The picture fades in to a darkened room. Faint light is filtering through the closed blinds at the only window. A group of candles is burning on a table close to the bed in the room, occupied by The Shadow. His head is still partially obscured by bandages from the injuries sustained in the gruesome fight with Ataxia at Vertigo. A shadowy figure is sitting in an armchair close to the fireplace, which has a fire burning, as The Shadow stirs and props himself up on his elbows.
Alistair McLean: Guid mornin’, how are ye feelin', boss?
The Shadow: Like a freight train loaded with 18-wheelers went over me. And backed up again and then went forward again.
Alistair: Close, close. Whit dae ye remember?
The Shadow: Most of the match, but things kind of ended at that concession stand, after that there’s nothing. What day is it?
The Shadow: Oh, so just a day, that’s not too bad.
Alistair: 17th April.
At this The Shadow abruptly sits up, just to grab his head and slink back onto the pillow.
The Shadow: Are you serious? I’ve been gone for a week?
Alistair: Well, ye waur kind of there. Ye ate, ye drenk, ye jist waur kin' ay - loopy.
The Shadow: So what happened?
Alistair: Bottle tae th' temple. Rattled yer brains guid.
The Shadow: That’ll do it. What did I miss?
Alistair: Brief version. Ye lost. Stewart suspended ye fur th' lest show, nae that ye coods hae gone anyways. Myfanwy is gone.
This time The Shadow sits up again, but despite the obvious discomfort on his face, he stays up this time.
The Shadow: Myfanwy is what???
Alistair: She was taken. By someain wearin' shades loch th' ones we foond in 'at tunnel. Ye tried tae get 'er, but Stewart stepped in front ay ye, suspended ye an' ye collapsed.
The Shadow: I have to find her!
He jumps out of bed, but the moment he lets go of the bed, he legs partially give out and Alistair barely manages to catch him.
Alistair: Hauld yer horses thaur. Breakin' yer neck noo isnae gonnae help ye or Myfanwy. Sanford an' th' others hae bin workin' roon th' clock an' Stewart is connected tae thes somehaw.
The Shadow: He will pay. We’re going to - where are we going?
Alistair: Ye shoods gang back tae bed, but Ah guess we're gonnae Oklahoma.
The Shadow: You bet.
Alistair: Oh, before Ah forgit, ye ur in a match, tay. Main event.
The Shadow: I - what??
Alistair: Duce an' Troy. Non title.
The camera zooms in on The Shadow, whose voice has dropped to a menacing whisper.
The Shadow: It could be for any title in the world, I don’t care. I will be there, but there will be hell to pay…
The picture fades out as Alistair helps The Shadow out of the room.
Oklahoma City, the Chesapeake Energy Center, parking lot. A black SUV pulls in and into the guest lot, coming to an abrupt halt right in front of the valet. The back door opens with force as The Shadow jumps out, followed closely by Alistair, who just manages to hand over the keys to the valet with an apologetic smile. As they reach the doors the security guards seem to recognize the irate Canadian letting him past without trying to stop him, but as soon as the two men step through the doors, Tara Robinson is right there, intercepting him.
Tara Robinson: Mr. Shadow, do you have a moment?
The Shadow stops short, closing his eyes for a moment, but when turning towards Tara, he displays some remarkable restraint.
The Shadow: Yes, Tara, how can I help you?
Tara: You were gone for over a week and a half and nobody saw or heard from you. Are you ok?
The Shadow: Well, I am here. If I am ok, I might be better once I shove Mr. Stewart’s bottle of pills up his ass far enough that his tonsils are tingling.
Tara seems taken aback by this very unusual brashness of The Shadow. As he sees that, he takes a deep breath and raises his hands apologetically.
The Shadow: I am - sorry, Tara, I did not mean to be this direct and harsh. But Myfanwy is gone and I have every reason to believe that he has a hand in this one way or the other. So he will have to answer some questions!
Tara: Uh, I understand that, but he is not here.
The Shadow: Where is he?
Tara: I am not sure, none of us have seen him here yet.
The Shadow visibly deflates and turns to rest his back against the wall.
Tara: But you have a match this Tuesday as well, against Duce Jones and Lindsay Troy.
The Shadow: I heard about it, but to be honest, it is the least of my worries.
He briefly looks into the camera.
The Shadow: Duce, Lindsay, no disrespect, but you’ll have to have your fun on your own, I have a bigger fish to fry.
At this moment a man in a black suit suddenly appears next to the three, an envelope in hand. He hands it over to The Shadow, who immediately proceeds to tear it open. He reads it over, then with a grunt of exasperation throws it into the air, turns on his heel and rushes off towards the exit again, Alistair once more barely able to keep up. When he speaks again, his voice has lowered to the same menacing hiss as days before.
The Shadow: If that is how they want to play it, they better be ready to face the consequences…
As the two men exit the building, Tara bends down to pick up the letter.
“Mr. Shadow, I figured you could come by. I also figured you would not be very willing to participate in the match you have been booked in, but I will be short and sweet. If you do not show up in that ring and fight, your contract is terminated immediately. J.S.”
Fades to black.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."