The lights shut off. Six digits beep into the keypad setting the alarm. The door closes with a click of the lock.

The store is empty. 

Quiet. 

Other than the faint sound of breathing coming from our cameraman, who whispers: "Alright freaks, I think we're safe," into his phone. 

Then suddenly spreads a rack of ladies blouses like Moses parting the red sea and springs out in a dramatic wide-armed pose.

"LET THE TRAINING BEGIN!"

Graves swings the camera back to his face.

"That's right, boys! I'm spending the night locked inside of Target!"

He throws his free arm out, presenting the darkened department store behind him.

"Live!"

Comments begin rushing up the screen.

"What!? No I didn't get permission! Wasn't that fuckin' obvious by me hiding in the blouses!?"

Because I ain't a fan of askin'. Besides, there's no fuckin' way they'd 've let me, Steve!"

Graves starts walking, keeping the camera framed on himself.

"Why? Adverse City, Steve! We're driving straight towards it! That's why I'm following the Pied Piper!

Thirty years ago, a man in a dress had to face an unstoppable force, so he locked himself inside Alcatraz for seven days and seven nights, then came to the ring a fuckin' lunatic.

Then he choked that unstoppable force the fuck out!"

Graves squints.

"What do you mean Hogan beat Piper?"

He stares.

"No he didn't."

More comments.

"Am I being Mandela'ed right now?"

More comments.

"Whatever. Point is, Piper knew what was waitin' for him."

Graves' eyes leave the comments.

"And I know what's waitin' for me. I ain't gonna stand here and bullshit ya. It's one big ugly son of a bitch named Judd Hollow.

Well... ugly might be subjective."

A comment catches his eye.

"No, Steve! I ain't callin' him handsome either! Jesus Christ!"

Graves huffs.

"Listen. I watched Holly Cambric stick that motherfucker, choke him, get real surgical.

I also watched him eat all of it and keep coming, never once looking like he knew he should stay down.

I saw a fuckin' Terminator in that ring.

Something you can't reason with. Something you can't scare. Something that's gonna keep walkin' toward ya until either you're dead, or you find a way to trick it into killin' itself first.

Heh, truth be told...

I saw a little bit of myself.

That's why I kept watchin'.

Sammy needed half the damn building and a syringe just to survive ya... but he survived ya.

I watched that Scoops match looking for the trick.

There had to be one, right?

Old bastard keeps kicking out, Judd starts losing his shit, grabs the ref, starts yelling...

There it is.

That's the weakness.

Except then you hit him with another Devil's Hollow and fuckin' beat him.

So much for that theory.

And yeah, before ya start jerkin' yourself off over it... Scoops beat me. You beat Scoops.

Congratulations.

You figured out fuckin' Rock, Paper, Scissors.

You still gotta beat me.

And that's what I actually learned watching you two.

Scoops didn't show me how to beat you.

He showed me I can piss you off.

Big fuckin' revelation, right?

I'm Micheal Graves. I can piss off a stop sign.

Problem is, pissed-off Judd Hollow still won.

Furry keeps tellin' me to find flaws I can exploit?

But maybe there ain't one.

Maybe Holly couldn't dissect ya, Scoops couldn't frustrate ya enough, and there ain't some magic fuckin' button I can push that shuts the Terminator down.

Fine.

Then I quit looking for the shortcut and survive long enough to make my own opening.

Then I'll capitalize.

Won't be my first ugly fight.

I'll bite your fuckin' dick off if that's what it takes, 'cause I ain't stupid enough to think I'm coming out the other side of this in one piece...

And you shouldn't either."

Graves starts limping again.

"You're younger, bigger... might even be stronger than me. Hell, you get hit with shit that would send most men to the hospital and ya just..."

Graves stiffens his arms and walks like a robot.

"...keep fuckin' comin'.

That's scary...

No joke.

I know because that's kinda my whole fuckin' schtick!

Mean.

Violent.

Doesn't. Know. When. To. Stop.

And damn sure don't stop just because somebody wants it!"

A comment rolls up the screen.

"Exactly, Steve! Like how even to this day I refuse to stay away from Dolly Waters!"

The chat explodes into various laughing emojis and such.

"Wait... No. We are not K. I. S. S. I. N. G. in a tree! ...yet. Fuck you, Steve! But you're as right as I am dangerous!

See, Judd, I just gotta survive ya long enough to still be dangerous after you think you've done enough. 

And trust, Gravy is undeniably dangerous and if he knows anything, it's surviving.

35% of it comes from prep time. Planning. Training. Kicking trees down till your shins bleed. Shit like that. 

40% of it is fortitude and determination. How far out is that line, that once you cross it. Body and mind quit cooperating, and no matter how hard you fight, them shoulders just won't budge.

The other 90% comes from me smashing your nose into your fuckin' brain with my brain, dummy!"

Graves turns the phone away.

An overhead sign comes into frame.


The camera swings back to his face.

"Which brings us back to the reason I'm here."

Graves looks around the dark store.

"Monday night, Warfare comes to the Target Center."

He points at the red bullseye hanging above him.

"Target."

Then back to himself.

"Center."

Comments begin rushing up the screen.

"What ain't relevant about it, Steve!? I really don't feel like I should have to explain this!"

And he doesn't.

"Last week I spilled the beans about the healing thing slowin' down...

Judd probably sees an opening too. Fuckin' disadvantage!

Now he's thinkin', how much can Gravy take when the damage don't just go away.

You think that's your way in?

Might wanna reconsider...

Healing fast never stopped anything from hurtin'.

Bones still broke. Skin still tore. Teeth still got knocked loose. I just healed fast enough to hop right up and go get hurt some more.

Do that shit long as I have and you start thinkin' of pain less like a deterrent and more like an old friend.

I do still got one thing goin' for me.

Nearly three decades of experience takin' beatings from and then pinning the biggest and the baddest the XWF has to offer.

And if the price of beating you is seven hours or seven months, I'm in a mood to bleed and chill!

So if your whole plan is to run me through that gauntlet of trademarked moves till Gravy can't take no more..."

Graves raises a 10lb weight above his head.

"I figure we oughta see if we can find where that 'no more' line is... Maybe save us both the trouble."

Graves releases the weight.

Straight onto his bare foot.


The phone jerks violently.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

Graves hops backward on one foot.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

And crashes shoulder first into a rack of resistance bands and other various light equipment.

"Alright. So we're establishin' a baseline... and that fuckin' hurts like a bitch!"

Comments begin rushing up the screen.

"No! A broken foot does not mean training is over!"

Graves stares at another comment.

"Well, I ain't got a choice! Think Judd's gonna stop and ask if my little piggies are okay? Dummy!"

He uses the rack to pull himself back to his feet.

"Besides..."

Graves puts weight on the foot as his face tightens.

"...still works."

He takes a step with a noticeable limp.

"Pain ain't gotta be no stop sign."

Another step.

"It's just information."

Another.

"Just means my foot's fucked."

Graves takes another step and points toward the floor.

"Cool. Still my call if I sit the fuck down or shove my thumb through your eye!"

Graves passes a rack of boxing equipment.

Gloves. Wraps. A punching dummy.

He stops and looks at the dummy.

"Judd Hollow? Fuckin' uncanny resemblance. You got the stare down. Little less hair. Better conversationalist."

Graves taps the dummy's head.

"Think less. Hit harder.

And make the dummy dumber than me."

That sentence catches up with him.

"...That's a pretty fuckin' low bar too.

Advantage Gravy!"

Graves rounds the corner.

Then stops dead.

His eyes brighten.

The camera slowly turns.


Graves forgets about his foot.

"Oh shit."

He starts limping faster.

"Training break!"

Graves disappears into the action figure aisle.

The camera swings wildly across superheroes, wrestlers, race cars, and a bunch of plastic bullshit.

"C'mon... c'mon..."

His hand starts flipping through XWF figures hanging from the pegs.

"Fetu..."

Another figure.

"Scoops..."

Then he reaches for a Judd Hollow figure and pulls it down.

"Jesus Christ, they even made the toy fuckin' huge."

He turns the package over and reads the back.

"The Sin Collector... Uh... aren't we all?

The Omega? Omega II, maybe! Wait... can there be two Omega's?..

Chosen? Not by your family.

Prophecy? Says the loony goon."

Graves flips the box over.

"Holy shit, there's more on the bottom..."

He looks into the camera.

"This guy has so many nicknames, and such a deep backstory that I'm probably gonna need CliffsNotes and floaties just to get my ass kicked by 'em."

Graves starts digging through the figures again.

"Wait a minute..."

He pushes Centurion aside.

"There he is!"

Graves pulls down a Malachi Graves figure.

Now with Judd in one hand and Malachi in the other.

"You ever wonder how many meth-brained hillbullies it takes to make one Gravy?

Two!"

Judd goes up.

"Monster."

Malachi goes up.

"Brains.

Me? I come complete right outta the box!"

Graves takes one step backward and steps on a loose skateboard.

The board shoots out from under him.


Judd and Malachi go flying and the back of Graves head hits the floor hard enough to knock him out for a whole second or two.

"...The fuck was that?"

Graves looks down at the skateboard and spits at it.

"Fuck you children's toy!"

He stomps it and it snaps in the center.

"Put me down and I put you down!"

The gears begin to turn and Gravy looks over at the figures scattered across the floor.

"Actually..."

He pushes himself up and rubs the new lump on his head.

"Maybe I got that wrong."

Graves retrieves the figures and looks at the preacher.

"Brains? It's debatable, but sure..."

Then Judd.

"But you? You might be strong, but I think you're also something a whole lot sadder...

Your mama said she saw the Devil in ya.

Daddy told ya that God had forgotten you."

Graves raises Malachi beside him.

"Then this motherfucker came along, and according to you, was the first man to finally tell ya the truth. Funny how that works. Almost seems like this truth teller was tellin' someone exactly what they wanted to hear..."

Graves looks at the Malachi figure.

"Ain't that right, Reverend?"

He turns Malachi toward Judd.

"There wasn't nothin' wrong with little Judd Hollow. He was tested and chosen. God has a plan."

Graves says mockingly with a nod.

"Every night in that cage. All the beatings. Your stomach growling as daddy knocked ya around."

Graves brings the figures closer together.

"...all part of the plan. A necessary path towards fulfillin' the prophecy."

He looks into the camera.

"That's a hell of a story.

And anyone with eyes can see why you bought it.

If he's right... then none of it happened for nothin'. You weren't just some scared little boy born to two pieces of shit who didn't know how to love him.

You were special. 

That sufferin' meant something. 

You became somethin."

Graves slowly shakes his head.

"I don't know, kid... That might just be the first bedtime story anybody ever told ya where Judd Hollow mattered. I'd tell ya to cult it out, but hell Judd, I think you need this shit to be true more than even the Preacher."

Graves holds the Judd figure closer to the camera.

"You need God to have picked you.

Because what's Judd Hollow if not God's chosen Omega judge?

Hell, you already shoved Malachi's book aside once.

Said you weren't doin' The Lord's work. You were doin' your own.

Then you turned right around and started preachin' your daddy's lesson.

Funny.

Your own voice?

Motherfucker, I'm not sure you got one!

Eleven-year-old Judd cried, begged and said he couldn't do it, but somewhere after Reverend Fuckface taught you how special you were...

Suddenly that miserable son of a bitch daddy of yours wasn't so wrong.

Daddy also said God forgot about your ass… called ya nothin', but here you are throwin’ out the parts that make you worthless and keepin’ the parts that make you a monster.

Justification is for pussies.

Violence? Just do it!

Yeah, you look scary at first..."

Graves begins ripping open the Judd Hollow figure and pulls it free.

"But once we strip away the packaging, the preacher, and all those pretty little names."

Graves holds the bare action figure between two fingers.

"Look how fuckin' small you get!

Just a grown ass man tryin' to prove the first nutjob who ever believed in him isn't completely full of shit. But deep down, I think you know that he is, and that's why you get so goddamn angry when somebody won't break when you want 'em to.

They ain't just survivin' ya. Every time one of 'em gets back up, they're takin' a piss all over that fuckin' prophecy. And that shit gets under your skin, don't it?

Good!

I'm a master at getting under peoples skin!

But I ain't stupid enough to mistake pissed off for beatable. It just raises the chances of you fuckin' up, like when you almost went apeshit on that ref.

So I figure we do this shit like Rocky. Hit me, Judd. Hit me again! Hit me 'til I bleed. Hit me 'til I break. Keep hittin' me...

...because every fuckin' time I get back up, I'm hoping it pisses you off a little more.

Maybe you lose that temper and fuck up.

Maybe you don't.

I ain't bettin' the fuckin' match on it.

But even if you keep it together, you're just gonna have to do it again.

And again.

And while you're lookin' for my fuckin' line...

I'll be finding yours."

He scoffs.

"Malachi likes to talk about tests?

Well, maybe God ain't done testin' your ass yet.

Or God don't really give a damn.

Or better yet, God's just some asshole charging fifty bucks a prophecy on Fiverr."

He raises the Judd figure to eye level.

"Fuck all that! I don't care if Malachi's book came from God, the Devil, or the clearance bin at fuckin' Barnes & Noble.

I only care about getting that fuckin’ belt back, and making it hurt for any motherfucker stupid enough to stand between me and it.

You wanna know what that looks like?

Ask Sebastian Everett-Bryce.

That motherfucker got it right. I cared more than I let on.

Then he beat me, and walked away sayin' our match took years off his career.

Also knew damn well he wasn't gonna survive a second encounter.

That's why Sammy fucked up cashin' in that case.

Then you fucked up advancin' on Scoops.

Because now both of you are standing where SEB was smart enough not to stand twice.

Between me... and something I want back."

Graves drops the figure onto the floor and limps away.

"Fuckin' toys. Always distractin' me from serious athletic preparation."


That came from the front of the store.

The livestream comments immediately begin moving so fast they're useless.

"I think somebody broke in."

Graves looks toward the front doors.

Then around at the very dark very closed Target he himself hid in roughly six hours ago.

"Motherfuckers."

The hypocrisy does not appear to trouble him.

A distant voice calls out: "Get the PlayStations!"

Another answers: "Which ones?"

A pause.

"The fuck you mean which ones!?"

Graves' head slowly turns toward Electronics.

"These guys are fuckin' stupid."

Naturally, he limps directly toward them.

Three men are in Electronics.

"PULL!"

"I AM PULLIN'!"

"HARDER!"

They both pull and the television comes loose much faster than either anticipated, immediately dropping onto the third man's shoulder.


"GODDAMMIT!"

Graves snorts.

Loudly.

All three men stop and look towards Graves.

His eyes widen.

"..."

"Who you supposed to be!?"

"Target security."

A flashlight lands directly on him.

Cape. Mask. Spandex. Bloody foot.

There's a long silence.



"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE?!"

"I'm undercover."

The pistol comes up.

"Oh... fu—"


Graves ducks behind the aisle as a bullet punches through a display of decorative wicker baskets.

"YOU ALMOST FUCKIN' SHOT ME!"

"THAT WAS THE IDEA, ASSHOLE!"

"WELL FUCK YOU TOO!"

Another shot sends Graves hobbling deeper into Housewares at a speed best described as impressive considering one of his feet is likely broken.

"Okay!"

He ducks behind an endcap full of pillows and turns the camera on himself.

"Unexpected training development."

Comments pour in.

"No, Steve, I am NOT leaving! Do I look like a fuckin' pussy to you!?"

He looks toward the armed men.

Then down at his foot.

Then back at the camera.

"It ain't supposed to be fun? Oh, I think it's gonna be!"

A comment appears and Graves reads it.

"Piper woulda called the cops? Unfollow me now, poser!"

Footsteps approach.

He sets the phone between two pillows, angled toward the aisle.

"Alright, Judd."

Graves rolls his shoulder and winces.

"We ain't at the boneyard, but class is back in session."

The first burglar rounds the corner.

Graves charges him and knocks the gun out of his hand.

Both men slam through the aisle wall and roll into the next.

Graves ends up on top.


One fist.


Then another.

"Y'know what just occurred to me, Judd?"

The burglar reaches blindly for the pistol. Graves grabs his wrist and slams it against the floor until the gun pops loose.

"You're really fuckin' dramatic about this shit."

Graves looks around, spots a display toaster on the fallen shelf and picks it up.

"Everything's gotta be a fuckin' ceremony."


"Judgment!"


"Condemnation!"


"The fuckin' Black Creek Dipshit Baptism!"

The toaster now has a Judd Hollow-sized warranty issue.

Graves looks at it.

"This is a toaster."

He hits the man with it again.

"Nothin' fancy to it."

Graves throws it aside and grabs the burglar by the front of his hoodie.

"You need all that extra bullshit to function.

I just like hurtin' people for the love of the game."

He looks around the ruined aisle.

"Clean up in Housewares!"

The burglar uses the distraction to punch him.

His head snaps to the side, then slowly comes back.

Blood appears along his gums as he smiles.

"See? Fun!"

He headbutts him to sleep. 

"Hey! Get off him!"


The round rips into Graves shoulder and drops him to the floor.

"AAAAAHHH, MOTHERFUCKER!"

He crawls behind the endcap and grabs his upper arm. Blood gushes between his fingers almost immediately.

"You wanna see me leak!?

GOOD! I was startin' to worry this training shit was gettin' too easy!"

Graves looks around for something he can use and settles on the six-foot shelving unit beside him.

There is a very visible sticker warning customers not to climb it.

But Micheal Graves has never allowed a sticker to tell him how to live.

He slips onto the top shelf as the robber rounds the corner.

"Where the fuck did you go!?"

The robber stands in front of a large display of decorative mirrors.

This information should probably change Gravy's plan.

It does not.

"WHAT THE—"

"GRAVY TRAIN!"

Graves launches himself from the shelving.


And catches the robber square with a crossbody and both men crash backward into the mirrors display.


Glass explodes everywhere.

For several seconds, nothing.

Then one bloody hand rises in a balled fist.

"Fuckin' nailed it!"

Graves rolls off the unconscious robber and tries to stand.

"AAAAHHHHH! JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST!"

Glass tears through the soles of his feet and he drops straight back onto his ass.

"Okay!

Little bit of an oversight!"

Graves forces himself back up.

"Remember that 'no more' line I was lookin' for?"

He takes a horrible step through the glass.

His face twists in pain.

He takes another anyway, leaving bloody imprints behind.

And smiles.

"Still lookin'!"

The smile holds for a few seconds before Graves remembers something.

One robber down in Housewares.

One robber down behind him.

Graves counts on his fingers.

"Aw, fuck."

There is still one burglar somewhere inside Target.


Found him.

Graves crashes to the floor. His phone slides away, giving the livestream an excellent view of absolutely nothing useful.

"GOT YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Graves rolls onto his side and grabs his stomach. Blood immediately leaks between his fingers.

"Ohhhh... shit."

He reaches behind himself and finds more blood.

"Clean through. That's good."

"STAY DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

Somehow, the man who couldn't identify a PlayStation has become the final boss...

Graves drags himself behind the Sporting Goods endcap.

"I KNOW YOU'RE BACK THERE!"

"Congratulations! You're so smart!"

Graves presses a hand against the hole in his stomach and looks around.

Baseball bats.

Graves smiles.

"Oh."

He pulls an aluminum bat from the rack and nearly blacks out doing it.

"Sporting Goods.

Knew this shit'd come back around..."

Footsteps creep closer.

"Come out!"

The gun appears around the corner.

"Eat shit."


Graves swings the bat across the robber's hand.

"AAAAAH!"

The pistol slides beneath a shelf.

"HA!"

"Stay away from me!"

"You shot me."

"YOU ATTACKED US!"

Graves thinks about that.

"Yeah..."

He tightens his grip on the bat.

"But you fuckin' shot me."

The robber turns to run.


The bat catches him across the back of the skull.

"WHERE YA GOIN'!?"


Graves hits him again.

"WE'RE TRAININ'!"


And again.

"COME ON!"



Red and blue lights flash from outside, reflecting in the blood pooling from the dude's head.

"POLICE! DROP THE WEAPON!"

Graves doesn't hear them, or doesn't care.

"YOU WANNA PUT GRAVY DOWN!?"


He raises the bat again.

"DROP IT!"

"MUCH BETTER MEN HAVE TRIED!"


Two taser prongs hit Graves in the back.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH FUCK!"

His body locks and he falls sideways as the bat clatters away.

They don't stop frying him.

"YOU CAN STOP ZAPPIN' ME!

I GOT THE FUCKIN' INFORMATION!"

The current stops and several officers pile onto him.

"HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!"

"TAKE IT EASY! I GOT BULLET HOLES IN ME!"

The cuffs click shut.

Graves looks toward the three burglars scattered throughout the store, then toward the cops.

"I'm the hero. You're welcome."

"You're under arrest."

"...FOR WHAT!?"

"Criminal Trespass. Assault. Destruction of property."

"Destruction of property!? THEY broke in!"

The officers look around at the broken mirrors, shelves, toaster... blood... and haul Graves toward the cruiser.

"You can tell it to the judge!"

"JUDD!"

Graves twists around toward the phone still livestreaming from the floor.

"I'll be out in twenty-four hours! You'd better bring everything you got to Warfare!

I may be down, but when I get back up..."

Spits blood.

"You're gonna have to put me down again.

And again.

And again.

Until you learn—lookin' for that line comes with Grave Consequences!"

You can't see it, but you can hear it in the initial screams and then confusion from the officers. Graves blew purple mist into their faces and grabbed his phone with his still cuffed hands.

"Never should've shot me, dummy!"

He gives a final stomp to the brain-hemorrhaging robber for good measure before making a break for the doors.

"Wha... Where am I?"

"Good job officers! You stopped the robbery!"

"Who are you!?"

"Security!"

Graves is running and already halfway through the parking lot as the Live suddenly—