time: wednesday late night

day: march twenty-sixth

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

(Warren and I are sitting at the kitchen table, the video camera set up on the kitchen counter. Warren scoffs at me, seeing the bottle of irish whiskey and a double shot glass in front of me. I hit record on the camera, and then fill up my glass.)

 WARREN: Here's a story for you two.

Once there was a kid who deserted his life in Pittsburgh because he was poor, without a job, and had no place to live. This kid knocked at his parents' door, only to receive no answer and especially no help. This kid used the last bit of his money to fly to Bermuda and knock on his older brother's door. He got a response, and more importantly, a warm welcome and bed. His older brother, despite his own wishes to protect and have his younger brother lead a better life, talked with President Sommers about recruiting this kid into Pioneer Wrestling. He made it, and was given a contract. He won his first four matches, winning a title, and lost his fifth with much controversy. This is only the beginning to what will be an impressive career, that I can assure you.

Tell me -- if you were this kid, would you turn your back on your older brother and join an organization that he despises? Would you betray your own flesh and blood, especially when that man has given you a roof over your head, fed you, and gotten you back on your own two feet?

I don't think you would, Duff. Have I made myself clear?

You need to check yourself, because I'll plead my loyalty to this "feeble man" in a heart beat over a dumb son of a bitch like you, or a handpuppet like Trevor.

Is that also clear?

(I raise my glass toward Warren, and down the liquor. It goes down smooth, like lava ravaging an innocent hillside.)

 VIRUS: I'm not casting my shadow over anybody, Duff. The world will be a better place when you and your partner are no longer part of it. The task I have set before you and Trevor is simple: show me why you're not a bunch of fucking jokes.

Victory? Trevor, you won't ascertain such a thing against me. This is guaranteed.

I just want you to show me why you consider yourself elite. Passing out and luckily being able to cover Phoenix for the one, two, three doesn't cut it.

Beating Randall in a one-on-one match, something I've done multiple times, doesn't cut it, Duff.

The fact that you lost to Riona only proves your lacking talent, which I will amplify to painful extremes in just a few short days.

Hell, my older brother made you look like an amateur wrestler a year ago in his last match in Liberty, Trevor. He's thirty-three, and over his prime. And yes, I know you two were scheduled to fight again before complications arose and Joe was forced into retirement, but the fact that he and Frost beat you and November still happened. What makes you think you stand a chance against me in the ring? Because you used my wife to lead me into something that I never had a chance with? Because my rage is so bright that it blinds me beyond coherence? No.

And fuck no.

I may seem out of control. This is true. But when I step into that ring, I am in total control. My rage, my hatred, my tenacity; all aimed at my opponent, and rightfully so. Sometimes they don't deserve it.

Sometimes they do.

Wilkie didn't deserve it, but he was in the way. He was removed.

Essentially, you two will be removed as well. It's the way things are. You can't change them, I don't care how conditioned you are.

(I fill up the glass again.)

 WARREN: Duff talks about corruption like he's free from it, like it doesn't consume him or his organization. Duff, the MoA is the personification of corruption. Where the fuck have you been? Wherever they go, they corrupt people, front offices, and total companies. It's their MO, and that's what they used to get their victories. It was their way, or the highway.

Now if that's not corruption... apparently, I don't know what is.

Time will tell if you and your partner will follow suit. Time will definitely tell. But, corruption and mayhem are part of the MoA's playbook, whether you like it or not. Sure, you're all masters... I suppose, but you answer to one master. The true master. The man who sits on his throne of chaos and ineptitude. That's your master, Duff. Not mine. I answer to me, and me alone. I've told you that.

Nobody tells me what to do. I'm not an automaton.

And who's talking about you, Duff? Besides us? We're forced to talk about you, because you're partnering with a man whose days are numbered. So, please, tell me who's talking about you. Not just people briefly mentioning the MoA and how horrible they are. Who's saying "Duff... the man is great.. he puts asses in the seats." I haven't heard a thing about this, so it's all news to me.

Nobody's talking about you, Duff. Nobody cares.

You get mentioned because you belong to an organization who's more infamous than the damn CIA.

And what the hell kind of question is that? Blood is thicker than water, in more ways than one. I've already told you the story. I'm through with you, man. You just don't get it. When you gather some sense of intelligence and common sense, then talk to us. But right now, you're not on my level. You're not on Matt's level. Hell, you're not even on your partner's level.

You're LUCKY to be in this match.

LUCKY.

(I take down the liquor again.)

VIRUS: I'm not the meager, Trevor. You take your little faction, and you put yourself against the amount of people here who would love to see you get destroyed, and you'll find yourself amongst the meager.

And I damn well intend to prove to you that you're not who you say you are. I intend to prove you're a joke, and exploit your weaknesses with every step I take and every move that I make. I intend to bring you to your knees and make you feel what I feel.

I'm going to share with you how it feels, Trevor, to be this rageful. I'll let you in on my secrets, my pain, and my desire for violence. I'll let you glimpse into my world, if only for a second, so you can realize what true fear is.

You'll see what I have to try to control every minute of every day, and then you'll realize you're no where near my level.

You'll realize you're out of your element, and maybe, just maybe, I'll show you mercy.

Doubtful.

This has been going on inside me for quite some time, Trevor, before you showed up. You know what you did? You simply walked up to a man who was on the edge, and nudged him. Now, it seems, the man is falling endlessly into his own insanity.

I'm turning into something I hate, yes. I'm turning into something I cannot control, yes. But, your mold? Your philosophy? I am out to destroy one man, Trevor. A man who tried to take my career, and possibly my life. Corey Lazarus. You've put yourself in my way, and I'm going to make you regret it.

(I want to pour myself another glass-full, but I hesitate. Warren takes over.)

 WARREN: Excuse me for wanting to conserve my energy so I could outlast my opponent, Trevor. You know, when you put your foot on the ropes right where the ref should be able to see it, you expect the pin to be broken and the match to continue.

If I had attempted to kick out, and the referee lied and said I did it after the three count, you'd still be giving me the same bullshit. So whether I kicked out, or put my foot on the rope -- which is a form of kicking out -- doesn't matter. The match shouldn't have ended. I got screwed.

But I'll move on.

How can you expect me not to defend my blood? Have you no sense of family, Trevor? Of course I'll defend my brother over somebody like you. You dig up the past, and played a dirty trick, and my brother wanted you to pay for it. He was righteous.

I do believe that, as I'm sure you'll sit there and laugh. You claim to be high and mighty, but you're a tool. That's all you are. And my brother didn't like being used for your overdramatic introduction.

And hey, I'm Darren Ridel, so let's blame Jamie Flynn's near-death experience on Matthew. Come on. I don't believe that for a second. Nothing would've happened to Jamie had the MoA been anything DIFFERENT from past versions.

You're still pitiful. You're still corrupted.

(I finally fill up the glass again.)

VIRUS: I will be taking responsbility for my actions, when I break you in half. I'll be responsible for humiliating the MoA and showing Pioneer Wrestling that they're not elite, at least not yet. Jamie shouldn't have gotten involved. He should've stayed in the ring, and finished the match.

Shit happens.

You can't even imagine, neither of you, to wear your wife's scream, and then play every single possibility in your head. You already suspected your partner of something going on, and when that scream hits your ears, your fist becomes a homing missile to the suspect's face. I just want you two to walk in my shoes for that, and I guarantee you you wouldn't had played it any differently.

Jamie was collateral damage, I'm afraid.

Regardless of what happened that night, what transpired between the Engels and the MoA, you're going to find yourself in a great deal of pain and trouble on Friday. Over-matched, and over-fucking-whelmed, as my brother put it yesterday.

While you claim to be an elite version, not allowing your opponents to hide behind interference, you're facing two men that won't need to hide behind anything.

I won't be hiding, Trevor. I'll be right in your face, taking you past your limits, to levels of pain and toughness you've only dreamt about.

You have not felt fear and pain like you will in two days.

This... is guaranteed.

I do not forgive.

I do not forget.

 WARREN: Take care, strangers.

(The whiskey is gone.)

(fade.)