At Anarchy, Pariah stumbled upon the 'Closet of Bad Gimmicks', where he found a gaggle of Gravesss.



The story of how we ended up with so many Gravessss alive and in this timeline at the same time is a very interesting one....






Trust me, it's better this way. The explanation is full of—






Anyway—TO THE SHOW!!!
































"Pariah?"


"You!?"


"Fuckin' please!"


"The moment I stepped into my truth, nobody in this business wanted anything to do with me!"


"Imagine, daring to become who I truly am in a world that worships brute strength and archaic notions of identity!"


With the loud click of a breaker, overhead lights fire to life, revealing—


















"Kicked out of the women's locker room for being handsy, that's the line XWF management fed the world. As if! The audacity to even fucking suggest it!"


"Let's talk real—Anyone remember the women's roster back then? Ain't nobody in their right mind getting handsy with Jenny Myst. And even if they were, trust me, she was about as loose as Pariah's grip on the Xtreme championship!"


"No, that crap was just a thinly veiled excuse to isolate and demonize me further. Pure prejudice masquerading as concern as they cast me out!"


Scene shift–another dark room.


"Pariah?"


"The fat guy in the gold onesie?"


"That checks..."


"You know what would help him break those social barriers? A new used car!"


With a similar click as before, the lights fire up to reveal—



















"When I came back to the world of wrestling, all anyone had to say to me were hurtful and mean things. I figured that it must have been because they were all threatened by my obviously superior talent and skill, or maybe they were jealous of my super-hot wife and my perfectly behaved children?"


"I don't know, but what I do know is this: Once I showed up to the arena behind the wheel of a 1989 Corvette with minor body damage, every single one of the ring boys became by bestie and I no longer felt like a pariah at the shows."


"I'd like to help Pariah make a few friends as well, and with all that money he's been pulling in on Anarchy, I should make a mighty fine commision to boot!"


An inaudible voice whispers something off camera. 


"Oh, I have to fight the guy? Well then, I'd better call the wife and let her know it's beans again for dinner..."


Yet another dark room...


"Pariah?"



"You think you know what it means to be an outcast?"


"You want to talk about real isolation? Try being me."


A dim light flickers on, revealing a figure slumped over—



















"After clawing my way up, finding my rhythm, I was blindsided. Bobby Bourbon, with one damned question! 'What is The Dark Warrior?'"


"Such a simple query, yet it unraveled me. How do you explain that you're a martial artist versed in the dark arts without sounding like a ? Especially when you're too old and tired to train anymore, so your kicks look like shit?"


"Yeah, I couldn't and I cracked."


"Cry-jerking it into a ham sandwich on national TV? That was the pinnacle of my fall."


"Being laughed at and mocked for an admittedly humiliating breakdown."


"You think you've felt rejection? You haven't felt anything until you've been as utterly embarrassed as I have. That's why I'm looking forward to this match, and making you my ham sandwich in the ring!"


More darkness...


"You want me to compare myself to this Pariah guy?"


"We have nothing in common!"


"He made some sort of deal for power? So?"


"Oh, that devil deal fell through, already."


"I dunno... Guess he just didn't like my company."


"Not having friends doesn't make us the same!"


"Why are we sitting in the dark? Can we get some damned lights on in here!?"


CLICK—



















"Oh, Pariah, did you really think you could just promise the moon and stars to Jett Sterling and then back out when Bobby blindsided your chicken-shit ass? Classic. You set up this big, fanciful Main Event for Anarchy after running like a bitch all night, and then—oops!—you dropped the belt. And now, you're dropped down the card—facing down a gauntlet against us!"


"Here's a thought, maybe you should've just kept running and kept that mouth of yours shut. Because, let's face it, had you done just that, maybe Bobby wouldn't have pinned you. Heh, he'd have to catch you after all. Jett definitely wouldn't be on this crusade to end you, because despite what your name implies, all've I've seen is a chicken-shit coward take advantage and stealing victories, while mouthing out some edgelord gobbledygook."


"You killed someone for 'power'. Never heard that one before! Next you're going to tell me you've got a golden potato shoved up your ass as well? Nah, you are the golden potato. A goofy looking potato of a man if I ever saw one. And what's supposed to be so special about you anyway? The ability to sink a roll-up after having your ass handed to you by a talent as defined as Herschel Kiss?"


"HA! It's fucking laughable that Jett Sterling would come to a legend like me over a jackass too scared to stand toe to toe with Herschel Kiss and Big Preesh!"


Gravy wipes a tear of joy from his eye.


"Well, no more runnin' for you, Pariah. This is your grand moment to shine as the featured act in the Micheal Graves shitshow!"


"You've spent so much time running your mouth, promising big things, making deals you couldn't keep. Well, guess what? The only deal going down at Anarchy is us dealing you a reality check. When we're done with you, there won't be enough of your fat ass left to make a bar of soap."