Ransom Note

[Jack]

( co-written with Miles. )

Grainy black and white footage. A mostly empty warehouse. A slouched figure sat tied firmly to a chair with his back facing the camera and his head lowered. Two figures slowly approached the poor, forsaken individual from either side. To the right was Tyler Reks. A gray t-shirt and jeans in poor condition was his wardrobe of choice. His ratty dreadlocks hung down on either side of his bearded face and he grinned enough to show his teeth. To the left was Curt Hawkins. His blond hair was in a similar unwashed state. A black, buttoned up blazer and a pair of leather pants completed his look. Hawkins reached down and gave the still body a few pats on the head before looking to the camera. He held up a finger in front of his lips

| Curt Hawkins | Shh. Our guest is sleeping. He's had a really rough couple of days. Let's keep our voices down, alright?

The former surfer, Reks, placed a hand onto what must be presumed as Trent Barreta's fathers shoulder.

| Tyler Reks | Hawkins, I thought you had told me that Mr. Barreta was a pretty good guy.

| Curt Hawkins | Oh yeah. He's a just a barrel of laughs. Except for, ya know, his part in bringing Trent Barreta into this world.

| Tyler Reks | And I thought he was supportive of you in the early days.

| Curt Hawkins | He was, man! Mr. Barreta let me crash on his couch when I was starting off in this business and I barely had a dime to my name. He didn't have to but he did. A stand up kind of guy. Buuuut..

Curt shrugged his shoulders in an indication that he didn't care.

| Curt Hawkins | ..He's responsible for bringing us all Trent Barreta. Well, half responsible. But I wasn't gonna beat up Trent's mom. That wouldn't be decent.

| Tyler Reks | Not decent at all.

Kane's minions looked to one another and smirked.

| Curt Hawkins | But everyone should just rest easy. Because we didn't beat up Mr. Barreta too badly. We kind of need him. Because as long as we get what we want..he's only going to have a few cuts and bruises. Maybe a busted lip or a black eye. But he'll walk away. If Trent Barreta and Zack Ryder can see pops again..AFTER we win the Tag Titles from them.

| Tyler Reks | Hawkins, why are we doing this?

| Curt Hawkins | Doing what?

| Tyler Reks | Acting like we haven't hurt Trent's dad. We both know that isn't the case.

Reks' voice had taken a dire pitch and Hawkins looked noticeably worried.

| Curt Hawkins | Dude..not here. Not on camera.

| Tyler Reks | Do you want to know the truth? The truth is..

Reks reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip-lock bag. Inside of the bag were a pair of fingers laying on top of ice cubes.

| Tyler Reks | I got bored of waiting and cut off a few of his fingers. I was going to send them to Trent.

| Curt Hawkins | You DIDN'T!

Hawkins ran his hands through his hair shock in disbelief. Before grinning. And then bursting into laughter.

| Curt Hawkins | Oh, man, that is a LAUGH RIOT! I bet Trent's watching this and he's all "NO! DAD!"

The cro-magnon like Reks pulled a finger from the pack of ice and wiggled it around. It was rubber.

| Curt Hawkins | That's sick. YOU'RE sick.

| Tyler Reks | It's funny.

| Curt Hawkins | Maybe just a little. OK. Jig is up. This is NOT Trent's dad.

Hawkins spun the man tied to the chair around to face the camera. It was just a lumpy scarecrow with a frowny face painted over a pillow case.

| Tyler Reks | So the question is..where IS Trent's Dad?

Hawkins did his best Britney Murphy impersonation.

| Curt Hawkins | "We'll never teeeee-helllll." Really. We aren't going to. Just know that he is safe and sound. Which is a lot more than I can say for Zack's buddy Scott Stanford.

| Tyler Reks | Zack can't be happy about that one. We beat up the owner of his fan club.

| Curt Hawkins | Dude dropped like a hot rock.

| Tyler Reks | That was also funny.

| Curt Hawkins | Maybe just a l--Alright, alright, it was hilarious! Like I said before. We like beating people up. Wade Barrett. Christian. Scott Stanford. That homeless guy who made run of Reks' dreadlocks in our last promo.

Tyler didn't seem to find his amusing as his hands curled into a pair of tight fists.

| Tyler Reks | Sore subject.

| Curt Hawkins | I like your dreads, man! I don't share his opinion. Let's move past it. Let's get onto business. The business of us becoming Tag Team Champions. Now I pinned Trent in the middle of the ring 1-2-3 clean as a sheet last week. Non-title but whatever. I have FINALLY pinned Trent Barreta. I've pinned Zack as well. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate them?

| Tyler Reks | I believe the topic has come up before.

| Curt Hawkins | Because I really hate them. I mean look at the depths I'm going to get back at them. I'm a level headed guy! And this is even kind of nuts for me. Beating people up is mindless and fun but this..THIS took some planning. Like real planning. I hate them. I want them to suffer. I want them to suffer at my hands. I want Trent and Zack to know how much better I am than them. I want them to feel it. I want them to--

His spiel was interrupted by a firm smack to the face by Reks. Hawkins recoiled in rubbed at his now sore chin.

| Curt Hawkins | OW! What the HELL?!

| Tyler Reks | You're ranting. You do it whenever someone brings them up. It's weird.

| Curt Hawkins | I'm sorry but WHO was the one who made their debut by breaking into Torrie Wilson's house?

| Tyler Reks | That was pleasure. This is business.

Hawkins gave up trying to figure out the logic of his partner.

| Curt Hawkins | Just..whatever. Did you bring the stuff? I want to let off some steam.

| Tyler Reks | I did.

Reks knelt to the floor of the warehouse and pulled out a bag filled with items. Hawkins looked to the camera and made a dismissive wave.

| Curt Hawkins | Turn that black and white filter off. The kidnapper deal was fun for a minute.

The normal color scheme returned as Hawkins held a Super Nintendo in his hands.

| Tyler Reks | They still make these?

| Curt Hawkins | No. Trent's just stuck in the past. I had a childhood too but you've got to grow up eventually. Oh. Hey. Let's talk to his dad about it later.

| Tyler Reks | Heh.

Curt scooped his steel cane from off of the ground and created some distance between himself and Reks. He pointed the cane into the distance, ala Babe Ruth.

| Curt Hawkins |Knockin' it straight out of the park!

Reks lobbed the old school system at Hawkins who smashed his cane into it like a baseball bat. It shattered upon impact and Hawkins started yelling at the remains.

| Curt Hawkins | Do you see that, Trent?! Do you?! It's your future! It's going to be you?

Tyler Reks | Do I need to smack you again?

| Curt Hawkins | No, no! I'm good. Get the next one out.

Reks retrieved a six-pack of Bud Light Lime. He gave it a questionable look.

| Tyler Reks | Why?

| Curt Hawkins | Ryder's beer of choice. Taste's like CRAP. Complete and total garbage.

| Tyler Reks: | Why do you know this again?

| Curt Hawkins | Uh, I was friends with him for way too long, that's why.

| Tyler Reks | Right. Here it comes.

Throwing a six-pack of beer was awkward but Reks managed to pull it off with some degree of success. Hawkins' cane collided with it and made a loud "THUNK" sound, spraying the beverage from the can's.

| Curt Hawkins | THAT'S GOING TO BE YOU, ZACK! DO YOU HEAR ME! YOU! YOU!

Reks shook his head and stepped towards Hawkins, fully intending on smacking him. Hawkins quickly stepped back and pointed his cane forward.

| Curt Hawkins | I'm not ranting! That's not ranting!

| Tyler Reks | Sounded like ranting.

| Curt Hawkins | It's not. Just..look at the camera. Time to say mean things.

The taller man glanced to the camera with his dreadlocks covering most of his face.

| Curt Hawkins | Trent. Zack. Real simple. You want dad back? We win your titles. You don't want him back? Cool. We'll you get him back anyway. Except he's gonna be missing teeth and God knows what else. Don't believe us? Try us. We learned from Kane and doesn't mess around. And neither do we. See ya at Summer Slam. LOSERS.

Hawkins flashed a quick, smug smile before scowling. Reks waved a few fingers up and down, a sinister motion coming from a man his size with mucky tendrils hanging in front of his face.