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The entire building detonated. Fans jumped from their seats. People screamed. Drinks spilled everywhere. Lawler laughed hysterically, "RKO! RKO FROM ORTON! SANDRO IS OUT! SANDRO IS TOTALLY OUT!"
And he was.
Completely limp.
Cold.
Done.
Batista didn't even bother pinning him. Cena didn't bother. Orton didn't bother. None of them wanted the cheap win, not yet.
They wanted him gone.
Together, they rolled Sandro under the bottom rope. His body hit the floor with a dull smack and rolled to the ringside mats, lying twisted and motionless.
The referee ran to check him, holding up his hands, calling for space.
Cole exclaimed, "SANDRO'S DONE! HE'S NOT MOVING! I THINK HE'S OUT COLD!"
Lawler yelled, "GOOD! NOW WE'RE GONNA HAVE A REAL MATCH!"
Batista, Cena, and Orton finally turned toward each other.
Instant shift.
Instant tension.
Instant danger.
The alliance dissolved the moment Sandro's body hit the floor. Their eyes sharpened. Their chests rose. Their fists clenched.
Cole said it best. "And JUST LIKE THAT, gentlemen… the fatal four way becomes a triple threat."
The three giants of the industry slowly converged toward the center of the ring. Cena cracked his knuckles again, his face no longer mocking, now focused. Batista widened his stance, bouncing lightly, rolling his shoulders, ready to throw hands with whoever charged first. Orton, ever the apex predator, crouched slightly, arms low, fingers twitching, eyes locked on both men, calculating distances and angles.
Lawler leaned into his microphone. "This, THIS right here, is what a main event looks like! You can feel the electricity!"
Cole replied, breathless, "Three of the biggest names EVER, THIS is now a fight for the United States Championship!"
And without a single word of warning—
Cena charged.
He slammed Batista with a shoulder block, knocking the Animal back a step. Orton swept in instantly, hitting Cena with a sharp forearm to the temple. Cena staggered, Batista recovered and lunged with a heavy lariat toward Orton, Orton ducked, spun, kicked Batista's leg, then cracked him with a knee to the jaw.
The match erupted into chaos.
Cena recovered and grabbed Orton in a waistlock, trying to lift him for a suplex. Orton blocked, elbowed him in the head, and twisted out, only for Batista to spear both of them into the turnbuckle.
Batista backed up, roaring, slamming fists against his chest.
The crowd fired back in pure adrenaline-fueled noise.
Cole shouted, "BATISTA IS ROLLING!"
Batista ran for a huge corner clothesline—
Cena dodged.
Batista hit the turnbuckle chest first and stumbled backward right into Orton—
Orton caught him—
Snap powerslam!
A perfect Randy Orton snap powerslam, swift as lightning.
Batista hit the canvas hard.
Orton hooked the leg.
1—
Cena dove in and broke the pin with a stiff forearm to the back of Orton's head.
Lawler yelled, "It's every man for himself now! I LOVE IT!"
Cena dragged Orton to his feet and fired off his signature shoulder tackles. The crowd, like it or hate it, reacted. Cena ducked a punch, scooped Orton—
Spinning side slam!
The "Five Knuckle Shuffle" hand wave drew a LOUD mixed reaction, half cheers, half heavy boos.
Cena hit it clean.
Batista rose, shaking his head, groggy but ready for violence.
Cena turned—
Batista SPEARED him out of his shoes.
The ring exploded again.
Batista went for the pin.
1—
2—
Orton yanked Batista backward by the ankle and locked him in a crossface from behind, wrenching Batista's neck at a vicious angle.
Cole shouted, "WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?! ORTON WITH THE CROSSFACE!"
Batista clawed at the mat, muscles bulging, teeth gritted.
Cena crawled up onto his knees.
Orton saw him and wrenched harder.
Cena dove and broke the submission, prying Orton's arms apart and tossing him across the canvas.
All three men were breathing heavily now. Sweat poured from their faces. Chests heaved. Madison Square Garden never sat down for even a second.
And outside the ring…
Sandro still lay motionless.
Face down.
He was seen to be barely breathing.
The ringside doctor knelt near him, checking his pulse, checking his eyes. The fans near the barricade screamed for him to stay down, stay gone, stay unconscious.
Meanwhile the match inside the ring raged on.
Cena and Batista locked up next, two titans pushing with all their strength. Batista overpowered him first, shoving Cena into the ropes, but Cena reversed and pulled Batista in for the Protobomb, Batista elbowed out. Cena backed up. Batista charged.
Cena ducked and Batista flew out of the ring under the ropes.
The heavy thud of Batista's body hitting the floor echoed through the building.
Orton, smelling opportunity, slithered behind Cena.
He waited.
Coiled.
Eyes locked.
Tongue flicking against his lips.
Cole whispered like he was afraid to breathe, "Oh no… Cena's in trouble…"
Cena turned—
Orton struck—
But Cena shoved him off at the last possible instant.
Orton hit the ropes, bounced, tried again—
Cena caught him.
STF!
Cena wrapped the legs, locked the chin, and sat deep.
The Garden ERUPTED in mixed noise, half screaming for Orton to tap, half screaming for Cena to fail.
Orton clawed the mat.
Rage twisting in his eyes.
He reached…
…reached…
…but Batista grabbed Cena's head from behind and ripped him off the Viper.
Batista, panting, eyes wild, hoisted Cena up, SPINEBUSTER!
The ring shook again.
Orton rolled aside, grabbing his neck, breathing hard.
Batista pointed at Cena.
Then pointed at Orton.
Then pointed at the title belt by the timekeeper's area.
He wanted it.
He wanted ALL of it.
He roared—
And Cena rose behind him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But rising.
Batista turned—
Cena hurled a desperate right hand—
Batista blocked, fired one back—
Cena blocked.
The fans CHEERED, because now it was just two massive forces colliding in a center ring slugfest.
Cena hit Batista.
Batista hit Cena.
Cena hit Batista.
Batista hit Cena.
Over and over.
Raw, primal, almost caveman like violence.
The crowd ate it up.
And then Orton slid underneath the bottom rope behind them, eyes narrowing, waiting for the perfect opening, like a snake waiting for its prey to exhaust itself.
Cole caught on. "Look at Orton! LOOK AT ORTON WAITING TO STRIKE!"
Cena rocked Batista with a right hand.
Batista staggered.
Orton moved.
Cena moved too fast.
He hoisted Batista—
Attitude Adjustment attempt!
Orton saw his moment.
He LEAPED.
Flying RKO—
BUT CENA DROPPED BATISTA—
Batista collapsed to the mat—
AND ORTON RKO'D CENA INSTEAD!
The entire arena went nuclear.
Orton hooked the leg.
1—
2—
BATISTA DIVED AND BROKE IT!
Lawler screamed into his mic, ecstatic, "THIS IS AN INSTANT CLASSIC! AN INSTANT CLASSIC AND SANDRO'S NOT EVEN IN IT!"
And that line was true.
This triple threat was becoming legendary.
But the fatal four way wasn't over.
Because ringside…
Sandro's fingers twitched.
Just barely.
Small.
Subtle.
Almost unnoticeable.
But the beginning… of something dangerous.
The doctor didn't notice it.
The camera didn't catch it yet.
But the Maestro…
…was not dead.
Not done.
Not gone.
Just dormant.
Like a viper warming its blood.
Back in the ring, Batista dragged Orton up and rammed him shoulder first into the corner. Cena crawled toward the ropes, holding his neck. Orton slumped. Batista hammered him with body shots, each one leaving a deeper bruise on Orton's ribs.
Batista lifted Orton onto the top rope, climbing to set up a superplex.
Orton fought back with stiff forearms.
Cena crawled to his feet, staggered, and saw the opening.
He walked to the corner—
Bent down—
AND POWERED BATISTA ONTO HIS SHOULDERS.
The crowd ROARED.
Cole lost his mind. "NO WAY. NO WAY! WE'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE!"
Cena stepped forward—
BATISTA SLAMMED ORTON DOWN IN A SUPERPLEX—
AND CENA HIT THE TOWER OF DOOM POWERBOMB ON BATISTA.
All three men collapsed in a heap.
Dead center.
Motionless.
Breathing hard.
Sandro…
Still outside the ring.
Still down.
But his hand moved again.
This time grabbing the barricade.
Slowly.
Weakly.
But it moved.
Lawler yelled, "THESE THREE ARE KILLING EACH OTHER! AND SANDRO'S STILL OUT COLD!"
Cole added, "IF... IF SANDRO EVER GETS UP, THIS MATCH CHANGES COMPLETELY… BUT HE MIGHT NOT WAKE UP FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT!"
Batista was the first to rise.
Barely.
He used the ropes, legs trembling, sweat pouring down his face.
Cena followed, slower, groaning in pain.
Orton crawled up next, hand on his ribs, face red, jaw bruised.
They stood again.
Three titans.
Three warriors.
And they charged.
Again.
Cena and Batista went after Orton, Orton ducked, Cena hit Batista—
Batista hit Cena—
RKO ATTEMPT—
Cena shoved him off—
Batista nearly caught Orton—
Orton ducked—
Cena charged—
Batista moved—
Cena hit the turnbuckle—
Orton jumped—
RKO—
BUT BATISTA SHOVED ORTON OUT OF THE AIR MID JUMP.
It wasn't even a wrestling counter, it was a pure, primal shove, sending Orton rolling across the canvas.
Batista grabbed Cena—
BATISTA BOMB ATTEMPT—
Cena slipped out—
AA ATTEMPT—
Batista elbowed out—
Orton charged—
DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE TAKES ALL THREE MEN DOWN.
The fans stood.
ALL of them.
This match was insane.
A war.
A classic.
And Sandro?
Still down.
Still not moving.
Except—
His hand grabbed the apron.
His arm pulled.
His shoulder rose.
Sandro's head lifted the tiniest bit.
Like a corpse twitching back to life.
Cole shouted in shock, "WAIT... WAIT... IS THAT... IS THAT SANDRO MOVING?!"
Lawler gasped, "NO! KEEP HIM DOWN! KEEP HIM DOWN!"
The camera zoomed in.
Sandro's eyes were actually wide open.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His breathing was ragged at first but then it turned normal.
Sandro's eyes which was open was wild, burning with something that didn't look human. Not rage. Not adrenaline. Something colder. Sharper. Calculated.
Then suddenly—
SANDRO SAT UP.
Straight up.
Like a horror villain rising from the grave.
The crowd GASPED as one massive organism. People in the front row physically flinched backward. The doctor jerked in place like someone had just fired a gun right next to his ear.
Cole gasped, "GOOD GOD! HE JUST SAT UP LIKE HE WAS NEVER OUT! WHAT IS THIS MAN MADE OF?!"
Lawler threw his headset off for a second and slapped the announce table. "I HATE THIS! HOW IS HE STANDING?! HOW IS HE ALIVE?!"
Sandro got to his feet, staggering only slightly, then straightening out with unsettling ease. The doctor grabbed his arm.
"Sir, Sandro, hey, you need to sit down, are you okay? Are you—"
Sandro turned his head slowly toward him, cracking his neck with two sharp pops. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, looked at it…
…and then spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor with a wicked grin.
He laughed, a low, guttural, unhinged laugh.
"I'm more than okay," he growled, voice deep and feral. "Now get lost. I've got a title to defend."
The doctor froze.
Sandro shoved past him and slid into the ring like a demon crawling home.
Inside the ring, Cena, Batista, and Orton were still down, struggling to breathe after the war they'd put each other through. Sandro's laughter echoed throughout MSG as he rose to his feet.
Cole yelled, "SANDRO IS LAUGHING! HE'S LAUGHING AS HE WALKS BACK INTO THE MATCH!"
Lawler shook his head. "This is sick. This is absolutely sick. Was he playing possum? Was this an act?!"
The fans booed like they wanted the roof to collapse. Thousands upon thousands showered him with hatred.
Sandro only pointed at his temple and smirked.
"This," he shouted at the crowd, tapping his head, "is called LOGIC!"
More boos.
He didn't care.
He never did.
Sandro immediately went after the downed three megastars, stomping Cena first, hard, vicious boots to the ribs and chest. Cena curled slightly but Sandro kicked him again, insulting him under his breath.
"Talk big now, huh? Come on! Get up, golden boy!"
Then he turned to Batista and stomped him across the spine, grinding the heel of his boot into the back of Batista's head like he was trying to bury him into the canvas.
"You wanted me DEAD, right?! DEAD?!"
Then he turned to Orton.
He stomped Orton across the jaw.
"Snake my ass."
The boos were deafening now. It was like MSG wanted to riot. But Sandro thrived in it. He reveled in it. He fed on their hatred like oxygen.
Cole tried to analyze it through the chaos. "I don't know if Sandro was ACTING earlier or if he just recovered faster than humanly possible, but the story now is clear, HE'S BACK IN THIS MATCH!"
Lawler yelled, "It's not fair! It's not right! This is exactly what he wanted, this is EXACTLY the kind of vile strategy he uses!"
Sandro dragged Orton up first and slammed him face-first into the turnbuckle. Orton's head snapped back violently. Sandro turned and slammed Batista with a running knee, knocking the Animal back down. Cena tried to crawl to the ropes, Sandro pounced and elbowed him across the spine.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championships History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA X Division Champion, & 1x WWE United States Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner & 1x Mr. Money In The Bank
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0