If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
Sandro climbed higher, reaching the very top of the cage. The fans rose as one, the noise now a deafening roar of boos, cheers, and sheer shock. Sandro perched there like a vulture, blood streaming down his face, his chest heaving, but that arrogant smirk had returned. He spread his arms wide, soaking in the chaos, then pointed down at Shawn, shouting, "THIS IS THE END!"
Lawler's jaw nearly hit the table. "Oh my God… he's not… he's not gonna do this!"
Cole was ecstatic, pounding the desk with both hands. "Do it, Sandro! Do it! Show the world who you are!"
In the ring, Shawn barely stirred at first, then slowly rose to his feet, swaying like a man walking through a hurricane. His eyes glazed with exhaustion, blood dripping from his brow, but his fists clenched, his heart still beating for one last shot.
The arena was electric, thousands of voices screaming, chanting, begging for something, anything, to stop whatever was going to happen. Some fans cried, "HBK! HBK! HBK!" while others shouted in horror at what Sandro was about to attempt.
And then it happened.
Sandro stood tall on the top of the cage, balanced with terrifying precision, then crouched low, hooking Shawn's head in his mind's eye for the Downfall DDT, the move that now symbolize with him, but never like this. This wasn't just a risk. This was insanity.
"He's gonna kill him, guys!" Lawler screamed, his voice almost breaking. "Somebody stop this!"
"No, no, NO ONE stop this, King!" Cole barked. "This is what makes legends! This is what puts Sandro Zhang above EVERYBODY else in this business!"
Sandro launched himself from the top of the cage, body hurtling through the air like a crimson streaked missile, his arm hooked, aiming to drive Shawn's skull into the mat with the most devastating Downfall DDT ever attempted.
But in that split second, just before fate could seal Shawn Michaels' doom, the Heartbreak Kid found his miracle.
From out of nowhere, Shawn Michaels' boot rocketed upward like lightning striking from heaven.
SWEET. CHIN. MUSIC.
The sound cracked through the arena like a gunshot, Shawn's boot catching Sandro flush under the jaw mid-air. Time seemed to stop as Sandro's body folded like a ragdoll, crashing to the mat in a heap of limbs and broken dreams.
The crowd erupted, a sound so loud it shook the cage, the building, the very earth beneath them. People were on their feet, screaming, hugging strangers, the camera shaking from the sheer force of the reaction.
"HE GOT HIM!" Lawler roared, his voice hoarse. "SWEET CHIN MUSIC IN MID AIR! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
"No! NO! This isn't fair! Not fair at all!" Cole bellowed, pounding the desk in rage. "He had him, King! Sandro had him!"
Striker's tone was awe struck, reverent, like a man who'd just seen the face of God. "Gentlemen… I think we just witnessed the single greatest counter in the history of steel cage matches here in WWE, even the entire wrestling industry!"
In the ring, Shawn collapsed onto Sandro, barely conscious, his bloodied face pressing into Sandro's chest as he hooked the leg with the last ounce of strength in his broken body.
The referee slid in for the count.
ONE!
The crowd thundered, stomping, clapping, screaming.
TWO!!
Cole was losing his mind. "Kick out, Sandro! KICK OUT!"
THREE!!!
The bell rang like salvation, the arena detonating into an explosion of sound so loud it felt alive. Shawn Michaels had done it. Against all odds, against youth, arrogance, and the sheer brutality of the cage, the Heartbreak Kid had survived.
Justin Roberts' voice boomed over the chaos, almost drowned by the roar of the crowd. "Here is your winner… THE HEARTBREAK KID… SHAWWNNNN… MICHAELLLSSSS!"
Shawn rolled to his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving, tears mixing with blood on his face. The cage door opened slowly, the medical team waiting outside crawling in to check on Shawn, lighting his hand and see he could barely lift it.
The fans chanted, "THANK YOU SHAWN! THANK YOU SHAWN!" over and over, the sound echoing like a hymn in a cathedral built on violence and glory.
Striker summed it up in a voice that carried both awe and respect. "That, gentlemen, is what this business is about. Two men, one cage, and a moment that will live forever."
The camera lingered on Shawn Michaels as he crawled toward the ropes, every inch of his body screaming in pain, but his eyes glistening with triumph. Behind him, Sandro lay motionless, staring at the lights, his mouth open, his dream shattered in a single superkick heard around the world.
As Shawn pulled himself upright, using the ropes for leverage, the fans gave him one last standing ovation. He climbed the turnbuckle slowly, painfully, and raised an arm to the heavens as pyro exploded above the arena.
The steel cage had claimed blood, sweat, and pieces of their souls, but in the end, the Heartbreak Kid had written another chapter in his legendary story.
Meanwhile on the canvas, Sandro finally stirred.
For a few long, tense moments, the man who had nearly stolen the night, and maybe even Shawn's career, didn't move. His chest rose and fell slowly, painfully, before his arms shifted under him.
The medical staff hovered like hawks, giving him commands, checking for signs of a concussion. One medic cupped the back of his neck while another shone a small penlight into his eyes. They exchanged relieved nods, he was conscious, though barely.
"Thank God…" Striker exhaled at commentary, his voice raw. "For a second there, I thought we were looking at something far, far worse."
"Worse?!" Cole snapped, unable to hide the venom in his tone. "This is already a travesty, Matt! Sandro Zhang gave EVERYTHING, put his life on the line with the most daring move I've EVER seen in that cage, and he got robbed by one lucky kick! Robbed, I tell you!"
Lawler immediately shot back, slamming his fist on the desk. "Lucky?! That was instinct, Cole! That was Shawn Michaels proving why he's one of the greatest of all time! That wasn't luck, that was heart!"
Inside the ring, Sandro gritted his teeth as two trainers hauled him upright, looping his arms over their shoulders to help him stand. When the fans saw Sandro finally on his feet, a thunderous chorus of boos shook the arena to its foundation. It was venomous, almost primal, thousands of voices raining pure hatred down on him.
"Listen to this crowd!" Lawler yelled over the noise. "They HATE him for everything he's done!"
"And they should hate themselves!" Cole barked. "They should be on their knees bowing to this man for what he just did! Sandro had just risked his life to entertain every one of these ingrates!"
Sandro didn't acknowledge the fans. His head hung low, blood dripping onto the mat, his chest heaving like a man who'd survived a car wreck. His smirk from earlier was gone, replaced with an expression no one could quite read. Pain? Frustration? Or was there something else lurking behind those eyes?
Across the ring, Shawn Michaels gingerly climbed down from the turnbuckle, where he'd been basking in the adoration of the fans for what felt like his final miracle.
Two medics and the referee flanked him, steadying the Heartbreak Kid as he hobbled forward on wobbly legs. His body was a roadmap of agony, blood streaked his face, his gear torn and stained crimson, and his right knee visibly buckled with every step.
The crowd sensed something was coming. The noise shifted, not boos, not cheers, but a low, electric hum of anticipation. Shawn Michaels, the legend, the man who had just pulled off one of the most jaw dropping counters in wrestling history, was walking toward the man he'd just defeated.
And then… they were face to face.
Two warriors, battered and broken, staring at each other through a haze of blood and exhaustion. The cameras zoomed in, catching every flicker of emotion on their faces. Shawn's eyes burned with intensity, but not hatred. Sandro's eyes were cold, calculating, yet there was something almost… human beneath the steel.
The crowd held its breath. Everyone, including Cole, Lawler, and Striker, expected the tension to explode into one final exchange of fists.
Instead, Shawn Michaels extended his hand.
The fans erupted like a volcano, the sound shaking the rafters. It was a gesture that transcended violence, transcended ego. A gesture of respect. Of sportsmanship. Of acknowledgment that, for all the venom and vitriol, Sandro Zhang had been every bit the warrior Shawn thought he was.
"Oh wow!" Lawler's voice cracked with excitement. "Look at that, Cole! That's respect! That's what this business is all about!"
Striker nodded, leaning forward. "That right there… that's a Hall of Famer move. That's Shawn Michaels saying, 'Kid, you took me to hell and I respect you for it.'"
Cole wasn't having any of it. "Respect?! Don't you dare fall for this, Sandro! This is a trap! This is a setup! Shawn's trying to humiliate him even more!"
In the ring, Sandro just stared at Shawn's outstretched hand. The cameras lingered on his face, his expression unreadable, his lips curling slightly as if wrestling with a decision. The crowd chanted louder. "SHAKE HIS HAND! SHAKE HIS HAND!"
Seconds felt like minutes.
Then, suddenly, Sandro slapped Shawn's hand away.
The boos were deafening. Pure hatred poured down from the stands as Sandro sneered, his blood streaked face twisted in defiance. Cole leapt from his chair in celebration. "YES! YES! That's how you do it, Sandro! Never bow to these hypocrites! Never bow to him!"
Lawler was livid. "What a punk! After everything, after that WAR they just went through, he pulls this garbage?!"
But before the commentary team could say another word, something happened that changed everything.
Sandro stepped closer to Shawn. The medics tensed. The referee raised an arm to intervene. The fans leaned forward, expecting a cheap shot.
Instead, Sandro leaned in and whispered something in Shawn's ear.
The hard camera caught the moment but not the words, just two barely audible fragments picked up through the commentary feed, "chamber" … and "gap."
Striker's eyes went wide. "Did he just say… chamber? What the hell does that mean?"
"I heard that too," Lawler added, confused. "Chamber? Gap? What's he talking about?!"
Cole smirked like the devil himself. "Oh, I know exactly what that means… and I LOVE it."
Back in the ring, the crowd watched Shawn's face change in real time. At first, confusion. Then conflict. And finally… determination. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened with purpose. Whatever Sandro had said had struck a chord deep inside the Heartbreak Kid.
And then, just like that, Sandro stepped back, that evil smirk crawling back onto his face like a shadow reclaiming its home. He let the medics guide him toward the ropes, limping toward the open cage door.
The boos rained down, but Sandro drank them in, feeding off their venom as he disappeared up the ramp, leaving Shawn alone in the ring, staring at the mat with that newly forged resolve etched across his face.
"What… what did he say to him?" Striker asked, his voice a mix of awe and concern.
"I don't know," Lawler replied, "but whatever it was, it's got Shawn Michaels thinking about something BIG."
The cameras stayed on Shawn for a few more beats before cutting away as the ringside crew dismantled the steel cage piece by piece. The night wasn't over, the show had to go on.
The ring was cleared, the medics gone, and the chaos of the cage match gave way to a different kind of tension. Tony Chimmel stood in the center, microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall… and it is for the WWE United States Championship!"
The crowd buzzed as The Miz's theme hit. The United States Champion strutted onto the stage with his trademark arrogance, the gold gleaming around his waist. Behind him loomed the monstrous shadow of Big Show, his enforcer, his insurance policy. The boos poured in, but Miz soaked them up like a king basking in his kingdom's rage.
Cole was practically drooling. "YES! Here comes a REAL champion! The most must see United States Champion in WWE history, The Miz! And with Big Show in his corner, this is as good as done!"
Lawler groaned audibly. "Oh, give me a break, Cole. Miz can't win on his own, and we ALL know it."
Striker, meanwhile act like an analyst, chimed in. "That may be true, King, but Miz is nothing if not resourceful. He uses every advantage he has and in this case, Big Show who was with him IS the ultimate advantage."
_______________________________
Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA X Division Champion