INT. WAR ROOM — JERUSALEM — NIGHT
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin “Bibi” Netanyahu sits stiffly at a steel table deep beneath the Knesset. The secure line buzzes. A hologram of Donald J. Trump and JCJ appears. Trump’s hair is windblown, yet immaculately intact. JCJ’s eyes glow with a divine fire. Behind them: a massive screen flashing the words “Cause and Effect: FINAL WARNING.”
TRUMP (stern):
“Bibi. You know I like you. We’ve had some beautiful deals. But this time, it’s different. The game is over. No more hiding. We want Epstein and Rothschild. Alive.”
Netanyahu leans forward, sweating.
JCJ (calm but thunderous):
“Cause… and effect. You play both sides. You ran blackmail operations for the elites. Mossad knows. The world knows. The children cry out from the tunnels. You protected the deep state. Now it protects no one.”
TRUMP:
“I’m gonna make this real simple. If I drop a bomb on Iran, they drop one on you. That’s how it works. Cause. Effect. This ain’t 2012, pal. It’s Trump-JCJ 2025. The world’s flipped.”
JCJ (pointing at Bibi):
“You have two days. Forty-eight hours. Deliver us Jeffrey Epstein—not his corpse. And Baron Rothschild, the spider behind the debt web. If not…”
JCJ waves his hand. A digital globe spins and zooms in: Iranian missile coordinates, Iron Dome saturation maps, dimensional chess simulations.
TRUMP:
“We’re not bluffing, Bibi. You go down with them if you stall. You don’t want to test me when I got Christ on my six. Believe me.”
JCJ:
“This is not vengeance. This is balance. The world demands justice. If you fail, even the Dome will crack.”
Suddenly, a news ticker appears across the bottom of the screen:
BREAKING: MYSTERIOUS QOM EXPLOSION LEVELS IRANIAN NUCLEAR BASE — NO CLAIM OF RESPONSIBILITY
Netanyahu’s hands tremble. He reaches for the phone.
NETANYAHU (voice trembling):
“We… we’ll find them. But they’re protected. Epstein was moved—he’s not dead. Rothschild’s off-world—Saturn orbit, Black Cube station.”
JCJ (narrowing eyes):
“Then you better build a ship fast.
Because the next explosion… won’t be in Persia.”
The transmission cuts. The war room lights flicker. Netanyahu turns to Mossad Director Yigal Regev:
NETANYAHU:
“Prepare the extraction team. Code Black Messiah. We either hand them over… or Jerusalem burns.”
Scene: Bibi’s Final Warning – “The Samson Option is Armed”
After Trump drops the bombshell about JCJ’s honeymoon plans, the line goes quiet. But only for a moment.
Then Bibi’s voice returns — harder, colder, the edge of apocalypse in every syllable.
Bibi:
“Donald…
If he doesn’t come now…
We’re going to push the button.”
Trump:
“What button?”
Bibi:
“The Samson Option. The one we’ve never admitted publicly. The one Golda Meir whispered about. The one we’ve shown your generals in shadows. It’s real. It’s ready. And it’s glowing red like an old Stanley Kubrick movie.”
Trump (quietly):
“You’re serious.”
Bibi (fierce):
“If Israel goes down… the whole world goes down with us.”
“We’ve lived through Pharaohs, Caesars, Caliphs, Hitlers, and now we’re surrounded by Iranian proxies, Western hypocrisy, and Illuminati bankers playing Monopoly with our lives. Enough.”
Bibi pounds the desk:
“SEND MOSHIACH NOW.”
Trump leans back, the weight of a dying world on his shoulders. Even he, master of chaos, knows this moment is different. This isn’t about ratings or elections anymore. This is endgame theology.
Trump (low):
“Then you better hope JCJ gets through customs. Because if that honeymoon turns into Revelation… it’s not just Tel Aviv that’s gonna shake.”
Scene: Trump’s Response – “JCJ’s Going to Israel… On His Honeymoon”
Bibi’s final words hang in the air like ancient incense:
Bibi:
“Bring us the Moshiach. Bring us JCJ. Because if he doesn’t come now… we all fall.”
Trump leans back, half amused, half moved. He runs a hand through his silver-blonde hair and lets out a long, dramatic sigh.
Trump:
“Bibi… I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Bibi:
“Tell me.”
Trump:
“JCJ is going to Israel… but not on a mission. He’s going on his honeymoon.”
Bibi freezes.
Bibi:
“His what?”
Trump:
“Yeah. The King of Kings, the Psalm 110 Terminator you rejected in 2002? He’s got a queen now. They’re calling it the ‘Jelly Era’ — JCJ and Nelly Furtado. He’s bringing her to the Holy Land. No press, no politics. Just love, sandals, and falafel.”
Bibi (stammering):
“The people—they need him now!”
Trump:
“Then you better pray he makes it to the Nelly Furtado Festival in Munich this summer. Because that might be the only place left where he’ll sing before the Second Coming goes live.”
Trump smirks and hangs up, whispering to himself:
“Stone the builders rejected… now he’s building a love temple in Tel Aviv.”
Scene: Bibi’s Midnight Plea – “We Want Moshiach Now” (Expanded)
The secure red line buzzes in Trump’s Slovenian villa. He puts down his silver fork—Melania’s made buckwheat porridge again—and answers with his signature sigh.
Trump: “Bibi. What now?”
Bibi’s voice cracks through the encrypted signal like thunder rolling over the Mount of Olives.
Bibi:
“Donald… no more games. Israel wants Moshiach now.”
Trump: “You said that last year.”
Bibi (serious, almost trembling):
“No, listen to me. This time it’s real. We’re ready. We don’t want any more Illuminati bankers pulling strings in the shadows. Take LE Baron and his train-wreck of a plastic Jesus nephew, David de Rothschild. He’s had decades to bring peace, to deliver paradise through hedge funds and eco-yachts…”
Bibi growls the punchline:
“But what did we get? Bupkis.”
Trump leans in, amused but intrigued.
Trump: “So now what? You finally want JCJ?”
Bibi’s tone shifts—no longer angry, but remorseful.
Bibi:
“I know he loves us, Donald. He came in 2002. He stood by us after the Second Intifada. I saw it. The spirit was on him. But we weren’t ready.
He was the stone the builders rejected.”
A heavy silence follows. Even Trump, ever the showman, feels the gravity of prophecy in motion.
Trump: “And now?”
Bibi:
“Now the builders are gone. We’ve built on sand. The people are crying out not for money, not for war, but for meaning.
Bring us the one who walks with bikers, who prays in cathedrals and quotes Psalm 110 like a nuclear code.
Bring us Christus Rex. Bring us JCJ.
Bring us the Moshiach. Because if he doesn’t come now… we all fall.”
Trump sighs and gazes into the dark Carniolan sky.
Trump (softly):
“Okay, Bibi. I’ll make the call. But when he gets there—don’t reject the stone again.”