We open to a darkened room, the dim flickering light from a single bulb sways above.


It casts a menacing shadow across Graves smirking masked face


He leans forward and clasps his hands together.

"It was the perfect plan, wasn’t it? With barely an hour's notice of my participation, and a looming fear that a Chair-Door guy could show up and saveruin the day at any moment—I still managed to set that shit up perfect! But, there was ONE fatal flaw in my plan—how could I have foreseen that Madison Dyson's big head would make for such a small target? Eh, perhaps I should’ve brought a bigger caliber? Heh, even the best laid plans can have their… hiccups."

Graves smirk widens under the mask.

"But let’s talk about Mr. Oz, shall we? He’s been stewing ever since, mad about how things went down. We all know it! Just like I know he must’ve really put the pressure on Fetty Jetty to get ole Gravy booked in the main event, all official like. Everybody see’s how unfairly I’m treated around here. I may be a contracted Anarchy star, which allowed me to enter the battle royal, but check the books and take a gander at how NOT often Mr. Starman books Gravy on his show.

As far as Oz being upset—FUCK OFF YA BIG GOOF!

Like he wouldn’t have done the same if he were smart enough to think it up first! That’s the thing about guys like Oz—they love to pretend they’re above it all when it happens to them, but really, he’s just pissed that he didn’t pull the trigger first…"

Graves chuckles as he leans back.

"Oz, you’re pissed because I outsmarted you. Plain and simple. You walk around like some god among men, stealing my whole peanut butter and jam—like the man’s out to get YOU—but when push comes to shove—you’re just another chump who fumbles shot after shot, just like you fumbled THAT shot, THIS shot, EVERY shot! You ain’t got no shot! Ha, that’s why you never take no shot! I got a shot for you though! A shot of Gravy DEEP in the back of your mouth as I pin your big goofy ass against that steel cage and grind the fuckin' stupid green mop off your big dummy head!

MmmHmmm, that’s going to make things right between us."

Graves stands up and paces the room.

"What were you thinking, Oz? That stepping into that cage with me was going to fix everything? You think it’s going to give you the satisfaction you’re looking for? Make up for the fact that YOU couldn’t get the job done? Newsflash, you big doofus of Oz—it’s only going to make shit worse for you. Because when that door locks, all that rage and that anger, isn’t going to help you. It’s going to make you stupid, and stupid is prime for a pounding!"

Graves stops, spinning to face the camera with his grotesque fists on full display.

"These mangled fuckers were built for pounding!"


Gravy's eye twitches before, rolling his eyes, and letting out a looooong, frustrated breath.

"Yeah, hold your fucking horses!"

With a huff, Graves stomps over to the light switch and flicks it on, revealing his "dark, menacing" surroundings to be nothing more than a grimy McDonald's restroom...


Obviously, the obnoxious color scheme clashes with the atmosphere Graves had been trying to portray.


"WHAT THE FUCK—"

Gravy jerks the door open—only to be met with the sight of a frail, elderly man. 


"DO YO—er... want?"

The old-timer’s voice quivers as he pleads: "Please, sonny, I—I really need to get in there. Ain’t gonna make it otherwise..."

Graves stares the man up and down.

"You need to get in here? Heh, I’ve got bad news for you, pops. You're gonna have to find yourself another john, I'm on official 'Dark Warrior' business."

The old man’s eyes widen as Gravy slams the door in his face.

"Please! I beg y—!"

Without missing a beat, he turns the padlock and leans against the door for a moment, grinning wickedly and shaking his head.

"Entitled fuckers always thinking they deserve this that and the other. Don't 'cha HATE them!?"

Graves, says as he eyes the camera.

"Now, where was I... Oh yeah. Oz! You think that cage match is gonna be a good thing for you? Hah! I'm sure you do, sitting around, polishing your contact lense, wiping your ass with money as green dye seeps into whatever brain you have left, all while ignoring that family that was everything to you this time last year, uh... ignoring that demon and clown too, huh? Oh wait! That's right! you killed all your alts! good move! They do nothing but embarrass you at every turn! Only one problem I see. you forgot one! Don't worry Ozzy, I'll finish the job! Call it an act of survival or an act of mercy, either way—ain't nothin you can do to—"


"Listen you old fuck—"

Graves flings the door open, mid-rant, fully prepared to unleash another tirade—only to freeze. Standing in the doorway is not the elderly man, but someone far more unexpected—

































































Lady Gravy.

She taps her foot impatiently.

“What do you think you’re doing? Making your big speech in a place that smells like grease and piss? What in the Hell is wrong with you?”

“I was… uh… it reminds me of home!”

She cuts him off with a sharp glare as Graves deflates and the elderly man shoves past him.

"You’re pathetic, you know that?"

He knows it. She knows it. Hell, anyone with eyes could see it. He just shrugs, trying to play it off.

"I was workin’ on somethin’ big—"

"Oh, spare me. You’re homeless, Graves. You’re sleeping behind dumpsters and showering—when you shower—in gas station sinks. You want me to believe this sad little restroom promo is part of some genius master plan?"

Her words: a slap to the face. 

"Oh yeah?"

Graves reaches into his sticky pocket and pulls out the NDA agreement between him and Vinnie. The soggy page on the back appears to be a contract for an Anarchy title shot.

"Maybe after I kick Oz's ass, I show you the fruits of my master plan!"

"Pffft—That would be the day!"

Fade.