Scene: On the outskirts of the forested Chinese wilderness. Beijing's lights burn brightly miles away. One tall Chinaman leads a dozen Americans up toward a wooded area.
Right over here, gentremen! Ouw finest weweworf ninjas!
NO. WAY. No way! That's just a patch of sticks and leaves. There's definitely a hole under that. Guys, we should leave. I think we might be missing curfew.
No, no, no! Don't reave, I beg of you! Rook, I'rr wark across the sticks and reaves myserf right now! It's pewfectry safe!
Yao, in his spindly 7'6" majesty, walks across the patch with ease.
You sirry Amewicans! The weweworf ninjas rive in the countwyside! This is just the fastest path to get thewe!
I say we go for it! I've never even seen a regular ninja!
Okay, but only for a second, and then we have to get back. It's late!
The players walk with trepidation across the leaves while Yao waits at the other end. Suddenly, as they near the middle of the patch...
The ground swings wide open, and all the athletes tumble into the pit below. Several Chinese patrolmen spring up from their grassy hiding spots.
Meanwhile, at Camp America in Beijing...
I don't get it! Everyone's all late and stuff! Nobody's even answering their cell phones.
No.... aw shit, no bars in China.
Well what can we do? We're not sending out an APB for the players; that'll be a media firestorm!
Coach K! The vidphone! We have an incoming vidgram!
Arr youw basketbarr awe berong to us.
Name your terms! We must have them back and unharmed at once!
We demand... fouw hundwed mirrion dorraws!
But why? These are the Olympics! The spirit of competition! You are ruining the innocence in the name of gross profit and danger to us all! I should have you imprisoned!
Two guns click next to the Americans' temples, as uniformed guards step forward from behind the men.
Watch youw mouth. We'we the porice, and we decide who goes to pwison.
Youw options awe creawry rimited, Coach Kzwzjhzgzerzmrski. Bwing us the money ow suffew.
Ouw pwoud countwy has suffewed fow too rong in the depawtment of sugawy, tasty bevewages. You hubwistic Amewicans sit at home in youw Ray-Z-Boys and drink youw Coca-Cora and youw Pepsi! Not anymowe! With this money, I pran to buy the entiwe worrd suppry of Merro Yerro and give it to the gweat and grorious nation of China!
You fool! Mello Yello is terrible!
So is watching youw prayews die! The money by sundown, Kzywkejhwrefhbhrkski!
We'll do as you say, just don't you goddamn dare hurt my boys! I come from Duke and we all know very important lawyers and congresspeople, and if you put one hair out of place on even Tayshaun Prince's head, you can kiss your protected trade status goodbye!
And we don't even want Tayshaun!
Youw prayews are unhawmed, Kzwegrzudkzrpzwzrwkjnski. Just bwing the money.
And wemembew: NO FUNNY BUSINESS. We'we the ones waising wed frags now.
Dang it! We are effed! What can we do?
The Chaiwman didn't say you courd hatch any prans, Coach. As rong as we're got the guns, you wirr do as Mao terrs you to--
Two reports of a silenced gun ring out, and the armed guards slump to the ground.
You heard him say something about red flags. That wasn't just a warning; that was a clue. Where are the most red flags in the world?
That's right... we're going to Tiennamen Square right now.
No. Listen closely. He can't get that money or that soda.
I don't know, Mello Yello is pretty awful. What's the worst that could happen?
For one, I won't pretend like I like Mello Yello or drink it on a regular basis; I don't. it's a bunch of sugar. But it's also highly radioactive and easily refined into weapons-grade plutonium. If he gets his tiny Chinese hands
Yeah, what's up with Chinese peoples' hands?
No idea, they're like baby hands. If he gets those baby hands on enough Mello Yello, though, we're all doomed. He could wipe out the western hemisphere--and anything that touches it.
We have to save the motherfucking world.
TO BE... CONCLUDED!