Crowning Achievement

{The King of the World is feeling on top of the world. Just moments after being crowned king, Tristan makes his way to the back with some of the suits congratulating him. He shakes hands, kisses babies, all that good guy stuff. It’s as if he’s starting a presidential campaign. He then opens the door to his locker room. There is champagne waiting for him but he doesn’t even take a sip because of his past. Tristan sits down and just lets it all sink in. That he is the king. Ray Elliot, Tristan’s mentor knocks on the door before stepping in. Tristan stands up, with his crown on his head as he greets his friend/father figure. Ray has a small child with him, who is wearing a Tristan t-shirt.}

Ray: “Congratulations kid, I knew you could do it! All you had to do was stay focused and stay true to yourself! You limited the distractions. You left your past behind. And you marched your way to the crown.”

{Tristan is still out of breath after his hard-fought victory with Arata. The battle scars are already showing. Sure, the cuts are visible. But the bruises are already forming. He takes a moment to collect himself.}

Tristan: “Long time no see, huh? Thanks, Ray. You do realize that you helped guide me to win this right? This journey didn’t begin when this tournament started. This happened a year ago when you helped me get my life back on track. When nobody else would offer a helping hand. They wouldn’t even look at me or give me the time of day — and for good reason. That’s on me. But you, Ray? You were there. You were there as you helped me turn over this new leaf. I thank you for that.”

Ray: “Any time, kid. You’re family. As for this little guy, this is my grandson, Kyle. He’s a big fan and I kinda promised him he could meet you today. Hope you don’t mind.”

Tristan: “Not at all, because like you said, we’re family. Hey, Kyle! Did you enjoy the show tonight?”

{Tristan sticks his hand out and offers Kyle a high five, which he accepts and smiles. Kyle, who is probably around 5 is hiding behind his grandpa as he’s shy. Plus being on camera doesn’t help.}

Kyle: “...yeah.”

Ray: “Oh now you’re shy, huh? Just a few minutes ago you were screaming your head off, rooting on Tristan. Don’t let the shy act fool you. He’s a tough little guy. He’s already mastered the headlock and sharpshooter. He’s gonna be a world champ one day.”

Tristan: “No doubt about it. That high five he gave me hurt!”

Ray: “I like the crown. It suits you. Speaking of which you — you wouldn’t mind if Kyle wore it for a second as I get a picture of you two together?”

Tristan: “...My crown?”

Ray: “Yeah it would make his day. Tristan?”

Tristan: “...Sure.”

{Tristan reluctantly takes his crown off and places it in his hands for a moment and just stares at it with a blank expression. He doesn’t want anybody to wear it but himself. He’s making that clear but Kyle is just a kid and Tristan has been trying to improve his image. He places it on Kyle’s head and holds it in the back since it’s a little too big for him, he doesn’t want it to hurt him. They pose for the picture. Kyle is happy. This is making his day while Tristan is forcing a smile. As soon as Ray gets the pic Tristan grabs it off Kyle’s head and puts it back on his head. Like it’s his obsession. As if he’s Gollum and the crown is his ring.}


{It is now current day. Tristan is more dressed up than usual. He’s wearing a nice navy blue suit. Looking dapper with the crown shining bright on his head. We don’t know how he is feeling after what we saw from the last Chapter. Tristan’s arch-nemesis, Havoc, once again made it about himself and ruined his moment.}

“There’s only one crown. There’s only one king. And there’s only one Tristan Killebrew. I’m the King of the World. Not Kanaida Sharpe. Not Jacob Senn. Not — this next one takes great pleasure in saying, so give me a second as I take it in — NOT HAVOC! And no, not even the Golden Dragon gets to wear the golden crown. He did try though. They all tried. But trying and doing are two completely different things. I did. I did what I said I was gonna do and if you didn’t believe in me at the very start as you eagerly filled out your brackets, well, then you’re probably not even listening to this right now because you’re too busy running to your bathroom, as you upchuck some crow feathers — but just know, I don’t take it personally. Because ever since I got here I’ve been doing a lot of talking. I’m aware. I run my mouth. It’s not because I get off to the sound of my own voice. It’s because I’m a competitor. I want to be the best. Not in just one aspect, but in all aspects. And I haven’t thus far. The proof is in the pudding. The proof being my record in Wrestleworld. I’m not undefeated. I’ve taken my losses, my lumps. Meaning I haven’t backed up every last word that’s left my lips. When it came to the bigger matches specifically, I would fold. I would try to put my best foot forward and do whatever I had to do to conquer my opposition, but instead I would trip over my own damn feet and make a fool out of myself. I wanted to be a champ. But instead, I was made out like a chump. BUT LOOK AT ME NOOOOW! I’ve got a crown. I’ve got a throne. I’ve got a kingdom! I’ve got a lot going for me. And I’m not going to let it all slip away. I’m not going to lose the keys to my kingdom. I’m here to stay. King Killebrew is a thing now. A permanent thing. This isn’t the new fad. This, me being king, isn’t going to be forgotten about. I’m not going to be placed on the back burner. I’m going to be where I should be — front and center. This is only the beginning. The beginning of something special, so I suggest you buckle up and enjoy the ride. That includes you too.”

{Tristan pauses for a second and he can’t help but crack a smile, a bit of a devilish one.}

“You — you know who you are. You know you’re the you I speak of. I don’t even have to say your name because I know you’re watching this. Deep down, I know you’re seething. Seething as you look at me with this crown on my head. Seething because you know you’re wrong. You’ve always been in the wrong. You could just never see it that way because of those rose-tinted glasses blocking your better judgment — that and Vance constantly chirping in your ear, telling you how great you are like he’s LaVar and you’re Lonzo, but by the looks of it, he has since cooled off on you — all because of me. He says I need him. Screaming it from the mountaintops. But on the contrary, my ‘friend’, it is you that needs me. Cancer needs a host after all, no? The thing is, I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to leave you in the dust as I look on from the rearview mirror. Tried being the keyword. I can’t get rid of you. I’ve come to terms with that. Because for so long I’ve attempted to free Wrestleworld of you and your tiresome presence. But you are still here. Gnawing on my ankles, begging for my attention. And no matter how many times I smack your snoot with my rolled-up newspaper, you won’t go. To your credit, you’re persistent. So here it is, the attention you ordered. Then again if I really wanted to, I could. I could turn you into a rabbit, put you in a hat and make you disappear in a snap of a finger — as I scrub every inch of Wrestleworld afterward so nobody will ever remember you. Although I don’t think I would have to go through all that trouble to do so. People would just forget about you naturally because you have been trapped in my shadow for quite some time now. But, with that said, for the past few weeks I’ve taken a step back. Giving myself a lot of time to ponder. To ponder on a plethora of topics and people, which just so happens to include a certain champion. And I’ve gained a new perspective. Yeah, I’ve changed my tune. I’ve reached the conclusion that I actually want you here. I want you in this company. I want you on this planet. It’s not because I’m fond of you all of a sudden. It’s not because I want to star in a buddy cop movie with you as we team up to take over the world together, as you put it. I’m already taking over the world on my own. I mean, I’m kind of the king of it. But the reason why I want you here is because I want you to watch. I want you to witness all the things I accomplish. All the accolades I collect. All the awards I win. All the titles I’ll wear. I want you to sit there like you decided to sit on MY — let me repeat that so even my words can’t fall on your deaf ears — MY, throne. I’m the king. You’re the jester. I’m the truth. You’re the con artist. I’m the contender. While you’re the pretender. You are beneath me. And you can’t accept that. Your ego won’t allow that. Don’t worry, I’ll take this crown and stab that ego of yours as it deflates. See, unlike you, I’ve actually worked my ass off to get what I’ve received — what I’ve EARNED. You, on the other hand, have lucked your way into getting what you have. Your title reign is based on a lie. You beating me at Badlands? It only happened because of a freak accident that was the cut on the back of my head. You’ve skated by so much. And now here you are, putting too much on your plate. Look at me — you don’t want me right now. You don’t want my attention. You don’t want me locked in on you. You don’t want me in that ring again. You’re just — jussssst, too fucking stupid to realize it. The paint must have crept into your brain after I bashed your skull in with my repeated elbow shots from our last encounter. Which led to me pinning you in the center of that ring. Something you have yet to do. Something you CAN’T do. Sooooo how about this — I’m done with you. Facing you for the millionth time in two months isn’t exactly enticing. I want something new, something fresh, something more. Something that isn’t you. Sooo — Leave. Me. Alone. In case you have yet to read the writings on the wall, this right here is me ending the chapter that is you in my professional wrestling career. That’s right, just a minor chapter and not the book. More like a footnote but I digress. So this is my goodbye. Ta ta. Not just for now, but for good.”

“Which brings me to this week. I just said I wanted something new, no? And would you look at this, a new challenger is approaching. I just got my wish as it fell into my lap. Such a spoiled brat I am. Now, whether this ends up biting me in the ass remains to be seen. Mystery, I like it. It’s a certain thrill. It gives me goosebumps. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. My heart is pumping baby! I’m excited. Facing somebody I don’t know. It piques my interest. Sure I could read up on your biography, I could sit and listen to your videos, and pretend I have you all figured out as if I can already pinpoint what makes you tick. But it still wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t do you justice. John Reaper is a man I’ve never seen compete. He’s someone I can’t specifically train for or plan for. There’ll be a lot of guessing when I step inside that ring. A lot of learning on the fly. A feeling out process, if you will. Testing how you move. How you strike. How you defend certain moves. As I draw up counters for your counters in my head. But what I do know, even if it’s minimal is you’re a sick and twisted individual. Or so they say. A dark soul. A man who doesn’t play by the rules. Inflicting pain is the name of the game. Well, then, sign me the fuck up. I’m not afraid of the reaper. I look straight into your eyes. I don’t look at the floor. I don’t blink. My eyes are fixated on you. I see you. I see you for what you are and not what you pretend to be. You’re in my scope and this Wednesday I’m gonna pull the trigger. You see, I’m not afraid to spill my blood or to break my bones. If I was, I wouldn’t be pulling off the moves that only I can. High risk is my bread and butter. High risk is what this profession is. Putting our bodies on the line each and every week. The reason why depends on the person. It can be because of the paycheck. It can be because they want to please the fans. To make sure they go home happy, knowing their hard-earned money was well spent. It can be because they’re a daredevil. They’re in it for the thrill, to feel alive. I suppose all of those I just listed can be rolled up into one for me. I’m not here for just one reason. That would be boring after all. I’m in it for many reasons. I’m in it for the long haul. I’m your king, sure, but I want more. I crave more. I’m not about to stop trying. I’m not going to rest on my laurels. I’m building an empire. Made out of stone, not straw. And so many of you are going to attempt to damage that structure I’ve been building for months. You would like nothing more than to make it crumble at my very feet. But just like the big bad wolf, you’ll only be wasting your breath. I’m going to defend it. I’m gonna protect it. Because this king isn’t going to hide behind others. I'm not going to have others do my bidding. I’m going to be on the frontline, getting my hands dirty. Giving every new challenger a ‘warm welcome’ as they stand before me. And here you stand John. Standing on thin ice already. Facing me after I just won one hell of a grueling tournament. With a crown on my head as my reward. Feeling like Cosmo on The Fairly OddParents and shit. With a marquee win such as this, I now have a reputation to protect. An image I must uphold. Kings are meant to be respected. They are meant to be feared. So, therefore, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but I can’t lose to you. This isn’t me trying to paint this picture that you are some weak or broken competitor. On the contrary, it could be any man, woman, or child — shout out to you, Regan — on the roster facing me this week and I would run through any one of them."

"But it's you, John, it’s you who just so happened to draw the short end of the stick. I know you don’t see it that way. To you, this is half glass full. You see this as an opportunity. Facing one of the top dogs in Wrestleworld in your first week. It’s sink or swim. And you aren’t about to breaststroke your way to victory. Drown you will. Lose you shall. Because you’re right, some of us are the real monsters. But you won’t be erasing me. I’m made out of ink, not graphite. You can’t get rid of me. You can’t just turn on the lights and assume I’ll disappear. You can rub your eyes until they hurt, hoping I will no longer be there. But I’m there. And I’m not going anywhere. Wrestleworld is my home, after all, my territory. The same can’t be said about you though. Seeing as how you haven’t proven yourself yet. For instance, we don’t know how you’ll react when you come up short. When you don’t get what you want. When I shatter this illusion that you are some untouchable beast. Seven-foot, three-hundred pounds, and for what? I’ll outclass you. I’ll embarrass you as your feet are trapped in molasses. That is your biggest fear. Making a horrible first impression. Letting this moment define you afterward. Making you want to pack up and go somewhere else and hope it works out better for you this time around. You aren’t ready for this. You aren’t ready for this moment. And once you realize it, if you haven’t already, you can go on another spiel about our boss, trying to make some kind of statement since you won’t be making one in that ring this week. You fear me, John. It’s not even deep down, but on the surface. You can laugh it off and try to play it cool as you hide behind that mask — wouldn’t be the first time I faced someone in a mask, by the way, hopefully, it works out better for you than it did him though. Look — I’m sick and tired of my opponents beating around the bush, walking on eggshells when facing me. Taking the coward’s way out and always waiting until the very last minute to build up the courage to speak out to me. So late that I will no longer care. I want somebody to take the bull by the horns. To take the initiative. I want somebody to help me hype up our match because after all, it does take two to tango. But yet, it’s the same song and dance week after week. They let me lead. Being completely dependent on me. As I do all the heavy lifting. Not gonna lie to you, right now I’m struggling to give a fuck. I’m just going through the motions at this point. I don’t know shit about you, while there are countless matches and speeches of mine for you to dissect and hopefully you can piece together a somewhat coherent response. But I’m not holding my breath. Even with all of that, here I am, trying to make something out of nothing. Trying to make chicken salad out of chicken shit. There is only so much I can do. I can only pretend to care for so long. You’re a big and dark monster. Cool, it’s been done before. You have a creepy little girl to hang out with you. Which is good timing on your part because she probably doesn’t have to get up for school in the morning because of this whole pandemic. But nonetheless, cool, I watch horror movies too. Good genre. Tell ya what, just don’t even bother talking at this point. Just get in the ring on Wednesday and bow to your fucking king, okay? K."

{An annoyed and bored Tristan shuts off the camera as it fades to black.}