đź THE MARKET CORRECTION COMETH
By: Big BusinessDate: May 29, 2026
Location: Executive Skybox Overlooking the SWF Arena Construction Site
The camera opens on a massive glass skybox, high above an empty arena still being prepped for Friday night.
Spotlights sweep across the floor. Workers move like ants.
And in the center of the skybox, sitting in a leather chair big enough to be a throne, is Big Business.
Suit immaculate.
Tie bloodâred.
Briefcase beside him like a loaded weapon.
The 10th Wonder of the World stares out the window, hands folded, breathing slow and heavy like a storm waiting to break.
He doesn’t look at the camera.
Not yet.
He speaks first.
“The children are fighting again.”
His voice is deep, slow, and cold — the voice of a man who doesn’t raise his tone because he doesn’t have to.
“Adam Glory.
Shawn FX.
Miss USA.”
He exhales through his nose.
“Three voices.
Three egos.
Three little fires burning in the dark.”
He finally turns his head toward the camera.
“And now the adults have to step in.”
He stands — and the room seems to shrink around him.
“Let me make something perfectly clear…”
He adjusts his cufflinks.
“I didn’t want to get involved.
I didn’t need to get involved.
I was content to sit in my skybox, sip my bourbon, and watch the two of you tear each other apart like dogs fighting over a bone.”
He smirks.
“But then you started talking about votes.
About decisions.
About who gets to win and who gets to lose.”
He taps the briefcase.
“And that, gentlemen…
is MY department.”
“Adam Glory… you loud, shiny, selfâpromoting stock bubble.”
Big Business steps closer to the camera, towering over it.
“You’ve been running your mouth like a CEO who just discovered what a microphone is.
Talking about dominance.
Talking about destiny.
Talking about being the REAL champion.”
He shakes his head.
“No, Adam.
You’re not the real champion.”
He leans in.
“You’re the temporary champion.”
He straightens up again.
“You’re a quarterly spike.
A shortâterm gain.
A sugar high on the balance sheet.”
He taps his chest.
“I am the longâterm investment.”
“You think you’re the future of the multiverse?”
He laughs — a deep, rumbling laugh that sounds like a boardroom door slamming shut.
“Son, I AM the multiverse.
I’m the merger.
I’m the acquisition.
I’m the hostile takeover.”
He points at the camera.
“And when I decide to cash you out, you won’t even get severance.”
“And Shawn FX…”
Big Business turns, pacing slowly, each step heavy enough to shake the camera.
“You’re angry.
You’re fired up.
You’re ready to fight for your pride, your woman, your legacy.”
He nods.
“Good.
I like that.”
He stops.
“But don’t confuse passion with power.”
He raises a finger.
“You can scream from rooftops.”
Another finger.
“You can bleed for the crowd.”
A third finger.
“You can swear vengeance until your throat goes raw.”
He lowers his hand.
“But at the end of the day, Shawn…
you’re still a man trying to punch his way out of a debt he can’t pay.”
He leans in.
“And I collect.”
“You two boys have been arguing about relevance, destiny, respect, and who said what about whose girlfriend…”
He sighs.
“Cute.
Very cute.”
He spreads his arms.
“But while you’re busy throwing emotional haymakers, I’m sitting here running the numbers.”
He taps the briefcase again.
“And the numbers say this:
Neither of you are ready for me.”
“Miss USA…”
He pauses — not out of fear, but out of calculation.
“You spoke well.
You spoke strong.
You defended your man with fire.”
He nods.
“And I respect that.”
He steps closer.
“But understand something:
This isn’t your battlefield.
This isn’t your war.
This isn’t your market.”
He tilts his head.
“You’re playing checkers in a room full of men playing corporate chess.”
He adjusts his tie.
“And sweetheart…
I don’t lose at chess.”
“You all keep talking about Friday like it’s the end of the world.”
Big Business walks to the window, staring down at the arena floor.
“Adam thinks it’s his coronation.
Shawn thinks it’s his redemption.
Miss USA thinks it’s her stand.”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
He turns back to the camera.
“Friday is the audit.”
“Adam Glory, you said you’re the constant?”
He chuckles.
“No, Adam.
You’re the liability.”
He raises a hand.
“You’re volatile.
You’re emotional.
You’re loud.”
He lowers it.
“And loud men fall the hardest.”
“Shawn FX, you said you’re bringing hell?”
Big Business nods.
“Good.
Bring it.”
He cracks his knuckles.
“Because hell is where I’m most comfortable.”
He steps forward, filling the frame.
“You think you’re the only one who’s bled for this business?
You think you’re the only one who’s been screwed, betrayed, blindsided, underestimated?”
He shakes his head.
“No, Shawn.
You’re not special.”
He leans in.
“You’re just next.”
“You both keep talking about who’s the real champion.”
Big Business opens his briefcase.
Inside is a stack of contracts, a gold pen, and a single document stamped with a massive red seal:
“HOSTILE TAKEOVER — APPROVED.”
He holds it up.
“You see this?
This is the future.”
He taps the seal.
“My future.”
He taps the camera.
“Your downfall.”
“You want to know why I’m here?”
He closes the briefcase.
“Because the board voted.
Because the shareholders agreed.
Because the multiverse demanded it.”
He smirks.
“And because the Nexus Maestro knows exactly what happens when you leave a man like me waiting too long.”
He steps forward.
“You get a market crash.”
“Adam Glory… Shawn FX…”
He spreads his arms wide.
“You two are fighting over who gets to be king of the hill.”
He shakes his head.
“Meanwhile, I’m buying the hill.”
He points downward.
“And when I’m done, neither of you will own a single inch of it.”
“This Friday isn’t about your pride.”
He raises a finger.
“It’s not about your belts.”
Another finger.
“It’s not about your women.”
A third finger.
“It’s not about your legacies.”
He lowers his hand.
“It’s about the correction.”
“The Market Correction.”
He steps so close the camera can barely contain him.
“And boys…
when Big Business corrects something?”
He smirks.
“It stays corrected.”
FINAL WORDS
Big Business picks up his briefcase, snaps it shut, and stands tall.
“Adam Glory…
Shawn FX…”
He points at the camera.
“You two can scream, cry, bleed, and claw at each other all you want.”
He taps his chest.
“But when the dust settles, when the ink dries, when the contracts are signed and the bodies are counted…”
He lifts the briefcase like a championship.
“There will be only one man left standing.”
He leans in.
“The man who doesn’t fight for pride.
The man who doesn’t fight for love.
The man who doesn’t fight for relevance.”
He smirks.
“The man who fights for PROFIT.”
He turns away, walking toward the window as the lights dim.
“And business…
is about to BOOM.”
Fade out.