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.
