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(Gravy_Xtreme_5000) · (08-24-2024)

LATER THAT SAME NIGHT….

The ice cream van, cleverly disguised in a slapdash paint job that made it resemble an ambulance—if you squinted and were perhaps just a touch delusional—rolled into a bustling dock. Inside of this mechanical ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’, the mood was less lifesaving heroics and more back-alley dealings...

“Graves' organs... We’re talking big bucks for these, right?” The nurse tossed out as the clown-faced EMT navigated through dock workers and flocks of seagulls.

“Top shelf goods! I bet there's a nutjob out there who'd kill for a superstar champion wrestler’s ticker!”

They backed the faux-ambulance into a garage so nondescript it screamed:

“Zip it tight, yeah? We don't need any caped crusaders or badge flashers crashing this payday!” He barked as he killed the engine.

They greeted the surgeon with a nod.

The surgeon: A man whose steady hands betray no emotion—waits with an array of dull and rusting tools laid out on an old rickety table.

The nurse and the clown-faced EMT roll Micheal Graves out of the back. Despite his injuries, Graves’ eyes flicker open with a cunning awareness.

"Hey hey! I’ve been here before! Well, not here, exactly… But strapped to a gurney—staring down a clown and a hotty—whilst a mean looking dude eyes me like I’m a 30oz Porterhouse—Yeah, too many times to count…” Gravy can’t feel his legs—but that’s a problem for future Gravy—right now he must tap into the one skill that carried him throughout his first retirement: THE ART OF THE DEAL (Gravy was a used car salesman for a decade! *Todd) ”Come on, folks, let’s not be hasty! I’ve got an Anarchy title match coming up—AND it’s against a naturally weak woman! I’m a shoo-in for the next Anarchy Champion! So, what do you want? Money? I got you! I waste every dollar anyway—let me go and you can have every dime I make!" Graves attempts to bargain, but they all ignore him. "Come on guys! My shit ain’t worth nothin’ anyway! Have you seen how I live? What I eat? I’m American! They’ve poisoned me my entire life—AND I EAT THE TRASH POISON!

PLEASE—let’s talk about this!"

His pleas fall on deaf ears as they drag him towards the table. The surgeon picks up a scalpel and inspects it.

Graves continues to talk, but it’s clear he’s not in control here.

They strap him down, and despite his struggles, the procedure begins. The nurse holds him down as the surgeon makes precise incisions.

Graves screams—"AHHHHHHHH—yet, amidst the screams—HHHAHAHAHAHA!!"—there’s laughter, a maniacal cackle that’s unsettling to your ears. He thrashes under his restraints, but it is clear that the pain for him is both excruciating and exhilarating.

"You know, this reminds me of the time—" Graves begins, but the doctor quickly grabs his tongue with forceps and cuts straight across, ripping it from his mouth. Gravy gurgles laughter though the blood.

The surgeon works quickly, removing the spleen, heart, lungs, kidneys, and more. Each organ is blackened, shriveled, and sickly looking—despite this, they are each carefully placed on ice in separate containers.

With the task completed and Graves' laughter now long since faded, the surgeon wipes his brow and looks to the others. "Dispose of the body," he instructs.

The nurse and the EMT roll the lifeless body of Micheal Graves back into the van.

Just before they slam the doors shut—We spot Gravy's finger twitch!

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