Graves glares at a ticket in his hand: GOOD FOR ONE PINFALL ATTEMPT. NO SOONER THAN 4:00PM EST — 01/31/2026.

Graves looks up slowly.

Guarding the entrance to the Xtreme Hallway: Vinnie Lane, dressed in a red Ticketmaster polo and a fake customer service smile that screams, how can I [s]end[\s] help you?

Graves squints.

“This is absolutely .“

Lane wags a finger.

“Language, Watch the words, Mike. We’re a family environment now. Don’t make me suspend you over vocabulary.“

Graves eye twitches as he checks the wall clock.


Graves slowly turns his head and just stares at Lane.


The clock flips.


Graves silently extends the ticket with disdain.

Lane takes it with exaggerated care. Holds it up to the light. Turns it sideways. Squints. Sniffs it. Runs a finger across teh perforation. Even gives it a lick.

Graves doesn’t blink.

“Well?“

Lane nods with deep bureaucratic satisfaction.

“Everything appears to be in order.“

Graves walks in as the door locks behind him.

Inside the XTREME Hallway, Jenny Myst is sitting on a folding chair, completely unaware, focused on painting her toenails with absurd concentration since life is so easy now.

Graves stops.

Tilts his head.

“…seriously?“

He raises a hand slowly.

And casts a spell out of a Voodoo for dummies book. 

Jenny freezes mid-brush.

Her posture slumps.

Her eyes go glassy.

She powers down like someone unplugged her from the wall.

Graves steps forward and casually nudges her with his boot.

She tips over.

Graves drops to his knees and hooks the leg.

A camel in a referee shit slaps the floor.

ONE!

TWO!!

You hear the honks before you see him.

Schadenfruede Clown enters from the other door in the room, opposite where Graves came from. A plain door with "VIP" labelled on it.

The clown stirs his straw around the extravagant tiki glass and sits down on the folding chair.

"Oh, hallo, Micheal." He takes a long, dramatic sip. "Ver you not aware of the express pass holders not having to wait in line? Oh, how awful that you had to wait in line for sooooooo long."

He chuckles before crossing his legs and taking another sip.

"Zay, Mikey, you have another oppurtunity to do something really funny and cool right now, but is it really worth your time? Vat matters more, a great joke with solid timing or having to wait in line again for another shot at zis un-Xtreme Championship? Such a pickle you are in, hmmmmmmmmmmmmm?"

Schadenfreude Clown sits there, patiently, sipping on his drink.

Don’t you guys read the rules? I mean, Jesus Christ it’s plain fucking English.

Kick out.