Identity

Manager Mercer recommended I start journaling. He thought it might help me “keep my stories straight,” which he says I have a problem with.

He also told me not to write down any real personal details in this journal. I think I get it, but that also seems dumb. What’s the point of writing down your thoughts if you can’t say everything that’s on your mind?

And there's been a lot on my mind after Chicago. 

Mercer’s not been in my life very long…

Well, I guess he has in the sense that I’ve known him as long as I’ve been Chad Freedom…

But I’ve never seen him madder than he was after ReVival 92.

At first, I thought he was mad because he lost his cellphone.

Okay, “lost” might be the wrong word.

He pretty much knew where it was – in the possession of Nate Colton, Daihm Ferguson, or Bobby Neptune – but it wasn’t clipped to his belt like usual.

I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, honestly. I’m sure a U.S. Marshal would have no problem getting another cellphone.

Turns out, I was right about that part. But I was wrong about why Mercer was mad.

Mercer has this way of talking. He doesn’t raise his voice, and he keeps it civil, but you can tell when he’s mad. His tone changes. It reminds me of how teachers used to tell me in school that I needed to stop talking and focus. The tone gets the message across, and then you also feel bad about it for a little while.

Like a parent disciplines a kid.

At least he didn’t try to teach me like my real dad did – with his fists.

Mercer was mad that I wandered off at the United Center.

Like going to the bathroom is some sort of crime. Like I need to tell him every time I have to take a leak.

He was mad that I interacted with Bobby Neptune.

What am I supposed to do when I see someone who obviously needs help? It would’ve been rude to ignore him. Mercer of all people should understand that. Helping people is literally his job.

He was mad because I followed Bobby to the Community Center.

Dumb. If Bobby was going to attack me, why wouldn’t he do it while I’m standing at the urinal with my dick in my hand? Bobby had a wide-open shot if he wanted to take it, and he didn’t take it.

I think Mercer needs to start trusting people more.

Mercer was also mad that Nate Colton kicked him out of the Wrestlers Only room.

What did he expect to happen, though? I told Mercer he should become a wrestler if he wants to belong in a Wrestlers Only room, but I don’t think he’s considering it.

Honestly, I think Mercer couldn’t admit what was really bothering him. That I finally met someone I could be friends with. Someone who wasn't him.

Classic case of jealousy.

Mercer is my friend. I was actually making that friendship bracelet for him. But he can’t be my only friend, and he’s not. Not anymore. I’m proud to call Nate Colton, Daihm Ferguson, and Bobby Neptune my friends.

I’ll keep working on Ivan Stanislav.

Anyway, the thing Mercer was most upset about…

Well, he said it like he was pissed off, but he claimed his biggest feeling was fear. He said he was worried about me because Nate Colton might know who I am was.

He said it was one of the worst things that could happen to someone in Witness Protection, and it almost happened.

I was scared about that at first, too. There’s something like 342 million people in America, and somehow, Nate Colton – who I’ve never interacted with before ReVival 92 – might remember the old me through his parents’ wrestling company.

What are the freaking odds?

Even though I was scared at first, I wonder if it would really be such a problem if Nate Colton knew who I was. He’s a genuinely nice guy. I don’t think he’d tell anyone.

That’s what friends do. They have inside jokes and keep each other’s secrets.

Mercer disagreed. He thought Nate Colton would blab to everyone, and I needed to burn my mask from those early days because Nate mentioned it. I told him I wouldn’t do it. It means too much to me.

He didn't like that, either.

Mercer got quiet when I told him how the conversation went with Nate, Daihm, and Bobby. I told him I didn’t tell Nate any important info, but Mercer didn't seem convinced.

I understand. Mercer's human like the rest of us. Including Bobby Neptune.

Once Mercer finally calmed down, he explained what he thought I actually did wrong.

He said deflecting isn’t a “sustainable strategy.” That deflecting only causes more questions and, the more curious people are, the harder they dig to find answers. He understood why I deflected, but said I need to be better at it. Then he told me how.

Advanced Identity Training

It’s about as fun as it sounds.

I didn't want to do it but Mercer said it was “critical.” And I didn't want to make him mad again.

He told me to report to the U.S. Marshal’s field office in Kansas City. That was convenient because I had to be there anyway for my match against Toddrick on ReVival 93.

Mercer looking out for me again.

When I got to the office, they took me upstairs into a room that was mostly blank except for a metal table, two metal chairs, and a piece of tinted glass across one wall. I’ve seen enough movies to know it was one-way glass.

They shut the door. I wonder if it was locked?

Then I took a seat, because there was literally nothing else to do.

I figured Mercer was watching me like a creeper from behind the glass, but then he came into the room carrying this folio-looking thing with a bunch of folders stuffed inside.

When I asked which folder was for me, he said, “All of them.”

Before we started, Mercer gave me a quick run-down of the training. The goal was to learn Chad Freedom’s – my -- history. Mercer said it was a necessity after my not-so-great interview with Satan Jones at Ultra Violence and the recent Nate Colton “encounter.”

I thought the word “encounter” was a choice, but whatever.

Mercer said I needed to learn the information now because there are cameras and microphones everywhere in PRIME.

Fair enough.

By now, I was starting to feel excited for the training. I wasn’t proud of my interview with Satan Jones, and I wish I could’ve kept the conversation going with Nate Colton the other day. This training was going to help me avoid those issues!

Mercer started pulling folders out of the folio. I saw one labeled WRESTLING, another one labeled HOBBIES, and another one labeled FAMILY.

I was hoping there’d be a FRIENDS folder, too, but I didn’t see one.

Anyway, I thought we’d be creating my backstory together – I mean, it’s my backstory! – but that isn’t how it worked. Turns out, the U.S. Marshal’s office wrote one for me.

Mercer started easy. He asked me what my name was.

Chad Freedom, bitch!

Then he asked me my middle name.

That question was stupid unexpected. I chose the name Chad Freedom because it was so much better than the name they originally wanted to assign me, but I’d never thought about a middle name.

There were a lot of obvious choices.

Liberty. Justice. Independence. George Washington.

Chad George Washington Freedom is such a badass name.

But the middle name they assigned me wasn’t George Washington.

It was Michael.

Michael!

Chad Michael Freedom.

Almost as bad as Bob fucking Evans, the name they almost gave me.

I told Mercer I wanted to change it, and he said that wasn't possible. I asked him why it was impossible if no one even knew this middle name, including me. He said something official-sounding about “resource allocation.”

Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy being appalled that the best the U.S. government could do was “Michael.”

Mercer asked me where I was born. I said St. Joseph, Michigan, but apparently that was wrong. He said, “Remember, it’s not where you are from. It’s where Chad Freedom is from.”

It’s weird hearing someone talk about Chad Freedom like he’s a totally different person.

I guess sometimes he is I am.

I learned that Chad Freedom grew up in Altadena, California.

I've never even been to California. Mercer said that was the point, because California and Michigan are 2,000 miles apart.

I learned that Chad Freedom's first car was a 2006 Ford Mustang in Vista Blue. Finally, something I can get behind! So much better than my real first car - a 1988 Chevy Cavalier with a crack in the windshield and a hole in the radiator.

If the U.S. Marshal’s office can give me a cool first car, why can’t they give me a cool middle name?

Chad Freedom’s first job was in high school at McDonald’s. My first job really was in high school, and it really was in fast food, but I worked at Burger King.

Whoppers are better than Big Macs. I’ll die on that hill.

Chad Freedom and I both played high school sports, although he played baseball and I played football.

We both had dogs. My dog’s name was Cooper. He was a pit bull mix. My old life-partner and I rescued him from a shelter. I miss that big slobbery doofus. I wish he was here with me right now.

Chad Freedom named The U.S. Marshal’s office named Chad Freedom’s my dog Scout.

Terrible name for a dog. Might as well have named it Michael.

Chad Freedom and I were both only children.

Freedom’s parents were David and Susan Freedom, but everyone called them Dave and Suz. Suz was a stay-at-home mom and led Altadena High School’s PTO program. Dave was an executive who attended every one of Chad's events no matter how busy he got. 

Dave wasn’t a huge fan of baseball until Chad got interested in it. Then, Dave studied up and volunteered to coach Chad’s team. Dave and Suz bought Chad that cool Mustang for his 16th birthday. Chad’s 16th birthday was also when his interest shifted away from baseball and to wrestling.

Turns out, Dave was a lifelong wrestling fan. He’d DVR every episode and always found time to watch it. Chad would watch wrestling with Dave, of course. They’d pop popcorn. Dave drank one or two Miller Lites during each show. Sometimes he’d let Chad try a sip.

I made those last two parts up, but I imagine it could’ve been true. It sounds like something Dave would do.

When Dave noticed Chad getting more interested in wrestling, he did what good dads do – he supported his son. They went to shows together. Eventually, Dave told Chad it was okay to skip college and go to wrestling school instead. Dave also smoothed it all over with Suz.

And that’s why Chad Freedom wrestled. To honor his father.

I wish.

I don’t know if all the overlap between my life and Chad Freedom’s was on purpose, but it stopped with our parents.

Art and Jody are were my parents. They loved me as best they could. In that mandatory way parents are supposed to love their kids.

They loved kids so much that they didn’t have any more.

Jody never graduated from high school. She bounced between minimum-wage jobs my whole life. Her dad used to hit her, too.

Art was a mechanic, but my first car still had a hole in the radiator.

Art was also a drunk who hated wrestling. Sober or not, he had a lot of homophobic things to say about grown men fighting with their shirts off. He called it “ballet,” which never made sense to me. Ballet looks hard as hell. Just like wrestling.

It’s interesting that he didn’t like wrestling considering how much he liked punching things. I didn’t learn until later that he didn’t like when things punched back.

Art was drunk one night. Shocker. He was angrier than usual, though. His tone got sharp when he was mad, like Mercer’s did after Chicago. He let me know that I’d left the kitchen light on.

The stupid thing was that he was in the kitchen when he told me this. Two feet away from the switch. But that wasn’t the point.

If yelling didn’t work, Art would resort to insults. And if insults didn’t work…

He punched me hard for “disrespecting his house.” It hurt, but I no-sold it. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Art was fucking around, and I wanted him to find out, so I punched him back. I staggered the bastard and split his lip. I remember him dabbing his index finger to his bottom lip, taking a good look at the blood that came away, and then telling me to get the fuck out.

He told people he kicked me out, but I had already planned to leave. My plan was to become a wrestler to spite him. Imagine Art’s son, doing “ballet.”

Jody didn’t say a word. Can’t blame her, though.

Happy 16th birthday to me.

I didn't tell Mercer any of that because he wasn't asking about Art and Jody. He has a file on them, like he has a file on everything else. He knows them. They’re still alive, living in southwest Michigan.

I'm no longer their son, but that happened a long time before Witness Protection.

Dave and Suz, according to the U.S. Marshal’s office, died in the Eaton wildfire in 2025. 

I’d only known them for about fifteen minutes and I missed them already.

The wrong parents died.

Mercer asked me why Chad Freedom became a wrestler.

I started reciting what he’d told me about Dave, but Mercer stopped me.

Not Dave, he said. My dad.

And not Chad Freedom. Me.

I became a wrestler because my dad loved wrestling.

Mercer doesn’t smile much. I can’t tell if it’s just his personality, or if he’s unhappy, but he smiled when I said that.

My brain was full after a few hours of training. I thought of The Matrix, where they could download everything you needed to know in your brain in seconds. That would’ve been so much easier. I asked Mercer if the government is working on that type of technology. He said he couldn’t comment.

I asked if I could take the folio with me as homework. He said no. Apparently, my history is classified and they don't want it getting into the wrong hands.

I feel like I should at least get a copy.

That was when Mercer told me we had one more thing to talk about. He’s serious all the time, so it’s hard to know if he’s got good news or bad news.

I don’t remember his exact words, but I do remember him saying the phrase “resource allocation” again. And because of that, he wouldn’t be joining me on the road anymore.

Oh.

So that’s what “resource allocation” means.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I shouldn’t have been hurt by it. Mercer had only committed to the last two shows in the Midwest. But it was nice having him around, and easy to get used to.

I also took it as a sign.

Apparently, I passed Advanced Identity Training well enough that I don't need a babysitter anymore.

I asked Mercer when I'd see him again at ringside. He said he didn't know, but he hoped it would be soon.

Me too.

Then he got up and opened the door. It wasn’t locked. He left it open for me.

The U.S. Marshal’s office wrote Chad Freedom’s past, but they don’t get to write the next part. There’s no folder in the folio for my future. 

A future where Mercer supports me like my fake parents did, even if it’s not at ringside.

A future where Nate Colton is an ally and doesn’t think of me differently if he figures out my past.

A future where Daihm, Bobby, and I all make more friendship bracelets, and we finish them this time. 

A future where Ivan Stanislav becomes my friend.

And a future where I'm not winless.

Because my first win is coming against Toddrick at ReVival 93.

That one will be for you, Dave Dad.