With no time to set up, the camera crew struggles to keep up with Ron Wilkins as he barrels up his front stairs and into his living room. Shannon shrieks in surprise as the door nearly explodes and her sweaty, messy haired husband comes flying into their house looking like a lunatic.

"Ron! What the fuck?!" She tells at him over the now screaming baby.

His knees nearly buckle as he sees his family assembled in one place, safe and sound. The words "Oh thank God..."escape his lips in a breathless whisper.

Shannon's expression changes from anger to confusion, "Ron what the hell is going on?"

He hands her the figurine and statue and her mouth drops as she reads the note. "What is this Ron? Is this some kind of joke?"

"God I hope so."

"You need to call the police! The FBI! Your old station!"

"The station won't do shit, remember...I quit before my 20 years were up. I'll call the police, see if I can get some kind of detail or something."

Ron calls the non-emergency line and describes the situation. He hangs up, satisfied to know that a uniformed officer is on his way over to take the report.

"There's an officer on the way, don't answer the door I will take care of that. I'll be right back down." Shannon nods her understanding from the couch, a shell shocked look is on her face as she clutches both her babies to her sides. Logan is oblivious, Spongebob has taken precedence over Daddy acting like a madman.

Ron bounds up the two flights of stairs and swiftly enters the combination to his gun safe. Opting for capacity over sheer blunt force he grabs his Smith and Wesson AR-15 and slaps a 30 round magazine into it. He rushes back downstairs as a knock comes from the front door. He keeps his hand grasped firmly around the pistol grip and also keeps the rifle slightly hidden behind his leg as he cracks the door.

"El Paso Police, I'm here to speak to a Mr. Wilkins?" The young Hispanic officer says.

"Certainly sir, could you do me a favor and hold your radio up to the security door and have dispatch confirm you are who you say you are?" Ron asks.

"Not a problem sir, I understand you are a bit on edge." He holds the black Motorola radio up to the steel security door covering the main door and speaks into it.

"655, this is E-45. Please confirm to the resident this is a legitimate officer."

"That's affirmative Mr. Wilkins."A females voice echoes back.

"Thank you ma'am." Ron says back as he unlocks and swings open the outer door. "No insult meant officer, can never be too careful."

"None taken, sir."

"Please take a seat Officer."

Shannon waves to one of the stuffed chairs and the cop takes a seat, removing his cap in the process. He also takes out a memo pad and pen.

"Mr. Wilkins can you please tell me what happened?"

Ron relays what happened earlier in the day at the gym as well as his background with the Patrol and how he thought that was impacting the situation combined with his new found fame. The young officer was exceedingly polite and took notes on everything Ron said.

"Ok Mr. Wilkins, I think we can get a unit in the area for a few days, maybe a week at most. But especially in your case I would recommend relocating. You know there's only so much we can do in a situation like this, and you also know firsthand what these people are capable of. I would have to recommend you getting away from the border area." The young officer says with a grave face.

Ron's jaw clenches but he slowly nods his head in understanding. "Thank you Officer and I appreciate the honesty."

"No problem Mr. Wilkins. I'm a big fan, would hate for something to happen to you. We will have an unmarked unit parked on the corner within the next few hours. Like I said I'll push for a week, I suggest you make your arrangements in that time."

The two men shake hands and the officer leaves.

"Ron, what are we going to do?" Shannon asks as some isolated tears roll down her face.

"What he said and get the fuck away from El Paso and the border. These guys are the most powerful criminal organizations in history and I'm not sticking around to duke it out with them."

"Where the fuck are we supposed to go Ron?!" Her voice starts off at a scream before tapering off into tears.

"Hey now, it'll be okay." Ron lowers himself into a squat in front of her and tilts her chin until her eyes meet his.

"This place has been home for almost ten years now, we started our family here." Thankfully she has stopped yelling.

"Yeah and remember how much you hated it when we came here?" He says and they both laugh, the culture shock from Miami to El Paso had almost destroyed their marriage.

"Yeah..." She says with a sad smile.

"We'll go somewhere nice, you're always saying you miss the ocean. We could go back to Florida? Or you loved our vacation in Virginia Beach." Ron says hopefully.

"What about this place? We'll have to sell it."

"Don't be ridiculous, you don't even like this place that much." It was true, Ron had fallen in love with it because it was identical to their rental when they first moved here and he craved continuity, Shannon...not so much.

"Not Florida again, can I pick the house in Virginia?" She asks, the tears finally clearing up.

Ron laughs loudly and kisses her forehead "Of course, anyone you want babe."

She smiles and they share a long embrace "No way in hell you guys are staying here until we leave though, we'll get these cameras off and get you the hell out of here." He points directly at the camera "Turn that thing off."

The camera abruptly goes black.

----------The time stamp on the camera tells us it's approximately six hours later-----------

It's starting to get dark out, Ron is in his living room cranking out push-ups as FOX News plays on the TV behind him. His coffee table is dominated by weaponry. Two matching Glock pistols with four loaded magazines and a stack of 50 round ammunition boxes, the previously seen AR-15 with a stack of Magpul Carbon Fiber magazines along with a green metal ammunition box with about 300 loose rounds, and lastly a Remington 870 shotgun with a box of 00 Buckshot shells next to it.

Ron finishes a long set of push-ups and then sits in front of his cache before addressing the camera.

"Not too shabby for someone still making an upper middle class wage huh?" He smirks. "Truth be told this move has been a long time coming and something I planned on doing once I started making good money. Just not so soon. A border shithole like this is no place to raise a family unless you want your kids to turn out like Ursula Areano."

The camera man snickers from behind his equipment and Ron laughs along with him.

"Oh yeah, don't think I forgot about Sunday. That's what sets me apart from the rest, single minded focus. I know my family is safe right now so I can focus on two things. One is what is going to happen to whatever sorry sack of shit, tries to come here and take what's mine and the other is what I'm going to take this Sunday at Gauntlet City. That's right Senator, I'm referring to your belt. Not just your belt though, I'm going to take your dignity. We all saw the fit you through when you heard about your match, how you tried to beg for an undeserved day off like a petulant child. You don't want this and you know it. You beat Cyren for that belt?"

Ron has to stop to try to control his laughter.

"So your biggest claim to fame is beating the most useless, pathetic, un-educated, talentless, least creative sack of shit the XWF has ever seen? Am I supposed to be impressed that you won a cripple fight against a man whose only current ambition is trying to steer Crimson Dong's career in a less catastrophic direction?"

Ron shakes his head slowly while staring directly into the camera.

"You know whats sad, you and I see eye to eye on a lot of things." Ron jerks his thumb at the television screen where Sean Hannitty and Mark Levin are discussing our Comrade in Chiefs latest extravagant vacation on the taxpayers dime. "But the fact that we agree on a balanced budget and the destruction of socialized healthcare at all costs, that's where the similarities end. I've actually fought for this country. I've traded fists and bullets with ruthless smugglers. I've tracked groups of twenty desperate people by myself through miles of empty desert with no backup within an hour of me. I didn't let tobacco lobbyists bukake me as I sucked and stroked my way to the top like you did."

Ron's ears perk up and he begins to look around, he snatches his AR-15 and rushes to the front window, slightly pulling one curtain back. The street in front of his house looks clear, just one black Ford Crown Victoria parked a few driveways down.

"What's the fucking point of an unmarked unit if it’s just a cruiser without decals?" He asks the camera man, the picture bobs up and down as he shrugs his shoulders.

Ron sits back down on the couch and continues. "Enjoy your time on the golf course now John, and if you're lucky you won't run into me during the Battle Royal, because if you do you might run into some arm issues that'll keep you off 'the links for a while."

He smirks to himself as be runs his left hand along his rifle, taking comfort in the familiar cold steel.

"Now I know I've had one other opponents make their presence known this week and I couldn't be less impressed. Suffice to say if Michael Hall is as 'articulate' in the ring as he is on camera then I really hope hate crime laws don't extend to the mentally handicapped, because if they do then whoever gets their hands on that spongebrain is going away for a bit. Who knows? Maybe he's got that strength and he'll tire himself out pounding the ring posts because they look like his least favorite stuffed animal and his handlers will take him to the back so he can have some cookies and a nap. At least that way everyone wins."

Ron starts to chuckle to himself but bolts upright in a flash as the distinctive "CRACK!" of gunfire sounds outside his house. He rushes to the window in time to see the officer assigned to his house slump backwards over the hood of the sedan, his gun sliding limply from his hand.

"Oh fuck..."

Ron moves in a flash, he swipes the lights off and pulls his cell phone from his cargo pocket. He quickly dials 911, waits until the operator answers and promptly hangs up. The door explodes off its hinges as he leaps over his couch, brings the rifle up to his shoulder and aims in. The first man is dressed all in black, carrying some sort of submachine gun, before he can acquire Ron his body does a jig as a barrage of rounds slams into his torso and he falls backwards through the door. Ron hears two more voices whispering loudly in Spanish outside his door and he fires a volley of rounds through the wood frame around the door. He smiles as he hears the shriek of a man struck by lead and loud cursing from the other one. He slaps a fresh magazine in the bottom of the rifle and he begins to hear the comforting sound of multiple sirens off in the distance racing towards his house. From outside his door he hears foot-steps pounding across the wooden deck and down the stairs as the wounded, would be assassin cries out for help.

I must've really fucked him up if he can't even run. Ron thinks to himself. He rushes to the door and peeks around its splintered frame, one Hispanic man is slouched against the outside of the house. His rifle is inches away from his outstretched hand but he appears much more concerned with the blood bubbling out of his mouth. Ron quickly jumps in front of him and sends him to the land of concussions and shattered teeth with a hard boot to the skull. He kicks the rifle well out of reach and takes aim on the fleeing sicario, he knows the police are only blocks away and he doesn't want this maggot to ambush them the way he did the original officer. His cop mind takes over and rather than looking at a back of the headshot and first degree murder, he lowers his aim and sends a 68 grain, hollow point, match grade .223 round at 3000+ feet per second through the mans hamstring. He drops with a shriek and his gun flies through the air. The first unit skids around the corner and narrowly avoids hitting him (a pity really) and Ron moves to the middle of the deck, directly in front of the stairs. Officers armed with similar rifles to his and shotguns take cover behind their units and sight in on him. He instantly drops his rifle and puts his hands as high as he can before dropping to his knees.

"I'm the homeowner! These men attacked me! You're officer is badly hurt over there." He leans his body towards the unmarked unit.

"Stay put and don't move, sir!" Five large muzzles advance on him and he is quickly frisked and cuffed, another officer cuffs the unconscious hitman and moves in to secure the house with a partner. Ron is led down the stairs and brought behind a recently arrived ambulance.

After a lot of questions, a quick review of the camera man’s footage, and an initial examination determine his version of the events are true he is uncuffed. The normally indefatigable man slumps against one of the cruisers and is quickly offered a comforting hand on the shoulder by a familiar voice. The same young cop who'd taken his report earlier in the day looks him in the eye and says "You did good sir, you might even be able to stay in El Paso now."

"Not a fucking chance amigo."

The scene fades out as Ron's heads rolls back to stare at the stars and the two men laugh.

Send anyone you want, but don't send anyone you want back.