The bowels of the catacombs have an eerie calm to them. A sinister scent pungent in the air mixing with the stagnant water below. The walls should have been swamped with black mold but someone, or something, maintains them regularly. The bland gray seemed to suck up what little light his torch managed to provide. The warmth of the open flame helped to ignite his frozen flesh.

Speaking of grey, Frank's skin was feeling especially pale tonight. There was this uncomfortable feeling rolling down his waist from his broad shoulders. In one massive hand, he carefully pinched the torch (which looked like a children's toy in his massive grasp) between his thumb and forefinger. The other palm wrapped around the thick handle of his gargantuan improv sledgehammer. The head of which was a tombstone that he'd rammed a pole through years ago.

He'd decided to avoid the surface on this dreary Saturday night as he traveled back to his home at Mortis' Mortuary. He could sense the feet of children above rushing back and forth despite the streetlights flickering to life when he first disappeared below. He didn't let it bother him though. At least, that wasn't what was bothering him currently. He had this sinking feeling that he would have been better served dealing with the grubby hands of those brats than whatever was waiting for him in the catacombs tonight.

He could feel the ground shaking below just as he made it to one of the many doorways found within the unmarked maze. He opened it just in time to be greeted with a one-man train car blowing past him. The breeze felt frigid against his face. The pale green lights along the walls flashed dangerously as he passed by then restored themselves once Chuck petered off on his weekend joyride.

Frank's feet somehow felt colder on the paved sidewalk. He could feel the little inconsistencies between his toes as he walked in the opposite direction of Chuck's drive-by. He decided to help pass the rest of the trip by listening to some of his music. His moonlit career as a DJ gave him the chance to not only interact with people but also create some killer beats for his enjoyment, so why not liven up the subway's bland interior with some clubbing beats?

The massive headphones enhanced the sound like no store-bought earpiece could dream of. Thanks to the engineering of fellow brawling geniuses, he was able to not only listen to the music but feel it as well. Whatever inky tune he felt before was now corrected by electronica mixing with some classic hip-hop and R&B. He threw his torch to the side since the cement and stone wouldn't allow a fire to pester for much longer. It would extinguish itself with time.

Besides he had jamming to do.

His formerly somber stride was now a bit more upbeat. He was bouncing along with his hands patting against his thigh and massive red necktie flapping back and forth. He couldn't control his need to jump around a bit as he listened to his soundtrack. How was it that every song was a banger? It's almost like he'd made it that way.

His colorful gait through the tunnel was interrupted by a low rumble. He could feel the vibrations from below before he heard the sound. The soft chug of a steam engine rushed in his direction. He looked ahead expecting another train car to pass by. Then suddenly from behind something entered his view. Chuck's pale face screamed horror like no other as he retreated the way he'd come. In full reverse, he blitzed past Frank on the small personal train track they'd installed just for him.

As the air threatened to strip him of his sleeveless suit Frank removed one of his headphones and watched Chuck's retreat. What had spooked him like that? The undead giant checked over his blocky shoulders to see what had caused such a reaction. The only thing he saw through the flickering lights was his torch persisting in the darkness. When the lights settled once again there was still nothing in the tunnel besides him and his tunes.

Frank gave a dismissive shrug. Maybe he'd forgotten something important. The dapper zombie decided to return to his casual stroll. Whatever was down there wasn't his problem. He'd nearly made it to his stop anyway.

He returned his attention to his music and bopped along to the low EDM. There was a massive drop coming. He knew because he'd composed the song himself. It was going to shift from the sound of a snare drum rapidly snapping to a reverberating bellow of bass that threatened to boil your eardrums. It was going to light his mind ablaze.

Then something went wrong. The music suddenly cut out. His noise-cancelling headset went silent. There was static, eventual, and far in-between but it kept scratching the inside of his skull. He placed down his hammer and removed the headset, inspecting them carefully by moving the speakers from one hand to the other. It kept buzzing like that annoying gnat that would fade in and out of your auditory range until finally, something smacked it away. The smack came from Frank carefully bopping his palm against the back of the headset. It replaced the buzz with something different. Maybe something worse... a child's voice.

Solomon Grundy~
Born on a Monday~

Frank immediately froze. This wasn't in his playlist. At least not this one. Maybe in his Halloween tracks, but his EDM list? How did this start playing?

Christened on Tuesday~
Married on Wednesday~

That little girl's voice. She sang so softly. He had to lean in to hear her, yet he felt he couldn't escape her call no matter how far away he got.

Ill on Thursday~

No, he's certain. He's never heard this song. It's nothing he'd ever listen to. It's nothing he'd ever want to listen to. Not even on the spookiest night of the year. Then the girl's voice continued.

Worse on Friday~

The lights. They were flickering again. Dancing along to the beat of this sinister nursery rhyme. There wasn't a rumble this time. No train was arriving. It was something worse.

Died on a Saturday~

He could feel it. The beat of another heart.

Buried on-

Frank didn't wait any longer. He chucked the headset into the darkness ahead. The throw sent them flying over tracks and smashed them against the wall around the bend. He could hear the girl's voice disappear as the headset shut off suddenly. The sound of the expensive hardware cracking against the pavement was naturally unfortunate but quickly shifted to relief.

Frank looked around and saw that everything was back to normal. The lime-green lights overheard were still and the gentle buzz of LEDs snapped him back to reality. Whatever that was it was finally gone. He checked over his shoulder and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Yet for some reason, he was cautious to step forward. He was a massive freakshow in comparison to most yet something about approaching his headphones made him nauseous.

No point in delaying the inevitable. He moved to pick up his hammer and continued onward.

*Pop* "Died on... Saturday." *Pop* *Pop*

Frank's body froze. A light ahead of him had exploded without warning. No flicker, no fuzz. Just a sudden burst. Then behind him, a gruff voice grumbled out the girl's tune. It was hefty. Rough like a rockslide. Then more lights exploded with its arrival.

*Pop* *thud* *Pop* "Buried on... Sunday." *Thud* *Pop* *Pop* *Thud*

Something was approaching. He thought something because whatever he felt occupying this space with him, it wasn't human.

*Pop* *Thud* *Thud* *Pop* *Pop* *Thud*

The explosions chained until the only lights that remained were the ones ahead of him (where he'd thrown his haunted headphones) and the torch he never remembered to snuff out.

*THUD* *THUD* "That was the end..."

A body appeared beside the torchlight. No, a foot. It was massive. Even by Frank's standards. The skin was so gray it looked blue. Viens ran up the leg and disappeared into tattered black pants that hung onto a shoddy rope tied around a muscular abdomen. If Frank's shirt was a roughly torn-sleeveless suit then this thing's shirt was barely holding onto his vascular triceps. Frank was a large zombie with a broad build and power to match. This monster was a swollen giant built and born to eat the weak.

Then its grinding teeth came into view. Under the rapidly dying flame, he saw glowing white eyes and rotting black teeth. Wispy strands of dying hair follicles clenched onto the remaining roots atop the scalp. Then the mouth opened to finish its song.

"Of Solomon Grundy."

Frank's stomach dropped to his knees. An innate instinct started to fill his fingers and toes. Coursing down from his brain then jolting right back up as the fire ahead died out. The silence that had filled the tunnel was replaced by a haunting cacophony of footfalls.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

Frank didn't wait for him to come into view again. He picked up his hammer and turned away. He ran as fast as he could just barely keeping ahead of the monster behind him.

Solomon Grundy.

SOLOMON GRUNDY!

Who the heck is Solomon Grundy?!

He looked like a zombie, but he wasn't like Frank. Frank had a friendly air to him. A gentle giant. Like the mascot for a Halloween party for kids. He dressed decently, bathed, and even 'talked' to people on occasion. This guy. He was more like a serial killer on steroids, dipped in a protein pond, and showered with rage incarnate.

*RAGH*

That roar shook the walls around them. He wondered if anyone else could hear them from above. How couldn't someone would hear them? He couldn't hear himself anymore. Only the sound of Solomon Grundy closing the distance. Frank looked behind him and saw foam roaring from the monster's maw. His eyes were vibrating as he reached out to grab hold of Frank's flowing coattail.

Something in his chest jumpstarted his heart giving him a necessary speed boost. The fear of dying never really crossed his mind (he'd done it once before) but something about Grundy's veiny hands seemed worse than death.

He could hear Grundy roar as he managed to escape his effective range. Frank's heart threatened to burst through his ribs but at least he'd managed to get away.

*BOOM*

The floor beneath him gave way. A massive shockwave shattered the floors. Frank tripped on the jagged rocks causing him to stab himself on a sharper edge. He rolled away to solid ground and nursed the rapidly bleeding wound.

*THUMP* *THUMP* *THUMP* THUMP*

Frank couldn't stop now. He followed where he came from and quickly rolled away before Grundy's massive fist could crush his skull. His hammer fell to the side during his stumble, so he had to use his hands to defend himself.

Grundy's movements were wide and sloppy. Matching his mindless rage. Frank luckily had a bit more tact, backing away from the Hail Mary blows and managing to land a solid shot to the sternum. An attack that showed Frank a terrifying fact.

Grundy's muscles weren't just for show. He didn't even react to the crossshot. The zombie just clubbed Frank's torso with a spinning backhand that sent him flying to the walkway's edge. With his stomach to the ceiling, he noticed just in time that Grundy was flying in for another head slam.

He dodged away just in time letting Grundy crash into the railroad once more. The sound of steel splintering was followed by a shower of pebbles. Frank managed to get ahold of his hammer once more. Just in time to watch Grundy climb up from the track below, completely unbothered by the debris falling atop him.

His hammer sat high above his head. He'll end this in one swing. The force of the mallet falling from the stratosphere reminded him of a meteorite breaking earth's atmosphere. The only thing worse than the feeling of recoil from his strength was the lack of contact he got with the ground. Grundy's forearm easily blocked the sledgehammer like a toddler catching a bubble.

Frank couldn't react. He was frozen with fear. Grundy wasn't more than a couple of inches taller than him. Right now, it felt like he was miles above. The feeling of Grundy's callous palm squeezing his wrist made him lose his grip. The clamor of his hammer against the floor was followed by a massive left straight clean through his chest.

Frank managed to reduce the knockback by leaning away from the blow. What before sent him flying away only put him on his knees. His hand naturally fell on his hammer's handle just as Grundy placed his hands around his skull.

He moved on instinct. Gripping the handle with one hand while smacking away Grundy's grip with the other. His tie flowed behind him as he twirled on point. The rising swing caught Grundy off guard, slamming against his chin which somehow managed to resist the force for a second. Then suddenly his head snapped back followed by a sickening crack as a bone could be seen threatening to jut out from his throat.

Frank watched as Grundy slowly fell like an oak tree. If he wasn't currently panting like a dog, he'd have grumbled out a mocking 'Timber!' Grundy landed amid the cracked cobblestone and jagged concrete with a massive thud. A bit of rubble came up with him causing part of his torso to be buried beneath.

Frank fell onto his butt as the adrenaline passed. He didn't even know his body could produce that hormone. He looked at Grundy's head and felt a new feeling well up. Disgust. He'd never hit anyone like that before. When Brawlers perished in competition to him it was always in a puff of smoke. This was dirty. Gorey. He never wanted to experience something like that again.

At least it was over.

Frank used his hammer as a cane. Once he found his footing he started limping away. The pain in his chest made breathing tough. His footfalls were shuffling slides instead of confident clops like they were before. He'd only really been hit twice but he felt like he'd been through a Gem Grab match as the carrier.

S-so-... *skrt* Thur-s-sday...

No... Frank slowly looked behind him as the voice returned. There's no way. There's just no way, he thought to himself.

Wor-se on Fri- *skrt*

That child's voice. The headphones. They rested on a lone rock just by Grundy's head. How had they survived the scuffle?

...on... di- *skrt* Friday...

He wasn't moving. His neck was still broken. Yet there was this aura, this eerie feeling.

Died on... Saturday~

Frank's reflexes spurred him on. He raised the hammer high above his head and shouted out a desperate battle cry. He slammed it down with the force of nations creating a massive shockwave before him. The force spread outward into a massive cone that assaulted the already damaged walls around them. The rubble gave way to an unstable tunnel just below the subway's floor.

Frank felt an odd sense of relief. Grundy's body fell into the chasm without ever showing a sign of reanimation. The headphones disappeared into the darkness as well. Then immediately after the ceiling gave way. A mountain of stone, dirt, and mortar built up in Frank's wake.

Was he aware? Did his internal clock clue him in? Or was it just cinematic luck? For some reason or another, Frank placed the hammer on his shoulder with a climactic huff just as the clocks rolled past midnight. Then he nodded his head as if to say...

Buried on Sunday.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The sound of heavy machinery flooded the tunnel. An excavator had been set up with small trucks helping to move the rubble down the path. Workers gathered around barking out orders and helping to break up the larger debris with power tools and wheeling away smaller rubble on the outer edges.

One lady stood over the chasm with an inquisitive glare. Her blue pigtails were staining grey from the dust and soot they were kicking up. "Yo, Mike!" Her Boston accent was twice as loud despite the equipment screaming around her.

An older gentleman with a jagged grey beard approached from one of the trucks with a notepad and a dirty red hard hat. She pointed down the hole at her companion, "Look what Carl found!"

A robot below tossed up a small circular object. The woman named Jacky snatched it with ease and showed off the electronic device. Mike looked it over a few times before deciding, "Looks like headphones." The two shared an understanding nod before moving out to inform the rest. Mike could be heard barking, "Go slow. We might have a buried survivor."

Jacky moved over to some men who were resting beside a radio listening to a live broadcast of a local Brawl Ball match. "On ya feet, ya bums. We need more hands." They grumbled out their frustrations but obliged by wandering out into the mess of moving bodies and machines.

Jacky went to grab some water from a cooler just by their break area. She checked her electronic watch and nodded along with the time. It was roughly eight o'clock in the evening. They'd gotten the report of the wreckage yesterday when the Sunday maintenance team stubbled upon the mess. They didn't expect it to take a whole day just to get started on clean-up. Who knows how long it'll take to repair the network? Lots of delays and cancellations sprouted from this freak accident. Now with the potential of a person beneath this mess, they would get slowed down even more.

She leaned against the wall and took a long sip. The commentators over the radio were starting to increase the intensity. She heard them shouting, "...and the young upstart, Nita, gets her hands on the ball!" They shouted and cheered as she managed to pass it out to her teammate, an older gentleman by the name of Byron.

"My Lord! He has the shot! He-! *skrt* *fizz*"

Jacky leaned in a bit closer now. She banged her hand on the box until the fuzzing stopped. It never returned to the commentary. She must have hit a button since the station changed. A new voice came up. It was soft. Sweet. Eerie.

"~Born... on... Monday~"