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(Gravy_Xtreme_5000) · (05-07-2024)

The camera rolls in on a shadowy room, lit only by flickering candles.

The silhouette of Micheal Graves comes into view as he steps into the light.

"They say they want a revolution, but what’s coming ain’t gonna be no gentle change—it’ll be a fuckin' cataclysm! And it starts with tearing down the facade of a so-called 'worthy' champion, John Black."

"You talk about changing the world, John, but you can’t even defend your little piece of it—not against me, or anyone like me. Bottom feeders. The Big Preesh's and Mr. Oz's of the world. Oh wait... That actually who you've... Oh man... Candy—baby—HERE I COME!"

Gravy laughs with a snort, completely losing that menacing vibe he was looking for.

"Jesus Christ on a biscuit! You parade around with that title thinkin' it gives you prestige. But all it really does is paint a big fuckin' target on your back—a target the Gravy-Train is locked in on and ready to EXPOSE! I mean... er... Explode!"

"You think holding that belt makes you a visionary, a leader of the locker room, a hero to the people? HA! You’re just a placeholder! Holding onto something that’s destined to be mine. Mine because I'm the first REAL challenge you or that piece of tin has seen since it's fuckin' conception!"

Gravy begins counting on his fingers.

"XWF WORLD CHAMPION – XWF TELEVISION CHAMPION – MULTI-TIME TAG CHAMP – MULTI-TIME X-TREME CHAMP - MULTI-TIME BETTER THAN YOU!"

"But most of all, being the only one between us to realize that real change isn’t about holding onto power—it’s about knowing when to tear it down, break it apart, and rebuild from the ashes—and make no mistake John, that's exactly what I'm going to do! I'm going to tear YOU down, break YOU apart, and rebuild this division in my image!"

"Gangsta is SO yesterday, the NEW REVOLUTION is SICK FREAK, and I'M HERE TO LEAD THE CHARGE!"

"You’ve been parading around, pretending to be some hardcore hero for months now. Throwing your body around, taking beatings like some kind of martyr, but John, there’s a vast difference between taking a beating and enjoying the pain. Me? I revel in it. You inflict pain upon yourself in these matches as a way to survive–I do that shit for the love of the game. The name of the game is pain, and I aim to see just how much of it it'll take to make hard ole' John Black see his only path to survival be him crying for mommy to make the bad man go away!"

Graves stops pacing, leaning close to the camera, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"And speaking of survival, how’s that been going for you, Johnny boy? Been tough? I’ve seen street brawls more organized than your defenses. It’s embarrassing. You’re a thug without a cause, a gangsta without a gang. Oz been whippin' you and your boys every time they show they face. Hell, I’m doing you a favor by taking that belt off you—you’re clearly out of your league and in need of some recoup time with Tommy."

He throws his head back, laughing maniacally.

"Oh, and don't think I’ve forgotten our history, John. Our days with BOB, where you were just background noise, and barely even that... a forgettable blip. I’ve stomped out louder squeaks from my boots than your entire career highlights. And come Anarchy, I’m gonna remind everyone why they should forget you ever held that title in the first place!"

Graves picks up a battered chair, gripping it tightly.

"You think of yourself yourself a fighting champion? That’s laughable. The only thing you’re fighting is the inevitable realization that you’re just a second-rate wrestler in a first-rate world of X-treme. And me? Well, when it comes to X-treme, I’m not just first-rate—I’m the damned standard."

He slams the chair down with a crash, splintering the wood beneath.

"Your ghetto gangsta thuggin' and buggin' bullshit act might scare some, but not me! I’m the real deal, the Lord of X-treme who stole my crown from Gilly simply by already being the king of pain. And at Anarchy, I’m gonna show you what real pain feels like. It ain’t just about shedding blood or breaking bones. No, it’s about breaking spirits, crushing hopes, and rewriting history."

Graves smirks.

"Bring your best, John. Bring your bats, your kendo sticks, your chairs. Hell, bring the whole crew if you want. I wouldn't even cry foul. Because A—I don't cry(complete farce!) and B—It's perfectly legal. You won't bring the boys... You're too stupid for that. But it wouldn't matter even if did, because I’m gonna dismantle you, expose you for the fraud you are, and claim what’s rightfully mine in the process."

"X-TREME GLORY!"

He steps back, spreading his arms wide, his typical unhinged grin plastered across his face.

"Welcome to your career’s eulogy, penned by the darkest warrior himself."

Graves lets out a sinister laugh as he steps back into the shadows, blowing out the candles and leaving the room darker than before.

"And John, when you’re lying there, broken and forgotten, just remember—this revolution won’t be televised. It’ll be immortalized, by me, as I stand over your wrecked, worthless body. Welcome to the end, John. Welcome to your grave."

The scene fades to the faint sound of Gravy's mocking laughter...

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