King Of The Hill Part 1
In all his years as a professional wrestler, Sean Jackson had never participated in a single ladder match. He had always tried his damnest to avoid them like the plague, to stay as far from them as humanly possible. But if he was to regain his position back at the top of the SCW mountain, he would need to climb one in Casablanca, Morocco on May 3rd, and in front of the entire wrestling world.
With the two week break between Climax Control 113 and Mayhem in Morocco, Sean found himself back at the Duke Ranch outside of Dallas, Texas. Seated in the den, he found himself looking out through the venetian blinds and towards the storm clouds gathering from the west. Even though a significant weather event was forming, promising heavy rain and high winds, his attention was on the return to Morocco, and on that ladder match.
Without turning from the window, his eyes still fixed on the clouds rolling in, Sean begins to address his thoughts.
Sean: In other words, I've had my chance at Gabriel Stevens...
He exhales slowly, the disappointment telling in his voice, it can no longer hide in Sean's facial features.
Sean: And now it's Andrew's turn.
Sean is referencing Gabriel's opponent for Mayhem in Morocco. That being Andrew Watts. The man now tasked with challenging for the world heavyweight title.
As he brings his hand up to and cupping both sides of his eyebrows, his eyes lower ever so slightly as the fingers move back and forth. Even though the massage doesn't do any good, he continues.
Sean: Is that the message you are sending me?
It isn't clear who the question is aimed at, but one can assume it's aimed at the men calling the shots in the front office. At this time last year, Sean Jackson was a member of Hot Stuff International and was Mark Ward's go to guy when it came to eliminating threats....
But now he found himself all alone. No stable, no Mark Ward, no world heavyweight championship.
Sean: After being screwed over by Christian Underwood time and time again during your absense. Now I have to sit back like the good little soldier and work my way up from the bottom?
Sean removes his hand from the eyebrows as his eyes slowly close. After taking another deep breath, then slowly exhaling, his attention turns to the camera where for the first time, the address is coming directly.
Sean: Is that what you're telling me?
For the first time since his arrival in Sin City last year, Sean Jackson was now showing disapproval towards the man who broke the bank to bring him in. From the moment Sean Jackson walked away from the National Wrestling Alliance, with the world heavyweight title in tow, Mark Ward wanted the Mental Rapist in SCW. With the devastating high knee finisher that he had in his repertoire, Mark Ward immediately saw Sean Jackson as an answer to his prayers...
As a man who would take out his own mother if the price was right, and in the case of Drake Green and Jamie Dean, it was money well spent. But now it appeared the dynamic had changed, that the once jovial Sean Jackson was no longer satisfied with not being on top of the mountain. Of course he could always play the game of what's good for the goose is good for the gander and attack Odette....
To force Gabriel's hand.
Sean: Well Mark, I'm sorry but that's unacceptable.
If there was one thing the principle owner of Sin City Wrestling understood, it was that Sean Jackson didn't hold his tongue. That if he was unhappy about the way things were going, he was going to bring it to your attention, and expect action to be taken.
Sean: Now granted, I know that you just came back and you're going to fix things as quickly as you can. But Andrew Watts getting a one on one shot against Gabriel Stevens?
He cocks his head to one side, disbelief in his voice. Not to be taken out of context, definitely nothing derogatory towards Andrew Watts, who has been on fire since his arrival in Sin City. But it's just that Sean Jackson would have loved a one on one title defense against Drake Green without Gabriel Stevens, or even against Gabriel without Drake Green. But because of Christian Underwood, he was never given that opportunity.
Sean: Are you kidding me?
As he turns his attention back to the window, Sean shakes his head from side to side. It was as if the wrestling gods had forsaken him, making him wrestling's version of the biblical character Job, who had to endure numerous trials and tribulations from the demon Satan himself.
Sean: Now don't get me wrong, I do appreciate you putting me in this first ever King of the Hill match. I do understand that by winning it, I will be awarded with the golden contract to go after whatever championship I want, whenever I want. But Mark...
The desperation in his voice was clear, and in no way hidden.
Sean: A ladder match?
You just know that an explanation is forth coming, especially with the complete look of exasperation etched all over his face. His body language, the pulling at the collar of his shirt, all painting the pretty little picture of a man trapped in a corner.
Sean: Two weeks ago it was a hardcore match against that maniac Chris Shipman, and now...
As Sean stands from his chair, he begins to walk across the room. As he does, light rain drops begin to drop onto the window pain creating the occasional plinking against the glass itself.
Sean: A ladder match in Morocco?
As he exits the room, Sean begins to make his way down the short hallway that leads into the huge living room portion of the Duke household. With every step taken, an echo bounces off of the walls which magnifies the steps of the 220 pound wrestler.
Sean: Have you lost your mind?
Okay, maybe not the best question to ask your boss. But when you live the life of privilege, you expect certain things to just be handed to you, even when you don't ask for them. So when things aren't satisfactory, the boss is supposed to take care of things. Isn't he?
Sean: Aren't you supposed to be taking care of your top talent? Aren't you supposed to be bending over backwards to keep me happy? Hell, two weeks ago Drake Green got lost and thought it was 2013 again. So I just know that you're going to want me to take care of business for you again....
Making his way into the living room area, he quickly notices his father in law Cameron Duke reading the Wall Street Journal and stops talking. He attempts to exit the area without being discovered but is completely unsuccessful.
Cameron: I know what you're up to.
As Cameron folds the paper and tosses it down on the table, Sean immediately stops in his tracks. Is it possible that word got back to Mr. Duke on his business dealings in Romania back in March? If that was the case, then he was in serious trouble because Cameron Duke had the financial backing to ruin him.
Sean: Wait Mr. Duke...
As he spun around, Sean didn't know exactly what he was going to say. However, he knew that he had to deflect whatever Cameron knew or thought he knew about his dealings in Europe.
Sean: I can explain.
Oh that was rich, Sean thought to himself as Mr. Duke came to within several feet of him. As he looked into Cameron's eyes, he found it increasingly difficult to decipher what he meant. What made Cameron Duke so successful was the ability to have a poker face 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. He had amassed his fortune by playing hardball without blinking and having the ability to stay several moves ahead of everyone else.
So what chance would Sean Jackson have?
Cameron: Thinking that you could stroll through my house without being noticed. Well Mr. Wrestler, you can tip toe all you want, but I will always hear you coming.
Relieved, Sean realizes that Cameron had no clue about his business dealings in Europe or in Oklahoma. Maybe he could further his business influences by striking up a few deals in Morocco. But then again, it could be too tricky to attempt it there with all of the other oil moguls in close quarters. Running the game to undermine Cameron Duke was something that had to be done subtly, and not like a bull in a China closet.
It was decided, he would concentrate on the match the match at hand....
And nothing else.
Cameron: I wish I knew what my daughter sees in you. To climb into that head of hers, to see her major malfunction and correct it before you can cause anymore damage.
Oh God, not this crap again Sean thought to himself. All he wanted to do was walk outside, to finish his thoughts about the match in Morocco. But then again, it wasn't like Cameron Duke could prevent him from walking out. After all, he is one of the top wrestlers in the world today, and Cameron Duke was nothing more than an old dinosaur that could be ground to dust under his boots.
Sean: Look Cameron, you don't have to see anything. The fact that your daughter married me years ago is YOUR problem, and not mine. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm heading to the pool.
As Sean turns to head through the double french doors, Cameron's face turns blood red. Also known for his temperment, he points his index finger in Sean's direction and prepares to unload one of his famous tirades. As his mouth flies open, the venom about to spew....
Hey daddy....
The cheerful voice of his daughter Pamela halts him dead in his tracks. He so wanted to put the jock in his place, to run him right out of her life, but to do so in front of her would cause irreparable damage to their relationship. So instead he puts on a fake smile, turning towards her.
Cameron: Pamela...
He opens his arms wide, anticipating a big hug. But instead, gets a quick peck on the cheek as she brushes past and heads towards her husband, still standing in front of the double french doors. As she does, a wave of disappointment flows over him as he can only watch as she gives that big hug to his so called son in law.
Pamela: Are you and daddy getting along?
With her back towards Cameron, she can't see the scowl on his face. However, she can see the bright smile on her husband's face which makes her extremely happy. She quickly turns on her heels which causes Cameron to force a smile of his own.
Sean: Oh yes Pam, your daddy and I are getting along just fine...
He sends an antagonistic wink towards Cameron, which isn't received very well.
Sean: Aren't we?
Cameron grits his teeth, a move well hidden behind the fake smile. Twenty years ago he would have taken a poke at this son of a bitch, knocked him dead on his ass, and then thrown him out. But with Pamela so in love with him, Cameron had to refrain himself.
Cameron: Yeah, yeah we are.
The words come out dryly, but not as much as it was intended. Just seeing Sean standing there with his daughter, made his skin crawl. But for his daughter's sake, he was going to behave himself. Sensing that he wasn't going to get anything further than that, Sean leans in and gives Pamela a light kiss on the neck, making sure not to take his eyes off of Cameron. As he finishes the kiss, his lips are right there by her ear.
Sean: See, we're having the time of our lives. But hey, I've got some business to take care of so why don't I go outside and leave you to visit with dear old dad?
They exchange another kiss before he slips through the doors.
Pamela: He's so thoughtful....
Once outside, Sean can't hear Cameron's response, not does he even care. He got his shots in on the old man and that was the only thing that mattered at that particular time. But now that he was outside, the concern shifted to Casablanca, Morocco and the first ever King of the Hill. As the light rain continued, Sean made sure to sit down at the lounging table with the large umbrella type cover to keep him dry. As he kicks his feet up to relax, Sean goes back to the message at hand.
Sean: Now then, where was I?
He tries to remember his train of thought before the interruption with Cameron, but can't. Because Drake Green was such a non factor, Sean shrugs before starting in on the opponents who dared to stand in way.
Sean: Eh, who knows and who cares? Right now I've got to get my mind on six other people because Mark Ward has forgotten what I've done for him. But that's okay, because it just means I've got to....
He pauses.
Sean: I've got to...
Something against the pool house catches his attention. As he focuses, it's a twelve foot ladder that is leaning against the outer wall which causes a shudder to run up and down his spine. In a moment of clarity, Sean forces himself to look away and to direct his attention back to the camera.
Sean: Drexel, don't get things screwed up. You don't deserve to be in this match, you know it and I know it. Sure, we teamed up and accomplished something that no other tag team has done in five years. We stepped into the ring with Sinful Obsession and beat them to within an inch of their lives, ending their aura of invincibility. But Drexel, that was because of me. That was because you had the Mental Rapist in your corner, and had nothing else to worry about....
As he speaks, he can't get the image of that ladder out of his head.
Sean: But then, then you let the win go to your head and automatically thought that your big moment had arrived. You thought that you would jump me from behind, sign your name on my contract, and ride the wave to the world heavyweight championship...
A move that Sean Jackson still hasn't forgiven him for. It was a move that caused Sean the opportunity to win the championship back, because for all his efforts, all he could do was watch as Drexel laid in the middle of the ring, counting the lights like a little bitch. Upon pinning Drexel, Gabriel retained the title and ended any momentum that Sean had built up.
Sean: But that didn't happen, did it? No, you ended up flat on your back and empty handed in the process. You wasted perfectly good ink on a contract that wasn't yours and true to form, good ole Christian let it stand. Then on top of all that, Goth makes quick work of you and how are you rewarded?
He takes his feet off of the table, sitting up straight to emphasize the point. As the camera pans in a bit closer, the look of disbelief is etched all over his face.
Sean: By being handed a position in the King of the Hill match.
Still in shock, Sean shakes his head back and forth.
Sean: Unbelievable. But that appears to be the standard now in Sin City when Mr. Ward takes a leave of absence. Undesirables who haven't earned a damn thing, rubbing elbows with wrestling royalty who deserves to be treated better....
As he is talking, Sean reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded poster. As he opens it up, the letters HSI are quickly recognized as all the members are shown. Including Sean Jackson and Joshua Acquin. Once he is finished, he places the poster on the table, face up.
Sean: What happened to you Joshua? What caused you to forget who you were, and what you stood for? When I came into Hot Stuff International, I looked forward to walking side by side with one of the greatest stables in the world. But when I began to show more and more of what I was capable of, you simply disappeared.
His eyes shift down to the poster, towards Acquin.
Sean: Not only did you disappear, but you neglected your duties towards Mark Ward. When I won the world heavyweight title, you should have been the first one there, to congratulate me. To be thankful that you had the opportunity to stand that close to greatness. But no, jealousy caused you to drift away and to put your own personal needs ahead of the group. Well Joshua, it is that jealousy that's going to prevent you from winning King of the Hill. It's going to be that selfish nature of yours that will keep you from climbing the ladder to success, because I'm not going to let you.
As Sean crumples up the poster, his attention returns to the camera.
Sean: I'm not going to let you because of the audacity to walk away, and then think that you could step back into the picture without any ramifications to worry about. Well Joshua, you couldn't be more wrong. Because in Morocco, there is a knee waiting to put your lights out and I'm all to willing to deliver it.
Hearing someone walking up from behind, Sean turns his attention away from the camera and as the shot pans back, his attorney Marshall Owens comes into view. Because it's slightly sprinkling, he too sits down under the umbrella.
Marshall: No luck Sean, the stipulation has been made and they aren't going to budge.
That definitely wasn't the news he was wanting to hear. But that didn't mean there wasn't another way out of it.
Sean: Okay, if they won't get rid of the ladder. What happens if none of my opponents can climb the ladder, and I'm the only one capable of standing?
Marshall stares at him, clearing understanding the question, but no direct answer to give.
Marshall: It's wishful thinking Sean, but the bottom line is the winner has to climb the ladder, in order to retrieve the contract. So stop trying to find ways around the obvious, and just get the job done.
Sean: Get the job done? get the job done? I don't do ladder matches Marshall, you know that. After what happened a couple of years ago in the NWA, you know damn good and well why I don't do them.
Back in 2013, Sean Jackson was forced into a gimmick match against the Spectre in what was known as a triple tier circus of fun match. However, in a few weeks before the match it was reported that the Spectre had killed himself in a fire, so Sean decided to have a little bit of fun. Standing in front of a camera in the arena, Sean berated the Spectre as well as the fans until it was discovered that the much alive Spectre had been standing behind an NWA camera all along. Spectre then knocked him out with the camera before dragging him up the three tiers and tossing him over into a ring filled with barbed wire. From that moment on, Sean has avoided anything involving scaffolds and ladders.
Marshall: Well, I can promise you that none of your opponents will be concerned about climbing a ladder. They will suck it up and do whatever is neccessary to secure that contract, especially knowing that a shot at any champion will be given to them, especially with Gabriel defending his title against Andrew Watts in the main event.
Taking a deep breath, he understands the advantage of catching the champion in a bad situation. For whomever wins, they can actually sit back and if the situation presents itself...
Sean: You know, that would be epic. Winning the contract, and then cashing it in on whoever wins.
Now that smile starts to come out.
Sean: It would be like creating a triple threat match where one didn't exist, sort of what Christian did to me twice.
Marshall: Except, you will be in better shape than Gabriel or Andrew would be in. But on that same note, so would everyone else if given the same opportunity.
Defiantly, Sean waves his index finger from side to side.
Sean: That's where you are wrong Marshall. Drexel won't win because he will never be able to defeat me. Joshua Acquin turned his back on HSI, so he will win over my dead body. Old Skool, well he's just going to be in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Although he hasn't done anything to me personally, he does however represent an individual who wants to stand in my way professionally. And for that...
By the sound in his voice, you just know where he's going. Everyone is familiar with this version of Sean Jackson, and they know when he's making a threat, and that it isn't to be taken lightly.
Sean: I have to make an example of him, just like I did to Drake Green, to Jamie Dean, and to Justin Halliwell. I have to show everyone the consequences of taking Christian Underwood's side against me, to show that I would stop at nothing to eliminate anyone who wants to drink Christian's kool-aid, thinking that all they have to do is step into the ring and he would protect them...
Sean pauses, his head shifting to the side. It's as if he's experienced his very own epiphany for Mayhem in Morocco. As Marshall looks on, he can see the wheels turning in Sean's head.
Sean: Well Old Skool, no one is going to protect you...just like no one is going to be able to protect Despayre. You know Marshall, I wonder what will be going through Gabriel's mind if I target his good buddy Despy? I wonder what kind of condition the world champion will be in mentally, if I take his friend out physically?
Marshall had seen that look before. It was the same look on Sean's face moments before he took out Justin Halliwell last year. The same look he had on his face when he did the same to Jamie Dean and Drake Green.
Sean: Do you think Gabriel will just sit back there and watch as I dismantle Despy? or do you think he'll risk it all to come down to the ring in order to save his bestest friend?
Marshall shakes his head.
Sean: Can you imagine the trifecta? Taking out Despayre, with Gabriel watching on. Securing the contract, and then cashing it in to win back my championship? right there in front of a bunch of Moroccan ingrates.
Sean looks up at the underneath portion of the umbrella, the smile getting larger. However, Marshall understands that there are still two people left to address, that being Gavin Stephens and Alex Kaelin.
Marshall: Aren't you forgetting somebody?
Looking back down, Sean gets a confused look on his face. Maybe it was an oversight, maybe it wasn't. But part of his problem was that he had Gabriel Stevens on the brain, which meant that everything else was running secondary.
Sean: What are you talking about?
Marshall: Alex Kaelin and Gavin Stephens?
Oh shit, Sean thought to himself. Yes, he had forgotten about those two. But the real question involving them was whether or not they would be more concerned with each other, or would they be able to place personal feelings aside to challenge for the contract?
Sean: Come on Marshall, after what Gavin did in Spain? you just know that Kaelin is going to want revenge. You just know that Kaelin will want to take care of business away from King of the Hill, and not be concerned with the rest of us.
It sounded good, it really did. But if that's truly how Sean felt, Marshall just knew that he was going to be in for a rude awakening. For there wasn't a single soul in SCW who didn't have visions of being the SCW world heavyweight champion. Especially knowing that all they had to do was climb the ladder and a guaranteed shot would be waiting.
Marshall: Sure Sean, go ahead and think that Kaelin and Stephens are that stupid. But if you do believe that, then don't be surprised if you leave Casablanca empty handed.
Sean shoots up, both hands on the table with his arms extended. As he leans in, Marshall swallows...hard.
Sean: Let's get one thing straight Marshall. I won't be leaving Morocco empty handed, you can count on that. After I take that contract, I will bide my time. I don't care if Gabriel and Andrew are in the process of killing themselves, their soon to be lifeless bodies sprawled out in the ring. I will take my contract down to the ring and I will personally blast out the back of their skulls with my knee....
Sean then takes his index and middle finger, placing them both on the pressure point just above his hand, checking his pulse.
Sean: Then as I discover that Gabriel no longer has a pulse, I will push Andrew Watts out of the ring and I will then cash in my contract....
Marshall is taken aback, completely stunned.
Sean: On that thieving little bastard, taking back what's mine. And you can believe that.
As Sean storms away, Marshall can't help but get that one little hiccup out of his mind. The fact that in order to win, his client will have no choice but to climb the ladder. No matter what scheme he happens to dream up between now and then.
Marshall: We'll see Sean. We'll see.
*************************************************************
Sean: Okay, so maybe I have a phobia of ladders. But don't think I won't be able to overcome it. From the moment I stepped into Sin City Wrestling, my destiny was to become the greatest world champion of all time. From the moment Mark Ward broke the bank to bring me in, I knew that I was going to be the standard by which all of you would be judged.
There is an old saying that goes something like this. It's better to admit defeat and live another day, rather than to die for a worthless cause. Because if you hadn't figured it out by now, playtime is over. The moment Gabriel Stevens and Christian Underwood conspired to steal my world championship, it became the moment that I declared war on the SCW roster.
If you stay out of my way, you will have a career in Sin City. However, if any of you step foot into the ring with me in Morocco, then I won't be responsible for my actions. Just like I wasn't responsible for Justin Halliwell and Jamie Dean. Just like I won't be responsible for what will ultimately happen to Gabriel Stevens.
Andrew Watts, if you see me walking down to the ring on May 3rd, do yourself a favor and walk away. I believe you have a helluva future in front of you, a future of earning the right to rub elbows with wrestling royalty. But if you somehow think I'm bluffing and you let your ego get the better of you....
Then as I stated before, I won't be responsible for my actions. Not on May 3rd, not ever.
Fade.
