December 31, 2015
Duke Ranch outside of Dallas, Texas

Welcome to the home of Sean and Pamela Jackson.  A large 48,000 square foot mansion on the Duke Ranch just outside of Dallas, Texas.  With a reported building cost of $46 million dollars, the daughter of Oil Tycoon Cameron Duke finally moved into the dream home with her husband and ten year old son.  

The three story home with cathedral ball on top made people green with envy, it gave Sean and Pamela bragging rights for the largest and most expensive home in the state of Texas, surrounded by Zoysia sod grass imported specifically from Korea.  

Directly in front of the mansion was a long marble driveway that ran from one side of the home to another, both which run into two more driveways that extend from the back of the mansion, along either side approximately two hundred yards to another two marble driveways that extends to a full moon shaped circle drive which leads to the mansion owned by Cameron Duke.  

In between the two driveways directly in front of the mansion was a fish pond and fountain that lit up at night, charged with shining on the large Texas flag hanging on it's pole.

While the camera focused on the fountain and flag pole, the sound of tires rolling on the marble driveway gives cause for it to pan around to a Rolls Royce coming to the mansion.  The vehicle turns onto the circle drive and upon stopping in front, the uniformed driver exits and opens the back door.  

Stepping out in an expensive tailor made Italian suit, Sean Jackson and his attorney Marshall Owens make their way up the steps and enter the house.  

Jackson:  "So what do you think Marshall?"

The attorney is at a loss for words.  He had just walked into a home valued at $46 million dollars and sitting on 140 acres of the Duke Ranch just outside of Dallas.

Owens:  "I..uh..wow."

When the floor plans were initially drawn up, the attorney knew that building this thing was going to be a long and drawn out task, but never in his wildest dreams could he imagine it would be this huge.  A private lake was installed on the property along with a pool and pool house, and tennis court.

Jackson:  "Yeah, Pamela has a thing for French architecture.  She got the inspiration from a grand chateau we visited near Paris and well..."

As they enter, Marshall's jaw thuds to the floor.  The six bedroom, six full and eight half-bath main house takes his breath away.  In the middle of the room is a staircase made up of gold and maroon steps leading to a second floor inner balcony with dark railing.  

Marshall is dumb-founded, the entire room appears to be made of ivory, with a sporadic mixture of expensive furniture and openings to adjacent rooms.

Jackson:  "What Pamela wants, Pamela gets."

Upon noticing Marshall's reaction, the Internet Champion smiles and motions towards the staircase.

Jackson:  "Come on, I'll show you the rest."

Following his client up the stairs, Marshall can feel his heart beating out of his chest.  What he was looking at was unbelievable.  No matter how many cases he took on, there would be no way he could get something like this as an attorney.  But what made it more amazing is a professional wrestler now lived here.  Of course it was because of Pamela's rich father, but the Mental Rapist had made a contribution to the cause by his multiple world championships in multiple companies...

His business sense also played a large role, whether Cameron Duke wanted to admit it or not.

Now on the second floor inner balcony, the two men continue forward as Marshall can barely contain himself.

Owens:  "God damn Sean, all of this for just the three of you?"

The Dallas native nods.

Jackson:  "This is what Pamela wants, and it makes sense.  She has an inner pool to swim in when it is raining or cold, an outdoor pool when the weather is perfect.  We can teach our son to play tennis on our own court, can bowl on our own lanes, and the property is walled off..."

Sean points towards the front of the residence.

Jackson:  "Hell, even the yard is fenced in.  Face it Marshall, this gives my family everything they've ever wanted and I get to keep them safe.  You couldn't ask for a better place to live."

It made sense to Marshall.  When an individual has a lot of money, they have to do whatever it takes to keep themselves separated from leeches who live in our society.

Jackson:  Matter of fact, on this floor we have a steam room, a weight room, and well..."

The Supremacy member starts walking towards the west wing with Marshall following suit.  With a smile on his face, you can just imagine what he is about to show his attorney.

Jackson:  "Hold on to your lunch because what I'm about to show you is simply amazing."

Within moments the two are walking through a set of double doors and are looking at a lobby to a theatre room.  

Jackson:  "Our pride and joy."

Now it was just overkill at this point.  

Owens:  "Is this what I think it is?"

The Dallas native nods.

Jackson:  "Yes Marshall, our very own theatre.  We can watch whatever we want in here, without having to deal with a rude and obnoxious public.  We can pick and choose our guests and you can't get better than that."

The Internet Champion points upstairs.

Jackson:  "You think that's something, upstairs we have a ballroom with two different powder rooms for the men and women.  Downstairs is a fifteen car garage and..."

Marshall's head is spinning.  Okay, $46 million dollars is $46 million dollars and so far, he has only seen a small part of what that money actually paid for.

Owens:  "Sean..."

The interruption is enough to get the Mental Rapist to stop talking.

Owens:  "I get it, you are proud of this place and you should be.  But a person could get lost in here, and personally, I think this is a bit much for just three people..."

The Dallas native is proud of the place, and like Marshall said, he is supposed to be.  But it is what they wanted, it is what Pamela wanted, and what Pamela wants, Pamela gets.  However, what Marshall didn't know is that the Jackson family had a full compliment of staff to man the duties of running this huge home and the grounds surrounding it.

Jackson:  Come on Marshall, the kid isn't going to get lost and neither are the rest of us.  We have a full time staff and there will always be people here.  Matter of fact, in that ballroom I can do interviews, press conferences, you name it."

Owens:  "Interviews?"

Jackson:  "Absolutely."

An interesting thought crosses the mind of Marshall Owens.

Owens:  "Episodes of a Sitdown with Sean Jackson?"

The Internet Champion raises his hand and begins stroking his chin.  Now that was an interesting thought.  Instead of traveling to Las Vegas or another part of the country to do his shows, it could possibly be done upstairs in the ballroom.

Jackson:  "Well, there's one way to find out."


Moments later...

The two are seated in director type chairs, still inside the theatre.  Even though the initial decision was to attempt an impromptu interview in the ballroom, a change was made to stay inside of the theatre because of the large movie screen behind them.  After clearing his throat, Marshall begins.

Owens:  "You know, I do believe this will be a better setting."

Briefly scanning the room, Sean nods in agreement.

Jackson:  "Yeah, I think you're right."

Getting that out of the way, Marshall dives right on in.

Owens:  "Sean, on November 24th...Ms. Pussy Willow hosted her weekly show in which she discussed your upcoming opponent Goth."

The Dallas native cocks his head to the side, impressed with the start.  A somewhat predictable start, but impressive none the less.

Owens:  "And during that weekly show, she used an interview that was conducted on the 15th of November in which some interesting things was mentioned.  It is those comments made by Goth that I want to touch on."

Sean nods his head, motioning for Marshall to bring it.  And for Marshall, it is challenge accepted.  Taking out his cell phone, the attorney goes to youtube and immediately finds the video of the show.  As he begins to play the video on his phone, technology takes over and the large screen behind them comes to life and the video is played there as well.  It is a backstage interview where Goth is talking about his successful title defense and continues until the end.  Once that moment occurs, the video screen goes black.  

Owens:  "Overall impression?"

The Mental Rapist smirks.

Jackson:  "Goth is lost, point black.  He is Captain Smith going down with the Titanic, unable to see the iceberg bearing down on him.  For some reason he believes that Raab and Samuel will be able to save him from Drake Green, from Travis Nathaniel Andrews, and me...."

He reaches off screen and grabs his Internet Championship, draping it over his shoulder.

Jackson:  "Even though we hold all the gold.  Now don't get me wrong, Goth is clearly the member of the Monstimals with the most talent, but that doesn't relate to success against the Supremacy which is the reason he is no longer the Roulette Champion."

So far so good.  

Owens:  "During his interview with Willow, Goth made some interesting comments about Drake Green.  I believe it went something along the lines of, Drake was upset this and Drake only shows up that."

Again Sean strokes his chin, taking it all in.

Owens:  "Drake doesn't want to be disrespcted this, and Drake calls himself the Showstopper that..."

Finally, the Dallas native chimes in.

Jackson:  "With all due respect Marshall, as I stated before, Goth is delusional.  First off, there is nothing that Goth can do to make Drake upset about anything.  He is a Hollywood star as well as a professional star, and Goth had better be respectful of that fact.  Secondly, for that reason Drake Green has the right to take time off when needed because you can't compare what he does to what Goth does."

The Mental Rapist adjusts in his chair, really getting into this interview setting.

Jackson:  "Drake calls himself the Showstopper because that is exactly what he does.  The man has been on top of the wrestling business for years and has the respect of not only Mark Ward and TNA, but myself included.  When Drake defends his championship, it is against quality competition and not a bunch of tin cans.  Which is the reason Drake now has the World Heavyweight Championship and the Roullette Championship while Goth has nothing."

Marshall gives that fair enough nod and once again goes to his phone.  There is a second part to the video, an interview that took place in a Cancun hotel room on the 26th of November.  As that video begins to play, again the big screen behind them comes to life.  They both sit intently watching the video until Goth's wife enters the room, wearing a skimpy outfit.  Of course the outfit causes Goth to lose his concentration and that is just the ammo the Internet Champion needs.

Jackson:  "Look at that slut, no respect for herself or Goth."

That prompts Marshall to pause the video, where the camera is specifically on the wife.

Jackson:  "But I guess that is to be expected from trash.  Here Goth is conducting an interview with Ms. Willow, and Ms. Street Whore comes out and basically screams for everyone to look at her."

Leaning towards the big screen, Sean points at her.

Jackson:  "But I guess that's to be expected because look who her husband associates with?  He spends all his time with two men that play hide the vienna sausage, and neither of which has an ounce of wrestling ability.  Which is probably the reason he doesn't correct the problem immediately, because none of them have any respect for themselves."

Yeah, that won't go over well in the Goth household.

Jackson:  "Take my wife Pamela for instance.  She knows you are here, she knows we are probably conducting business and if she walked in this room right now, she would be dressed in a professional manner.  As the wife of a multiple time world heavyweight champion, she knows how to show respect for herself and me.  She knows how to keep from being an embarrassment to our son..."

Sean pauses, allowing those words to sink in.

Jackson:  "Which is obviously something that trollip knows nothing about.  You know, I'm gagging as we speak, please start the video so she can hopefully exit the room."

As instructed, Marshall unpauses it.  As the video plays, there are certain times when Sean looks deep in thought, others where he is almost laughing.  The contrast in emotions isn't lost on Marshall who says nothing, waiting the second part to end.  Once it does, Marshall again turns to his client.

Owens:  "Opinions?"

Jackson:  "On what?  The video or Goth?"

Owens:  "Both."

Pfft, he asked for it.

Jackson:  "The video was boring and Goth was still delusional.  The fact he honestly believed that there was a chance against Drake was laughable at best.  There wasn't a scenario imaginable that could have helped him.  Drake is one of the top three stars in this business alongside Travis and myself, which means Goth would stand no chance at all against us.  But as with all delusional people, he will take an ass whipping this Sunday night and still believe he can win."

There is that million dollar smirk again.

Jackson:  "Which is quite pathetic if you ask me."

Marshall attempts to say something, but the Internet Champion beats him to the punch.

Jackson:  "I noticed that Goth received some viewer questions from a couple of people, probably planted questions, but questions none the less.  Like the one asked by Mary..."

It was a question regarding Goth's eyesight.

Jackson:  "Of all the questions she could have asked, she's going to ask about his eyesight?"

Sean shakes his head.

Jackson:  "Hey Mary, the dumb bastard is blind already.  But not to worry, after I crack his skull open with a devastating high knee, being blind will be the least of his worries."

Marshall picks up on the direction that Sean wants to go, and follows it up with the next question during that interview.

Owens:  "That was good Sean.  Okay, how about the question from Keith about who was Goth's toughest opponent?"

Jackson:  "Again, delusional.  Goth's toughest opponents have been the ones in his head, that being the Supremacy.  At December 2 Dismember Drake Green beat him from pillar to post, and come this Sunday night, I am going to finish the job."

Giving the cut symbol with a finger across the throat, Sean gives every indication that he has grown tired of the videos.  Now if they were watching a well-crafted Hollywood version of a Drake Green interview, or something from TNA, then that would be different.  But because it wasn't Supremacy related, he was no longer showing interest.

Jackson:  "Marshall, do me a favor and never show that crap again.  Had I known it was that bad, I would have never let it go on my big screen."

The Mental Rapist looks back at his movie screen.

Jackson:  "Now I need to replace the damn thing."

Owens:  "You don't need to replace anything Sean, it..."

Jackson:  "Don't tell me that garbage Marshall, I had to watch that crap on my movie screen and from here on out, every time I watch anything in here, I will see that Pussy Willow and Goth bullshit."

Covering his face with his hand, Sean leans back in his chair, fighting back the disgust.  Marshall attempts to console his client, but is unable.

Jackson:  "God damn it Marshall, stop with the Dr. Phil routine already."

Wait, that's not how this was supposed to go.  The Internet Champion is supposed to be calm, cool and collected.  But instead, he's in his own theatre about to blow a gasket.  That is until he sneaks a peak at that championship belt on his shoulder.  Yes championship gold is always the cure all.

Jackson:  "You know Marshall, you are right, forget the screen.  I'm not going to let some nutjob ruin our very first impromptu interview, in this $46 million dollar mansion."

Owens:  "Well, we could just edit it."

Jackson:  "Edit it?"

Marshall nods.

Owens:  "Sure, edit it.  We can edit out the video, just like it never happened."

The Dallas native starts to give the idea some serious thought.  On one side, it consists of ripping down a very expensive movie screen and scrubbing the entire theatre, or act like the incident never took place.

Jackson:  "Edit it huh?"

Owens:  "Yeah, it is real easy to do.  All you need to do is..."

Or just go with option three.  Without warning, the movie screen begins to raise and behind it is a newer screen a more expensive screen.  Once the old screen is out of the way, the movie projector begins to play the waning moments of the main event at December 2 Dismember III.

Stepping into the picture is the Vietnamese vixen Vanessa and she is holding a remote for the movie screen.

Owens:  "Replace the screen."

Both Marshall and Sean share a good laugh as Vanessa stands behind them, her back to the screen.  Yes, it was a gag from start to finish as it is obvious the plan was put into place well before showing the video display of Goth.  But hey, at least it gave Sean the platform to toss a few insults at Goth's wife.

Jackson:  "Like I would waste a brand new screen on you and your tramp of a wife.  If I wanted to burn cash, I would take a zippo lighter to a hundred dollar bill like I did Raab.  But fortunately for me, I didn't like the cheap screen that was in here and yesterday afternoon..."

Sean reaches into his pocket and takes out a thick clip of one hundred dollar bills.  

Jackson:  "I threw a few of these down and got a screen more to my liking.  A screen worthy enough for this..."

He stops talking in time to watch the events unfolding on the new screen.  The movie shows Drake dropping Goth with a double underhook implant DDT.

Jackson:  "A show worthy enough for multiple Oscar Awards."

As Sean is still seated, clapping his hands, on the movie screen is Mark Ward unzipping his jacket to reveal the referee shirt.  

Jackson:  "Best picture, definitely the best picture I've seen all year.  So many plot twists..."

Followed by Sean and Travis taking down Raab and Samuel.  With the Monstimals down, Drake rolls Goth over on his back and the three count from Mark Ward is anticlimactic.

The Internet Champion springs to his feet, clapping louder and faster than before.

Jackson:  "BRAVO, BRAVO.  BEST PICTURE EVER!!!"

He is clapping so hard, he has to catch the belt before it falls off his shoulder.  The smile on his face is huge, it is so contageous that even Vanessa cracks a small one.  

Jackson:  "Best picture, best man, best supporting cast.  It all belongs us, just as the world belongs to us.  That's right Goth, it all belongs to us.  You and your merry band of goof balls had your fifteen seconds of shame and now..."

That's right people, there's a new power in SCW.

Jackson:  "Now, it is time to show how a real power controls the world of professional wrestling.  You see, we don't wear crappy clothing and associate with tramps.  We wear expensive suits, we drive expensive cars, and we don't carry anything less than the Benjamins my hobo looking friend."

The Mental Rapist reaches into his pocket and takes out another clip, this time filled with gold standard credit cards.  As he starts to slip them from the clip, he tosses them nonchalantly over his shoulder managing to miss Vanessa with most of them.

Jackson:  "I bet I've got more of these, than you have money in your pocket.  I could lose them all and it wouldn't faze me a bit.  If I ran out of cash, I could step into any bank in this world and walk out with enough cash to survive..."

He is pouring it on thick, really thick.

Jackson:  "On my signature alone."

The camera pans in real tight on his face, the reason?  He has an important piece of information to distribute.

Jackson:  "Or better yet, have the resources to find someone who closely resembles me.  Buy that individual's way into the backstage area, and get him on the ring crew.  Then at the right moment, slip under the ring and wait for his moment to strike..."

The smile disappears and is replaced with a far more devious expression.

Jackson:  "That's right Goth, I was the one who concocted twin magic.  I found the guy, I got him in, and then I screwed some people over.  But when you have all the money, all the belts, and all the power, you can do whatever the hell you want to do.  Which leads me to this Sunday night in Las Vegas..."

With 2015 drawing to a close, one has to wonder what this means for 2016.

Jackson:  "Just what kind of tricks will I have up my sleeve?  Will I re-introduce twin magic?  Will I pay someone to take you out before the match even begins?  Oh yeah Goth, in Las Vegas there's a lot of people down on their luck.  Losing their homes, their cars..."

Dramatic pause.

Jackson:  "Their family."

Raab wanted to see a monster?  Well now he will get to see one, but at Goth's expense.

Jackson:  "Believe me Goth, I wouldn't be above putting a bounty on your head.  Hell, I bet there are people in Vegas who would do just about anything for five thousand dollars.

He looks back down at the clip of hundred dollar bills and has an epiphany.  In that clip IS five thousand dollars.  Imagine that.

Jackson:  "Matter of fact, it will be the best investment I ever made.  It will be like taking candy from a baby, just like taking a Roulette Championship from a coward, just like taking the manhood from a little bitch set on fire.  Your fifteen seconds of fame is over Goth, it was over the moment Raab called me out..."

Another pause.

Jackson:  "You were just too blind to see it.  Isn't that right Mary from Detroit, Michigan?"

The Mental Rapist turns to face his attorney.

Jackson:  "You like what I did there?"

Marshall nods, taking note to the connection with Goth's blurred vision.

Jackson:  "I thought you would.  Now then, I'm done wasting my free time on that nobody.  I've got more important things to do, like tweeting my good friends in Vegas."

He flashes that money clip one final time.

Jackson:  "Giving them five thousand reasons to be there."


_______________________________



"Goth, I hate delivering bad news but, you are on the wrong side of the war.  You find yourself worrying about all the wrong things, accepting wins that mean nothing, while not realizing that the losses are the biggest killers of them all.  You were fed a tag team victory in a match that meant absolutely nothing.  When you and Alexis beat Drake and Lyah, the only one who crowed about it was you.  Did you notice how nonchalant Drake was?  Did you even care?"

"Of course you didn't, you were blinded by a cheap win, not understanding the fine art of war that Drake, Travis, Mark and I utilize.  We understand what it takes to take an opponent out of his element, off his game, in order to make the battle easier to win."

"All we have to do is play the distraction card.  Maybe screw Raab and Samuel a bit more in the tag ranks, use it to cause a bit of friction, to frustrate them in order to keep you occupied.  Because that is what men of power do, is it not?  But it doesn't have to be that way Goth, not at all.  Sapphira won't have to be glued to the television, or the monitor, worrying if I take the eyesight from you.  Come on Goth, are you really going to put your wife thru that?  Forcing her to wait on you hand and foot, to watch you struggle inside your own darkness, becoming less of a man with every passing second."

"Can you imagine her life Goth?  Putting everything on hold because she's afraid to leave you by yourself?  But you are a selfish son of a bitch now aren't you?  Of course you are, because you will force her to stand in front of the world, professing her love in order not to be judged in the court of public opinion."

"But it isn't about her now is it?  If it isn't about Goth, then it should be eighty-sixed, am I right?  Of course I'm right because unless my memory is wrong, you got the world heavyweight title shot by working with Mr. Ward.  Then when that shot was granted, you went back to being all Monstimals.  Well Goth, that is the reason you guys have nothing, and we are in total control."  

"Like Sapphira has said on numerous occasions, you know the career is coming to an end.  So you are willing to sacrifice everything to become the world heavyweight champion.  You will sacrifice your wife, you will sacrifice the Monstimals, you will even sacrifice your life for that one moment of glory, to raise the SCW World Heavyweight Championship in 2016.  Well again, it won't happen because you are on the wrong side of the war.  You chose loyalties to some dream, to a couple of idiots named Raab and Samuel, rather than the brains of this operation, Mark Ward."


_______________________________________


December 31, 2015
A few hours before midnight


The mansion was buzzing with excitement.  On the outside, hundreds of lights with different setting and sizes adorned the marble driveways while inside, family and friends prepared to ring in the new year.  The outside balcony on the third floor was also lit up with light fixtures and holiday decorations, making the mansion visible for miles.

On the first floor, in the main room stood Cameron Duke, the oil tycoon father of Pamela Duke-Jackson.  The running feud which had existed between himself and his son-in-law Sean Jackson had been going on for years, but put on hold for this one night...

For Pamela.

Holding a glass of champagne, Cameron soaked in the wonders of the mansion knowing that his wealth indirectly helped in its creation.  His eyes light up on the approach of his daughter as she is wearing a very conservative dress that is appropriate for the occasion.

Once at her father's side, she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Pamela:  "Thank you for coming daddy.  It really means a lot to see you here."

Loving your daughter means doing something you wouldn't normally do.  Yes, he hated Sean Jackson with a passion, but he loved his daughter more.  So if tolerating him for one night would make her happy, then so be it.

Cameron:  "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

In The background, Sean could only smile.  There was the great Cameron Duke, standing face to face with his daughter, not knowing of the plan the Internet Champion had in the works.

Jackson:  "It will be like taking candy from a baby."


fin.

 Monday November 16th
Aboard Dynasty One
Off the coast of Havana, Cuba.


It was a bright clear day, with a solid blue sky bathed with sunlight that splashed all over the top deck of Dynasty One.  As the luxury super yacht sat stationary off the Cuban coast, the sound of two water skis in the distance, breaks the silence.  Leaning against the railing is the SCW Internet Champion, looking out towards his wife Pamela and valet Vanessa, who are both riding circles around the yacht.  

It was a great life, all the money he could ever want, and a beautiful woman to share it with.  He was even getting paid to act like he was on vacation by refusing to show up at SCW events, instead sending his attorney Marshall Owens to speak for him.  For the last couple of weeks, he had stuck it to the powers that be, giving ultimatum after ultimatum to not only Christian Underwood, but Mark Ward as well.

Sporting a smile on his face, Sean just continued to lean on the railing, knowing that both Mark and Christian would have no choice but to cave, to give into his demands.  After all, both of the SCW co-owners knew that during this past calendar year, there hadn't been a more consistent star anywhere on the roster, that when it came to performing week in and week out, no one came close to the Mental Rapist Sean Jackson, no one.

As both jet skis came around for another pass, both Pamela and Vanessa are wearing bright-colored one piece swim suits that expectedly hug their features, but also makes them easy to spot in case of any freak accidents.  However, Sean isn't the only person looking on from the top deck as another person had taken up position, keeping a close eye on the two females.  Scott Cooke, the man in charge of Pamela's security team was also paying attention to the location and safety of both women.  Pamela for obvious reasons, being the daughter of oil tycoon Cameron Duke, and Vanessa for the not so obvious reason.  

From the front of the yacht, Scott had a perfect 360 degree view of anything possibly approaching from any direction.  With the high-powered binoculars, he could see from horizon to horizon, which meant he could easily see the object of his forbidden desire, the beautiful Vietnamese vixen who had stolen his heart many months ago.

Once both jet skis take their current lap in front of the yacht, Scott catches an object approaching from the direction of the Cuban coast.  Concerned, he points the binoculars in that direction where a helicopter is leaving from the Cuban mainland and heading their way.  Instinctively, he picks up a radio and makes contact with the bridge.

Cooke:  "We have company, look alive people."

There is a moment of silence from the bridge and as Scott begins to reach for his sidearm, a response crackles back over his radio.

Bridge:  "I'm being informed it is Mr. Owens returning from a meeting."

Relieved, Scott takes his attention from the sidearm and begins to make his way towards the bridge.  As he does, Sean is completely oblivious, instead awaiting for the two women to come back around for yet another pass of his location, giving him another view of his wife.

Cut to a view inside of the helicopter where seated in the back, Marshall has a worried look on the face.  As an Advocate for the Internet Champion, it was Marshall's duty to get his client's message across, to do Sean's bidding without prejudice, and now he was heading back to Dynasty One with the worst news possible.  In his hand was a large envelope, containing nothing less than an ultimatum from both Christian Underwood and Mark Ward themselves, basically laying down the law to the rebellious Internet Champion.  

Prior to his meeting with the SCW owners, Marshall never thought the situation would get this far out of hand.  He thought that Mark Ward would come to his senses, that he would give his client everything he asked for and more.  But the envelope represented something entirely different, for it was proof they had seriously miscalculated the resolve of Mr. Ward when it came to his company, and the allegiance to someone like Lord Raab.    

In other words, all hell was going to break loose the moment he landed on Dynasty One.

Pilot:  "Mr. Owens, we'll be landing in a few minutes."

The attorney nods his head slowly.  At this particular moment, he wouldn't mind just going back to Havana and forgetting the whole thing.  But, he couldn't do that to his client.  No, he had to deliver this message, he had to make sure Sean wouldn't do anything stupid.

Owens:  "Okay."

Looking down at the envelope, he takes in a deep breath before letting it out slowly.  It doesn't help.

Owens:  (under his breath)  "He's going to blow a gasket, I just know it."

Cut back to Dynasty One, inside the bridge where the captain is manning the navigation.  Standing next to him is Scott Cooke, who is monitoring the radar as well as any radio chatter coming from the approaching helicopter.  Being a former special forces operator in Iraq and Afghanistan, Scott was a master in just about every facet of radar and communication, but sat back and listened as the captain and the pilot both bantered back and forth with the approach and landing pattern.  Once the approach path was determined, Scott reaches for, and activates the bellowing bull-horn type alarm, notifying both Pamela and Vanessa it was time to bring the skis in.  Once their attention is diverted to the alarm, Scott steps out and points towards the approaching chopper.

With a simple nod, both make their way to the rear of the yacht where a few moments later, they are safely back on board.  Not lost on this is Sean Jackson, who too notices the chopper's approach and makes his way towards the small helipad by walking thru the bridge.

Cooke:  "Mr. Jackson, it is Marshall returning from Havana."

Acknowledging the security chief with a nod, the Texas native makes his way thru and towards the helipad.  As he does, the chopper's door opens and out steps Marshall, still holding the envelope.  As the chopping sound of the blades ripping thru the air continuously echos against the outside wall of the bridge, Marshall bends over slightly as he makes his way to the bridge himself.  Once cleared of the blades, Sean gives the thumbs up and the rotors begins to pick up speed, creating lift for the helicopter as it starts to clear the luxury super yacht.

Stepping back into the bridge, Sean is still sporting that million dollar smile as he places his hand on Marshall's shoulder, guiding him inside as well.  Confident that the SCW hierarchy has caved to his demands, the eyes of the Mental Rapist makes their way down to the envelope.

Jackson:  "So they finally caved and gave me Raab?"

Before Marshall gets a chance to respond.

Jackson:  "Excellent.  Now I get to put an end to this so-called monster once and for..."

He never finishes as Marshall turns to face his client, the facial expression on his attorney's face tells a different story, a story of disappointment.

Jackson:  "Marshall?"

Taking another deep breath, he is searching for the words to soften the blow.  However the silence is something Sean doesn't want to hear."

Jackson:  "Marshall?"

Sensing the answers are in the envelope, Sean snatches it from his attorney's hands and steps out of the bridge and towards the rear of the yacht.  As he rips open the envelope, Marshall is right there, starting to plead his case.

Owens:  "I tried every argument I could Sean, they just wouldn't budge.  I told them you wanted..."

Tossing the envelope to the side, the SCW Internet Champion begins reading the fine print, page after page of it.

Owens:  "Lord Raab, but neither would give him up.  They said you were contractually obligated...."

The more Sean read, the madder he got.

Owens:  "To defend your title against Kris Halc this Sunday in Costa Rica."

Spinning around, the Mental Rapist is now staring daggers through his so-called Advocate.

Jackson:  "I gave you one job Marshall, ONE.  You were supposed to deliver an ultimatum, you were supposed to secure Raab's head on a silver platter, and you come back with THIS?"

He shakes the paperwork at Marshall before throwing them down on the deck.

Jackson:  "This isn't worth wiping my ass with.  How dare you bring this garbage to me Marshall?  How dare you even leave from that God damned office without securing what I sent you for?  Well I'm not standing for this, if they aren't going to give me what I want, then this tour is over..."

Storming towards the bridge, Sean immediately begins waving his hand in order to capture the attention of the captain.

Jackson:  "We are done here, let's head home."

Owens:  "Sean, you can't."

Spinning his head around like the little girl on exorcist, the Texas native isn't playing games.  He could do whatever he damn well pleased and nobody was going to tell him otherwise.  Especially an attorney who couldn't even do ONE JOB correctly.

Jackson:  "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do.  I am Sean Jackson, I am the SCW Internet Champion, and I'm the best wrestler on the face of the planet.  I can go home any time I want, and I'm going to prove it."

About that time Pamela and Vanessa appear in the bridge from the solid glass elevator.  As they do, Scott quickly motions for Vanessa to follow him back into the elevator.  With Vanessa following the security chief, Pamela moves out of the bridge and to her husband's side.

Owens:  "You don't understand Sean.  If you don't appear in Costa Rica to face Halc, they will strip you of the title and suspend you."

Now that was the last straw.  How dare Ward and Underwood answer his ultimatum with one of their own?  don't they understand who in the hell runs that damn company?  did they even care?

Jackson:  "They wouldn't dare.  I am Sean f'n Jackson and I can do whatever the hell I want to do.  If I want to head back to Texas, then I can.  They can't stop me from doing a damn thing, so I don't want to hear that..."

Owens:  "Damn it Sean, this isn't a joke.  You weren't there, you didn't see the drama you've created, you didn't hear the words coming out of their mouths.  Christian has every intention of stripping you and if that happens, they will have no problem handing down a suspension, ruining any chance you have of getting Raab in the ring..."

Marshall shoves his index finger repeatedly at his own temple.

Owens:  "Think Sean, think.  You can't get Raab if you are suspended.  They can and will ban you from every SCW event, from every SCW arena, from..."

The Mental Rapist has heard enough.

Jackson:  "Alright...alright....enough.  You're starting to sound like my father-in-law."

Now it is Pamela shooting eye daggers.  Even though she doesn't say anything about the negative dig on her father, she is clearly upset about the comment.   Once the engines are started and the luxury super yacht begins to move, the current SCW Internet Champion realizes Marshall is correct and motions for the engines to be shut down.

Jackson:  "Okay, you win.  Now what?"

Realizing that these moments are few and far in between, Marshall takes full advantage in getting his client back on track.  Actually, he has formulated a plan, that if done right, would carry the biggest impact of 2015.

Owens:  "We go to Costa Rica, and you defend the Internet Championship against Halc.  But, we don't just to there to have a wrestling match, we go there to flip the wrestling world upside down.  We throw down the ultimatum of all ultimatums, we throw SCW in total chaos and believe me, with what I have planned, you will be the hottest free agent on the roster..."

The words free agent definitely catches his attention.

Owens:  "It is called the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and it is sure to make BOTH Christian Underwood and Mark Ward stand up to take notice."

The Mental Rapist begins to stroke his chin.  The term isn't lost on the Dallas, Texas native as he has heard it numerous times before.  However, now it was taking on a different meaning as thousands of thoughts began to flood over him.  

Jackson:  "ACW versus SCW?"

As Marshall nods triumphantly, a smile begins to form.  His client was now getting it, a way to bust down the door in order to get exactly what he wants.  There was a power struggle within SCW, and it wasn't just between the owners, it also included specific roster members who either aligned themselves with the Monstrimals or Drake Green.

Jackson:  "Marshall, you're a genius."

In cutting to a different part of the yacht, the Vietnamese bombshell Vanessa was in her state-room, changing behind a vanity partition.  Also in the room is Scott Cooke, who is seated in a chair directly across from the partition.  From his location, Scott could see her silhouette cast against the wall from a lamp close by.  She was beautiful, there was no denying it, and after months of trying to ignore what was in front of him, he could do it no longer.  

Stepping from behind the partition, Vanessa was now wearing a very revealing white bath robe, a semi bow tied in the front.

Vanessa:  "Can I get you something to drink?"

Her voice, soft and seductive, was music to his ears.  She was beautiful, stunning even, there was no denying that fact.  His heart starts to race as he nods.

Cooke:  "Yes, thank you."

With the smile returned, Vanessa walks over to the bar and begins to pour a couple of drinks.  She had a past, there was no denying that, but for the first time in her life, she was now in total control.  As a child, she was ripped from her family in a tiny Vietnamese town and sold into prostitution in Thailand.  She remembered her family, her entire town slaughtered by radical islamic terrorists who brutalized her on a daily basis even before sending her to Thailand.  It took a long time to get to this point, because until now, she had only trusted Sean and Pamela.

As she walked across the room, her eyes became fixated on his.  She found herself scanning his face, searching his soul, analyzing the man she had been in close proximity with for months.  She had millions of opportunities to observe his professional demeanor where it pertained to the security of Pamela, but now she was sharing an intimate moment with him, in her room, and her heart was also racing.

Handing him one of the drinks, she kneels down between his knees, never once breaking eye contact.  Not a single word was spoken, it wasn't needed as both continued to share the moment of silence, the magnetic attraction so intense it could be cut with a knife.  Her body begins to tremble as she placed a free hand on his knee, not knowing if the move would be rejected.  The tremble turns into a quake as his free hand finds its way to her long jet black hair.  As he begins to stroke her hair gently, Vanessa's eyes close and her breathing begins to quicken...  

The scene cuts to a conference room where the SCW Internet Champion is seated behind a solid oak desk.  He is listening intently as both Marshall and Pamela are in a heated discussion about Costa Rica and Halc.

Pamela:  "But that's the thing Marshall, you don't know how it is going to play out.  Sure, it sounds good on paper, but we all know that no plan is foolproof..."

And she should know.  Twice in the span of one year, grubby fingered trashy individuals have put their hands on her, most recently Synn during Sean's feud with Despayre.

Pamela:  "So have your ducks in a row before trying to set into motion one of your hair-brained schemes."

Sure Marshall would give her those.  In both instances, the situation didn't exactly bode in Sean's favor and even got her father Cameron Duke involved.  As if he needed valid reasons to ruin their marriage.

Owens:  "Okay, I admit those weren't some of my best ideas, but this one can't fail.  We go to Costa Rica, set the world on fire, and then sit back and watch as the offers come rolling in.  I mean, can you imagine Sean dropping that bombshell on Sin City, then backing it up by completely destroying Halc?"

Sean was loving it, ALL of it.  Every single word was solid gold to his ears, and whether Pamela approved or not, he was going to endorse the idea.  In this war of SCW versus ACW, the Internet Champion knew that Mark Ward could ill-afford to let him go to the camp of Drake Green, and vice-versa.

Owens:  "It would be poetic justice, from start to finish."

Pamela opens her mouth in order to respond, but it shocked when the words that echo in the room belongs to a man, her man.

Jackson:  "You are a genius Marshall, no doubt about it."

A split second after her mouth slams shut, it falls open again as Pamela is completely dumbfounded.  Here she was erring in caution, and Sean was jumping in feet first.  She is equally shocked as her husband jumps to his feet and begins to usher them out...

Jackson:  But now I have something to do.  So if you'll excuse me..."

Both attempt to put up a passive struggle to stay in the room, to get an idea of what he has planned, but the Texas native doesn't waiver.  He needs the room to himself and as he pushes them out the door, he starts to close the door behind them.

Jackson:  "We will get together later for drinks."

Pamela:  "But Sean...."

That is the last he hears as the door slams shut behind them.  Rubbing his hands together, the Internet Champion moves back to the desk where he activates the camera on his computer.  Leaning back in his chair, that million dollar smile begins to form and a video message for Kris Halc is born.


***************************************************


Jackson:  "Welcome back Kris, good to see you back in Sin City Wrestling.  However, it is too bad Mark Ward and Christian Underwood didn't think enough for your health, to place you in the ring with someone who didn't want to hurt you."

Even though the Mental Rapist is still smiling, it doesn't diminish the verbal threat.

Jackson:  "I made my demands known, even Stevie Wonder could see what I wanted, but instead they serve you up on a silver platter.  Well Kris, I know you are a tremendous talent or you wouldn't be here, but this match in San Jose is going to be the pure definition of being in the wrong place, and at the wrong time.  Now I can say this with one hundred percent certainty, I have nothing against you personally..."

He leans forward in his seat, letting everyone watching the video see directly into his eyes.

Jackson:  "I am sure you are a great guy, but I have to prove a point to both Ward and Underwood.  I have to show them that my bite is worse than my bark, that I don't make idle threats.  Take ISIS for instance, in that Paris theatre, they made due on a promise and now the rest of the world is taking them seriously."

The smile slowly disappears.

Jackson:  "So I guess when words are ignored, you have to strike with actions.  Which means, this Sunday, I won't be held responsible for my actions.  I told Ward and Underwood what they could expect if Raab wasn't given to me, and in my world, a man is only as good as his word, so I have to abide by that.  I put Justin Halliwell and Jamie Dean in the hospital, I even put Drake Green on the shelf for several months..."

His eyes now cold, dark, soulless.

Jackson:  "But none of that will compare to the massacre that will occur in the National Theatre and you can rest assured, when I line up my knee to the back of your skull, it won't mis-fire.  I can promise you that."

The ominous threat is eerily similar to the description from the terrorist who pointed his weapon at the tourist, only for it to jam.  It allowed the tourist to escape with her life.

Jackson:  "And much like ISIS blames that attack on the rest of the world?  I blame what I'm going to do to you on Mark Ward and Christian Underwood.  Because it WILL be their fault."


fin.

 September 3, 2015
Just off the New Zealand coastline
Aboard Dynasty One


The scene opens on the sun deck of Dynasty One, approximately 10 miles off the coast of New Zealand.  As the former SCW world heavyweight champion leans on the railing, looking out at the water below, his wife Pamela is in the Jacuzzi while Vanessa is sun-bathing in a very revealing two piece bikini.  Off in the distance is Scott Cooke who is taking some down time from his security detail and keeping watch on the Vietnamese vixen.

With a glass of champagne in his hand, Sean looks up at the blue sky before taking a sip.  His mind is on other things, clearly a million miles away when Marshall Owens steps into view.

Owens:  Earth to Sean...Earth to Sean.

Hearing the voice of his attorney snaps him back to reality.  Cracking a smile, Sean responds with a nod and a slight tilt of his glass.

Owens:  Where did you go?

Shaking his head, the former SCW world heavyweight champion turns his attention back to the water.

Jackson:  It's beautiful isn't it?

The attorney also turns his attention to the water and nods.

Owens:  Yeah, I could spend some quality time here.  Maybe hit the beaches and find me a New Zealand hottie like that...

He motions over his shoulder towards Vanessa who is still sun-bathing.

Owens:  You know, throw something on me that Ajax couldn't get rid of.

They both share a chuckle.

Jackson:  Well, when we pull into port on this.  I'm quite sure you will find exactly what you are looking for.

Now he was talking, Marshall thought to himself.  To see this monstrous 195 foot luxury yacht pulling into port, every gold digger within a fifty mile radius would be flocking to him.

Owens:  Oh, I'm sure I will.  Hell, maybe one of those bombshells will want a piece of the Marshall Plan.

The former champion does a double take.

Jackson:  The Marshall Plan?

He rolls his eyes at the lame attempt of Marshall to put a name tag on a hypothetical sexual trisk.

Jackson:  Did you really just say the Marshall Plan?

Taken aback, Marshall is confused.  He thought it was a good name to use, or maybe Sean just didn't understand the reference.

Owens:  Yeah, you know...the Marshall Plan.  I took the name Marshall be...

Sean understood it the first time, so having to endure a fifteen minute explanation wasn't going to be required.

Jackson:  Yeah, I get it Marshall.  Just do me a favor and don't say it again because there isn't a bimbo dumb enough to fall for a line like that.

Marshall begs to differ.

Owens:  Ana Nicole Smith would.

The former world champion is now solidly convinced that Marshall was dropped on his head as a baby.

Jackson:  Ana Nicole Smith is dead.

Marshall dismisses that with a simple wave of his hand.  

Owens:  There's more of that walking around, you'll see.  Besides, just think of all the bombshells Drake Green laid in his time with the company.  If he can lay all those women, then I stand better than 50 / 50 with women on the beach.

Now who could argue with that?  

As Sean and Marshall are talking, Scott has had enough of standing off to the side and watching, he then moves to a mini fridge located on the sun deck and takes out a couple of beers.  He then steps over to and kneels down next to Vanessa.

Cooke:  Beer?

Opening her eyes, Vanessa sees the muscular ex-soldier kneeling to her side.  As she props herself up on an elbow, she smiles while reaching over and accepting the gift.

Vanessa:  Thank you.

Extending his bottle in her direction, Vanessa reciprocates by tapping bottles before they both take a drink.  They both lock eyes after finishing as the scene shifts back to Sean and Marshall.  It is obvious they are no longer talking about women as the conversation has turned serious.

Marshall:  Are you sure about that Sean?  I mean, do you think it is a good idea to piss him off like that?

The Mental Rapist smiles.  The fact Marshall is concerned means that he is on the right track.

Jackson:  It is the perfect plan.  Instead of concentrating on his match with me, I want him worrying about his family, about bills, his own health.  I want it to be perfectly obvious that the well being of his family is at stake, that they are the objects of my desire.

Of course Marshall struggles with the thought process of purposely targeting another man's family.  As an attorney, he did it as part of a legal proceeding but this, this was something entirely different.  There was simply no way this ended well.

Jackson:  I want their dreams consumed with nothing but thoughts of me.  Their every waken moment, of nothing but me.  I want to be in their heads Marshall, one hundred percent of their lives until Simon decides to go home.

The attorney still isn't comfortable with the idea.  The thought of using a little girl and a woman to get under Simon's skin isn't an easy thing to swallow.  

Owens:  Sean, if you do this, Simon is going to come after you and he's going to come after you hard.  He won't stop until...

The former world champion waves him off, not wanting to hear another negative word.

Jackson:  Stop it Marshall, just stop it.  I don't give two shits about Simon coming after me, matter of fact, I want him to come after me.  When I met Simon for the SCW World Heavyweight Championship more than a year ago, I sat back and let him do as he damn well pleased.  Well this time it is going to be different, one hundred percent different.

The sound of Pamela exiting the jacuzzi causes both men to turn from the ocean, and towards the water-soaked brunette who is now standing before them.  Also wearing a revealing two piece bikini, the daughter of the Oil Tycoon grabs a towel and begins to dry herself off.  Feeling a bit embarrassed, Marshall turns back towards the ocean.  A move that prompts a chuckle from Pamela's husband.

Jackson:  What's the matter Marshall?  you act like you have never seen Pamela in a two piece.

That takes him by surprise.  Why he would never...okay, maybe there was that one time...

Owens:  Well...I...

He taps Marshall on the shoulder playfully.

Jackson:  Jesus Christ Marshall, I was only kidding with you.  

Marshall looks relieved.  After all, Sean Jackson is one of the most dangerous men in wrestling today.  Can you imagine what he would do if someone ever put their hands on his wife?

Jackson:  Besides, I wonder what Jacqueline and Mattie are doing right now?  I wonder if they are worrying about their Simon walking out the door?  wondering if he will come home the same man who left them?

Marshall was now convinced his client had gone crazy.  For who in their right mind would think of something this heinous?  As he found himself listening further, Marshall found himself hoping that Simon Jones would no show this event.

Jackson:  Besides, you know Mattie wants her daddy at home.  Where she can kiss him, where she can tell him that she loves him, and he still be able to understand.

Finished drying off, Pamela walks up to her husband and gives him a peck on the cheek.  Her smooth lips, slightly pinching his skin is enough to bring a sudden rush over his body.  Yes, after all these years, she could still turn him on.  It isn't until she walks away that the conversation continues.

Jackson:  I bet Mattie always enjoys play time with Daddy.  I bet she loves the tea parties, cherishes every moment of them.  But I can just imagine how heart-broken she would be when daddy is no longer able...

He corrects himself.

Jackson:  No longer capable of those make-believe tea parties.  Tell me Marshall, would you sacrifice all those wonderful moments by facing a man like me?

Marshall hesitates to say anything.  But that doesn't stop the Mental Rapist from continuing.

Jackson:  Would you really risk all of that to be world heavyweight champion?

Again Marshall doesn't answer.

Jackson:  Because only a true selfish prick would pick a championship belt over his own flesh and blood.  Over the daughter who only wants to spend her childhood with her daddy.

Finally Marshall turns his attention to his client, a stunned look on his face.

Owens:  Sean, don't do this.  I understand you want to be the world champion again, but not like this.  Not at the expense of Simon Jones and his family.

The response from his client isn't what he expected.

Jackson:  You don't look so good Marshall.  You look a little pale, maybe you should get some rest and leave the wrestling part of this business to me.  Besides, I'm doing Simon a favor.  After that piss-poor performance at Summer XXXtreme III, he needs to go home and forget all about wrestling.  

He takes another sip of his champagne.

Jackson:  To continue this idiotic path is illogical and irresponsible of him.  All he accomplished was embarrassing himself and wasting a perfect opportunity for me to regain what was mine.  He is a liar to his wife and a thief of his daughter's childhood.  

A warm gust of wind comes over the yacht and through his hair, causing a few strands of hair to flare outward before settling back down.  Feeling even more uncomfortable with the conversation, Marshall glances over just in time to see Vanessa and Scott going over to the other side of the sun deck, in a conversation of their own.

Jackson:  He may claim to love them, he may even have himself convinced of it.  But his actions say something totally different.  If he truly loved them, then he would give up this absurd dream of regaining past glories and be a father and husband.

Then it dawns on him.  A two fold plan comes to mind.

Jackson:  Matter of fact, I say it is time he proves his love.

As Sean turns and walks away, Marshall is confused as to the meaning of that last statement.


Exactly ten minutes later
In the Master Suite
In front of a camera


Jackson:  Hello Mattie, my name is Sean.  Just so you know, I'm an old friend of your daddy.  I understand you are kind of young and don't know exactly what's going on, so let me try and help you.

The Mental Rapist has already put on a friendly face.  If you didn't know any better, it would be a convincing story.

Jackson:  You see, daddy has a lot on his plate right now.  I don't want you to think he is putting everyone before you and mommy, because well...

Sean shrugs.

Jackson:  Well, he has the best of intentions.  He is a professional wrestler now and even though it takes away the tea parties, it is what it is.  Instead of thinking about the tea parties you are missing out on, think about the ones you got to enjoy with him before...

The former world champion fakes a heavy sigh.  

Jackson:  Before he boarded the plane to go to New Zealand.  You know daddy doesn't have to be a pro wrestler, he can be whatever he wants to be, right there in Cardiff Wales if he wanted to....

And now comes the fake tears, but the camera is back too far and as far as a little girl would be concerned, they were real enough.

Jackson:  My daddy was like Simon.  Always gone on the weekends, never there for me when I was home from school.  But he wanted a better life for me, so I had to just accept it...

Sean starts wiping the fake tears, faking the cracking of his own voice.

Jackson:  Then one day, he just never came back.  But I'm sure your daddy would never do that to you, I'm sure he would always put you and your mother first in his life.  I bet if you would ask him to stay at home this weekend, he would do so without even giving it a second thought.

Sean lowers his head momentarily, before raising it back to the camera.

Jackson:  Isn't that right Jacqueline?

Only a truly disgusting bastard would use a man's daughter like that.  But Simon was warned, even if he did ignore it.

Jackson:  I bet Simon would pick his daughter over the world championship any day of the week and....

He smiles.

Jackson:  Twice on this Sunday.  Isn't that right Simon?

Satisfied, Sean stops the recording.  Sitting down in a chair, he picks up a phone and makes contact with the radio room.

Jackson:  Send someone down to my room.  I have a package that needs to get sent out as quickly as possible.

He then hangs the phone up.

Jackson:  Simon, I wonder where you are going to be when this package makes it to your home?  I wonder how excited both Jacqueline and Mattie will be when they see your name on the package?  I wonder how long it will take for them to rip the wrapping from the box, revealing a video disc that simply says *play me*.

Now everyone is getting an idea on how sadistic this man really is.

Jackson:  But instead of seeing you telling her that you are coming home.  She sees me explaining to her why you aren't there.  It makes me wonder how she will take it?  or better yet, how your wife will take the fact that someone like me, can get to Mattie as easily as I want.

A huge smile covers his face.

Jackson:  And believe me Simon, it is easier than you think.  I made her a promise that I would give her daddy back to her, and as always, I keep my promises.


Fin.  

 Osaka, Japan
July 24, 2015



Standing in front of a curtain backdrop, the SCW world heavyweight champion is wearing a suit and tie with the world championship draped over his shoulder.  Next to him is his advocate Marshall Owens who is holding a microphone.

Owens:  "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Marshall Owens and I'm the advocate for the current, reigning, defending, undisputed world heavyweight champion..."

As Marshall is giving his opening, a smile begins to form on the face of Sean Jackson.  With every accolade sent his way, his head bobs slightly down before returning to normal.  Of course, there is special emphasis on the word *undisputed*.

Owens:  "That being Sean Jackson."

Sneaking a quick glance towards his client, he sees the smile and continues as he turns his attention back to the camera.

Owens:  "Now in just two more days, my client once again does battle with the man considered by many as the number one contender to the world heavyweight championship.  A man who has had opportunity after opportunity to raise the bar of his wrestling capabilities, a man who been giving chance after chance to prove he belongs in the ring wrestling for the world heavyweight championship..."

This draws an eyeroll from the world champion.  As far as he's concerned, Kain has had more than enough chances and should have gone to the back of the line.  But because of Christian Underwood and Gabriel, the so called King of Kings is given one final chance.

Owens:  "And as expected, has repeatedly failed."

Marshall then permanently turns towards his client.

Owens:  "Sean, welcome to Osaka Japan.  A city, no a country rich with wrestling history.  A culture that takes the sport of professional wrestling and treats the athletes like Gods.  A country that sports the Tokyo Dome, an arena that has been home to some of the greatest wrestling matches in history.  A country which has been home to some of the most remarkable competitors in the history of this sport...."

Sean nods in approval.

Owens:  "So what is your response to the news that you are here, in this country that is rich in wrestling tradition, and you have to face a man that tried to cheat you for the greatest wrestling title in the world?"

Bringing a hand up to his chin, Sean strokes it ever so slightly as his eyes tilt up towards the ceiling.  Here is the golden opportunity to rip into Kain, the golden opportunity to paint him a loser and completely undeserving of this championship match.  As his mouth opens, you just know Sean is going to unload both barrels.

Jackson:  "First of all Marshall, thank you for welcoming me here to Osaka Japan."

Huh?

Jackson:  "From the moment I landed at the airport, the fans have been extremely nice and polite.  Unlike American fans, when asking for autographs the people of Osaka show respect and tolerance."

Marshall nods in complete agreeance.  If there's one thing about the wrestling fans in Japan, it was their politeness.

Jackson:  "But it is that same politeness which prompts me to tell the world that Kain really does belong in the world championship hunt..."

Now that takes Marshall by surprise.  The look on his face sales the shock as he fully expected his client to rip the beating heart from Kain's chest.  But since that didn't happen, Marshall cocks his head to one side and a free hand goes on his hip.

Jackson:  "Because time after time, he's earned the chance and after listening to what he had to say earlier, he shouldn't have a couple of fluke losses hanging over his head because of some jealous idiot."

Now Marshall Owens was totally confused.  Twice now he's given Sean the green light to rip the shit out of Kain and twice, he's passed it up.

Owens:  "Sean..."

Marshall tries to crack a smile.

Owens:  "Uh, wha...what's going on here?"

As Marshall twitches the microphone nervously, Sean can only shrug his shoulders in confusion.  As far as he was concerned, it was question answered.

Owens:  "The guy basically calls you a cheater, calls you a liar, and has set his eyes on your world heavyweight championship.  Don't tell me you are going to give this guy a free pass, and not rip him for it?"

The world champion raises his hand ever so slightly, his fingers slightly spread outward in an attempt to keep his advocate from blowing a gasket.  Yes, yes Kain did rip him a new ass...but wasn't it justified?

Jackson:  "Come on Marshall, give the man a break.  He is truly justified in his frustration because not once, but twice some jackass has cost him a match and it shouldn't be tolerated.  Hell, just think of how upset I was when Gabriel snuck his way in and cost me the world championship..."

Marshall remembers that night perfectly.  It was supposed to be a one on one matchup against Drake Green, but poof, all of a sudden there was Gabriel.

Jackson:  "Or how about Drexel Matheson..."

Now Marshall was beginning to understand.

Jackson:  "who managing to weasel his way in as well, which too, cost me the world championship.  So I'm not ripping on him because I completely understand him.  A man can only be pushed so far before he starts to lash out at people."

Starting to understand a bit more, Marshall aids in keeping on point with his next question.

Owens:  "But he's blaming you Sean.  What do you say to a man who blames you solely for the acts of a lone nut?"

Now Sean can relax.  The one question that needed to be addressed, had finally came out and now, it was time for his response.  Sean then turns from Marshall and stares directly into the camera.

Jackson:  "You know Kain, you are upset and you've got every reason to be.  But instead of blaming me for what happened, maybe you should offer your condolences because I too, was a victim of that attack."

He extends his arms outward in a non-threatening manner.  The one thing that hadn't been addressed was the fact that Kain wasn't the only one affected, so was Sean Jackson and Travis Nathaniel Andrews.

Jackson:  "It's clear that a lone nut, someone who wished he could be the world champion, dressed up like me and hid under the ring.  Then in a moment of seizing the opportunity, tried to pin you, thinking it would make him the world champion.  Now I don't fault you for being upset, but instead of pointing fingers solely at me..."

With his thumbs, Sean points back towards himself.

Jackson:  "Maybe you should aim that rage towards the person or persons responsible.  Now granted, I understand why you think it is me.  But if you look back to Colombo, Sri Lanka...I wasn't even in country when the imposter struck again, costing you the match against TNA.  Matter of fact, I was back in the United States as a guest in another wrestling company...."

Again Sean shrugs.

Jackson:  "So it wasn't me, and even that lying snake Christian Underwood can verify that.  So the way I see it, there is someone out there who truly believes you don't belong in the ring with the world champion, and is trying everything to block your path."

Nodding the entire way, Marshall Owens brings the mic back to his own mouth in order to continue with the interview.  This wasn't the way he thought it would go, but it appeared to be working none the less.  While Kain raged all the way through his promo, Sean Jackson had taken a completely different tact.  But before Marshall can ask his next question, Sean grabs the mic and brings it back.

Jackson:  "So instead of looking just at me Kain, maybe you need to look at Gabriel.  Or maybe Drake Green.  Hell if I was you Kain, I'd start looking at Simon Jones."

That draws a gasp from Marshall Owens.  Everyone has seen the Simon Jones teases, and now Sean is playing on that.

Jackson:  "Or maybe, just maybe..."

Now his voice begins to pick up, the tone getting angrier and angrier.

Jackson:  "It is you Kain.  Instead of looking at all the potential suspects, and there's many...you want to cast doubt on me as if I needed some loser to beat you.  Then on top of if all, you want to point at ME as being a thorn?"

Grasping the world championship tightly, he raises the belt high for everyone watching in television land to see.  

Jackson:  "I am the God damned world heavyweight champion Kain.  You're just some nobody trying to ride my coat tails.  A thorn?  dude, you have no idea what you are talking about.  The only thorn has been a man who thinks he can step into the ring with me in Osaka, Japan and walk out as the new world champion."

Slinging the belt back over his shoulder, the strap almost strikes Marshall, but the attorney is able to bob and weave in order to keep from being hit.

Jackson:  "There's always some excuse with you isn't it?  it's either too hot, or the ref was too slow, or my opponent cheated me.  My God Kain, when are you going to man up and look into the mirror in order to blame the correct person for your inadequacies?"

Now THIS was the Sean Jackson that Marshall Owens had been waiting for.

Jackson:  "When I came here to Osaka, I wanted to do a legitimate interview.  I wanted to touch on just how tough of a competitor you were, on how tough of a match this was going to be.  But no, you wanted to paint me as a cheater because it was easier than just admitting you weren't in my league."

Slapping the faceplate, the echo is heard throughout the room as the world champion is making a point.  Out of all the world champions SCW has had in the past, out of all the future Hall of Famers it would represent, HE was now in possession of it.

Jackson:  "Well Kain, in just two more days I'm going to prove who the better man is.  So you had better bring your A game because if you don't, then it's going to be the shortest championship match in SCW history."

There was a topic that definitely needed to be addressed, and leave it up to Marshall Owens to bring it out.

Owens:  "Sean, earlier you brought up some interesting names of possible suspects who would try to sabotage Kain.  Well there is a special surprise guest referee assigned for your match..."

That prompts another eyeroll from the world champion who smirks and nods his head.

Owens:  "And the lips are sealed at SCW headquarters.  So my guess is..."

Sean takes the opportunity to chime in with his own take on the special referee.

Jackson:  "Oh no doubt Marshall, I'm also willing to bet that the special guest referee will have had his hands all in this feud between Kain and myself.  I remember Gabriel giving this title shot to Kain, reminding the world that he had one left.  So it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it could have been him."

Sean holds up a single finger while mentioning Gabriel.

Jackson:  "He has been beside himself with jealousy since Riyadh and has probably been hatching this plan ever since.  But then Marshall, you also have Drake Green."

A second finger is raised.

Jackson:  "A man notorious for using other people to get what he wants.  I know you remember Drake from that other company, don't you Marshall?"

How could Marshall forget.  Back in the NWA (NeWA), Drake Green used some outside interference to win the Empire State Championship from Sean Jackson back in the early part of 2013.

Owens:  "How could I forget."

Jackson:  "Exactly, but Kain doesn't want to think of those two possibilities because it doesn't fit his agenda.  But then Kain, there is also a third possibility..."

A third finger shoots up.

Jackson:  "And that is a former two time SCW champion in Simon Jones.  You know Marshall, all three men I mentioned have held the world championship here twice..."

Sean switches to two fingers.

Jackson:  "Twice, the same as me.  But the one man in this equation who hasn't even held it once is you Kain.  That's right my man, you haven't held it one single time and I know that eats at you daily.  It has to, because every day, every week, you want to spew your venom at me.  Well Kain, it's time to break out that mirror and have a heart to heart convo with the reflection because you are way off base."

But then again, what else is new?  As far as Sean is convinced, Kain too is a suspect in this cluster fuck of a world championship picture.  In typical Sean Jackson fashion, he could go all heel on Kain, yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs.  But why?  Kain had already done that in front of the Japanese faithful, so now he just decided to heel on Kain in a completely different way.

Jackson:  "But I still forgive you buddy.  You are upset because week in and week out, you've been outclassed by the world heavyweight champion.  You zigged when you should have zagged, you went up top when you should have stayed on the canvas.  You stayed in the ring when you should have been on the floor, and in the grand scheme of things...."

The world champion gives that world class smile.

Jackson:  "You will fail once again because your attention won't be focused in the right direction.  In typical fashion, you will keep both eyes on me, when they should have been on that special referee.  Kain, you already know what I'm all about, but the question is, will that so called special referee be someone who wants a clean world championship match?  or will he be the person behind your failures against myself and Travis?"

Sean turns and gives a nod towards Marshall Owens, who returns it in kind.

Jackson:  "Good enough for you?"

Owens:  "Absolutely.  How about lunch?"

The two turn to walk away, Sean slapping Marshall gentlemanly on the shoulder.

Jackson:  "Sounds good."

There is extra inaudible words shared between the two as the scene fades to black.

 June 1, 2015
Dallas, Texas


The camera comes into focus on the Dallas, Texas skyline.  As it zooms in on the top floor of a specific high rise building, the shot fades momentarily before coming back in the office of one Cameron Duke.  The oil tycoon is seated behind his desk with a suited individual seated in front of him.

The look on Cameron's face tells the story.  He isn't happy and has no problem expressing it.  The look on the other guy's face is equally perplexing, and the reason being...

"Come on Mr. Duke, you can't even control her.  How do you expect me to something that you can't?"

And of course, THAT wasn't the answer Cameron Duke was looking for.

Cameron:  Adam, I'm going to say this once.  When my daughter gets to Riyadh, I want that security team to bring her back here to Dallas...

Adam shakes his head, knowing that it won't be easy.  Of course it is the shaking of the head that prompts Cameron to point a threatening finger while standing.

Cameron:  I don't want excuses, I want my daughter out of there.  I will make arrangements with Prince Bandar to house her at the palace until...

Adam holds his hands up, attempting to plead his case.  However, that is something impossible when dealing with a man who wants things done his way.

Adam:  Mr. Duke, you can't expect the security team to force her to do anything.  She's an American citizen and is protected by...

Cameron:  Just who in the hell do you think you are?  You work for me, and you will do as you're damn well told.

Mr. Duke picks up his phone and holds it threateningly in the air.

Cameron:  I can call any number of people from off the street to do your damn job.  You think just because you work for me, that you can't be replaced?

You can see the frustration mounting on Adam's face.  What Cameron Duke is suggesting is against International law.

Adam:  Mr. Duke, you entrusted me to keep your daughter safe and haven't I done that?

Adam stands up and makes his way to the wall where a portrait of Pamela Duke-Jackson hangs.

Adam:  No one has even come close to...

Cameron slams his fist on the desk.

Cameron:  No one has what?  placed their hands on my daughter?  yes Adam, yes they have.  A few months ago some grubby fingered Eastern European thugs had their hands on my daughter....

Adam:  That is why the security team was hired in the f....

Predictably, Cameron loses it.  When things aren't going his way, he always resorts back to the red hot Texan temper that he's know for.  He comes around the desk, makes a line straight for his office door and almost rips it off the hinges as he jerks it open.

Cameron:  I don't give two shits about why that security team was hired.  That isn't just some oil executive their protecting, that's my daughter and you WILL get her back here.  You WILL do as you're told, or you WILL be finding another job.

Sensing that this has gone south, Adam closes his mouth and makes his way out of the office.  When Cameron gets in one of his moods, there's just no reasoning with him.  But at the same time, he doesn't want to lose a plush job with amazing benefits.  

Once out of the office, Cameron slams the door shut and makes his way back to the desk.

Cameron:  Of course, if you need something done right.  You do it yourself.

As Cameron sits back down at his desk, he picks up the phone and begins to dial a number.  After a brief moment, he speaks into the receiver.

Cameron:  I want you on a plane to Riyadh tonight, and when you get there, you are to bring my daughter home.

He pauses, obviously listening to whomever is on the other line.

Cameron:  I don't give a damn about Sean.  You can leave him in the gutter as far as I'm concerned.  Drop him in the middle of an ISIS camp with a dull knife and a mocking picture of the prophet Mohammad.  Just get the job done.

Cameron then slams the phone down as he looks straight ahead, not even the slightest hint of remorse in his eyes.  Meanwhile....


June 1, 2015
Alexandria, Egypt.


The camera comes to focus on a specific hotel room and a gloved hand coming into the shot.  After a couple of knocks, the door opens and Pamela Duke-Jackson is in view.  With her brown hair in a pony tail, she is wearing white satin pants and a tan in color strapped blouse.  

With a smile on her face, she leaves the door open as she turns and walks farther into the top floor suite.  As Pamela does, the person entering the room happens to be in charge of her personal security team.  Scott Cooke, a veteran of the United States special forces with multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan took jobs like this seriously.  There was no misunderstanding when it came to doing a job like this professionally.  At 6'3 and 245 pounds, he was physically imposing when standing alongside most people.  When he got into the security market, Scott had an idea of what he wanted when it came to putting a team together.

Scott believed that special forces types were the way to go because they were jacks of all trades.  They were generally trained and thus excelled at just about everything from weapons to communications.  That way if a member of the team went down, anyone and everyone could step into place...

Which is the reason he and his team were charged with the protection of Pamela in the first place.  After the incident in Sweeden, Cameron just couldn't let something like that happen again.

Scott:  Mrs. Duke, we'll be departing in approximately fifteen minutes.  Just have your luggage by the door and we'll make sure that it gets to the vehicles safely.

Pamela nods as she turns back to face the security chief.

Scott:  By the way, we won't be driving into Saudi Arabia.  Arrangements have been made and we'll be flying directly into Riyadh.  

The move is a confusing one as it comes totally unexpected.  When discussed just a couple of days prior, the plan was to drive into the Saudi Kingdom.

Pamela:  Is something wrong?  did something happen?

The security chief shakes his head.  

Scott:  No ma'am.  It's just better to change routines, to never get too predictable.  ISIS is pretty much like Al Qaeda and you never know when you are being watched, or targeted.  

It's easy to forget that she is a high value target.  To get lost in a world where she gets anything she wants, no matter the cost.  But with Scott Cooke and his team always close by, that cold reality always snaps her back to the real world.

Pamela:  I'll go get Sean.


Meanwhile.....


On the balcony sits the former world heavyweight champion.  Wearing khaki shorts and a white thin shirt, he looks out over the city of Alexandria.

Sean:  Relax Kris, your Internet Championship is safe this week.  Although, temptation is a powerful tool.  Can you imagine laying there, looking up at the lights and the Mental Rapist deciding to cash in his contract?

Sean shrugs his shoulders.  Being the man with the wrestling world figuratively in his hands, a guaranteed title shot anytime he wants, and against any champion he wants?  It is an intoxicating amount of power.

Sean:  Yes Kris, it is tempting.  You see, a man of my talents deserves to have a championship belt around his waist.  He deserves the good life that a championship title can bring, and frankly, I'm growing tired of feeling naked without one.

Ahh, but Halc isn't the only champion who will be in Riyadh this Sunday.  A fact that isn't about to be downplayed.

Sean:  But then again, why waste cashing in my contract on you when once again, the SCW world heavyweight championship is there, ripe for the taking?

As he strokes his chin, his head tilts backwards, looking up at the clear blue Egyptian sky.  His eyes close momentarily before re-opening and focusing on nothing in particular.

Sean:  But that's what you want me to do, isn't it Gabriel?  You think by questioning my manhood on twitter, it will cause me to cash in when YOU are ready for it.

Sean remembers the early months of their feud, where Gabriel definitely played the better mind games, especially the episode in Sweeden.  That night, Sean's hand was forced and a golden opportunity ended up being wasted.  But now....

Now it was an entirely different story.  Now it was Sean Jackson playing the mind games, forcing Gabriel out of character and into a situation he couldn't prepare for.

Sean:  Admit it, you would love for me to cash in this Sunday?  On a day where you would fully anticipate it, and on your own terms?

Shaking his head, Sean no longer needs to play Gabriel's game.  Despite what the world champion would love for everyone to believe, he no longer controlled his own destiny and was now using twitter in order to regain it.

Sean:  Nah, I think I'll just hold onto that contract for awhile.  Besides, why cash it in Riyadh?  There's nothing there worth wasting my time and effort over.  No, I believe dismantling Kris Halc will be good enough to tide me over.  

Or will it?  

Sean:  Besides, I can always just wait until I'm not scheduled.  Bide my time and pick my own spot.  Yes, I do believe that would be the proper play.  To...

As Pamela's hand touches him on the shoulder, he stops and turns his attention towards his wife.  

Pamela:  They're ready.

Nodding, Sean immediately knew she was referencing the security team.  As he motions for her to go back inside the room, he turns back towards the camera.

Sean:  I guess we'll just have to finish this later.


Several hours later
King Khalid International Airport
35 kilometers north of Riyadh


Inside one of the Duke Oil corporate jets, Sean found himself looking out the window towards the airport and the King Khalid Military City that surrounded it.  Also operating as a training center for the Saudi Air Force, KKMC had the second largest airport in the entire country.  

He found himself looking in total disbelief.  With all the money that Saudi Arabia had at its disposal, it looked poor.  The buildings, not looking modern at all, completely surrounded by desert.  Yeah, this was the spot where Gabriel wanted Sean Jackson to cash in that contract...

Sure, that was going to happen.

NOT.

Sean:  Instead of aiming tweets at me...

A smile begins to form.

Sean:  Maybe you should concern yourself with Kain.  Instead of worrying about my contract, maybe you should worry about the brutal nature of your opponent.  

Sean shrugs his shoulders.

Sean:  Hell, maybe you should worry about someone attempting to collect on that bounty before or during your match.

Now there's a thought.  With Saudi Arabia being populated by millions of people considered the poorest in the world, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility of a fan hopping into the fray to collect.

Sean:  Just look at it down there, nothing but dirt.  Can you imagine how hard it must be to live there?  having to rely on goats, on camels to make a living?  sheesh, it is no wonder many suicide bombers come from there.

He takes a deep breath, before turning his attention away from Gabriel and Kain, and towards his own opponent.

Sean:  You know, I've been here before.  With Saudi having so much oil, they are constantly doing business with American businessmen.  

Sean looks over his shoulder and notices that Pamela is speaking with Scott Cooke, probably going over the best vehicle route to where they will be staying.  He then goes back to speaking.

Sean:  Last year when SCW was on tour here in the Middle East, I conducted a lot of business on my own.  You see Kris, when you deal with oil, it is a cut throat world where only the strong survive, and you survive by making contacts....

He again glances towards Pamela.

Sean:  Or by taking them from others.

In a move that hasn't been discovered yet, Sean started sabotaging Cameron Duke in the Royal Kingdom.  When President Obama blocked the Keystone Pipeline in the United States, it diverted Cameron's attention just enough not to see the subtle changes taking place under his nose.

As the leer jet continues across Saudi air space, towards its final destination.  He finally sees it....

Sean:  There it is Kris, Prince Abdul Aziz bin Musa'ed Stadium, the place where you and I will do battle.  Can you imagine it, having to wrestle against a man like me, in the month of June, where the heat will be pushing one hundred degrees?

For those who aren't used to it, there's a helluva difference between wrestling inside of an air conditioned arena, and wrestling in the harsh climate of an outdoor arena.

Sean:  Kris, the amazing thing about this country?  there's no humidity.  It is hot, amazingly hot, but you won't know it because you won't feel yourself sweating.  Oh sure, you've toured with the company, you've experienced Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Egypt....

He raises his index finger up, wagging it back and forth.

Sean:  You've walked around and mingled with the people.  But Kris, until you've stepped into the ring, and you've been pushed to your absolute limits in THAT element....

He now points that same finger towards the Saudi desert.

Sean:  You have no clue how your body will respond.  Which begs the question Kris, how do you feel about placing your health in my hands?  How do you think I'll respond when you begin to get dizzy, or when you begin to cramp up due to heat exhaustion?  Do you think I'll show mercy?  or do you think I'll plant my knee into the back of your skull?

It doesn't matter who you are.  If you aren't used to that tough Saudi climate, you WILL go down, it is just that simple.  When American soldiers were in Saudi Arabia, on the border with Iraq, it was a requirement for them to have two bottles of water with them at all times, to stay hydrated to prevent going down.  And now, the superstars and bombshells from SCW are going to have to perform in those same conditions.

Sean:  Come on Kris, don't even hesitate with your answer because you know exactly what I'll do.  While you are gasping for air, I plan on taking it from you.  When you are so weak that you need the ropes to hold yourself up, I will be using them to choke the very life from you...

He might be smiling, but there's evil intentions in his eyes.

Sean:  And then, when you fall to the mat, completely defenseless.  That is when I'll unleash the lights out high knee to the back of your skull.  

As the jet begins to descend towards the airport runway, Sean continues.

Sean:  But don't get the wrong idea, because none of this is personal.  It is nothing more than a business decision on my part, because the powers that be have placed you in my way.  

He shifts in his seat, getting into a more comfortable position to continue speaking into the camera.

Sean:  However, you can make an easily safe business decision.  You can fake an injury, you can lock yourself in the bathroom.  Hell Kris, you can get yourself captured by terrorists for the night...

*wink, wink*

Sean:  (speaking real low)  You know, the fake ones.  Just so no one will call you a coward for not stepping into the ring with the Mental Rapist.

He smiles.

Sean:  See how that works?

He leans back in his seat.

Sean:  I knew you would see it my way.

Ah yes, ever the compassionate guy, Sean is always giving someone a way out.  To Sean, he's doing the humane thing by telling Kris Halc that he can go play checkers or tiddly winks.  He can do whatever he wants, as long as he doesn't step into that ring.  As his eyes close ever so slightly, totally relaxed, he stays that way until their corporate jet lands and is finally stationary on the tarmac at Kind Khalid International Airport.


A few minutes later.


As Pamela and company exit the plane, an associate of Prince Bandar greets them with open arms.

Said:  (pronounced Sai-eed)  Pamela, Sean.  Welcome.

As customary, Said greets them with a kiss on both cheeks and a hand clasp.  After the greeting is over, he begins to walk them towards a convoy of vehicles that will take them to one of the royal palaces that dot the Saudi Kingdom.  As Pamela is helped into the vehicle, Said leans in and whispers something to Sean.

Said:  There's trouble with Cameron....

This draws a look of irritation from the former world champion.

Said:  He's sending someone here to take Pamela back to the states.

Sean:  Who?

Said shrugs.

Said:  I don't know.  That information wasn't given to me.  All I know is that one of her father's associates is coming here, and he will be landing sometime tomorrow evening.

Sean:  Then I guess a change of plans are in order.

Said nods.

Said:  Consider it done my friend.

The two friends exchange a glance before Sean steps into the vehicle.  With everyone accounted for, Said shuts the door and climbs in on the front passenger side.  He says something in Arabic before closing his own door and the convoy of vehicles takes off towards an undisclosed location.


*****************************************************


The scene fades back up with Sean Jackson seated in a lone chair, in front of the camera and in an empty studio.  He is dressed in black slacks and a dark, silk button down dress shirt.  As he faces the camera, the smile is unmistakable.

Sean:  Kain, maybe you didn't want ten thousand dollars.  Maybe ten thousand was an insult.  So how do you feel about twenty-five thousand dollars?

Sean leans forward as Marshall Owens steps into view.  In his hands is that same briefcase, except the only difference is that it now has a heavier cargo.  That smile gets larger as Marshall opens it up, revealing the benjamins.

Sean:  That's right Kain, twenty-five thousand dollars to do the one thing you're best at, and that is beat Gabriel to within an inch of his life.  To make him a quivering blob of spineless mush, so I can step into that ring and claim what is rightfully mine....

The camera pans in closer, on his cold and dark eyes.

Sean:  The SCW world heavyweight championship.

He takes a deep breath, momentarily looking up at the ceiling before turning his attention back towards the camera.

Sean:  You know, instead of telling Kain what he already knows.  Maybe I need to tell Gabriel what he doesn't know...

Yes, now seems to be the time to unload both barrels of truth on the coward in possession of a championship belt he doesn't deserve.

Sean:  Gabriel, you know damn good and well that it isn't in my best interest to cash in this Sunday.  We all know that Kris Halc will do the stupid thing and enter the ring, just to test the waters.  We all know that he will listen to the naysayers, those who truly believe that I don't have it anymore...

He smiles.

Sean:  Of course, by naysayers, I mean you Gabriel.  I'm sure you will have that slut of a wife spreading something other than her legs, making Halc believe he stands even....

He holds his index finger and thumb in the air, barely apart.

Sean:  This much of a chance against me.  I'm sure she will be in Halc's ear, begging him to stop me from cashing in on you.  Hell, I bet she's giving her best oral presentation right now to Kain in order to slide things in your favor.

Sean begins to stroke his chin as the insults on Odette continues.

Sean:  I've heard rumors of her oral presentation skills.  Maybe I'll get with Kain to see if it is true or not...

Then it hits him.  Maybe he has been going about this all wrong.

Sean:  Odette, the shame you must be feeling.  Sitting there, where ever you are, living a lie.  Doing his bidding for him, because he isn't man enough to do it on his own.  Come on Odette, we can talk about it, I promise.

Pointing towards the camera, Sean puts on an innocent face.

Sean:  No one else has to know the truth.  That you are longing for a real man, someone who can actually satisfy your primal needs, without forcing you to go to *finger quote* alternate means.  Hell Odette...

In a move not seen since Adam and Eve, Marshall presents their version of the poisonous apple by shifting the twenty-five thousand dollars towards the camera.

Sean:  If you're the one who does it.  If you're the one who stabs Gabriel in the back, and I win the world heavyweight championship....

At that moment, Said steps into the picture also holding a briefcase with twenty-five thousand dollars.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, Sean is offering Odette fifty thousand dollars to end Gabriel's career AND to make Sean the world champion.

Sean:  Fifty thousand dollars will be yours.  Just think of what you can do with all that money?  just think of the life you can live without that coward of a husband, the life you can give your child?

Once again, Satan offering sin to Eve.  Will she once again take the forbidden fruit?  or will she refrain from plunging mankind once again into darkness?

Sean:  Who knows, maybe you can take that money and hook up with Drake Green?  He might not be much of a step up from Gabriel, but he IS a step up.

Stay tuned this Sunday.


Fade.  

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hivwzJfpCMM&feature=youtu.be

 March 24, 2015
Jiu Valley
Aninoasa, Romania


Getting into the Jiu Valley was difficult.  At one time Aninoasa was home to one of the most powerful coal mining companies in Romania, but now it was just a town that couldn't even pay it's bills.  Home to a population of just under 3,000 people, it was determined that the trend couldn't be reversed and the decision was made to cut it's losses and file for bankruptcy.  

The coal mining company was closed in 2006 because it had become too costly to maintain and there simply wasn't enough money to keep it going...even with the bailout from the European Union.

But maybe that was all about to change.  Even before Sean Jackson landed in Bucharest, Romania with his wife Pamela, his attorney Marshall Owens, and personal valet Vanessa...his mind was on a land grab that was sure to pay off.  Right there in Aninoasa.

To the average person, it seemed to be a disasterous decision.  Why would anyone pour any money at all into this portion of Romania, exactly 205 miles from Bucharest?  to somebody like Sean Jackson, why not?  with the town filing bankruptcy, that meant people were in dire straits and land would come at a very cheap price...

So would the labor.


As the black in color 2015 Cadillac Escalade finished it's seven hour trek from Bucharest to Aninoasa, Sean's eyes lit up.  It was everything he had hoped it would be, the railroad track in disarray, the buildings falling apart, it was heaven.  However, to his wife Pamela, it looked to be a wasted project...at best.  Besides, Duke Oil wasn't in to coal mining, so what was it that had drawn her husband to this location.

Pamela:  This is what we're investing in?

She shakes her head.

Pamela:  There's no way daddy will go for this.

However, Sean viewed it differently.  After all, Romania was the leading petroleum exporter of Eastern Europe and having Duke Oil with a foot hold in even the smallest portion of Romania could be a good thing.

Sean:  I wouldn't be so sure about that Pam.  Cheap land, cheap labor, I could see us saving Aninoasa and at the same time, garnering interest from other Romanian towns who could give Duke Oil an even bigger footprint here.

Sean looks over to Marshall, who also sees the monetary value in this portion of the Jiu Valley.

Sean:  Do you think the Romanian Government will attempt to stop us from "investing"?

Upon seeing Sean doing the finger quotes, Marshall can only shrug his shoulders.  After all, it is the Romanian Government and the world economy still hasn't recovered fully...if it will at all.

Marshall:  Well, American companies are investing almost daily and the Romanians haven't said anything yet.  But maybe we can keep suspicions down if we keep the name Duke Oil out of any investments me make.

Hmm, land grabbing and investing in the name of Duke Oil, without using the name Duke Oil?  Sure, Cameron Duke would go for that.  Couldn't see one thing going wrong with that scenario.

Pamela:  Wait, you're implying that we use Duke Oil money to do this, but not using the Duke Oil name?  sorry, but daddy will not go for that and neither will the board, which might I add, we need the approval of in order to do something like this.

Sean rolls his eyes, not wanting to hear negative Nancy raining on his parade.  As far as he was concerned, there's been enough of that from Christian Underwood and Gabriel Stevens, so he didn't want to hear any of it from his wife.

Sean:  Look, if I have to, I'll use my own money to get this thing done.  There's a potential gold mine here and I won't let anyone stand in my way of getting it done.  Once I win the world title from Gabriel, I'll walk right on in to the bank, take out a loan and within five years, all of the Jiu Valley will be mine.

He then turns, looking into Pamela's eyes.

Sean:  Then when the new business investors come in, throwing all their money at me.  I'll make sure to let your daddy know that he could have been in on the deal as well, but you balked on telling him.

She takes a deep breath, letting the words resonate.  If there was anything Cameron Duke loved more, other than his only daughter, it was money and power.  With the Keystone Pipeline still hung up with Congressional bickering back and forth, Cameron was always looking towards overseas markets and businesses....as long as it made him a solid profit.  But there was also one other thing she knew all too well, and that was the trust issue.

Pamela:  Sean, you know my daddy doesn't like you, doesn't even trust you.  So we can do without the empty threats, okay?

Upon entering into Aninoasa, her heart drops even further.  The majority of the people she observes are elderly, dressed like bums, while walking the streets.  Some don't even look as the black Escalade rolls by them, while others stop to gaze at the vehicle that's worth more than their homes.

Pamela:  Jesus Sean, are you kidding me?  there's no way these people can make us money.

Sean drops a smile.  He understands the skepticism of a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but he also understands that desperate people will do anything for money, especially when they don't have any.

Sean:  That's where you're wrong.  Just look at them, it's obvious that's the norm here, and they will do anything to change their situation.  

Pamela still isn't convinced.

Pamela:  What about the language barrier?

Sean:  What about it?

Seeing the frustrated look on Pamela's face, he knows that there will be only one way to get her on board.

Sean:  Driver, stop the vehicle.

As ordered, the driver pulls the vehicle off to the side and comes to a stop.  Sean then opens the left back passenger door and steps out, prompting Pamela to reach for his arm.

Pamela:  Where are you going?

Without answering, Sean steps out of the vehicle which causes Marshall to do the same thing.

Marshall:  Sean, what are you doing?

Much like he did with Pamela, he also ignores his attorney and walks up on the sidewalk and towards an older man walking up the sidewalk.

Sean:  Excuse me sir, do you speak english?

The older Romanian man, clearly not understanding, waves the well dressed Sean Jackson off, and continues walking.  However, not deterred, Sean tries to get another man's attention.

Sean:  How about you?  you speak english?

He too, continues walking by, not even acknowledging the presence of the american wrestler.

Marshall:  Come on Sean, let's forget about this and get back in the car.  

Yeah, that would probably be the prudent direction to go.  After all, it is going to be dark soon and instead of the seven hour drive back to Bucharest on that often closed road, it would be better to tackle it in the morning when the sun was up, and not having to deal with armed thugs waiting to rob them.

Sean turns and faces Marshall.

Sean:  Not until I find someone who speaks english...

He points towards the sky, the sun obviously going down.

Sean:  Besides, we're going to need directions to one of the local hotels.  So until...

Marshall shrugs.

Marshall:  Give us a break Sean, you wouldn't have come here had you not already gotten directions to whatever hotel you wanted.  So can we please...

At that moment, an older Romanian woman walks up on them, wearing what appears to be an older hotel uniform.  As she gets closer, she speaks in broken english.

woman:  May...I...help...you?

Hearing the older woman, Sean turns to face her.  Looking to be somewhere in her mid 40's, she does look semi attractive although she isn't wearing any makeup.  Her appearance takes him a bit by surprise, but broken english is better than no english.

Sean:  You speak english?

She slowly nods her head.

Marshall:  Can you...

Marshall never gets to finish as Sean speaks up, basically cutting him off.

Sean:  We're here on business for a couple of days, and are looking for a hotel to stay at for the next couple of days.  Would you happen to know of a....

She smiles and points down the street, towards a modest looking building several blocks down and on the right.

woman:  I work there, and it's one of the better hotels....

Sean:  We'll take it.

The woman nods and begins the slow walk towards the hotel.  As Sean and Marshall begin to make their way back to the Escalade, he cocks his head towards Marshall.

Sean:  You see, there's always going to be someone who speaks our language...no matter where we go.  Matter of fact, this Sunday there's going to be an entire arena filled with Romanians who understand and speak the english language.  They will understand every freaking word we say, and they will understand every action taken we take.

He points towards his wife.

Sean:  Pamela fails to realize this because she doesn't have any confidence in my business sense.  But that will change before it's all over.

Pamela, still frustrated, partially exits the vehicle long enough to yell at her husband.

Pamela:  Sean, get back in the car.  It's time to leave.

As she pokes her head back into the car, Sean cuts loose another smile in the direction of Marshall.  He can just see the transformation taking place in front of him.  This desolate place where all the younger people have left to go elsewhere, now being drawn back by wall to wall businesses where a bustling economy was ultimately aided by the most hated man in professional wrestling.

Sean:  Soon, she'll discover who's really running the show here.


Later on that night
Inside his hotel room.


In a completely relaxed atmosphere, Sean is seated in front of a camera, ready to address the man who stole his world heavyweight championship.  Dressed in shorts, an SCW logo shirt, and a pair of slip on sneakers, he decides that tonight will be the night he doesn't pull any punches.

Sean:  Gabriel, you talk a very good game on twitter.  But inside of those ropes, you aren't half as good as you think you are.  Now don't get me wrong, I know that you're a very good wrestler and a top notch competitor, but the bottom line is this....

Nope, tonight he isn't going to pull a single punch.

Sean:  You can't beat me legitimately.  You know it, I know it, hell Christian Underwood knows it.  That's the reason Drake Green and Drexel Matheson was allowed in our matches, the reason Christian is working overtime as I speak, looking for some kind of angle to keep the belt on you this Sunday...

He smiles.

Sean:  Because he wants to protect you.  Because he realizes that you are a soon to be, first ballot, bonafide hall of famer in this company.  That there is more to you than just a tag team specialist who was carried by Despayre for a better part of five years.  But Gabriel, what Christian fails to realize is that you can't be protected.  Once you step in that ring, with no third person to act as your buffer, your career and very life will be in my hands.  Or maybe you forgot about the bang up protection job Christian supplied to Jamie Dean and his good buddy Justin Halliwell?  

Sean looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

Sean:  Gabriel, I just want you to know that this Sunday, you aren't getting off as easy as they did.  You aren't getting off as easy because you cheated your way to my championship, and that is unforgiveable.  

He looks back down towards the camera.

Sean:  This Sunday, there is going to be a target on the back of your skull.  This Sunday I'm going to peel back that layer of protective padding on the arena floor, and I'm going to hit you with the Hook em Horns driver.  This Sunday, it won't just be about taking back my title belt, it will be about making an example out of you.  Out of anyone who thinks that they can cheat me, and get away with it.


Fade to black.

 Regaining The Advantage


As Flight SK844 departed the terminal in Oslo, the approximate 200 passengers on board nestled in for the one hour flight to Stockholm, Sweden.  One of those passengers, former SCW champion Sean Jackson, found himself gazing out the window as the Boeing 738 slowly passed one fixed object after another.  He liked looking out the window during takeoffs and landings because it helped him to remain calm during the most tense moments of the flight.

During takeoffs and landings, the most dangerous phenomenon in avionics was wind sheer.  An event so powerful and sudden, that even the most experienced of pilots would find it difficult to keep the plane from crashing.

He had ultimately thought of driving to Stockholm, but was quickly overruled by his wife Pamela and their attorney Marshall Owens.  The reasoning behind flying was simple, the sooner they arrived at the final destination, the sooner Sean could get back to his training.  In Pamela's mind, there was no way Sean could take Drexel Matheson lightly, especially after pinning world champion Gabriel.

As he leans back in his seat, Sean's immediate thought went back to the match in Cardiff, Wales.  His actions, pure and simple were of the business sort.  The weight of defeating Sinful Obsession at the time, far outweighed any opportunities to stop Despayre from breaking up Drexel's pin attempt on Gabriel.  But then again, did allowing Drexel to get the win screw up Sean's attempt at regaining the world title?  was really ending the five year undefeated run of Sinful Obsession worth being leap frogged once again?

Jackson:  Stupid, how could I have been so fucking stupid?

Running his fingers through his hair, Sean could feel the emotional frustration sweeping over him.  He remembered standing in the ring, celebrating alongside Drexel...being the first team in five years to defeat Despayre and Gabriel...inside the ring.

Jackson:  I was standing next to him, celebrating the win like a fucking idiot...

Sean looks up at the ceiling of the plane, still frustrated.

Jackson:  Really?

The voice of reason is quick to respond.

Pamela:  You made a decision, and it was the correct one.

Pamela Duke Jackson, the daughter of Texas oil tycoon Cameron Duke and current wife of Sean Jackson, had always maintained a keen business sense.  She was quick to recognize business savvy decisions and believe it or not, Sean's decision was a savvy one, whether he realized it or not.

Pamela:  A loss would have hurt you far more than Drexel pinning Gabriel, so in essence, you're still right where you need to be.

As he turns his attention to Pamela, Sean tries to see the wisdom in her words.  As far as he was concerned, this was exactly how Gabriel got into position to win the world title.  So how could it be that Pamela possessed the ability to see the situation still being in his favor?

Pamela:  Matter of fact, you're in a better position now than you were in before the tag match.  With Drexel pinning Gabriel, all you have to do is beat him this Sunday and voila, the championship is there for the taking.

Jackson:  That's all well and good Pam, but with Gabriel as the referee, you just know that he's going to figure out a way to screw me out of the match.

A smile forms on Pamela's face.  As she leans back in her seat...

Pamela:  Oh Sean, ye of so little faith.  Gabriel isn't in control, he hasn't been in control so he managed to weasel his way into the title hunt.  You just need to sit back and enjoy the flight because as soon as we get to Stockholm, the games come to an end and our world heavyweight title begins its trek home.

With a thrust of the engines, Flight SK844 lurches forward and begins its acceleration down the runway.  Once at takeoff speed, the Boeing 738 begins climbing into the sky setting the stage for the next chapter of Sean Jackson, Drexel Matheson, and Gabriel Stevens.

As the flight continued to rise towards it's cruising altitude, Sean watched as everything on the ground got smaller and smaller.  With his silence now guaranteed, that left Pamela to her own devices, of scheming for the plan at hand....planning for the ultimate wildcard...that being Gabriel Stevens.

But for Sean Jackson, his attention was still concentrated on the ground objects that continued getting smaller.  It was as if they represented his SCW problems, and they were drifting away like a feather caught in the wind.  Maybe Pamela was right, maybe he was right where he needed to be.  After all, Gabriel never pinned him to win the world title and once Drexel shocked the world by pinning the world champion, all Sean now had to do was pin Drexel....

A smile began to form.

Jackson:  Hell, this is going to be a piece of cake.

As the flight begins to level off, it was a clear indicator that the plane was now at cruising altitude.

Jackson:  I don't even know why I was sweating it.

As he looked over, the seat next to him which was previously occupied by Pamela was now empty.  The seat belt sign was now off as passengers began to move about the plane.  Sean then looked over to the next seat, across the aisle and saw Marshall still seated.

Jackson:  Where did she go?

During Sean and Pamela's brief conversation, Marshall had indulged himself with one of the flight's magazines.  Upon hearing Sean's question, Marshall too looks to see that Sean's wife had gotten up from her seat.  The next reaction is a shrug.

Marshall:  I have no idea.

As Marshall looks back down to the magazine, Sean begins to look about the cabin.  Still not seeing his wife, he leans back into his seat...but before he can wonder any further on her whereabouts, his attention is distracted away by one of the female flight crew offering drinks.

As he raises his hand towards her.

Jackson:  I'll take an orange juice...

He gives a playful wink.

Jackson:  On the rocks.

She rolls her eyes at the lame attempt of a joke.  However, she gives him exactly what he asked for, orange juice in a cup with cubed ice.  As Sean gets ready for yet another lame attempt at humor, she sidesteps it and continues on about her business.  

Jackson:  Yep just as I thought, another cold hearted Scandinavian bitch with no sense of humor.  No wonder they're going out of business.

The comment causes Marshall to stop reading and to remind Sean that they are approximately 35,000 feet in the air.

Marshall:  I don't think it's a good idea to antagonize people way up here Sean.  There won't be many options for you to go if they toss you off.

Jackson:  Yeah right Marshall, like they would really toss...

All the passengers in his section of the plane are looking at him.

Jackson:  me....

And all the flight crew.

Jackson:  off....

Sean swallows.....HARD.  He immediately looks to deflect the sudden onset of eyeball judo aimed his way.

Jackson:  Thank you ma'am.

As he raises his glass into the air, a less than sincere smile is aimed in the direction of the flight attendant.  Hoping that somehow, it's enough to sooth the scathing looks that were shot back his way from the rest of the passengers.

As Pamela reemerges, she's confused by how quiet it is and by the fact that everyone was sending eye daggers in the direction of her husband.

Pamela:  Alright, NOW what did you do?

Looking back down at the magazine, Marshall responds in the only way he knew how, knowing that Sean would only say something stupid.

Marshall:  You don't want to know.

As Pamela sits down in her seat, Sean tries to downplay it.

Jackson:  Nothing, I didn't say or do anything?

Looking about the cabin, Pamela rolls her eyes because she knows better.  She then looks directly at her husband.

Pamela:  Really Sean, we've only been in the air for a few minutes and you've already managed to piss off everyone on the plane.  It's like I can't take you anywhere...

Jackson:  But Pamela, I didn't do anything, alright.  I was sitting here, minding my own business and all of a sudden...

Sean never gets to finish as a female passenger presents a smart phone and a video begins to play.  As the video of Sean referring to the flight attendant as a cold hearted Scandanavian bitch plays, Pamela's mouth opens wide as Sean slinks farther and farther into his seat.

Pamela:  Sean, how could you?

In shock, Sean can't muster the words to defend himself...mainly because there was no way he could defend himself.

Pamela:  Have you lost your mind?  

Jackson:  I...uhh...

Pamela immediately looks over at the flight attendant with an apologetic face.  Sure Sean could be a dick sometimes, but even that video was too much to defend.

Pamela:  Excuse me Miss, but I apologize for my husband being an arrogant prick.  Sometimes I don't even know why I stay with him.

The two women share a nod before Pamela turns her attention back towards Sean.  If he could dig a hole under the seat to get away from the evil scowl on her face, he would have already done so.  In Pamela's world, there was always a time for putting people in their place, those people being outside of her tiny little place in the world, but this wasn't one of those moments, nor one of those kinds of people.  

When Pamela looked at the flight attendant, she saw another woman trying to survive in a male dominated industry.  Trying to make it in a profession where men saw her as a sex symbol and not as a valuable commodity.

Pamela:  That shit had better never happen again Sean, because if it does, then there will be hell to pay.

He slowly takes a deep breath, before letting it out equally as slow.

Jackson:  Pamela, I'm sorry okay.  I was just messing around with her, I didn't mean an...

Pamela:  I mean it Sean.

He reaches over and takes her hand in his.  Raising it to his lips, Sean begins to kiss the back of her hand.  To him, kissing it was better than getting slapped by it.  As he finishes, there's a twinkle in his eyes.

Jackson:  You're right, it was insensitive of me and I promise that it will never happen again.  So can we please get off of this unfortunate subject, and on to Drexel and Gabriel?

As they share a gaze between each other, Pamela opens her mouth to respond and....


Fade to black.

 "Oh Hell no, ain't no way this crap is going to stand.  I won that title fair and square and I'll be damned if I let a has-been like Gabriel Stevens steal it from me.  But of course, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the conspiracy against me."

"You knew this would happen Gabriel.  You just knew that by attacking Drake during my match at High Stakes IV, it would do wonders for catapulting you into a title match.  Well just remember Gabriel, stealing the belt is easy.  Holding on to it is going to be the hard part.  Or have you forgotten what happened on December 18th of 2011?"  --- Sean Jackson immediately after Inception.



Sean remained largely quiet after the title loss to Gabriel Stevens.  He could understand it better had he been beaten for the belt, but to watch helplessly as Gabriel pinned Drake for the belt was too much to stomach.

After winning the SCW heavyweight title, Sean became an even bigger prick than normal.  He flaunted his success, his money, flipping the bill for skyboxes in back to back shows for Bruce Hart and his wife Kimberly.  He signed checks with ink from a $43,000 pen and road first class...

Now he was just another name on the roster, having to step into the ring against a non factor named Jon Dough.  After flying economy all the way to Glasgow, Scotland...he was ready for the nightmare to be over.  He couldn't understand how people could travel like this, in the middle row, between disgusting fat bodies that smelled of pickled pig feet and arm pits?

That might be acceptable for the low life pond scum that made up Drake Green's fanbase, but not for him.  As far as he was concerned, that was suited better for the 40 watt club that seemed to be drawn to the other fraud of Sin City Wrestling...

That being Gabriel Stevens.  

Had it not been for those two idiots, Sean Jackson would still be the heavyweight champion, and would have been segregated away from this collection of gutter trash that ebola rejects.

After enduring the real life version of animal farm, Sean could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.  He knew that once the flight landed, it wouldn't take long to get to the terminal where he could leave this collection of whalephants and lard asses behind.    

It had gotten so bad, that in mid flight, Sean couldn't take it anymore.  He found himself changing from the tailor made dress shirt that he loved so much, to a loose fitting t-shirt that could easily be slipped over his nose and mouth.  He wanted to look the part of a successful champion, but not at the expense of his own brain cells and sense of smell.   But what he found even more amazing was the fact that none of these people could tell that Sean found them offensive.  Did he need to introduce them to mouthwash and deodorant?

As soon as the flight came to a stop, he unbuckled his seat belt and prepared to stand.  However, his balance was thrown off as Humpty Dumpty and the Pillsbury Doughboy quickly rose with the same thought in mind.  The one in the aisle seat was able to stand with no problems, but it was the man to Sean's immediate right that gave him the most problems.  As the sweat dripped from the man's arm pits, Sean leaned back as far as he could, holding his nose hard in the process.  He wanted to stand, to get far away from the tub of lard that was now splashing all over him.  But was completely unable to do so because of the inconsiderate son of a bitch who was now waddling in front of him.

Jackson:  Oh for crying out loud, REALLY DUDE?

The guy shrugs as he makes his way between the seats, bumping into Sean with every step taken.

Jackson:  You know, you're an inconsiderate prick.  I hope you're rushing to get on a damn treadmill.

Pretending not to hear, the man finally gets into the aisle and makes his way towards the exit.

Jackson:  Or maybe you're rushing your ass to a heart attack.  Yeah that's it bitch, run along to that jelly doughnut so you can eat yourself to death....

As the man exits the flight, a stewardess walks up from behind and leans in close.

stewardess:  Excuse me sir, but those comments aren't needed.

Rolling his eyes, he could really care less what the bitch thought.

Jackson:  Ma'am, you just remember how to pass out the peanuts and pour the drinks, alright.  Because anything outside of that, you're wasting perfectly good air and dumbing everyone else down.

stewardess:  Well I never...

Insulted, she quickly turns on her heels and walks away.

Jackson:  And hopefully you never will.

Gathering his belongings, he too quickly leaves the plane without giving her another thought.  As far as he was concerned, she stuck her nose where it didn't belong and got what she deserved.  But that was to be expected from the intransitive and vomitous masses that followed the Drake Green's and Gabriel Stevens' of the world.  So, he didn't have a problem slamming them at every opportunity given.

As he makes his way up the jetway, Sean's thoughts switch ever so slightly to his opponent for Climax Control, that being a familiar foe in Jon Dough.  Now that he was good and aggravated, it was a good time to think about drilling his knee through the back of someone's skull.  

Jackson:  I hope no one thinks I'm satisfied with this crap.  That somehow destroying Jon Dough is going to replace losing the heavyweight title...

Sean shakes his head.

Jackson:  A title that was taken from me because Drake decided to crack like a little bitch under the weight of expectations from a bunch of bottom feeders.

Almost at the end of the jetway, there are still people both in front and behind Sean, some of which are curious about this guy talking to himself and turn their attentions in his direction.

Jackson:  Yeah, I called you a bunch of bottom feeders.  What of it?

In today's crazy world, the ramblings of a 6'2 and 220 pound athlete isn't worthy of any further reactions.  So they continue about their merry way, forgetting that he even existed.  Which of course, is exactly the way that Sean Jackson likes it.  Until Sunday night when he wants those same bottom feeders to plop down their hard earned money to boo him.

To boo him LOUDLY.


***************************************************


Within 30 minutes, Sean already had his luggage and was exiting the terminal.  Without any rental agreements, he had no choice but to wait for the mule and cart express to take him to the Glasgow House.  Yes the Glasgow House, considered by many to be the worst hotel in the city.  Okay, maybe mule and cart was a little harsh, but in the grand scheme of things, the actual shuttle bus that did arrive wasn't much better.  As Sean placed his bags into the compartment below, he couldn't help but notice how dirty it was.  In some areas, he couldn't tell if the bottom was covered with mud or rust, so Sean tried his best to avoid them...failing miserably in the process.

Shaking his head, he quickly came to the realization that there was no way in hell he would be able to maintain this poor man's way.  This rubbing of elbows with the bottom feeders just wasn't going to cut it.

Jackson:  No...no...no.  There's no way I'm spending the next week like this.  

Sean steps back and looks toward the driver.

Jackson:  Bro, please tell me that the Glasgow House isn't ate up like this damn shuttle bus is.  Please tell me that I'm in a bad freaking dream and that I'm going to wake up any minute now in a 5 Star hotel called...

driver:  Aye laddie, ye will wake up in a fife staurn hotel alrecht.  Efter ye bevvy lots ay swally.

Okay, this confuses the hell out of Mr. Jackson.

Jackson:  Wait?  what?

driver:  Ah said hop in laddie.  I'll tak' ye tae yer hotel.

Jackson:  What?

driver:  Jist gie in.

Taking a deep breath, Sean has serious reservations about going any further.  With the way this guy sounds, he's already a few pints into the keg and looking for more.  The idea of dying in a fiery crash or submerged under water definitely wasn't his cup of tea...but neither was getting mugged by some outdated William Wallace wannabees.

driver:  Dae ye want tae be left haur?

As he starts to close the door, Sean has no choice but to hop in.  As he does, he sits down in the first seat and the shuttle slightly lurches forward.  As his eyes close, Sean attempts to calm down by getting his emotions in check.  Yes he's upset, yes he believes that he was screwed over, but now he was in a place where people got crazy stupid...way before they even started drinking.

driver:  Sae ur haur oan business?

Jackson:  Huh?

driver:  Business or pleasure?

Sean sighs.  All he wants is to be left alone.

Jackson:  Business.

driver:  Whit kin' ay business?

Jackson:  I'm a professional wrestler.

The driver's face lights up.  What a wonderful topic to talk about, especially with Scotland's own Robert Whiteford participating in the UFC.

driver:  Wrestlin' huh?  tay bad ye dornt pure dae it in th' UFC.  Rabbie Whiteford wood gei ye a serioos rin fur yer bunsens (money).

Sean didn't understand all the driver said, but knew enough to figure out that this guy seriously believed that some person named Whiteford could hang with him in the ring.  So Sean simply smiled and shrugged.

Jackson:  Look, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, especially since you're driving and all.  But I'm pretty sure you aren't being paid to talk, so if you don't mind...I would really love to get to the hotel in one piece.

The driver waves his hand and not another word is spoken for the rest of the trip.  

Finally Sean thought to himself.  There was the piece and quiet that he longed for, that he wanted ever since stepping off of that god forsaken flight and into this god forsaken country.  This is what he envisioned for the week, just sitting in his top floor suite and enjoying room ser....

Top floor suite?  

Room service?

Hey dumbass, you aren't the champion anymore.  Remember?

Jackson:  FUCK!!!!

The loud scream startles the driver as the shuttle bus almost swerves off the road.  However, he resists the urge to engage Sean with any further attempts at a conversation.  It was probably for the best as the night was about to get worse, much MUCH worse.


****************************************************


The rest of the trip was uneventful, as was the process of checking into the Glasgow House itself.  However, stepping into the room was anything but uneventful.  The hallways were filled with the very definition of bottom feeders, the kind of people that would latch on to lovable losers like Drake Green because like him...they were liars, cheats, and frauds too.

The room was even worse due to the broken shower head, the heater being broken, and the glass mirror being broken.  But even worse was the fact that half the lights didn't work, which would become the biggest issue of them all.  Disgusted, Sean tossed his bags on the floor before sitting down on a very rickety wooden chair.

Jackson:  Screw this, I'm done.

Reaching into his wallet, Sean makes his way over to the bed and grabs the phone.

Jackson:  I'm not going to stay here for one more minute.

Because the room is partially dark, he tries to turn the lamp on, but to no avail.

Jackson:  You've got to be kidding me...

As he continues to flip the switch on and off, his eyes are following the electrical chord from the lamp to the wall.  Seeing that it's connected, the frustration level jumps higher.

Jackson:  Jesus, don't tell me you're a freaking Drake Green bottom feeder too.  I can't believe that you would choose a man whore and a has been over a talented superstar like myself.  Well...

As he reaches for the chord, his own words distract from the exposed wire on the under side of the chord.

Jackson:  That's not a problem because if I can't seriously fuck up Gabriel to get my title back this Sunday, then I'm going to take all my frustrations out on that fucker Jon Dough because I...

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Accidentally grabbing the exposed chord, Sean is given a jolt, sending him off the bed and onto the floor.  After a few moments, he stirs and his eyes open.

Jackson:  Wow, that hurt...

Shaking his hand, Sean tries to get the tingling to stop as he leans against the bedpost.  The whole thing lasted a split second, but it was enough to shake him up.  After regaining his composure, he manages to crawl over the bed in order to grab the room phone.

Jackson:  Yes ma'am, this is Mr. Jackson in room 13.  I was just wondering if there was any way that I could switch rooms.

Whoa, wait a minute.  Was Sean Jackson actually being nice to someone?

Hmm.

Jackson:  Thank you ma'am, that's much appreciated.

As Sean hangs the phone up, he has a smile on his face.

Jackson:  Now that was nice of her, and I didn't even have to beg.  Now then, where was I?

For a split second, Sean ponders his own question before it finally comes back to him.

Jackson:  Oh yes, Jon Dough.  One helluva competitor that I simply can't underestimate.  I had better be on my game or he's going to....

Without warning, Sean's body begins to shake as if he's being shocked again.  For a split second his eyes roll back before coming back to normal.  As if nothing happened...

Jackson:  Get his ass kicked, no doubt about it.


Fade.

 December 8th

The scene opens inside of a local restraurant in San Jose, California.  Seated in a booth, tucked away in a far corner is Sean Jackson, wearing dark slacks and a button down dress shirt.  He's engulfed himself in the local San Jose Mercury News where the lead story is a shooting where one man was shot and several others arrested.

He shakes his head.

Jackson:  "Terrific, must have been a bunch of Drake Green fans.

He rolls his eyes.

Jackson:  "I come to San Jose, with the purpose of showing the local trash what class looks like, and they do some garbage like this."

As he talks aloud to himself, people inside of the establishment turn to face him.  However, they chalk him up as a local with no class himself and within moments, everyone goes back to their normal lives.

Jackson:  "I thought they had strict gun laws here?"

As he continues to read, his attorney and friend Marshall Owens sits down across from him.

Marshall:  "What are you reading?"

He folds the paper and tosses it down.

Jackson:  "Oh, nothing much.  Someone was cleaning the gene pool and got carried away.  Speaking of which, did you like how I bitch slapped Drake and Gabriel last night?"

Taking a deep breath, Marshall tries to answer in a politically correct manner.

Marshall:  "You took a helluva risk Sean.  That could have backfired on us."

Jackson:  "Give me a break Marshall, the only risk I ran was getting fined by management.  But since I was brought here by Mark Ward in the first place, I don't have to worry about that either."

Marshall attempts to hide his look of concern.

Marshall:  "You brought up Misty for crying out loud."

Jackson:  "So"

Marshall:  "He got Delia pregnant, and now Misty has been busting his..."

Jackson:  "Look Marshall, that's his problem.  He should learn to keep it in his pants if he doesn't want the hassle.  Besides, he punched me because he's not the goody two shoes he's made himself out to be."

Sean shifts his body to where his back was against the wall, his left leg on the seat.  From there, he had a picture perfect view of everyone and everything.

Jackson:  "But enough about Drake and Gabriel, they're old news now...."

He checks his watch.

Jackson:  "I just want to get some breakfast, so that I can get the hell out of here.  Not that Bakersfield is any better, but..."

He never gets to finish as the waitress walks up to take their order.  As she stands there, twirling a pen in her hair, Sean pictures her as a prime candidate to spread her legs for Drake Green.

waitress:  "What can I..."

Disgusted, Sean slides out of the booth, stopping the waitress dead in her tracks.  A move that takes Marshall by surprise.

Jackson:  "Nothing.  You can't get me a damn thing."

As he stands, his eyes shift up and down, sizing her up.  A move that embarrasses Marshall.

Jackson:  "Do I look like someone who would associate with the likes of you?"

He shakes his head and answers before she can even open her mouth.

Jackson:  "Of course not, so carry your scrawny ass back to whatever trailer you came from..."

Marshall:  "Sean"

Jackson:  "Screw this crack whore Marshall.  She is San Jose trash who thinks she can shake her ass, wink a few times and I'll drop my pants like Drake Green.  Well you can stay here and coddle the bitch if you want, but I'm heading to Bakersfield.  Screw this joint, and it's little Drake Green jock sniffer."

It takes everything she has NOT to slap the taste from his mouth.  Instead a tear trickles down her face as Sean walks away.  As Marshall stands, he can't help but notice how the words hurt her.

Marshall:  "Please forgive him, he's under a lot of stress.  I know that doesn't make it right but..."

waitress:  (fighting back the tears)  "Just go."

Taking a deep breath, Marshall too walks away.  As he steps out the door and onto the parking lot, he notices Sean leaning on their rental vehicle.  Approaching the passenger side, he can't help but to say what's on his mind.

Marshall:  "That was totally uncalled for.  She was doing her job and didn't deserve that."

Jackson:  "Bullshit, I know how trash like that operates.  She saw dollar signs and couldn't wait to Bill Cosby me.  One minute she's taking my order and the next, I'm Ray Rice and beating her ass in an elevator.  That's how these California whores operate, they see a celebrity and immediately want money .  They'll take your order one moment and the next, they're accusing you of Herman Cain'ing em.  No Marshall, that bitch got exactly what she deserved, pure and simple."

Marshall:  "Just unlock the car Sean."

Sean shrugs his shoulders as the doors unlock, giving Marshall the opportunity to get in.  Still disgusted by his client's behavior, he tries to get the girl's hurt look out of his mind.  He is even more disgusted as Sean answers his phone as if nothing has happened.

Jackson:  "Okay, lay it on me.  Who is the victim this week?"

As Marshall continues to sit there, it isn't long before Sean enters the vehicle and sits behind the steering wheel.  As he places the key in the ignition and turns it, he looks over smiles.

Jackson:  "Oh man, this is going to be good.  Vanessa found out who my opponent is in Bakersfield."

Worried, Marshall automatically assumes the worst.

Marshall:  "Let me guess, is it Drake or Gabriel?"

Jackson:  "Neither."

Marshall looks confused.

Marshall:  "Neither?  then, who is it?"

Jackson:  (still smiling)  "Equinox."

Marshall:  "Equinox?  is she sure?"

Jackson:  "What do you mean is she sure?  of course she's sure."

With the vehicle started, Sean slips it into reverse and immediately backs out of the parking space.  As they move backwards, Marshall can't help but express his concern.

Marshall:  "Sean, don't take this man lightly.  He was the Roulette champion for quite some time, and beat some quality competition.  Please tell me you're going to take him seriously?"

Jackson:  "Jesus Marshall, are you kidding me?  I'm the champion here, not him.  I've beaten his ass three times already and will do it again this Sunday.  Besides, when you leave Drake Green unconscious for three weeks in a row, facing a nobody like Equinox is just too easy."

Just before the vehicle pulls out onto the highway, Sean is careful to look both ways, making sure the coast is clear.  However, Marshall's mind is still stuck on Bakersfield and Equinox.

Marshall:  "Sean, we're talking apples and oranges here.  Drake's been distracted by Delia's pregnancy, and with Misty being all emotional in the background.  I think it's safe to say that his focus wasn't on you..."

You can hear the frustration in his voice.  It's his job to make sure that Sean doesn't take Equinox lightly.

Marshall:  "But this Equinox, he's going to be focused.  He wants to take you down in the worst way possible, so you need...

Jackson:  "God damnit Marshall, stop it already?  He's a freak that wears a mask, nothing more.  I've beaten him already, so forgive me if I'm not pissing myself at the very mention of his name.

Still frustrated, Marshall turns to look out the passenger side window.  He's under tremendous pressure to keep Sean focused and the mystery woman happy.

Marshall:  "Whatever."


December 9th
Bakersfield, California


Rubbing his forehead, Marshall paces back and forth across the room.

Marshall:  "Look, I'm doing everything in the world I know to do.  He openly mocks everyone, he's confrontational, and he literally overlooks everyone on the roster."

As he is speaking, the camera picks up a woman seated behind a desk.  Her back is to the camera, and her light brownish hair hangs off of both shoulders.  Because the camera is behind her, no one but Marshall can see her face.

woman:  "If I wanted excuses Marshall, I would talk to your bimbo secretary.  But if this is too big for you and you can't handle it, then just let me know and I'll find someone who can."

This stops Marshall dead in his tracks.  How dare this woman question anything that he's done over the past two years?

Marshall:  "Are you kidding me?  I've brought him more success in the last two years, than he's had in his entire career.  I've brought him to the top of the wrestling landscape and now YOU want to make this out to be my fault?"

woman:  "Let me ask you Marshall, who came up with the evil jezebeth idea?"

Marshall blinks twice, unable to say anything.  As the silence gets uneasy, he finally responds.

Marshall:  "You did."

woman:  "Exactly, and whose idea was it to end it?"

Marshall:  (defeated)  "Mine."

woman:  "When Sean won the ACW heavyweight title, did you do whatever it took to ensure he held on to it?"

Before Marshall has a chance to respond, the woman cuts him off.

woman:  "No, no you didn't.  You stood by and watched as he lost to Simon Jones, then he lost twice in a row to Drake Green.  I handed you the perfect story, as well as the stage to make him the very best in the world and you blew it.  Well Marshall, your ineptness has finally come to an end."

He can feel his body shaking, his lips quivering.  This is it he keeps telling himself, the words *you're fired* is already echoing in his mind.

woman:  "If Equinox beats Sean this Sunday..."

She stops herself, her voice had been coarse, almost callous.  But now it goes back to sweet and charming.

woman:  "What am I saying?  I know you would never let that happen.  You're a valued commodity to this business Marshall, and you will prove that this Sunday."

Her finger extends to a button where she activates an intercom.

woman:  "Terry, can you show Marshall his way out?"

As her finger retracts, the door opens and a man's voice can be heard.

man:  "This way Mr. Owens."

As Marshall exits the room, the woman kicks her legs up on the desk and leans the chair back.

woman:  "Because if you don't...."

Her voice trails off.


December 9th
somewhere in Bakersfield.


With the camera focused on a chair in an empty room, footsteps can be heard and a small shadow appears on the wall.  

"Equinox, why don't you just go away?"

As the shadow gets larger, a figure finally comes into view.  As the man sits in the chair, he is recognized as Sean Jackson.  Leaning forward in the chair, his hand automatically raises to his chin.

"Don't you realize you're fighting a losing battle?  That any chance you had was over the moment I stepped into SCW.  Why is it that you continue to throw faith into people that you don't know?  that idiot fans who don't know a wrist lock from a wrist watch can possibly will you to victory.  That if they scream their little hearts out loud enough, it will make you better than me."

He chuckles slightly.

"Oh how naive of you.  Face it Equinox, you couldn't beat me when I was down, so what makes you think that you can beat me now?"

There's no limit to his self confidence.  Especially now that he carries the heavyweight title.

"Wait, don't answer that.  I don't want you spending the rest of the day trying to convince yourself that you somehow possess 1/10th of the skills that Drake did, that you have in some way became better than you actually are."

"I can just see it now, with christmas rapidly approaching, little Equinox on bended knees, praying for a miracle."

Sean gets down on his knees and places his hands in front of him.  As he looks to the ceiling as if praying.

"Dear Santa, if you can see things my way.  I would really, really, REALLY love a victory over Sean Jackson.  I mean, I deserve it...don't I?"

A smile creeps across his face, trying to hold it in as he's blatantly mocking Equinox.

"He's beaten me everytime I've faced him, and needs to be brought down a peg or two.  It's like you've handed him everything on a silver platter.  His good looks, his athletic skills, Vanessa..."

As the smile gets bigger, Sean tries to pout his lips, mocking Equinox even harder.

"And you haven't given me anything.  I wear a mask to hide my horrible looks, I have no athletic abilities and the closest thing I have to a woman is a pic of Roseanne Barr."

In that instant, an angel appears on his right shoulder.

angel:  "Sean, why do you feel the need to make fun of people?"

"Leave me alone."

angel:  "There's no need to tear someone down in order to make you feel better about yourself."

"Oh, so NOW you want to give advice.  Where were you back in 2012 when *I* needed you?"

angel:  "Sean, we've alw..."

On his other shoulder, a devil appears.  After shooting the angel a look, the devil rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Sean.

devil:  "Oh please, give it a rest already.  Sheesh."

The devil leans against Sean's head, his extended arm resting just above Sean's ear.

devil:  "The world's in turmoil.  People are killing each other, stealing things from one another, and yet you want to make a grand appearance because Mr. Jackson is allegedly mocking someone.  Way to have your priorities in order."

"Both of you, shut up.  Can't you see that I'm in the middle of something?"

devil:  "See, you pissed him off."

angel:  "Me?"

As they both disappear, Sean turns his attention back to Equinox.

"Equinox, you can pray for a victory all you want, but real life trumps fantasy everytime."

He gets off of his knees and sits back down in the chair.  His eyes begin to narrow, the voice goes deeper.

"I didn't beat Drake twice in a row, just to drop a freebie to the likes of you.  So when you step into the ring this Sunday, understand that Santa won't be there and the only present you'll receive is a high knee to the back of your skull...."

As the lights go out and the room goes black.

"You're still not ready.

Fade.