess I come from a breed of wrestlers where we like to use what people say about us against them and prove them wrong. Not only do we do it here, but we do it in the ring. This is how we do, Alex, and I want you not to be able to accept it. I want you to think your way of doing things is the only way, so I can shove those words down your throat along with my foot.

And perhaps I am a fan of Mystery Science Theater...but that's irrelevant. There was just so much "material" to work with between you and your moronic partner McNasty, that I felt that was a good way to illustrate how retarded you both really are.

And I did it, flawlessly.

Just like how I'm going to beat you this Friday. I think I will actually enjoy this, Alex. I've been wanting to shut your mouth since you opened it this morning.

And can someone tell me what the fuck is a My Space? Why do I care, Alex? Man, you question my methods on how I use snippets of your promo to make you look foolish, and then you talk about shit like that. You're just doing my job for me.

And sometimes it's hard to sift through all your bullshit. I highlight in my mind key things I need to talk about and things you've said that I need to counter.

I ignore the rest because it's generally bullshit like your My Space bit.

 (I close my eyes for a moment. I try to breathe in the cool air off the ocean. Then I open my eyes, fixated on the camera.)

VIRUS: You wanna know what separates me from you, besides the obvious?

"I'm Alex Wilkie. I just lost a title, but now I'm above it. The only thing I can go for now is the World Title, because I think I'm worthy of it."

Just because the PWA was open for a short period of time and you managed to capture the World Title, only to lose it to Psycho Sandra of all people, doesn't mean you're worthy of it now. You're in a new era of the PWA, Alex. Act like it. Earn your fuckin' way to the top, like I've been doing.

It doesn't matter anyway. There's only so much room at the top, and you just don't fit. I've gotten to the top of every federation I've been in, whether I made it there or was automatically there based on just how great I am, and the PWA is no exception. There isn't room for you, Alex. You can have fun wishing you were Mark McNasty and actually have a title, while I move on to more important things.

Face it, you're Grade B. And you'll get stuck headlining Chaos, and low-carding my brother's pay-per-view in April.

 (All that I want is forgiveness...for what I've done, and what I'm going to do.)

VIRUS: Corey. Oh, Corey. How's it taste? How's it feel to be helpless? You'll spend the next week or so in my shoes, and then we'll have our match. I can't wait. I won't talk a great deal about you, because quite frankly you're not around to hear this, but when you finally decide to show your disfigurement, rest assured I'll be waiting.

Eagerly.

How does Battle Dome grab you? I don't know. These are things you can think about when you're available to do so.

Get well soon.

Please.

 (No famous last words. Just a sickening smile. I feel possessed.)

(fade.)