[Scene opens in a sterile, dimly lit room. The hum of fluorescent lights. Wone stands centered against a backdrop of cold steel lockers, hands clasped behind his back, wearing a black dress shirt buttoned to the neck. A single red “1” is stitched into the breast. He stares just off-camera.]

WONE (soft, clinical tone):

In most tournaments, the competitors speak of legacy… of glory… of pain endured for the sake of gold.

That is the language of the emotionally entangled.
The weak.
The terminally deluded.

I don’t feel hope when I step through those ropes.
I don’t feel fear, either.

I feel nothing… and that, STRIFE Nation, is where I am most dangerous.

[He steps closer. No change in tone. No dramatic gesturing.]

I was not invited into this tournament.
I was calculated into it.

The matchmakers crunched numbers. They reviewed tape.
Somewhere, on a whiteboard behind closed doors, a statistician wrote:

“Wone – Projected Threat Level: Incalculable.”

That person was correct.

[Cut to black and white footage of Wone dismantling unnamed sparring partners—snapping limbs, choking out an opponent while calmly checking his pulse, staring blankly as officials rush in.]

WONE (V.O.):

My first opponent will panic. They always do.
The moment they look into my eyes and find no malice… no fire…
just the cold stillness of finality,
they’ll remember the moment before it all ended.

Just like she did.

[He turns slowly to the camera now. His eyes are unsettling. Flat. Focused.]

My mother’s final breath was peaceful.

I made sure of it.

And when I press my forearm across your throat and feel your breath stutter…
when your arms flail and the blood slows in your veins…
I’ll give you the same mercy I gave her.

[He leans in just slightly.]

You don’t want to win this tournament.
Because if you stand opposite me in the finals…
You’ll stop being a wrestler...

…and become a case study.

My name is Wone.
And I have no past. No future. No fear.

Just the data.

And soon… the title.

[The screen fades to black. A single white text fades in slowly, one letter at a time:]
W O N E

[Fade out.]