"Another Day at the Office." Triumph

“Ladies and fucking gentlemen!” The door to the boardroom inside of the Larsen International Co. headquarters swung open just seconds before Aaron Elliot barged in, announcing his presence.

All heads in the room turn. Miles Larsen, sitting at the head of the table, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at Aaron. All of the contracted talent; Hailey Banks, Malaki Leiato, Naya Donato - they all turned to watch Aaron enter as well. He stopped at the entrance way to the boardroom, a smug and arrogant smirk on his face. But what was more important than his loud and dramatic entrance, more important than the confident swagger he walked in with, and more important than the shit-eating grin he wore -- was the PCW Prodigy Championship that he carried close to his chest.

The gold faceplate is freshly polished, catching and reflecting the lights of the room. Everyone’s attention was immediately drawn to the prize. Aaron knew this, and it made his smile wider. “Allow me to take your attention from old-man Miles here, who I’m sure is boring you all with his dreams of how this industry should be, and how it was back in the Nineteen-Tens when he was just a child. I want to introduce you to the FUTURE of the professional wrestling industry - and the new face of Larsen International Co. : James Christ!”

Jamison strolls into the room, unbothered and unmotivated by Aaron’s grand introduction or applause. He strolls into the room and slumps down into the empty chair. All of the eyes in the room move to him, then to Miles who looks unamused. What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, Aaron? This is my comp---”

“Let me stop you right there, Miles.” Aaron said, placing the title down on the desk and unbuttoning his suit jacket. He slid his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and walks around the room a little. “What I’m doing is taking over. Three years ago when I pulled Jamison off of the street and threw him into a gym - you told me I was making a mistake. And now here we are; my client is undefeated in pro wrestling - and furthermore, a champion. What have you done, Miles?” Aaron stopped, turning to look at his ‘boss’.

“Nothing. You’ve signed a few new talents after ZERO, or Kamakiri or whatever he’s known by now, left - after Isaac left. And that’s no disrespect to the talent in this room, but it speaks volumes for their representation. I’ve come into the company and - in no time - have become more successful than you did when you were an active agent. So, what is keeping me here Miles? The lucrative salary you pay me? Please.” Aaron scoffed.

All of the talents eyes moved to Miles, then back to Aaron. “And just like he did before he won that championship there, Jamison is now stepping into the ring with PCW’s World Champion - and guess what he’s going to do, Miles? He’s going to win. Jamison cannot be stopped; not by Mordeau, not by Steele, not by Nayati. He is the very definition of Prodigy, and in case old-age has taken away your hearing as it did your mental edge, I will remind you of something.”

“I’ve said this from the beginning. I’ve said Jamison was a force to be reckoned with and that he would be a name in this industry. And you laughed. You laughed in my face and said I was wasting my time. Well now, Miles - myself and my ‘waste of time’ talent - will be walking out of that door for the last time. And you? You’ll be sitting here thinking that you just lost the talent of a lifetime --- and you’ll be fucking right!”

“So take a good look, Miles. This is the last time a champion will be in this building. And anyone else? If you were smart, you’d follow the fucking talent.” Aaron, by now, had turned to face the room again and shrugged arrogantly.

James stood up, grabbing his championship off of the table before he left the room. Aaron, walking backward, followed - giving Miles one last gesture: a middle finger as he mouthed ‘fuck you, old man’.

---------------

“I guess I should say congratulations, Nayati. You became the World Champion by way of choking out Mordeau. I would say impressive feat, but I’ve done that. Perhaps that’s where you got the idea, from watching me do the same thing just a few weeks prior - noting that his submission defense is less than ideal for a champion.”

“So I expect more from you, Nayati. I expect a hard fight. I expect bloody noses, swollen eyes, and busted knuckles. You and I, we represent this company as the fucking best - which is exactly what I said leading to Vendetta; only the best fighter deserves to call themselves champion. This week on Triumph, we’re going to determine who the best of the best is. Prodigy Champion or World Champion.”

“How do you think this is going to play out, Nayati? Are you walking in full of confidence now that you’ve put down Mordeau? Are you going in with hesitation that you’re stepping against someone who could very well be the best pure fighter this industry has ever seen? A normal wrestler would be focused on your mindset, trying to pick through it to find a mistake you make in your planning. To me, though? I don’t care. The second that bell rings, nothing changes to me. You’re just another guy standing across from me. In the time from the opening bell, to the closing bell, I’m here to do work. Your current status and standing doesn’t matter, your mindset doesn’t matter.”

“I’m treating you no differently than I treated Mordeau, Steele, Gearheart or anyone else that I’ve crossed paths with. To me, it’s just another day at the office.”