Post by PIC on May 23, 2022 9:53:40 GMT -5
.::A few years ago I had a young boy ask me if I knew what ‘Fortnite’ was. Showing my age, I told him I knew it meant “two weeks”. He and his friends had a good laugh at my expense that day. And yet, here I sit in reflection thinking about the fortnight that has occurred since I signed an OCW contract. The entire trajectory of my life has changed in these 14 days. I sought a peaceful existence preaching the Gospel to the locals throughout Eastern Africa and would have been content if that is all I ever did for the rest of my life. But something inside longed for something else. It longed to set right some past mistakes and bring light into a world that was just as dark as any other. After all, saying your prayers and taking your vitamins lost its place in the wrestling world a long time ago. In its place are demons and fiends and a host of other entities that make Freddy Kruger seem tame. It seems like a futile task, to try to bring about change in an industry that wants nothing to do with it, but if I don’t do it, no one will.::.
~The scene fades in on an aerial shot of an open desert. The vastness cannot be overstated, as all that can be seen for miles is an apparent brown wasteland dotted with the occasional small bush. In the horizon vegetation can be scarcely seen, and beyond that in the far distance we see the Ardoukôba on Djibouti’s eastern coastline, a fissure volcano created by a single eruption in the late 70s. As the drone image begins to pan, it zooms in on the desert area as a one-lane dirt road can be seen. A mid-90s era red Jeep Wrangler drives down the road at a very slow speed, jostling and bumping along in the ruts and crevices of the road. A large plume of dust billows into the air in the Jeep’s rear. As the camera pans in from behind, we see a white man with dark brown hair, his face masked partly by the angle and the rest by the dust, in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a black cut-off shirt and sun glasses. Beside him is a skinny African man with a bald head. He too is wearing sun glasses, but has a white and blue striped polo.~
Chima: That in the distance, that is Ardoukôba.
Amick: Artoo what?
Chima: Haha, Ardoukôba! It is a fissure volcano!
Amick: And that would be?
Chima: Well, I am not sure. Haha. What I do know is that there was nothing there for the majority of my childhood. Then, in 1978, the earth exploded, and all that was left was…
Amick: The R2D2. I get it.
~Both men share a chuckle at the Star Wars reference.~
Chima: Most of my countrymen would not have gotten that reference. Star Wars is not a hot commodity in Djibouti.
Amick: Well, in America, it is. And this week the Obi-Wan series is dropping. That is one of the few things I miss from back home when I’m here. The ease of which I can access entertainment. Sometimes it is hard to get away from your thoughts in the African nights. It is too quiet.
Chima: For some, it certainly is. But you know as well as any that the appearance of peace and quiet in our region is just a… how do you say… ‘mirage’?
Amick: Mirage.
Chima: Yes, mirage. How do you say ‘mirage’?
Amick: Mirage!
Chima: That is what I am asking you.
Amick: And that is what I am telling you!
Chima: I do not understand.
Amick: Why do I feel like I’m in an Abbott and Costello routine?
Chima: Abooten who?
~Amick reaches his left hand up to his forehead and rubs it as he shakes his head.~
.::Life will do that to you sometimes…throw you into a situation in which you feel like you’re just spinning your wheels, repeating the same things over and over and somehow expecting different results. Einstein would call it insanity. I’m not sure what I would call it, but I find myself there once again. In my younger years I wrestled all over the world, I traveled and I had some pretty big successes. Won championships, met girls, dated, had relationships, even got married. I’ve had too many careers to really even count, all trying to fill some void that could really only ever be filled by One thing. This time around I’m trying to avoid all the pitfalls that befell me in the past. It started Monday on Massacre when I defeated The Dirtbag Kid. Granted, winning a match against him was no great accomplishment in itself, but it proved to me that I still have what it takes. I can get in the ring, knock off the rust, and still perform at the highest of levels. This coming Sunday I have another opportunity to do it again, this time in the Dadbod Invitational. I feel like perhaps this is the greatest change of all as it pertains to the wrestling industry from when I first came on the scene to today. Folks had real names, real characters, real, well… everything. There was some eccentricity, for sure, but these were folks you could relate to, folks you could root for, and against. Now I’m up against a guy who simply goes by Dadbod and a host of others I don’t even know. Dadbod…seriously? I have seen people who are too lazy to work out, I have seen them eat their way into oblivion and that is their prerogative, to each their own I suppose. But this is a man who is not only too lazy to work out or try to eat right, he’s even too lazy to come up with a proper name for himself. He goes to the beach, takes off his shirt, and someone makes a comment about his ‘dad bod’. There it is, my wrestling persona. Dadbod! I’m entering his house of fun or bachelor pad or whatever he’s calling it not knowing who else may be there or what I may encounter. But, just like I did at Massacre, I plan on walking out victorious, with my sights set squarely on that vacant Savage Championship which by then will be around the waist of either Dylan Thomas or The Owl Lady.::.
~During the VoiceOver our camera has continued to stay on the two men inside the red Jeep driving down the arid dirt road, but a second vehicle has begun to come from behind, closing the gap between themselves and the jeep. This vehicle, a late-80’s model Suzuki SJ410, has an open back with two black men standing on either side, each holding a large rifle. One is wearing a solid red t-shirt with jeans while the other is wearing a stained white shirt and khaki shorts. In the front of the vehicle are two other black men. All are wearing reflective sunglasses, the driver also smoking a cigarette. As they inch closer to Amick’s jeep, we see less and less of them through the dust plume emerging from the Jeep’s back tires.~
Chima: Those are Somalis brother. They run this territory. You should let them go around you.
~Amick surveys the area and pulls the Jeep over into a less sandy area in hopes of not getting it stuck up. In less than a minute, the Suzuki catches up to the Jeep, slowing down as it gets closer before finally coming to a stop, engine running. The man in the front passenger seat smiles, revealing one gold front tooth with one tooth missing from each side of his mouth. He speaks.~
Passenger Seat Man: Wiil cadoow guriga ayaad ka fogtahay.
(You are a long way from home, white boy.)
Chima: Af-soomaali kuma hadalno. Carabi? Faransiis?
(We do not speak Somali. Arabic? French?)
~The man in the passenger seat smiles again adding a little chuckle. He turns to his driver as the two speak to each other inaudibly.~
Amick: What did he say?
Chima: He said you were a long way from home. I lied and told him I don’t speak Somali.
~The man in the passenger seat nods to the driver, then turns back to Amick and Chima.~
Passenger Seat Man: قلت أن صديقك الأبيض بعيد عن المنزل. ماذا تفعل مع هذا الخنزير؟
(I said your white friend is a long way from home. What are you doing with this pig?)
Chima: إنه مصارع. يعمل لدى OCW وهو هنا من أجل المباريات على استاد الحاج حسن. أنا سائقه المستأجر.
(He is a wrestler. He works for OCW and is here for the matches at the El Hadj Hassan Stadium. I am his hired driver.)
~The man in the passenger seat turns to the driver again, this time speaking loud enough for Chima to hear.~
Passenger Seat Man: Ninkani waa halgamaa. Maxay kula tahay?
~Chima whispers to Amick.~
Chima: He told the man you are a wrestler and asked what he wanted to do.
Driver: Waa inaan ka tagno iyaga. Ra’iisul Wasaaruhu wuxuu noogu deeqay lacag aad u badan si aan u ilaalino nabada inta ay Gaaladu joogaan.
Chima: *whispering* He said the Prime Minister is paying them to keep peace while OCW is here. They’re going to leave you alone.
~The man in the passenger seat turns back toward the Jeep.~
Passenger Seat Man: أخبر هذا الولد الأبيض أن اليوم هو يومه المحظوظ. إذا رأيناه مرة أخرى بعد يوم الأحد ، فستكون قصة مختلفة.
Chima: He says you are lucky. But if he sees you after Sunday you will not be so lucky. Please just nod your head. They will leave us alone.
~Amick turns toward the man in the passenger seat. He reluctantly nods, which makes the man grin yet again. He nods to the driver who puts the Suzuki in gear, only to quickly put it back in park as another vehicle begins approaching from the opposite way. The car, a light blue mid-90s Toyota Corolla, bounces its way toward the two stopped vehicles, but the driver, upon seeing the Suzuki, stops and begins to turn around about 1,000 yards away.~
Passenger Seat Man: Jooji!
(Stop!)
~The Corolla continues to turn around, getting back on the road and heading in the opposite direction from which it came. The man in the passenger seat yells something inaudible to the driver. He puts the vehicle in gear and they begin to pursue the Corolla.~
Chima: That was close brother. Those are bad men. We are fortunate to come out of that encounter unharmed.
Amick: What do you think is going to happen to the man driving the blue car?
Chima: I fear he will not be as fortunate.
.::In life there are always the haves and the have nots. It’s been that way since the beginning of time. Those that have, want to keep what they have. Those who have not, want what the others have. And that is why war exists and why it will always exist. This Sunday there is an open invitational match to determine the #1 contender to the Savage Championship, a belt that will be owned by either Dylan Thomas or Alice Knight. Both of them are incredibly gifted in the wrestling ring, and both have amassed incredibly impressive records during their time in OCW. To compete with either of them in the squared circle would be an honor, but I can’t look that far ahead, not just yet. I have Dadbod and a host of others to defeat this Sunday. What I did to The Dirtbag Kid is one thing, but winning against who knows how many unknown competitors will be prove to be a challenge. Fortunately, it’s a challenge I’m ready for. I’m not sitting on the sidelines any longer and I’m certainly not going to sit back and watch while others take and take from those less fortunate. So Sunday I’ll be winning the Dadbod Invitational, and soon enough, this have not will be traveling the world with gold around his waist.::.
~The Suzuki has drawn within 100 yards of the Corolla and is approaching fast as dusk begins to settle in. The man in the passenger seat shouts something to his gunmen, who turn and begin opening fire at the blue sedan. The back glass shatters after one shot, as pings can be heard bouncing off of the trunk space. One shot punctures the back left tire, bursting it and causing the Corolla to spin out of control. The driver tries to right the ship, but is unable to do so as the vehicle runs off the road and into a deep pocket of loose sand. The driver punches the gas as the wheels spin in the sand. After a few attempts he stops, realizing there is no escape. He’s stuck. The Somalis come to a stop in the middle of the road.~
Passenger Seat Man: Ka deg gaariga!
(Get out of the car!)
~The driver, opens the door and steps out of the vehicle into the loose sand. An African man in his mid-30s, he stands with his hands in the air, cowering in his bright yellow shirt with a blue Nike swoosh across the front and khaki cargo shorts.~
Passenger Seat Man: Halkaa u gudub Jilba joog.
(Move over there. Get down on your knees.)
~The Corolla driver nods and walks around his vehicle to an open flat area. He drops to his knees, keeping his hands in the air. He begins crying while the Somalis laugh.~
Passenger Seat Man: Maanta cashar baad baran doontaa. Waligaa ha ka cararin Soomaali Aakhiro.
(You will learn a lesson today. Don't ever run away from The Somali Eternal.)
~The man begins to rock back and forth praying in Arabic.~
Passenger Seat Man: Hahaha. Ma Allaah baa baryaysa? I soo ducee! Waxaan ahay ilaahaaga!
(You pray to Allah? Pray to me! I am your god!)
~The man in the passenger seat continues laughing and smiling as he turns to the gunman on the left side of the vehicle.~
Passenger Seat Man: Dila isaga.
(Kill him.)
~The gunman with stained white shirt lifts his rifle, taking aim at the head of the man on the ground. Neither he, nor any of the Somali contingent see the red Jeep as it plows into the white vehicle from behind. The gunman’s shot is fired into the air as his body flies out of the spinning vehicle. The other gunman is also thrown from the vehicle, his body landing on the hood of the Jeep, rolling up and busting the windshield before tumbling into the road behind. The driver of the Suzuki tries to right the ship but his vehicle spins and eventually begins to roll side over side toward the Corolla, ultimately landing upside down on top of the blue car. The Corolla’s driver, seeing the mass destruction, seizes his opportunity and begins running into the Djibouti desert. Running opposite the setting sun, he soon disappears into the shadows. The red Jeep comes to a stop and Amick quickly jumps out and onto the road. Chima calls out from the passenger seat.~
Chima: What have you done?!
Amick: I wasn’t going to sit back and let an innocent man die, Chima. Not again!
~Amick surveys the crash site as the gunman in the red shirt begins to stir behind the Jeep. As he gets to his feet, he reaches for his rifle a few feet away. At the same time, the other gunman emerges through he dust, his white shirt now stained with blood from the head wound gushing from his right temple. Amick quickly runs toward the man in the red shirt, spinning him and using his body as a shield. Both gunmen fire a round at the same time, each hitting the other square in the chest. The man in white instantly crumbles to the ground while Amick gently lays the man in red down.~
Amick: I am so sorry. May God have mercy on you.
~Amick turns and runs towards what is left of the Suzuki. He sees the driver, still at the wheel but completely buried in carnage. Amick reaches for his wrist.~
Amick: No pulse.
~Amick runs around to the other side of the vehicle to see the man in the passenger seat sandwiched between both vehicles. His head, covered in blood, is partly sticking out of the passenger side window. Amick checks his pulse.~
Amick: This one is still alive!
Chima: Leave him! You must hurry! It is not safe to stay here any longer. Whatever peace treaty his gang has worked out with the government is not enough to protect either of us now. We must go!
~Amick, seemingly torn, reluctantly concedes and runs towards the Jeep, hopping into the passenger seat this time as Chima has slid behind the wheel. Chima slides a cell phone from his pocket and quickly dials a number as he begins to drive around the wreckage.~
Chima: (to the phone) Fatouma, Chima. Nous avons un problème... au moins 3 Somaliens... morts, peut-être 4. Je n'ai pas le temps d'expliquer... sur la route principale peut-être à 30 kilomètres de l'Ardoukoba. Attrapez autant d'hommes que vous le pouvez... vous devez le nettoyer aussi vite que possible.
(Fatouma, Chima. We have a problem...at least 3 Somalis...dead, maybe 4. I do not have time to explain... on the main road maybe 30 kilometers from the Ardoukoba. Grab as many men as you can... you must clean it up as fast as possible.)
~Chima hangs up the phone and turns to Amick.~
Chima: You need to get on the first plane out of Djibouti as soon as your match ends Sunday night, if not, neither of us will survive this!
~The scene fades to black.~
~The scene fades in on an aerial shot of an open desert. The vastness cannot be overstated, as all that can be seen for miles is an apparent brown wasteland dotted with the occasional small bush. In the horizon vegetation can be scarcely seen, and beyond that in the far distance we see the Ardoukôba on Djibouti’s eastern coastline, a fissure volcano created by a single eruption in the late 70s. As the drone image begins to pan, it zooms in on the desert area as a one-lane dirt road can be seen. A mid-90s era red Jeep Wrangler drives down the road at a very slow speed, jostling and bumping along in the ruts and crevices of the road. A large plume of dust billows into the air in the Jeep’s rear. As the camera pans in from behind, we see a white man with dark brown hair, his face masked partly by the angle and the rest by the dust, in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a black cut-off shirt and sun glasses. Beside him is a skinny African man with a bald head. He too is wearing sun glasses, but has a white and blue striped polo.~
Chima: That in the distance, that is Ardoukôba.
Amick: Artoo what?
Chima: Haha, Ardoukôba! It is a fissure volcano!
Amick: And that would be?
Chima: Well, I am not sure. Haha. What I do know is that there was nothing there for the majority of my childhood. Then, in 1978, the earth exploded, and all that was left was…
Amick: The R2D2. I get it.
~Both men share a chuckle at the Star Wars reference.~
Chima: Most of my countrymen would not have gotten that reference. Star Wars is not a hot commodity in Djibouti.
Amick: Well, in America, it is. And this week the Obi-Wan series is dropping. That is one of the few things I miss from back home when I’m here. The ease of which I can access entertainment. Sometimes it is hard to get away from your thoughts in the African nights. It is too quiet.
Chima: For some, it certainly is. But you know as well as any that the appearance of peace and quiet in our region is just a… how do you say… ‘mirage’?
Amick: Mirage.
Chima: Yes, mirage. How do you say ‘mirage’?
Amick: Mirage!
Chima: That is what I am asking you.
Amick: And that is what I am telling you!
Chima: I do not understand.
Amick: Why do I feel like I’m in an Abbott and Costello routine?
Chima: Abooten who?
~Amick reaches his left hand up to his forehead and rubs it as he shakes his head.~
.::Life will do that to you sometimes…throw you into a situation in which you feel like you’re just spinning your wheels, repeating the same things over and over and somehow expecting different results. Einstein would call it insanity. I’m not sure what I would call it, but I find myself there once again. In my younger years I wrestled all over the world, I traveled and I had some pretty big successes. Won championships, met girls, dated, had relationships, even got married. I’ve had too many careers to really even count, all trying to fill some void that could really only ever be filled by One thing. This time around I’m trying to avoid all the pitfalls that befell me in the past. It started Monday on Massacre when I defeated The Dirtbag Kid. Granted, winning a match against him was no great accomplishment in itself, but it proved to me that I still have what it takes. I can get in the ring, knock off the rust, and still perform at the highest of levels. This coming Sunday I have another opportunity to do it again, this time in the Dadbod Invitational. I feel like perhaps this is the greatest change of all as it pertains to the wrestling industry from when I first came on the scene to today. Folks had real names, real characters, real, well… everything. There was some eccentricity, for sure, but these were folks you could relate to, folks you could root for, and against. Now I’m up against a guy who simply goes by Dadbod and a host of others I don’t even know. Dadbod…seriously? I have seen people who are too lazy to work out, I have seen them eat their way into oblivion and that is their prerogative, to each their own I suppose. But this is a man who is not only too lazy to work out or try to eat right, he’s even too lazy to come up with a proper name for himself. He goes to the beach, takes off his shirt, and someone makes a comment about his ‘dad bod’. There it is, my wrestling persona. Dadbod! I’m entering his house of fun or bachelor pad or whatever he’s calling it not knowing who else may be there or what I may encounter. But, just like I did at Massacre, I plan on walking out victorious, with my sights set squarely on that vacant Savage Championship which by then will be around the waist of either Dylan Thomas or The Owl Lady.::.
~During the VoiceOver our camera has continued to stay on the two men inside the red Jeep driving down the arid dirt road, but a second vehicle has begun to come from behind, closing the gap between themselves and the jeep. This vehicle, a late-80’s model Suzuki SJ410, has an open back with two black men standing on either side, each holding a large rifle. One is wearing a solid red t-shirt with jeans while the other is wearing a stained white shirt and khaki shorts. In the front of the vehicle are two other black men. All are wearing reflective sunglasses, the driver also smoking a cigarette. As they inch closer to Amick’s jeep, we see less and less of them through the dust plume emerging from the Jeep’s back tires.~
Chima: Those are Somalis brother. They run this territory. You should let them go around you.
~Amick surveys the area and pulls the Jeep over into a less sandy area in hopes of not getting it stuck up. In less than a minute, the Suzuki catches up to the Jeep, slowing down as it gets closer before finally coming to a stop, engine running. The man in the front passenger seat smiles, revealing one gold front tooth with one tooth missing from each side of his mouth. He speaks.~
Passenger Seat Man: Wiil cadoow guriga ayaad ka fogtahay.
(You are a long way from home, white boy.)
Chima: Af-soomaali kuma hadalno. Carabi? Faransiis?
(We do not speak Somali. Arabic? French?)
~The man in the passenger seat smiles again adding a little chuckle. He turns to his driver as the two speak to each other inaudibly.~
Amick: What did he say?
Chima: He said you were a long way from home. I lied and told him I don’t speak Somali.
~The man in the passenger seat nods to the driver, then turns back to Amick and Chima.~
Passenger Seat Man: قلت أن صديقك الأبيض بعيد عن المنزل. ماذا تفعل مع هذا الخنزير؟
(I said your white friend is a long way from home. What are you doing with this pig?)
Chima: إنه مصارع. يعمل لدى OCW وهو هنا من أجل المباريات على استاد الحاج حسن. أنا سائقه المستأجر.
(He is a wrestler. He works for OCW and is here for the matches at the El Hadj Hassan Stadium. I am his hired driver.)
~The man in the passenger seat turns to the driver again, this time speaking loud enough for Chima to hear.~
Passenger Seat Man: Ninkani waa halgamaa. Maxay kula tahay?
~Chima whispers to Amick.~
Chima: He told the man you are a wrestler and asked what he wanted to do.
Driver: Waa inaan ka tagno iyaga. Ra’iisul Wasaaruhu wuxuu noogu deeqay lacag aad u badan si aan u ilaalino nabada inta ay Gaaladu joogaan.
Chima: *whispering* He said the Prime Minister is paying them to keep peace while OCW is here. They’re going to leave you alone.
~The man in the passenger seat turns back toward the Jeep.~
Passenger Seat Man: أخبر هذا الولد الأبيض أن اليوم هو يومه المحظوظ. إذا رأيناه مرة أخرى بعد يوم الأحد ، فستكون قصة مختلفة.
Chima: He says you are lucky. But if he sees you after Sunday you will not be so lucky. Please just nod your head. They will leave us alone.
~Amick turns toward the man in the passenger seat. He reluctantly nods, which makes the man grin yet again. He nods to the driver who puts the Suzuki in gear, only to quickly put it back in park as another vehicle begins approaching from the opposite way. The car, a light blue mid-90s Toyota Corolla, bounces its way toward the two stopped vehicles, but the driver, upon seeing the Suzuki, stops and begins to turn around about 1,000 yards away.~
Passenger Seat Man: Jooji!
(Stop!)
~The Corolla continues to turn around, getting back on the road and heading in the opposite direction from which it came. The man in the passenger seat yells something inaudible to the driver. He puts the vehicle in gear and they begin to pursue the Corolla.~
Chima: That was close brother. Those are bad men. We are fortunate to come out of that encounter unharmed.
Amick: What do you think is going to happen to the man driving the blue car?
Chima: I fear he will not be as fortunate.
.::In life there are always the haves and the have nots. It’s been that way since the beginning of time. Those that have, want to keep what they have. Those who have not, want what the others have. And that is why war exists and why it will always exist. This Sunday there is an open invitational match to determine the #1 contender to the Savage Championship, a belt that will be owned by either Dylan Thomas or Alice Knight. Both of them are incredibly gifted in the wrestling ring, and both have amassed incredibly impressive records during their time in OCW. To compete with either of them in the squared circle would be an honor, but I can’t look that far ahead, not just yet. I have Dadbod and a host of others to defeat this Sunday. What I did to The Dirtbag Kid is one thing, but winning against who knows how many unknown competitors will be prove to be a challenge. Fortunately, it’s a challenge I’m ready for. I’m not sitting on the sidelines any longer and I’m certainly not going to sit back and watch while others take and take from those less fortunate. So Sunday I’ll be winning the Dadbod Invitational, and soon enough, this have not will be traveling the world with gold around his waist.::.
~The Suzuki has drawn within 100 yards of the Corolla and is approaching fast as dusk begins to settle in. The man in the passenger seat shouts something to his gunmen, who turn and begin opening fire at the blue sedan. The back glass shatters after one shot, as pings can be heard bouncing off of the trunk space. One shot punctures the back left tire, bursting it and causing the Corolla to spin out of control. The driver tries to right the ship, but is unable to do so as the vehicle runs off the road and into a deep pocket of loose sand. The driver punches the gas as the wheels spin in the sand. After a few attempts he stops, realizing there is no escape. He’s stuck. The Somalis come to a stop in the middle of the road.~
Passenger Seat Man: Ka deg gaariga!
(Get out of the car!)
~The driver, opens the door and steps out of the vehicle into the loose sand. An African man in his mid-30s, he stands with his hands in the air, cowering in his bright yellow shirt with a blue Nike swoosh across the front and khaki cargo shorts.~
Passenger Seat Man: Halkaa u gudub Jilba joog.
(Move over there. Get down on your knees.)
~The Corolla driver nods and walks around his vehicle to an open flat area. He drops to his knees, keeping his hands in the air. He begins crying while the Somalis laugh.~
Passenger Seat Man: Maanta cashar baad baran doontaa. Waligaa ha ka cararin Soomaali Aakhiro.
(You will learn a lesson today. Don't ever run away from The Somali Eternal.)
~The man begins to rock back and forth praying in Arabic.~
Passenger Seat Man: Hahaha. Ma Allaah baa baryaysa? I soo ducee! Waxaan ahay ilaahaaga!
(You pray to Allah? Pray to me! I am your god!)
~The man in the passenger seat continues laughing and smiling as he turns to the gunman on the left side of the vehicle.~
Passenger Seat Man: Dila isaga.
(Kill him.)
~The gunman with stained white shirt lifts his rifle, taking aim at the head of the man on the ground. Neither he, nor any of the Somali contingent see the red Jeep as it plows into the white vehicle from behind. The gunman’s shot is fired into the air as his body flies out of the spinning vehicle. The other gunman is also thrown from the vehicle, his body landing on the hood of the Jeep, rolling up and busting the windshield before tumbling into the road behind. The driver of the Suzuki tries to right the ship but his vehicle spins and eventually begins to roll side over side toward the Corolla, ultimately landing upside down on top of the blue car. The Corolla’s driver, seeing the mass destruction, seizes his opportunity and begins running into the Djibouti desert. Running opposite the setting sun, he soon disappears into the shadows. The red Jeep comes to a stop and Amick quickly jumps out and onto the road. Chima calls out from the passenger seat.~
Chima: What have you done?!
Amick: I wasn’t going to sit back and let an innocent man die, Chima. Not again!
~Amick surveys the crash site as the gunman in the red shirt begins to stir behind the Jeep. As he gets to his feet, he reaches for his rifle a few feet away. At the same time, the other gunman emerges through he dust, his white shirt now stained with blood from the head wound gushing from his right temple. Amick quickly runs toward the man in the red shirt, spinning him and using his body as a shield. Both gunmen fire a round at the same time, each hitting the other square in the chest. The man in white instantly crumbles to the ground while Amick gently lays the man in red down.~
Amick: I am so sorry. May God have mercy on you.
~Amick turns and runs towards what is left of the Suzuki. He sees the driver, still at the wheel but completely buried in carnage. Amick reaches for his wrist.~
Amick: No pulse.
~Amick runs around to the other side of the vehicle to see the man in the passenger seat sandwiched between both vehicles. His head, covered in blood, is partly sticking out of the passenger side window. Amick checks his pulse.~
Amick: This one is still alive!
Chima: Leave him! You must hurry! It is not safe to stay here any longer. Whatever peace treaty his gang has worked out with the government is not enough to protect either of us now. We must go!
~Amick, seemingly torn, reluctantly concedes and runs towards the Jeep, hopping into the passenger seat this time as Chima has slid behind the wheel. Chima slides a cell phone from his pocket and quickly dials a number as he begins to drive around the wreckage.~
Chima: (to the phone) Fatouma, Chima. Nous avons un problème... au moins 3 Somaliens... morts, peut-être 4. Je n'ai pas le temps d'expliquer... sur la route principale peut-être à 30 kilomètres de l'Ardoukoba. Attrapez autant d'hommes que vous le pouvez... vous devez le nettoyer aussi vite que possible.
(Fatouma, Chima. We have a problem...at least 3 Somalis...dead, maybe 4. I do not have time to explain... on the main road maybe 30 kilometers from the Ardoukoba. Grab as many men as you can... you must clean it up as fast as possible.)
~Chima hangs up the phone and turns to Amick.~
Chima: You need to get on the first plane out of Djibouti as soon as your match ends Sunday night, if not, neither of us will survive this!
~The scene fades to black.~