No matter how he contorted his body or what position he laid in, Charlie found it impossible to fall asleep on the train. The light chugging of the engine and the sounds of the wheels churning was omnipresent. The train ride would be a doozy, at least to an American. An 8 hour trip gave Charlie plenty of time to sit with his own thoughts. To be alone inside the dangerous contours of his own mind. He thought at length about his longing for his family: about how deeply he missed his ex-wife and children. Charlie thought about all the good times they had together. There weren't very many. He replayed the same half a dozen scenes in his mind over and over again as the wheels of the train kept on churning.

Charlie wasn't there for his family very often. He missed more birthdays and Christmases than he made. He was always on the road, traveling from city to city to fight inside the squared circle. It drove his family away. Still, Charlie had the lingering suspicion that wrestling was the only thing that could bring his family back to him. How else was he going to make the money to pay for a lawyer? How else was Charlie going to provide a home and a warm bed for his children? Wrestling is the only career that Charlie knows. It is the only career that he can see himself thriving in. Soon enough, he foolishly believes, his family would come to see it too.

As Charlie sat back on the uncomfortable blue cushions of the train, he recalled with great pleasure his track record so far in the XWF. 7 wins, 3 losses. All 3 losses to former universal champions. He hated to lose, but his buddy Jim Jimson has taught him not to dwell on those losses. For years Charlie would wallow with every loss, ruminating upon it until he reached a tipping point. But Jim said that's a psychological tactic used by the dolphin communists to keep humanity's soldiers out of the fight, and that the D.D.S. (Dirty Dick Soldiers/Dolphin Destruction Squad) can't afford to fall into a pit of self-hatred. Instead, Charlie is to make an active effort to look at the positives. There had been a lot of positives in Charlie's short tenure in the XWF, so it wasn't hard for him to gleefully recall them. Every broken bone, every screaming opponent, every bloody mess filled Charlie with joyous hope. Joyous hope for what the future could hold. Championship belts. Fan adoration. A legacy. But most importantly: the rebirth of his shattered family.

But Charlie knew that those dreams would never come easy. Just like the train must constantly run over the tracks to get where it's going, Charlie knew he would have to constantly run roughshod over his competition to reach the pinnacle of his industry. The fans were fickle, and management even more so. A few bad losses could send you back down to the minor leagues, no matter how many wins you had racked up in the previous months. Everyone was a prisoner of the moment nowadays, and Charlie couldn't afford to let himself forget it. He knew it doesn't matter what you've done or where you've been: all that matters is where you're going and what you're going to do once you get there. Even though Charlie found himself on a train barreling towards Freiburg, he knew that Hamburg was the next big city his legacy would be established in.

Charlie sighed softly before chuckling. He shook his head from side to side softly, his brown hair sweeping across his face. Management had finally tossed him a bone: set him up with an easy win for once. All he needed to do was reach out and grab it. His opponent had been pretty quiet in the weeks leading up to the fight, and while many would consider that good news, it was stressing Charlie out just a little bit. If the fans weren't looking forward to the bout, then what was the point? Every thing wrestlers do inside that ring is designed to pry money away from the hands of hardworking wrestling fans. A snoozer match with no hype simply wasn't what Charlie needed. He needed excitement around his matches, he needed the fans to be salivating before his entrance music even hit. That's how you get over. That's how you fill your pockets with the kind of money it takes to challenge the family court system with a fleet of private attorneys. That's how you come into the kind of money that can turn a battered wife into a loving woman once again, or so Charlie liked to think.

The hardcore icon knew that the fans would want to hear from him again before his match, and he knew that it could only be good for him to deliver them their wish. Every youtube view, every shared post, every troll in the comments section: they all add hype to his matches. And hype brings money. Charlie knew that his trip to Freiburg would be too spooky and far too savage for XWF's flagship program. Whatever Rameses had in store for him in the black forest, the warfare audience couldn't handle it. But even if they could, those big-time TV execs would never allow that footage to air. Not on the primetime Wednesday night time slot.

So what kind of footage would they want?

Charlie pondered his own question for a moment, letting it bounce around inside his skull as he contemplated his options. As he was stricken with his answer he pulled his stolen iphone out of his front pocket. He fidgeted with it for a few minutes, being a classic boomer confronted with the technology of the youth. After a fair bit of a struggling and a few curse words, Charlie figured out how facebook livestreams are supposed to work. He set the phone on the empty train seat directly across from him. He clicked the button to go live and backed away from the camera, falling back comfortably onto the blue cushions of the train car. He smiled at the camera, quiet for a few moments as he waited for the fans to join the stream. Then, he began to speak. A confident inflection weaved it's way through Charlie's impassioned monologue.

"You know folks, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Examining my values. Thinking through what it really means to be a family man. I've made my mistakes, we all have. The flaws of man cut deep. My flaws flow through my core, they flow through my soul. But still, I am an honest man. A good man. A family man.

But how can we know? Truthfully, how can we separate true patriarchs from lesser men not fit to lead their family into the promised land?

We must look beyond one's words. We must look beyond what a man states himself to be. Look past a man's own conception of himself. We must look at the truth, the cold hard facts.

What are the facts?

Fact 1: I have never let another man lay his hands on my mother, wife, or daughter.

Fact 2: If another man ever so much as touched a hair on my women's heads, I would take a baseball bat to his kneecaps.

What more is there to know?

A family man is a man who will protect his family from all threats. From all undeserved harm. A family man is a man who is willing and able to stand up to his foes and crush them beneath the heel of his boot. A good man is a man who is able to persevere, survive, and thrive in any situation he's thrown into. An honest man is a man who refuses to capitulate to false narratives, a man who refuses to lie about who he is and what he is prepared to do.

But Ned Kaye? He's nothing of the sort.

He won't protect his family. Is he unable or unwilling? In the end, does it even matter which it is?

The love of his life was ripped from his arms and cast into the fires of hell. Did he save her? Did he even try? No, of course not. He fled from the situation. He wasn't there for his woman when she needed him most. Is it any wonder that he left his own mother to her own devices when she was kidnapped by murderous goons? Ned Kaye simply doesn't value family the same way I do. I couldn't sleep at night if I let the women in my family be treated the way Ned lets his women be treated. He is no family man.

But is he at least an honest man?

Every time he opens his filthy mouth he proves himself to be a liar. A fabricator. At best, a story teller.

He says he's going to defeat me. He says that someday, somehow, he is going to rise to the height of our industry. He's full of shit. He knows as well as I do that he is exactly where he belongs: firmly tucked away in the mid card, fighting for scraps of television time while the true icons of our business main event pay per views. Ned already had his shot to catapult himself to the top, and he missed by a mile.

I mean, seriously, who fucks up a 24/7 briefcase cash-in? Ned Kaye, that's who! He had all eternity to prepare himself, to pick his spot, to navigate himself into the main event picture. All he had to do was cash-in his briefcase at the right time, and his championship reign was all but guaranteed! But he couldn't pull it off! Pathetic.

He lied to us all. He told all of us he would be the universal champion. He told all of us that he would definitely take possession of that championship belt when he cashed that briefcase in. He told all of us that he had the element of surprise on his side, that he was unbeatable. He told us all that he would cash-in that case and walk away with the biggest prize in our whole industry.

He lied.

Not only to us: he even lied to himself.

Just like he's doing now.

Listen, Ned: we both know how our match is going to end. It will end with your shoulders on the mat and the referee raising my hand in victory. It doesn't matter what stipulation is thrown at us, what curveball comes our way, we both know who the superior wrestler is. And we've known it for a long time.

I remember the way you used to look at me on the indy circuit. You treated me like a father figure. It was always 'Oh, Charlie! Did you see my match? Did you watch?!'. At first, I felt bad for you. You were a perpetual loser, picked on by all the boys in the back for your feminine figure and whiney demeanor. I thought 'hey, maybe I can throw this kid a bone'...but like the mutt you are, you would always bring that bone right back to me like we were playing fetch. Pathetic.

You're not going to beat me, Ned. You know it. I know it. Each and every one of you watching this livestream at home knows it, too. In just a few short months I've done something Ned Kaye could never dream of: I main evented a real, big-boy pay per view. Not a little indy show. Not a little anarchy show. A real fucking pay per view. Got a nice paycheck for it, too.

But Ned?

Ned's not main event material. He never was and he never will be. The only thing he's notorious for is clogging up the mid card with his shit matches. Snoozefests, all of them. He doesn't have any fans. He doesn't have any supporters. His own family doesn't watch his matches. But fuck, why would you? Do you want to see your son lose, time after time? Do you want to see your brother dance around in the ring like a little ballerina while a grown ass man chases him down with a steel chair? It's embarrassing.

I may have made mistakes from time to time in my wrestling career, but Ned's whole career is a mistake. He isn't cut out for wrestling. He's too soft. Too timid. He doesn't have the balls to fight like a man between those ropes. He doesn't want to hurt people, and he doesn't want to be hurt. He just wants to put on a show for the people.

Too damn bad, son.

Tomorrow night you and I are going to meet in Hamburg. In front of thousands of roaring fans. It will just be you and me. You may walk down that entrance ramp feeling confident, feeling prideful. But I can promise you this: you won't be walking out of that ring on your own two feet.

Are you willing to give your life for this business? If you're not willing to take that risk, you had best stay home, boy.

But, if on the off chance you wish to be reunited with your lover....if you wish to be there at the pearly gates to welcome your dying mother...well then Ned, I'm more than happy to book you a one way ticket to the other side.

See you in Hamburg, pussy."