"Son of a bitch" Sean exclaimed, not being able to contain his obvious disappointment. As he slapped his hand on the cold, hard, hanger floor, he couldn't help but stare into the ring to once again see Drake Green's hand being raised in victory.
He could feel himself wanting to throw up, trying desperately to keep down the bile that was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Why does this keep happening?" Sean questions aloud, the fans inside of the Scott Air Force Base hanger now giving him the business. As he goes to stand, he feins throwing a hard fist, but keeps it to himself, knowing what happened the last time he got into it with a fan...
That being Justin Halliwell.
In a show of pure contempt, Sean hocks one up and spits on the floor, just in front of the announce table. It's as if he didn't care anymore, he was taking this loss harder than any other because an opportunity to deal justice to Drake had been lost....
Once again.
"Hey screw you, screw all of you in this podunk, two bit installation" he would continue screaming, at the top of his lungs. The tirade would prompt Marshall Owens to come running out, an attempt to calm his client down, an attempt to console the savage beast roaring to get out, but to no avail as Sean went livid. Of course, it didn't help that he had pretty much shot his mouth off during Climax Control 93 and was now completely embarrassed.
"Sean, relax. You've got to relax " Marshall would continue trying to get through, his hands getting more and more animated as they're being waved in front of Sean's face, trying to get his attention.
"No, screw that Marshall. Listen to these..." Sean stops abruptly, his eyes scanning the movement of those still inside of the hanger. Yes, the matches are over, the event done, but the cross hairs are still looking for a target. "Target acquired" he would reply with a twist of disdain in his voice. "He wants a fight? I'll give him...."
Without even having to look in the direction of Sean's eyes, Marshall already knew the target, and the response was to place both hands on his shoulders, forcing him up the ramp and towards the back. Much to the displeasure of the fans still wanting to see action.
TWO HOURS LATER
There's nothing like showering away the grit, the grime, the nastiness that comes from sharing a ring with other competitors. While Marshall stood guard at the door to the showers, Sean took his time, washing away the bad memories of the night until he finally felt clean. Sean didn't want to talk to a living soul while under the shower head, all he wanted was to be clean, to be able to forget the night that Drake Green managed to escape him again.
"Marshall, is everyone gone?" Sean asks as he reaches over to turn the water off, the sound of water splashing coming to a stop. "Because I've had enough of this place and want to finally get back to Texas."
Looking up and down the hallway, Marshall doesn't see anyone and relays the information to his client. "It's all clear Sean, as soon as you're dressed, we're out of here."
Of course that was music to Sean's ears. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they got out of Missouri, the better. He had seen enough of America's arm pit to last him a lifetime and enough of the luckiest pimple under that arm pit in Drake Green.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, Sean slowly makes his way to the locker where his clothes are hanging neat and nicely on the pegs. Taking his time in taking them down, a thought crosses his mind. "You know Marshall, they're going to try to use this set back against me. They're going to use this loss as a means to protect Drake further, so I need to do something. Something big next week at Ft. Hood."
Still standing in the hallway, Marshall nods in approval, but for the moment, the something big department fails to materialize in his thought process. Which prompts him to respond in kind. "Well, we could go to Mark Ward and ask for a title shot. I mean, it's not like he wou..."
"No Marshall" Sean would reply, taking a few more swipes at his hair with the towel. "I'm not going to waste asking for a title match after losing the way we did tonight. No, I think I'll go a different route when I finally get Jon Dough in the ring."
He chuckles as he sits down in the locker, slowly putting on his dress slacks. It's obvious that a devilish thought had crossed his mind, and after replaying it a few times in his mind, discovered that the entertainment was well worth the effort. "A different route indeed."
Within moments, Sean finds himself completely dressed and making his way towards the exit with Marshall Owens alongside. The smile on his face paints the picture of a man who has completely forgotten all about being a part of the losing team, and is looking forward to returning to Texas, close to his hometown, and close to a venue that he's very familiar with.
As they step through the exit, Sean can't help but go back to his trash talking self. "You know Marshall, a lesser man would crumble after such a devastating loss. He would fall apart, feeling less than adequate. But do you know why Mark Ward brought me to Sin City?"
Without even waiting for a response, Sean continues as if he's the only one in the area. "He brought me here because I'm a bonafide winner, he brought me here because I'm a survivor, and he brought me here because I can get things done." As Sean is speaking, Vanessa appears from off screen, undoubtedly giving him the much needed time to cool off. The rant was brutally ugly, the demeanor even worse to those who found themselves too close to escape. A small change in direction had occurred somewhere down the line and all of a sudden, the loose cannon was no longer Vanessa....
It was Sean Jackson.
"He brought me here because of everyone on the roster, I'm the one who can get the job done for him." Typical of someone like Sean Jackson, his ego has hardened his heart and shortened his memory. "He knows that I can give him what he wants, and that will be proven this Sunday when I get to Justin Halliwell the masked man known as Jon Dough."
Nodding her approval, Vanessa takes the lead as she begins walking towards an approaching military shuttle van, with Sean and Marshall walking behind her. As the van comes to a stop, the sliding door opens and out steps Colonel Kyle Kremer. Still in battle fatigues, Kremer stops a few feet away, his hand extended towards the Mental Rapist. As Sean stops, an uneasy friction in the air forms, which is quickly broken by Kremer.
"You know, I really wish you would tone your act down a bit. There's simply no reason to come off the way that you do, by putting people down and making them feel bad about themselves." As Kremer speaks, there is no facial change whatsoever with Sean Jackson. It's as if Kremer is speaking in a linguistic vacuum and the translation is set on Zarcon, completely devoid of any level for understanding from Jackson.
"Okay, so I embarrassed you in front of your peers. Get over it already." Kremer would continue, trying to keep his frustration level to a minimum. "I have airmen in my charge that deal with humility every day of their lives, and become better people for it. I tell you what Sean, instead of spending all your time tearing people down, why don't you use those talents to build people up?"
Sean lets out a sarcastic snort, his upper lip curling just a bit before responding. "No thanks Klink, I like tearing people down. But thanks for the pep talk none the less." He rolls his eyes as he steps beyond Kremer's hand and steps into the van with Vanessa and Marshall also following. Colonel Kremer turns to face the van as the door slides shut, obvious disappointment on his face that he couldn't manage to get through to Sean Jackson. Kremer can only shake his head as the van pulls away, slowly heading into the darkness.
October 1, 2014
Main Gate
Ft. Hood, Texas
It was surreal, almost science fiction like. There he was, in a rented Lexus, about to enter onto the largest military base in the free world, and there were bomb sniffing dogs doing open air sniff checks on vehicles in front of them. With the ISIS situation in the middle east almost to a fever pitch, the base commander at Ft. Hood wasn't taking any chances.
First there was the November 5, 2009 shooting where thirteen people were fatally shot by Major Nidal Malik Hassan. Then that was followed up by the April 2, 2014 shooting spree where an individual named Ivan Lopez shot and killed three other people before turning the weapon on himself.
Lieutenant General Sean MacFarland was anything but an ordinary commander when it came to security. As the III Corps Commander, he was in charge of the largest military base in the free world, which meant more square miles of terrain to account for. As concerned as he was for the main entrances, he was equally concerned for the literally hundreds and hundreds of square miles that could be used for any terroristic act from Belton to Copperas Cove, from Killeen to Gatesville. He didn't play games and definitely wouldn't put up with any of Sean's nonsense. So this go around, Sean planned to be on his best behavior.
"Jesus" Sean says a tad over his breath. It's not like we're about to pull up to the White House or anything." As he continues to watch the army military police shove long handled mirrors under vehicles, a sudden thought of *what if* floods his mind. What if someone manages to sneak something in? what if someone decides to go Nidal Hassan during Climax Control?
Yes, he planned to be on his very BEST behavior.
That behavior would quickly be tested as armed military soldiers and military police made their way towards the vehicle he was driving. One of the soldiers, a black Sergeant begins to motion with his hand for Sean to roll the window down, which he totally complies. "Sir, your drivers license please?" the army Sergeant requests, his free hand already extending towards the open window. Well, you can consider it a request if it makes you feel better, but Sean knew all to well that it was far, FAR from a request.
On the other side of the base, at the eastern side of Killeen, is the Tank Destroyer Boulevard entrance to Ft. Hood, Texas. Usually a free flowing entrance, now dotted with concrete barricades, forcing a smaller tunnel and making it easier on the soldiers to not miss anything. Marshall had wanted to go this route, going through the east gate, but decided against it when it was *recommended* that upon completion of the vehicle check, to follow a military police escort to the Sports Office first, then to the Sports Dome where he would once again hype a military appreciation Climax Control.
As Sean slowly reaches into his wallet to retrieve the license, he does manage to notice that several soldiers are now pointing towards Vanessa, who is seated in the back. He doesn't seem to understand why until it dawns on him, a dark haired vietnamese woman is in his vehicle, and has drawn their attention. Once he has license in hand, Sean politely hands it over to where the sergeant inspects the photo, the name, and address. Once he's satisfied, he does hand the drivers license back and quickly addresses his eyes to Vanessa in the back.
"ID ma'am?" the sergeant once again asks, his eyes not shifting from her face. There isn't an immediate response, which prompts the sergeant to make the *request* once again. "Ma'am, your ID please."
The mood shifts quickly from partially uncomfortable, to totally uncomfortable in a heart beat as the army sergeant motions with his free hand. Seeing that, Marshall attempts a verbal intervention. "Sergeant, she is with Mr. Ja..."
Marshall never gets to finish as the sergeant, without missing a beat, asks one last time. "Ma'am, your identification, please." Except, please didn't come out sounding like the end of a request. It came out as a warning that shit was about to get real. But true to form, Vanessa would just sit there, no verbal or physical response made to the sergeant which prompts him to move his finger to the trigger guard of his assault rifle. "Mr. Jackson, please keep your hands on the steering wheel sir and don't move them" is the immediate response as he's now pointing downward, towards the interior of the vehicle for others to see. As they too move to a more aggressive posture, Marshall can see his entire life flash before his eyes as Vanessa continues to sit there, not making even the slightest effort to defuse the situation.
"Whoa, whoa. This is..." Marshall quickly tries to tell the sergeant something, but is immediately told to keep his hands on the dashboard. As he complies fully, one of the soldiers opens the back door and orders Vanessa to step out. As she slowly turns her head to face the soldier, the first words finally escape her lips. The vietnamese accent catching the soldier a bit off guard. "My name is Vanessa, and I am an American citizen. I have lived in this country for a number of years and wish to have my rights respected."
Sean takes in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. He then turns to face the sergeant once again, hoping to finally put this misunderstanding to rest. "Sergeant, is there some place where we can go to talk?"
"Jon Dough, I hope you understand what's really at play here. I'm sick and damn tired of not living up to the lofty expectations that I've set for myself. When Mark Ward brought me into Sin City Wrestling, he knew that he was getting a man who could get the job done. He knew that he was signing a man who would take Sin City Wrestling to heights not yet realized. Which was the reason why he gave me a gold card membership into Hot Stuff International. But somewhere along the way, I got sidetracked, I got distracted. I had the perfect chance to give Mr. Ward the SCW heavyweight title against Simon Jones, and I blew it. I had an even bigger chance to do it against Drake Green and once again, dropped the ball. Well Jon, play time is over."
October 1, 2014
Sports Dome
1900 hours
Army soldiers, spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends are all seated at various venues inside of the Sports Dome, all clued in on two men seated at a booth, a mic in between them. Media Relations Specialist Tyler Broadway was an avid sports fan and wrestling enthusiast who had been working in media relations at Ft. Hood for years. When he heard that Sin City Wrestling was promoting a tribute to the troops type of tour, he quickly worked a deal and the rest would be history. He still hoped that a meeting with Drake Green would be in the cards, but right now he was satisfied to be sitting next to the Mental Rapist Sean Jackson.
"Sean, welcome to Ft. Hood" Tyler would start, nervous excitement in his voice. "Thank you Tyler, it's a pleasure to be here, promoting Sin City Wrestling and Hot Stuff International". So far so good Tyler would think to himself, a typical response to a typical welcome. A recipe for a successful show if everything goes right.
"No, thank you and thanks to Sin City Wrestling for choosing Ft. Hood as a stop on this military appreciation tour." As Tyler continues, he can feel himself calming down even further, feeling more comfortable sitting next to a man who gets to live the dream, the dream that Tyler himself can only fantasize about on the internet, participating in a phenomenon known as e-wrestling.
As Sean nods his head, Tyler is ready to fire his first question. "Now then, Drake Green?" he would ask, wanting to set a tone for the rest of the promotional interview. "You seem to have a real hatred for the SCW heavyweight champion, why is that?"
As he leans back in his chair, Sean strokes his chin and takes a deep breath before letting it out. His match is against Jon Dough this sunday, but what would it hurt to let the whole world know that he DOES have Drake on the brain.
"Well Tyler, it's a long story. But let's just say that he's walking around with something that won't belong to him much longer. He's walking around with a championship belt that should be in the hands of Hot Stuff International, and after I get finished with Jon Dough this sunday, it will only be a matter of time before THAT goal is accomplished."
The answer intrigues Tyler, so he decides to probe the Sean Jackson and Drake Green further. "Okay, and I can understand what you're saying. But I think there are those people out there who are curious as to why you have this hatred for all things Drake Green?"
Again, Sean takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. He's facing Jon Dough this week, which means that he'll only address Jon Dough tonight. "Look Tyler, and I mean no disrespect here, but my opponent this sunday night is Jon Dough. If you want to talk about Drake Green, then go find him. However, if you want to discuss Jon Dough, then we can continue with no problems. But until then..."
Sean goes to stand, giving every indication that he's leaving, which prompts Tyler to react quickly. "Wait Mr. Jackson, we've somehow gotten off on the wrong foot. Let's try this...." as his voice tails off, the scene begins it's slow fade to black. Once everything goes dark, the only thing remaining is Sean's lone voice.
"Jon, do yourself a favor and just forget about Ft. Hood, Texas. There's nothing there for you but heartache, heart break, and a lot of misery. Now granted, I understand that it isn't easy for a man to check his ego at the door, to sit back while another grown man trash talks him in front of the entire world. But where would Jamie Dean be right now had he just let it go? where would Justin Halliwell be today had he not let his ego get the better of him? Jon, it doesn't make you less of a man by staying away. On the contrary, it makes you smart. Only a smart man would have the common sense to allow himself the means to fight another day, against someone more his equal. Only a smart man is willing to put ego aside, for the betterment of his livlihood and health. However, if you do happen to choose ego, over health. Then might I suggest a quick transport to the Darnall Army Medical Center. I hear they have no problem treating people with PTSD."
Fin.
