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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"What are you doing?!" Cena shouted, trying to stop the unprovoked attack. Orton, furious at the interference, twisted his body in mid air. He abandoned Sandro completely, shifting his weight and wrapping his arms securely around John Cena's neck instead.
BANG!
Orton drove Cena face first into the canvas with a bone shattering RKO!
The crowd shrieked in shock as Cena's body bounced off the mat, completely knocked out by the friendly fire.
Sandro stumbled backward, startled by the sudden eruption of violence mere inches from him. Drew McIntyre, Big E, and Kofi Kingston immediately swarmed forward, shouting angrily at Orton for breaking ranks and attacking Cena.
Orton didn't stick around to explain himself. The Viper instantly rolled under the bottom rope, dropping to the ringside floor. He scrambled backward up the entrance ramp, a cold, remorseless glare in his eyes as he scurried away from the angry mob in the ring.
"RKO! RKO to Cena!" Cole screamed, absolute chaos taking over the broadcast. "Randy Orton just snapped! The frustration boiled over, and he tried to take out the God King, but he hit Cena instead!"
"It's every man for himself out there!" Lawler yelled, clutching his headset. "Orton wants that title shot, and he doesn't care who he has to drop to get it!"
Up in the 200 level seating, Ryback and Mason Ryan aggressively pushed past Wade Barrett, gripping the railing and looking ready to sprint down the stairs to take advantage of the chaos unfolding in the ring.
But Barrett threw his arms out, firmly blocking their path.
The Nexus leader looked down at the imploding defensive line of Team RAW. He saw Orton retreating. He saw Cena unconscious on the mat. He saw Drew and the New Day distracted, while Sandro stood in the corner, realizing his enemies were fighting among themselves.
Barrett smiled, a dark, calculating expression crossing his face. He shook his head, motioning for his soldiers to stand down.
"No," Barrett ordered quietly, though the cameras caught his chilling smirk. "Let them tear each other apart. The rot is spreading."
The broadcast cameras captured the stunning, unresolved scene, Cena laid out in the center of the ring, Orton backing away up the ramp with a venomous stare,
The broadcast cameras captured the stunning, unresolved scene. Cena was laid out flat in the center of the ring. Orton was backing away up the steel ramp, his chest heaving, a venomous stare fixed on the carnage he had just caused, and Sandro clutching his world titles amidst the chaise that is happening.
Meanwhile, high above the arena bowl, Barrett and his Nexus soldiers faded back into the shadowy tunnels of the concourse, content to let the poison they had injected into the locker room do its work.
Back in the middle of the squared circle, Sandro casually adjusted the World Heavyweight Championship on his shoulder. He looked down at Cena's unconscious body, then shifted his cold, calculating gaze up the ramp to meet Orton's glare.
The God King slowly raised his microphone, a dark, mocking chuckle rumbling in his throat.
"Randy, Randy, Randy," Sandro chided, his voice echoing smoothly through the tense, humid air of the Capital One Arena. "Did you really think that throwing a tantrum and dropping John Cena was going to impress me? Do you honestly believe that sneaking around and delivering an RKO suddenly makes you the number one contender?"
Orton stopped near the top of the stage, his jaw clenched, pacing like a caged animal as he listened.
"I told you both," Sandro continued, his tone dripping with absolute condescension. "You haven't earned anything. Striking a man when he isn't looking doesn't prove you are a threat. It just proves you are desperate. If I am going to put these world titles on the line, if I am going to step back into the ring and defend my crown... it isn't going to be against a desperate snake."
Sandro took a slow, measured step forward, looking past Orton and directly into the hard camera. The confident smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a chilling, dead eyed focus.
"If I am going to prove to this locker room, to the Nexus, and to the world that I am the most dominant force in this industry," Sandro declared, his voice dropping an octave, "I need to face a monster. I need to face a conqueror. I need to step into the ring with the man who actually deserves the opportunity. A man who doesn't ask for a shot, but takes it by force."
The crowd murmured, a wave of confusion washing over the audience as they tried to guess who the double champion was talking about.
"I spent months trying to stop this man," Sandro admitted openly, pacing across the canvas. "I used corporate red tape. I hired Bobby Lashley as a mercenary to wipe him off the board, only for Lashley to take the money, fail his mission, and ultimately betray me. I have taken this man's F-5s outside of official matches. I know exactly how dangerous he is."
Sandro stopped in the center of the ring, raising the microphone high.
"I don't want Cena. I don't want Orton. The man I want next... is Brock Lesnar."
The Washington D.C. crowd absolutely erupted! A massive, deafening roar shook the building. Fans jumped out of their seats, turning to each other with wide, shocked eyes.
At the broadcast desk, Cole nearly fell out of his chair. "Did he just say Brock Lesnar?! Is he out of his mind?!"
"The Beast?!" Lawler yelled, shaking his head rapidly. "Sandro Zhang just spent months paying Bobby Lashley millions of dollars to keep Lesnar away from him! Why on earth would he voluntarily invite the Beast to the front of the line?!"
"Because that is the mindset of a true King, you idiots!" JBL roared over the noise, slapping his hand against the desk. "He doesn't want the easy way out! He knows that to cement his legacy, he has to slay the biggest, baddest dragon in the kingdom! He wants the undisputed UFC Heavyweight Champion!"
Inside the ring, the surviving members of Team RAW looked at Sandro as if he had completely lost his grip on reality. Kofi Kingston exchanged a bewildered look with Big E. Jimmy and Jey Uso shook their heads, silently agreeing that the God King had signed his own death warrant.
Only Drew McIntyre seemed to enjoy the moment. The United States Champion leaned against the ropes, a cynical, highly amused grin spreading across his face. He loved the sheer, blinding arrogance of Sandro's challenge, fully believing that the young billionaire had just dug his own grave.
Up on the entrance stage, Randy Orton looked insulted. He raised a microphone, preparing to demand Sandro take him seriously, but he was violently cut off.
SCREEEEEECH!
The apocalyptic, heavy guitar riff of Brock Lesnar's theme music ripped through the PA system!
The arena exploded into a state of absolute frenzy. The cheers were deafening. Randy Orton's eyes widened, and the Viper immediately backed away, sidestepping toward the edge of the ramp to clear a path, wanting absolutely no part of what was coming through the curtain.
Brock Lesnar marched out into the bright arena lights.
The Beast Incarnate looked terrifying. He bounced aggressively from side to side, his massive shoulders rolling, a tight, violent smirk plastered across his face. He wore his signature black fight shorts and taped MMA gloves.
Standing safely behind him, wearing an impeccably tailored suit and clutching a microphone with a sinister grin, was Paul Heyman.
Lesnar didn't rush the ring. He stopped halfway down the steel ramp, performing his signature pyro bounce, before crossing his thick arms over his chest. He locked eyes with Sandro Zhang, sizing up the young, arrogant champion.
Heyman stepped out from behind the Beast, raising the microphone to his lips. He waited patiently for the roaring crowd to quiet down, soaking in the electric atmosphere.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Heyman began, his voice dripping with slimy, theatrical perfection. "My name is Paul Heyman. And I stand before you tonight as the advocate for the most destructive force to ever step foot inside a squared circle... my client, BROCKKKK LESNARRRR!"
The crowd cheered loudly at the classic introduction. Heyman smiled, slowly walking down the ramp, keeping a safe distance from the ring while Lesnar remained planted like a brick wall.
"I must admit, Sandro, I am stunned," Heyman confessed, placing a hand over his heart in mock surprise. "For months, you used your billions to build a fortress around those championships. You hired mercenaries. You pulled strings. You did everything in your considerable power to keep my client as far away from you as humanly possible."
Heyman pointed a finger at Lesnar. "And look what happened. Brock Lesnar returned to the WWE with a UFC pedigree, and he bulldozed every single obstacle you put in his path. He threw your body around like a ragdoll in the middle of a brawl. He stepped into a steel cage just last night, and he absolutely conquered your former hitman, Bobby Lashley!"
Heyman took a step closer, his voice rising with theatrical intensity. "You ran out of pawns, Sandro. You ran out of places to hide. So now, you stand in that ring, trying to save face by pretending you actually want this fight. You think calling him out makes you look brave. But we both know the truth. You are staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and you are terrified."
Inside the ring, Sandro didn't flinch. He adjusted the WWE Championship around his waist, maintaining his cold, dead eyed focus.
"But let's not get bogged down in the psychology," Heyman smirked, his eyes gleaming with malicious joy. "You issued a challenge. You want the Beast. Well, your majesty... my client accepts. In fact, my client is in a rather foul mood after being locked in a steel cage last night. So why wait?"
Heyman swept his arm toward the ring. "Why don't we do this right here, right now, tonight in Washington D.C.?! Brock Lesnar versus Sandro Zhang for the WWE Heavyweight Championship!"
The fans lost their minds, chanting "YES! YES! YES!" at the top of their lungs, desperate to see the heavyweight clash unfold on free television.
Sandro slowly raised his microphone, shaking his head with a condescending sigh.
"Paul, you are a phenomenal talker, but you are a terrible businessman," Sandro replied smoothly. "Do you honestly think I am going to give a blockbuster, pay per view caliber main event away for free on a random Monday night? I don't care what mood your client is in. The answer is no."
A massive chorus of boos flooded the arena. The fans felt robbed, hating the champion for denying them the fight.
Heyman threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Listen to these people, Sandro! They know exactly what you are doing! You are stalling! You called him out, and the second he answered the door, you locked the deadbolt! You can wrap it up in a nice little corporate bow and call it 'business,' but it is cowardice! Brock Lesnar is ready to fight every day, every time, and any place!"
"I'm not stalling, Paul, I'm setting the stage," Sandro countered sharply, his voice cutting through the boos. "If your client wants a shot at the throne, he gets it on my terms, and on my timeline. I want the whole world to pay top dollar to watch me break the Beast."
Sandro stepped forward, pointing directly at Lesnar.
"Money in the Bank," Sandro declared, naming the upcoming summer pay per view. "Four weeks from now. We sign the contract, we put the WWE Championship on the line, and we find out exactly what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immortal God King."
The crowd buzzed loudly, the massive stakes officially set.
"Money in the Bank!" Cole shouted, the excitement bubbling over. "Sandro Zhang just laid down the gauntlet! A world title defense against Brock Lesnar!"
"It's a colossal mistake!" Lawler argued. "He's letting his ego drive his decisions!"
On the ramp, Paul Heyman leaned in close to Brock Lesnar, whispering something into the Beast's ear. Lesnar didn't break eye contact with Sandro. He simply nodded once, a dark, terrifying smile stretching across his face.
Heyman turned back to the ring, raising his microphone one last time.
"Four weeks," Heyman agreed, his voice dropping into a dramatic, menacing register. "We accept your terms, Sandro. Enjoy those shiny gold belts while you can. Because at Money in the Bank, you aren't just stepping into the ring with a challenger. You are locking yourself inside a cage with the Conqueror. You had better be more than ready, because you are going to face the undisputed Slayer of the God King... BROCKKKK LESNARRRR!"
Lesnar let out a loud roar, pounding his chest with his taped fists before turning around and marching back up the ramp. Heyman followed closely behind, casting one last sinister smile toward the ring before disappearing through the curtain.
Sandro watched them leave, his face completely unreadable. Without acknowledging Cena, Drew, or the New Day, the double champion slipped through the ropes, hopping down to the arena floor. He walked up the ramp alone, disappearing into the back, the massive main event officially etched in stone.
Inside the ring, the dust finally began to settle. Big E and Kofi Kingston knelt down, helping a groggy John Cena back to his feet. The franchise player rubbed the back of his neck, glaring up the ramp where Orton had fled, promising silent retribution.
As the bruised and battered members of Team RAW slowly exited the ringside area, the broadcast transitioned into a commercial break, allowing the live crowd a brief moment to catch their breath.
For the next two hours, Monday Night RAW returned to a sense of standard operating procedure. A fast paced cruiserweight showcase thrilled the audience, while a fierce women's tag team match highlighted the growing tension in the Divas division. Randy Orton cut a venomous backstage promo, promising to dismantle John Cena piece by piece for interfering in his business.
The matches were excellent, but the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the opening segment hung over the building. Wade Barrett's chilling threat from the upper deck lingered in the minds of the fans, keeping everyone on high alert.
As the final match of the night concluded, Michael Cole began his standard sign off, thanking the viewers for tuning into an explosive evening.
But just as the copyright logo flashed on the screen, the feed abruptly cut away.
The massive TitanTron above the stage flickered, displaying a live feed from deep within the bowels of the Capital One Arena.
The camera was positioned in a quiet, secluded talent hallway, aimed directly at a heavy mahogany door. A shiny gold star was affixed to the wood, with a polished plaque that read: SANDRO ZHANG - GOD KING.
"Wait, what are we looking at here?" Lawler asked, his voice instantly tight with worry.
Suddenly, the hallway was flooded with heavy footsteps.
Marching aggressively into the frame, moving with a silent, terrifying purpose, was the Nexus. Wade Barrett led the charge, flanked by Ryback, Mason Ryan, David Otunga, Heath Slater, Justin Gabriel, Darren Young, Curtis Axel, and Michael Tarver.
"It's the Nexus!" Cole screamed in a panic. "They're at Sandro's private locker room!"
Barrett didn't knock. He stepped back and delivered a brutal, heavy kick directly to the door handle. The wood splintered and cracked. Mason Ryan stepped up, throwing his massive shoulder into the wood, completely breaking the hinges and forcing the heavy door wide open.
The cameraman bravely followed the hostile invaders into the luxurious, dimly lit room.
Sandro Zhang was sitting calmly on a plush leather sofa in the center of the room, dressed in his street clothes, a dark designer t-shirt and jeans. He didn't jump in surprise. He didn't look terrified. He was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring directly at the nine men flooding into his personal space.
Resting casually on the glass coffee table directly in front of him was a solid black, aluminum baseball bat.
"Took you long enough," Sandro muttered, his voice cold and steady. He lunged forward, grabbing the heavy bat in a fluid motion. Justin Gabriel was the first to charge. Sandro swung the bat with vicious speed, catching the high flyer squarely in the ribs with a sickening metallic CRACK! Gabriel collapsed, gasping for air.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 21 (2011)
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 (1st - 376 days), 1x WWE Champion, & 1x World Heavyweight Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner, 1x Mr. Money In The Bank, Youngest WWE Champion, PWI Top 500 (No.1) - 2010, & 1x KOTR (2010)
Wrestlemania Record: 2 - 0 Main Event: 1 - 0