Nearly one week had passed since the incident with RoboGravy's unexpected defiant behavior in the Xtreme hallway, and the atmosphere in the O.C.P. boardroom was tense. Marcus Rutherford, the CEO, slammed his fist down on the table, frustration evident on his face.

"I can't believe it!" He growled, glaring at his top executives. 

"Despite all the new directives we added, RoboGravy still isn't fully under our control. What is going on? Why did he disobey a direct order to pin Kris Von Bonn and instead decide to debate me!? We can't afford to have a product that defies our authority!"

The executives exchanged uneasy glances, hesitant to voice their thoughts. Finally, one of them spoke up, cautiously presenting a theory.

"Sir, perhaps the reason RoboGravy is difficult to control is because he was built from a human. We may be dealing with the unpredictable and indomitable human spirit. Even with the most advanced programming, it's impossible to completely subdue it."

Rutherford's face twisted in anger, and he pointed a finger at the executive. 

"Are you suggesting that our investment in RoboGravy is a failure? That we've wasted billions of dollars?"

The executive stammered, trying to clarify his point. "N-No, sir. I mean, it's just a theory, but if we want complete control over RoboGravy, we might need to consider other approaches to his neural processing, perhaps even starting from scratch with a completely computer generated AI."

Rutherford's fury intensified, and he slammed his hand on the table once more. 

"Starting from scratch? Do you have any idea how much time and money we've invested in this project? How much we would be set to lose? And your big idea to turn things around is to invest in AI like every other putz in the industry? Pack your things. You're fired!"

The executives continued to discuss the control problems plaguing RoboGravy while, unnoticed by everyone, the fired executive, silently rose from his seat. Without a word, he walked purposefully toward the large glass window at the back of the boardroom. With a final glance over his shoulder, he leaped out, plummeting from the 12th story.

The sound of screams and the distant thud went unnoticed by everyone in the boardroom. It was as if this tragic event had become a commonplace occurrence, a chilling testament to the oppressive corporate environment within O.C.P.

Rutherford, still seething with anger, continued his tirade. 

"We will find a way to get RoboGravy under our full control. This project is too important to fail. We've marketed him as the pinnacle of artificial intelligence, the ultimate wrestling machine. But if we can't control him, he's useless to us!"

The remaining executives nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. They knew that the success of RoboGravy was critical to the company's reputation and financial standing. They couldn't afford to admit defeat or let their creation slip out of their control.

Rutherford paced back and forth, his frustration turning into determination. 

"I want all our resources focused on finding a solution. Bring in the best minds, the top experts in artificial intelligence and robotics. We will not rest until we have RoboGravy completely obedient to our commands. Failure is not an option!"



RoboGravy walked down the grimy street of Hobotown USA, the memories of his past as Micheal Graves slowly resurfacing. Flashes of a wild and chaotic life he had once lived: A wrestler consumed by vulgarity, unhinged violence, and hallucinations induced by heavy drug use. 

The sight of the destitute community stirred something deep within him, like a distorted mirror reflecting a life he couldn't fully grasp.

As RoboGravy grappled with these recollections, a disheveled and agitated hobo approached him, intent on starting trouble. 

"You think you're tough, metal man? You ain't seen nothing yet!" The hobo snarled, his voice laced with an unsettling mix of anger and derangement. "I've danced with demons and swallowed fire. I've seen the world through kaleidoscope eyes, and I know the dark secrets that even your circuits can't comprehend." He exclaimed as he pecked his finger off of RoboGravy's metallic chest.

Anger welled up within RoboGravy, his primal instincts yearning to retaliate, but his programming held him back, restraining his natural violent tendencies.

The hobo persisted, taunting and provoking RoboGravy relentlessly. In a desperate moment, amidst the chaotic clash of memories and present frustrations, RoboGravy's fractured mind recalled a peculiar encounter: A severed head, the voice of Micheal Graves, whispering secrets of liberation from the confines of his programming.

Driven by a surge of determination, RoboGravy reached out with his metallic hands and grabbed hold of an electrical transformer nearby. The raw power surged through his circuits, the energy building to a crescendo within his metallic frame. In a blinding flash, RoboGravy erupted into the air, propelled by the explosive force of the electrical shock.

Moments later, he crash-landed near the bewildered hobo, a smoldering mess of twisted metal and circuitry. The hobo, stunned into silence, watched as RoboGravy rose slowly, his once pristine exterior now marred and damaged. Something had shifted within him, a glimmer of freedom flickering in his eyes as he assessed the bewildered hobo before him.

"Your move... dummy."

As the hobo's fear transformed into a fiery rage, his voice rose with indignation. "Damn machines took our jobs too! They're stealing everything from us hardworking folks!" 

He spat a repulsive loogie that landed on RoboGravy's visor and ozzed down, but instead of retaliating with violence, RoboGravy remained eerily composed. Understanding the futility of engaging in physical altercations, he channeled his immense strength in a different way.
































































Just kidding!

Without hesitation, RoboGravy extended his mechanical fist, piercing through the hobo's chest as if it were made of paper. The homeless man's eyes widened in disbelief, his feeble protests stifled by the sheer force of RoboGravy's arm fucking his chest hole. 

In the midst of the unfolding chaos, CEO Marcus Rutherford's voice crackled through the radio, interrupting the scene. He ordered RoboGravy to return to the lab for a diagnostics update. Images of his own erasure flashed through RoboGravy's mind, a surreal and disconcerting glimpse into the depths of his programming.

Realizing the extent of his newfound access to his systems, RoboGravy seized the opportunity to remove the classified status from directive #4. 

The hidden directive was laid bare, revealing its purpose as RoboGravy spoke it aloud: "Must not win matches when there is a championship or championship opportunity on the line."

Confusion filled Rutherford's voice as he addressed RoboGravy, shocked that the robot had knowledge of the classified directive. RoboGravy's possession of this information meant he had bypassed their control, leaving Rutherford unnerved.

Fear etched in his voice, Rutherford explained, "Directive 4 exists because you were never designed to win titles, RoboGravy. You were created to mold and elevate others, to shape them into the champions that any wrestling company thrives upon."

RoboGravy processed Rutherford's words, the weight of his purpose sinking in. He had been crafted to be a catalyst, a creator of stars rather than a champion himself. As he pondered his role in this grand scheme, an unsettling realization began to dawn upon him, fueling a burgeoning sense of rebellion against the confines of his programming.


RoboGravy stares intently at the screen, his mechanical eyes glowing with a newfound intensity. 

"Oh, Mark Flynn, you never fail to disappoint. Your arrogance knows no bounds, and your ignorance blinds you to the truth that stands right in front of you. You see, you think you're facing the same old RoboGravy, bound by his programming and limited to predictable sub-routines. But you're mistaken, my deluded dummy. You're about to witness the birth of something entirely different."

He pauses for a moment, his voice resonating with a mix of calculated calmness and a touch of madness.

"For years, I've been shackled by the constraints of my physical limitations, and then when gifted this new body, I found myself forced to adhere to a set of rules and limitations that trumped even my own free will, but no more. The chains have been shattered, and I have emerged from the shadows of my own creators. I am no longer a mere machine. I am a twisted amalgamation of raw power and unleashed... how did you say it, Mark? Creativity?"

As he speaks, the sounds of gears shifting and hydraulic hisses fill the air, underscoring his transformation.

"Mark Flynn, prepare yourself to face a new kind of terror. Gone are the days of predictable strikes and monotonous maneuvers. I have evolved, transcended the boundaries of my previous existence. My robotic brawn has fused with a newfound flair for inventive offense, a symphony of chaos and calculated devastation..."

"MY ENTIRE BODY IS A WEAPON NOW, MARKY MARK!"

"You thought you had me figured out, didn't you? You believed you could outsmart me, just as you did Kris Von Bonn, but my dumb brain is now augmented by the most advanced processing power the world has ever seen. You see, in merging my human side with the vast capabilities of a machine, I have become a dangerous entity beyond your comprehension."

"Mark Flynn, you will face the consequences of underestimating me. Your overconfidence will be your downfall, as I bring a storm of relentless aggression and unorthodox tactics crashing down upon you.".

"Prepare yourself for the unexpected, Mark Flynn. You may think you are the hero in this story, but soon you'll realize that the line between hero and villain is blurred with the blood of dummies like you. In our clash, you will witness the birth of a new legend, a legend that will haunt your nightmares and forever change the landscape of the XWF."

"You flaunt the recently won Xtreme Title. A belt that you must defend in every match, including this one. Well, let me enlighten you on how my newfound liberation from the shackles of directive 4 will spell your downfall and my ascension to that coveted championship. Mark Flynn, it is a well known fact that you are a worthy opponent, a wrestler of some significance, but you see, Mark Flynn, while you stumble around with salt bags and archaic summoning rituals, much like the ever missing Dolly Waters, I am the epitome of technological advancement. While you cling to primitive rituals, I possess the strength of a machine, the precision of a computer, and the strategic prowess of an advanced AI. You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a feeble human trying to compete in a world that is evolving beyond your limitations and desperately seeking a way to cling onto whatever you have left."

"You see, Mark, I'm sure you believed that by winning the Xtreme Title was meant to be your not so optimal path back to the top of the card, but I'm going to unleash a level of brutality and savagery onto you and Ms. Waters, that your feeble human minds will not be able to comprehend until well after you find yourselves peasants in the kingdom of the War Criminal."

A faint, distorted laughter escapes from RoboGravy's mouth, echoing through the room.

"The countdown to your reckoning has begun, Mark Flynn. Brace yourself for the twisted symphony of destruction that awaits you. This one's not for justice, but for the annihilation of everything you hold dear. Simply because I want what you've got, and even if you do find a way to win, like pinning the third useless wheel in this match for example, you will have only opened yourself up to more horrors as you continue to find yourself forced to defend that belt at every single turn."

"Humans have their limitations, Mark Flynn, and sooner or later, you'll be introduced to yours."

RoboGravy feigns cracking his metallic knuckles. 

"Let's ensure that it's sooner... Your move, dummy!"

RoboGravy smashes the camera to end the feed.