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Vita Frickin Valenteen · (12-18-2024)

Every wrestler down in XWF loved wrestling a lot—all but Gravy, who lived down in Hobotown,

He did NOT!

"Look at them up there," Graves grumbled from his shanty.

"Mocking me with their cheers and praise. Lies! All lies! They desire a real champion. Someone with drive, with heart. Someone better than me." His voice was bitter, low, seething with anger. He tightened his grip on the championship belt. "But they don’t know the first thing about winning. They think they want fair, but what they really want is a show. Well, they’ve got one now, and I'm NEVER letting go!"

Graves sat in his shanty, a twisted grin spreading across his face. He knew the XWF merch was the lifeblood of the fans—hoodies, posters, action figures, and all the other trinkets.

“I’ll make sure they never get their merch, without it, they’ll have nothing to root for but disappointment.”

Graves stood up and began rummaging through his cluttered shack, gathering supplies. Old twigs, broken scraps of wood, and bits of garbage were piled onto a wooden table. He grabbed a worn-out red hat from the corner, stitched with cheap faux fur. Then, with a wicked smile, he glued the twigs onto a rat, creating a makeshift “reindeer.”

“Ho ho ho—time to steal some cheer, XWF.”

Under the cover of night, Graves climbed onto a rickety sled made of old wood pallets, pulled by the tiny creature.

"Off we go!" Graves growled, whipping the rat forward. The tiny beast squealed in protest, but somehow its tiny legs moved faster. "Faster, faster! No presents for you, XWF fans and no holiday merch checks for the boys!"

He made his way to the XWF warehouse, the rickety sled rattling on the icy road. Inside, the warehouse was merchandise stacked high, ready for express holiday shipment to the eager fans. Graves grinned as he slipped inside.

"Nobody’s getting what they want this Christmas," he hissed. "Not a single piece of merch leaves this place."

He tore through shelves, scattering merchandise left and right. Hoodies, posters, action figures—all were fair game tonight. He didn’t care about breaking things or making a mess. His only goal was destruction, and causing a little stress.

Merchandise scattered across the floor, shelves overturned, and the faint scent of desperation in the air. Graves was busy smashing and grabbing whatever he could.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the scene.

CRASH!

[Image: bat.jpg]

A skylight shattered—Atomic Bat dropped from the rafters, her cape spread wide and flowing behind her.

Graves froze, his twisted grin fading.

"End of the line, Graves," she said calmly, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. "Your holiday heist is over."

Graves let out a low growl, his grin shifting into a sneer. "You think you can stop me? You think you can stand up to THE DARK WARRIOR!?"

"You’ve been pretending to be Graves for months," Atomic Bat said, stepping closer. "and not very convincingly, I might add."

Graves’ eyes flicked with panic for just a second, but he quickly regained his composure. "You don’t know anything about me!"

"Cadryn Tiberus," she said with a steady voice. "You’ve been pulling this charade for too long."

Graves' jaw tightened as the name hit him like a brick to the face and took an unsure step back.

Behind him, the ransacked merchandise lay in piles, and amidst the mess, Atomic Bat noticed a wrecked box of Gravy T-shirts.

The sight of him as the face of Anarchy made her blood boil.

"That's not my Gravy," Graves exclaimed!

With precision, she reached out and yanked off the mask, revealing Cadryn’s pale, defeated face beneath.

Cadryn—Graves—dropped to his knees.

“You’ve done enough damage,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Now, tell me—why are you commiting crimes dressed as Michael Graves?”

Cadryn’s lips trembled. "I don’t know. I—he’s… gone. Left. Disappeared. It’s been months. Ever since... everything changed."

Atomic Bat narrowed her eyes, her suspicion deepening. "Gone? Who's gone? Micheal Graves is the Anarchy champion as we speak!"

"I swear... that guy on TV–whoever he is–is NOT Gravy!"

Her brow furrowed, thinking quickly. If Cadryn was telling the truth, who else could have taken his place? Was there another player lurking in the shadows? She couldn’t trust Cadryn’s words, but something gnawed at the back of her mind—something wasn’t adding up.

“You defeating Madison Dyson and Mark Flynn does seem a little out of character for both you and Graves—so then, who else has been pretending to be him? Who’s walking around with the Anarchy Championship?”

Cadryn shook his head violently. “I don’t know! I swear, I haven’t seen him—or whoever it is. I did this because they don’t see me—they only cheer for him—but he’s not the real Gravy! I had to do something to make people see the truth!”

Atomic Bat took a slow breath.

“What exactly are you expecting of me?”

“Somebody's impersonating my Gravy, and I need you to find out what they did to the real him! I NEED MY BESTIE!!!”

Atomic Bat’s eyes snapped back to him. “You’ve been impersonating Graves for months, set up this Christmas themed heist, and wrecked Christmas for a lot of XWF fans around the world, and you want me to help you?"

"YES, TO FIND MY GRAVY!!!"

Atomic Bat pondered his story. "I believe you when you say that someone else is pretending to be Micheal Graves. (wild that there was even one) Obviously it can't be for any good reason, so—the question now is—WHY?"

"Why does anyone wish to hide in a borrowed suit?" He closed his eyes tightly, like shutting out a creeping thought.

She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—not in comfort, but in control. "Stay here. You’ll need to explain yourself to the police, but rest assured that I will look into what happened to Micheal Graves and bring anyone who may have harmed him to justice!"

"What are you going to do next?"

"Me?

Nothing…"

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