I don't know how many days it's been, but every day I get hounded by reporters. "Who did it?", "Do you know where your children are?", etc. No. No, I don't. I haven't slept right in days. Time is kind of murky sludge. I'm tired. I'm so tired I don't even remember my flight here. Private plane. I think the staff took pity on me. I get up. I put my shades on. I haven't shaved in days. I haven't really been taking care of myself. The shower before the plane ride. It took effort. I've been hitting every bottle of liquor in my loft. I've been eating take out. I feel fat. I haven't...who the fuck am I even fighting this week. Had to love what C$J basically told me over the phone thru a lot of messages.

"I know this is a hard time for you, but if you don't show up you forfeit your title."

I get his point. I get this idea. I get what this means. After what happened at one hundred there is no a precedent for this title. Isn't that right? Oh god...I'm starting to talk to the belt. Next thing I know G.I. will sue me for stealing his shtick...No. I just sat his face on fire. Plus it's Joe's brother. No one from that family could possibly do it. It's not that they aren't smart enough. It's a resource question. No one. No one outside of me probably has that much money who has a bone to pick with me. Thoughts race in my head as I wait for them to tell me when the car is going to be here to take me to the arena. I'm just going into the arena and that's it. Then back to the car. Back to the plane. Back to Pittsburgh. Back to my filth.

"Mr. Steel...it's going to be a bit longer. The driver's in traffic."

I nod. I know that look. It's pity. Nothing more. A man loses everything and suddenly then people care about him. Where was this person's care when my life is going good. Is that even fair of me to ask? Do I even fucking care myself? The hangover. I need to fix it. I go to the bar of the plane. A bottle of Jack. Typical. Predictable. Tolerable. I start to drink. The world gets a little more numb. Don't mistake it thou. I'm not drinking because I want to be numb. It's not that at all. It's not for the pain. It's to keep me from snapping. It's to keep me from killing someone. My liver is evil and deserves to be punished. Another text. It's probably Joe. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want their pity. I don't want their help. Anyone who helps me is doomed. Fucking doomed. Hell...it's probably Tweeder wanting to do another match to make him relevant. Maybe that Paro guy with the weird faceplate...I think I pissed him off last week. Nah. He wouldn't have had anything to do with it? Come on Trent. Do these wrestlers seem competent enough to kidnap your kids, let alone most of your family all within the same night. Cade's crazy. No wrestler would do this. They'd just beat me up. They'd just...wait... What if it's someone I took out of the business? How many has that been? I've been doing this since before the new millennium...I've probably angered so many people that there is probably a whole group of 'em. Meet every Tuesday. Friday it's karaoke covers of why we hate Trent Steel to the dulcet tunes of eighties hair metal.

"Mr. Steel...would you like a glass?"

I shake my head. She smiles. I remember when I use to enjoy seeing someone like her smile. I wonder if I'll ever see her again. Jennifer. When was the last time she smiled at me. The wedding. Not ours. Her...I know. I know I shouldn't think about it. I know I should just let it go. She's moved on. I stand still. Ever staying present. I feel like Stonehenge. I've been around for so long that everyone has forgotten what purpose I have. Why was I made? Why was I born? The smell of whiskey brings back thoughts of the past. I remember the first time I had it. Nine. It was...It was that day. I start to shake. I hear it. The laughter. The screaming. My heart. Palpitations. I try to take a deep breath but all I hear is the gunshot. That's when I should have ended it all. That's when the world would have been a better place if my stupid ass would have just turned the gun on me and pulled the trigger. I'd be one dead child. My parents would have moved on. My younger brother would have been the star. My twin brother would have been fine. He's always fine. Jason would have never met me. Jennifer would have never met me. They'd all be alright. My kids. No. Jenn would still have had them. They're good. They're pure. They're her children. I'm just a sperm donor with delusions of hope. I mean nothing to that family. Justin. I would have never met the kid I'd adopt. The kid I'd train. The kid who would stand by me...and look what that's gotten him. He's gone. Kidnapped like the others. I drink more. I think of Sebastian. I think of Alex. I think of everyone I have ever seen as a friend or family and I worry they'll be next. Another text. Damn it Joe. I almost throw the phone. I almost lose control. I don't want anyone else close to me...I don't want.

"Mr. Steel..."

"What!"I almost regret that. She hesitates to tell me, but it comes out.

"The driver just pulled up to the airport."

"Thanks."I grab my bag. I start walking towards the exit and she grabs my arm. I almost swing, but my common sense gets the better of my rage.

"Mr. Steel. Open container. I'll put it on ice and you can have it on the flight back." I want to just chug it, but hey...something to look forward to on the flight back. I sigh and hand over the bottle. "Also...I'm sorry to hear about what happened."

"Everyone's sorry..."I walk past her and off of the plane. I go thru the TSA checkpoint. Yes. I am that Trent Steel. No. I did not bring any barbwire with me. You do that shit ONE time in the nineties and everyone gets paranoid. Yes. I am wearing a suit for once. No. I did not lose my oakleys. I just didn't want to wear them, for the first time in over two decades. Fuck off. I'm fine. Oh de joy. Press. Here it comes. The questions. The moaning. The pleading. The bitching. The demanding. We want information. Fuck you. Fuck you. And most perpetually fuck you with the comb over. I walk by them without saying a word. They dont' deserve answers. They don't deserve the truth. They don't deserve any of my anger. I'm sure I'll hear about it. He's so distant. He's silent. He must be guilty. He must have done it. Oh come on! I'm always the one to do it! I'm always the one who did it! Hell! You've all believed a dumb ass cunt for years telling you that I hit her backstage and no one believes me that I didn't. Why should I even bother. Yes. It's Trent's fault. Donald Trump is a saint. It's all Trent's fault! Obama didn't do it...Trent Steel did! Covid Nineteen was made from my snot. I crashed the economy by shooting Warren Buffet with a nailgun! I caused Chernobyl with a microwave and a burrito! Jimmy Hoffa is locked in my basement! I ate the Lindburgh baby! I opened Pandora's Box and she smiled when I was done drawing the alphabet! I'm the worst! If I were a sausage it'd be The Wurst! God...I hate entitled people. All you people want answers. As long as it's not the truth. The truth makes people uncomfortable! The truth is that everything I've done for years was for nothing! The truth is that I should have just kept being an asshole! The truth is I should just burn down the Carnage arena! The truth is after all my hard work what do I have to show for it? I bust my ass and people who use to run roughshot get a free pass cause people "forgive" them! Well...FUCKKKKKKKKK THEM...Oh there's my car.

"Sorry about the delay Mr. Steel."

"Get me away from these people before I start cracking heads..."He takes the hint and I throw my bag in the car.

"Did you just threaten us?" I just turn and stare down this little welp of a "journalist".

"No...I make promises. Not threats. You wanna go?"He backs the fuck up off me as I get in the car."Drive..."

"Well sir, there are people in the..."

"You got any booze back here?"

"Sorry sir..."

"Saight...I could use the sleep..."I close my eyes. The screams of prattling questions cease. Maybe if I am lucky China, Russia, or Bangladesh will fire a nuke and fry this god forsaken race off the planet. I'm so done...but even in my sleep. All I see...All I scream...is at the children that I can't see with me. My nightmare is to be alone...I'm living in hell.

“Oh. Fucking hell! Trent are you drunk...” The boss yells at me as I get to the parking deck. I just flip him off and grab my bag. “Hey! I'm talking to you damn it! You are a walking PR Nightmare you know that.”

“Not a good idea to...”I feel his hand on my shoulder and I grab his thumb. Twist. Hammerlock. Cement wall. His face. “Are you always this fucking stupid or are did you eat a whole bowl of fucking stupid?!” “Let go!” I do, but only cause I find it mildly amusing. He fixes his appearance and looks me over. “God you smell like a brewery. Look. Sober up before your match okay. Did you at least bring the title?”

I reach into my bag and pull out my belt.

“Great. One thing is going right. Look. Trent. If you happen to lose that tonight and you need time off. I'm willing to cut you some slack here.” More like he's willing to try and make me sit out on my contract since we start re-negotiations in a few weeks. “I mean. You've been in quite the ordeal.”

“...Your fake concern really moves me. Speaking of which I need to shit. Get out of my way. I suggest you tell everyone to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Whoa. Um. I moved where you'll be dressing. It'll be on the other side of the building. I figured you'd want to some privacy. The police um...well they forwarded your mail and stuff there so I figured you'd want to...get your house in order.”

I sigh. Nothing goes right. Everything goes wrong. I want to fucking die. What's the point of even defending this thing. I did a lot of this so my kids could see me. So they could be proud. So they could...So they could...Fuck there is no way they could. I walk backstage and try to avoid everyone. Thank god it's early. I walk to the back and find where they've stuck me. I forgot they even used this part of the building. Oh well. I open the door and I see it. Packages from our home. I throw my gear down along with the belt and sigh. I go grab a few waters from the vending machine to help sober up a bit from my bender I guess. What's the point. I see the usual mail there. Bills. Voter crap. Already did mine, and no it's no one's business. An amazon package. Looks like Amy ordered something. Nail polish. You know...I remember. I remember when she was real little she'd paint my nails. She wanted to make sure I knew how to do it cause that's what father's were suppose to know according to my know it all four year old daughter at the time. It's a variety of colors. I sigh. I...I...I see it out of the corner of my eye. One of the fucking cameramen.

“You are really fucking stupid you know that.”

“It's not on Trent. I promise. I know you like to do your promo stuff by yourself. I'm just dropping off the camera if you want to do it. You got your match with Steve to focus on, but I'll be back in an hour before everyone gets here and we can release it if you don't mind. Figured you'd might wanna get some things off your chest.” This kid is shaking. I sigh and nod. He leaves the camera. I pick up the nail polish. It's purple. A violet. I set up the camera and start the recorder.

“This is the part where you fans want an explanation and my opponent wants to know my plans for this fucking match right. The truth is I have no plans and it's none of your fucking business what's going on in my life. I'm going thru hell and everyone wants to know about this damn belt. Fuck the belt. Fuck this federation. Most of all fuck everyone whose ever doubted me. I've been thru hell. I've done so much for this community over the years of busting my ass, and all I keep hearing is what happened Trent? As if to ask if I did it?! All I got left is this chunk of tin and the few people who actually trust me, and hell right now...I wouldn't want to be them. Why would you ever want to be near me? Every single fucking person is gone. Poof! Gone without a trace. And the only thing left...is a miserable son of a bitch!”

I look down at the nail polish and I open the bottle. It takes me back. For a few moments I'm back to when I was married. I'm back to when I had everything. I had retired from this damn sport to raise the kids. I was on top of the world. I was going to be a father. I was going to be a good husband. I was not going to be...to be...I look down at my index finger. I painted a full coat on it. The camera is still going.

“You know. No one should ever have to go thru this. Missing my children? My parents...My nephew. No one cares. You all just want to see a fall. You all just want to see a wreck. That's all you people fucking want. Who cares if my life goes to hell as long as you people get to feel better about your lives! WELL IT CAN'T GET MUCH WORSE THAN MINE CAN IT! Everyone talks about respect? How much respect do I get? Oh...is it because I don't beat up my children? Do I need to be Jack Micheals to get finally redeemed. Hell. The old as fuck useless commentator doesn't even let things go. Everyone around here see's me and judges me...you don't even fucking know me. And why should you? I'm fucking cursed. I am a fucking plague. I'm like King Midas...except what I touch turns into ash. Nothing. A lifetime of work. All I have left is this belt. That's what it's all about right Steve?! A fucking belt! A god damn belt to say look at me I defend this fucking trophy every god damn week! Oh look at my glorious accomplishments...I'd give it all up to see them right now. So you know what Steve...I'll make you a deal. I'm not made of sterner stuff right now. Right now. I'm broken. They finally fucking did it. They bent me till I broke. I got nothing to lose Steve.

I look down at the nail polish. I look at my hands. I turn to the mirror and look at the pathetic face there. This isn't Trent Steel. This isn't me...This is the best I can do right now.

“Steve...Do yourself a favor. Hit me hard. Take me out. Because the longer I sober up. The more the devil comes out. I'm gonna destroy you. Because right now I don't care who is in my way...everyone is going to feel my pain...hehehe...hehehehheheh...Ahahahhahaahaha...”

I cut off the camera as I start to cry. I haven't cried this whole time. Who knew a bottle of nail polish can bring a champion to tears.