Idk..like...Kidnapped?

The Reporter

The reporter was rather happy at being ushered inside. "Am I getting an interview, Mr. Wilson?" she asked.

She may have been a little dense though.

"You may, after this whole thing is behind us," I answered moving into a room with a security camera. (I only needed one problem to deal with at a time, if you know what I mean).

"Great!" she said, pulling out a notebook and pencil. I sighed, she really was dense.

"Listen, madam, I shall give you your interview as soon as the child is returned."

"So he really is gone," she said, writing down my words. The head of security and I both sighed in remorse. I should have known not to admit to anything. But the truth was out now.

"What news company are you from?" I asked, praying she was from some unknown company.

"New York Post."

Of course, she was. I could never have made a small mistake, I just had to tell a reporter for one of the biggest companies in the country.

"Well... yes. We cannot find The Child. But it also appears you know where he was taken too."

"Taken by," she corrected, "in fact, he's calling me right now."

The head of security and I exchanged frantic glances, as she placed the call on speakerphone. I waved at him to get somebody higher than myself in the room.

"So I see you are missing our little friend here." the culprit said, gloating in his tone.

"I hope you know that when we find you you will be prosecuted heavily for this," I staled.

"You won't catch me," he said, "The police haven't even set up the lines so they can be taped and traced."

At that moment Jon Faverou and the rest of the directors (minus Taika Waititi) burst into the room. They were accompanied by Gina Carano and a sulking Pedro Pascal.

"Where's the kid," Gina sternly shouted into the phone.

"Oh is that Gina?" the perpetrator said surprised, "if I have her I must have really set something off if she's present."

"You are going to bring the child back to the studio now." Jon Favreau shouted at him.

"Where is he!" Taika screamed, entering wildly. He was wearing war paint and was ready for action.

Jon, fortunately, ignored all of this and repeated his earlier statement.

"I don't think I will," the man laughed, "actually it's you who will be bringing me something."

"And what's that?" Favreau asked.

"Just some cash. And by some I mean 20 million dollars."

The room fell silent. Even Pedro stopped sulking long enough to take on some of the shock echoing in the room.

"You have until the end of the week to decide," The culprit said, "I'll be in touch."

Then he hung up the phone.

"We can't give him the money," Favreau said. "We can just use CGI."

"No," Pedro said, "I won't do it."

"Well, it's either that, or we make a new one which will put us behind schedule by three or four months."

"It would be cheaper," Gina said.

"Time is money," I replied, "the longer this season is in the works, the more it will cost."

"I need to get Bob Iger on the phone," Faverou moaned, "This will not be pleasant."

The conversations continued onward and spiraled into arguing between coworkers. I said nothing, wondering how all this could have gone so wrong so fast. "Maybe I can slow some of the news coverage," I thought to myself. I stood up and walked over to the reporter, she was typing on a laptop she manifested out of her bag.

"What are you typing?" I asked.

"I just sent an email to my editors, telling them of all the news to report."

"You what?!" I yelled, causing the room to quiet down a bit.

She repeated herself with more exuberance now with the full attention of the room.

Jon Favreau just looked at her in shock. "We're all doomed," he laughed, walking out of the room, "We're all gonna be fired!"