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"I saw the video! Forty times! That psycho jumped you like a wild animal! Did he hit your head? Did you lose consciousness? Why didn't that security guard tackle him earlier?"
Sandro rubbed his temple. "Dad, breathe."
Taylor's voice cut in from the background. "We were worried sick! I swear my heart dropped into my stomach!"
"I'm fine," Sandro reassured them again, and this time he let them hear the smile in his voice. "He barely hit me. I reacted before he got anything dangerous in."
Jack exhaled sharply. "And WWE banned him, right? Tell me they banned him."
"Yeah," Sandro confirmed. "Lifetime ban. No house shows, no RAW, no SmackDown, no pay-per-views. He's never getting into a WWE event again."
Taylor sounded relieved. "Good. That's good. They should've banned his whole friend group too."
Jack wasn't done. "Do you want to press charges? We can. I know you think you're being nice, but—"
"No," Sandro cut him off gently. "I'm not pressing charges. A lifetime ban is enough. Jail won't make him a better person — it'll just throw him in with worse people. I'd rather he learn something from this, not spiral because of it."
There was a long pause on the line.
Taylor eventually said softly, "You grew up so much…"
Jack muttered, "Still don't like it, but it's your call."
"It is," Sandro said. "And I made it."
They talked a bit longer — mundane things, calming things — before saying their goodbyes with another string of "stay safe" and "don't do anything crazy" and "please let security stand closer next week."
When the call ended, Sandro leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Even with everything that happened, he felt… grounded.
Supported.
Focused.
Time passed.
Thursday.
Friday.
Saturday.
Sunday.
The clip continued circulating everywhere, every major wrestling personality offering their opinion. Wrestlers from other companies commented. Former WWE legends weighed in. And every conversation, good or bad, only made Sandro's name grow bigger.
Some fans, even ones who hated him on screen, posted comments like.
"I'm going to RAW next week. I NEED to see what he says."
"If he doesn't address this in a promo, I'll riot."
"Sandro might actually be the biggest heel since prime Triple H."
WWE's marketing team ate it up like candy.
By Monday morning, the official WWE YouTube channel had already uploaded an edited breakdown titled.
"FAN ATTACKS SANDRO ZHANG | UNCUT ANGLE | RAW OPENING SEGMENT"
It hit 2 million views in less than 10 hours.
And soon enough, it was Monday again.
Monday Night RAW.
Brooklyn, New York.
A city that loved wrestling. A city that booed louder than anywhere else. A city that recognized real heat, real characters, real performers who gave everything on the mic and in the ring.
And tonight?
They wanted Sandro.
They wanted to hear what he had to say.
They wanted to see how he'd address the attack.
They wanted to see if he'd stay in character or break.
They wanted to see if the Undisputed System would be on high alert, if security would be doubled, if things would escalate, if he'd talk about the line between kayfabe and reality.
They wanted answers.
And by afternoon, fans began lining up outside the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, clutching signs like.
"STAY SAFE SANDRO"
"WE LOVE YOU IRL, WE HATE YOU IN KAYFABE"
"NOT ALL HEELS DESERVE TO GET HIT"
"PROTECT THE WRESTLERS"
"UNDISPUTED SECURITY"
"I BOUGHT RAW TICKETS TO HEAR SANDRO TALK"
People who never liked Sandro were suddenly invested in him. People who already liked him were now fiercely protective. And the small minority of delusional fans were drowned out entirely.
Monday Night RAW was about to begin. The Brooklyn crowd was already buzzing. Cameras were rolling backstage. Producers were flying around with headsets. And somewhere behind the curtain—
Sandro stood backstage with the entire Undisputed System behind him, Alexa smoothing out the collar of his jacket, Heyman briefing him like they were about to launch a presidential address, Drew and Wade cracking their knuckles as if expecting another idiot to rush the barricade.
Sandro adjusted the United State title around his waist, with the briefcase in one hand, rolled his neck once, and let out a slow breath.
Brooklyn was loud tonight.
He could feel the vibrations through the concrete.
Meanwhile in the arena, the lights dimmed for just a moment, long enough for the crowd to let the anticipation settle into their bones, before the opening pyro detonated across the stage in a sharp, echoing cascade of color.
Reds, golds, and blues burst through the Barclays Center rafters like fireworks on the Fourth of July. The Brooklyn crowd roared, thousands rising to their feet, signs waving, shirts flashing, the electricity hitting a fever pitch.
The camera panned across thousands of screaming faces, fans on their feet, signs raised high, some taunting, some supportive, some purely chaotic, and then right on cue, Michael Cole's voice echoed through the building, steady and booming with practiced rhythm.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cole began, projecting harder than usual just to be heard, "welcome to Monday Night RAW, we are LIVE tonight from the sold out Barclays Center in Brooklyn, New York!"
Lawler followed, just as energetic. "Oh man, what a night this is gonna be, Cole! The crowd is fired up, we're fired up, RAW is in for a wild one tonight!"
But the excitement didn't stay purely celebratory. Almost immediately, Cole's voice softened, turning somber.
"Well… before we go any further, King… we need to address what happened last week."
The crowd quieted just a bit.
"What we saw last week," Cole said, "was, it was completely unacceptable. An awful moment, dangerous, irresponsible, reckless, everything you don't do as a fan."
Lawler shook his head. "I still get chills just thinking about it. That young man jumped Sandro like a wild animal. No warning, no hesitation. Just sprinted in and took a swing at him!"
"And thank God Sandro is okay," Cole added quickly, as the video rolled of Sandro rolling with the attack, the Undisputed System swarming, security arriving too late, the chaos exploding on live television. "He was taken by surprise, but he wasn't hurt. He was checked immediately after the segment, and WWE management made their position very clear."
"Oh absolutely," Lawler said, sitting up straighter. "WWE completely condemns what happened. Fans cannot, cannot, put the wrestlers or themselves at risk like that. The moment you jump the barricade, you're not a fan anymore. You're a danger."
Cole nodded, voice firm. "And for anyone who missed the official statement: the fan who attacked Sandro has been banned from every WWE event going forward. Permanently. House shows, television tapings, pay per views, special events, everything. And if he ever tries to attend? Security is authorized to escort him out immediately."
Lawler added, "Honestly, he's lucky that's the only consequence he got."
The crowd murmured, some agreeing, some still stunned from how the incident became the most talked about wrestling moment of the week.
But then—
"SHOCK THE SYSTEM."
A massive blast of sound boomed from the speakers, and the entire crowd jumped, roaring in surprise before those jeers instantly rolled into full, hostile BOOS.
Only for the theme to glitch, intentionally, and transition into another theme entirely.
"LIVING COLOUR'S 'CULT OF PERSONALITY'" blared through the arena.
The crowd EXPLODED with boos as the opening guitar riff ripped through the arena, louder than last week, louder than most weeks, Brooklyn was furious tonight, alive, volatile, feeding off every ounce of animosity they had for Sandro Zhang.
Cole groaned immediately. "Oh, come on… it's him."
Lawler nearly spat, "Of course it is…"
And then the curtain parted.
Sandro Zhang walked out first.
United States Championship strapped around his waist. Money in the Bank briefcase in hand. A swagger in his step that said he owned the building. A smirk that said he loved every single ounce of hatred being thrown at him.
Flanking him, Alexa Bliss on his left, hand resting lightly on his arm, and Paul Heyman on his right, eyes sharp, absorbing every reaction from the crowd like fuel.
Behind them came the muscle.
Wade Barrett, expression cold, eyes locked on the front row, daring anyone to try something. Drew McIntyre, jaw tight, fists clenched, gaze sweeping across the audience like a predator scanning for threats. Big E, a World Tag Team Championship on his shoulder, bouncing slightly with anticipation. Ryback, his own Tag Team title glinting under the lights, cracking his neck as he stared daggers into the booing masses. Kofi Kingston looking around wit ha cold and stock face.
Together, they marched down the ramp in a formation that was equal parts intimidation and ceremony, an army escorting their king.
The fans hated it.
They let him know.
"You suck!"
"Get outta here!"
"Brooklyn hates you!"
"Coward!"
"Cheap shotter!"
"Psycho!"
And Sandro?
He grinned.
Like the hate tasted sweet.
Cole could barely hide his disgust. "You heard us condemn the fan's actions earlier, folks… but that doesn't mean we have to cheer this man. Sandro Zhang is still Sandro Zhang and he's still responsible for everything he and his faction have done these past few months."
Lawler nodded. "Yeah, the fan was wrong, but that doesn't make this guy a hero. Far from it."
As the Undisputed System reached ringside, Wade, Drew, and Kofi immediately turned outward, bodies rigid, eyes locked on the barricade. Human walls. The message was clear.
'Try it again. We dare you.'
Big E and Ryback rolled into the ring first, Tag Titles gleaming. Sandro followed them up the steel steps, Alexa and Heyman right behind. Once they were all inside, they arranged themselves with militant precision.
Wade, Drew, and Kofi stood behind Sandro, scanning the crowd. Big E and Ryback stood flanking Alexa and Heyman. And Sandro stood dead center.
Lawler scoffed into his mic. "Look at this. They're forming a human shield around him! Like he's some kind of wrestling messiah!"
Cole shook his head. "He's milking every part of last week's incident. Absolutely milking it."
At ringside, a crew member handed Paul Heyman a microphone. Heyman whispered something to Sandro first, like an advisor advising a tyrant, before giving him the mic. Sandro handed over the briefcase so his hand was free.
He raised the mic slowly.
The boos grew louder.
He cleared his throat.
The boos got even louder.
He smirked.
Then, without hesitation, he spoke.
""Brooklyn…"
BOOOOOO!!!!
"You dirty bunch of idiots never disappoint."
BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
The building erupted. The boos weren't just loud, they were livid, insulted, appalled. Some fans were pointing and shouting in rage. Others were cracking up because this was exactly the kind of heat they came for.
Cole groaned, "Here we go…"
Lawler rubbed his forehead. "Why does he do this?!"
Sandro raised a brow, amused by the chaos. "Ohhh, what's wrong? Huh? Hit a little close to home? Because you all sound exactly like him—" he jabbed a finger toward the direction where last week's attacker came from, "—a bunch of filthy, loud, brain rotted Brooklyn rejects who can't tell the difference between a show and reality."
The fans HOWLED, booing so loud the hard camera vibrated slightly.
Drew McIntyre cracked his knuckles behind Sandro. Wade Barrett smirked with thin, cold amusement. Kofi just cracked his neck with evile smirk on his face. Big E and Ryback stared down the front rows like guard dogs held back by chain leashes.
Alexa stepped forward slightly, as if prepared to intercept anyone who dared to think of repeating last week.
Heyman simply grinned, hands clasped.
Sandro continued, unbothered, "If ANYONE, ANYONE, tries what he did last week? If some wannabe tough guy tries to hop this barricade again? My boys will make sure you get more than what we gave that idiot."
The crowd booed even louder, some chanting "YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!"
Sandro placed a hand over his chest mockingly. "Aw, I love when you talk dirty."
The audience's outrage rolled through the arena in waves.
"And before any of you morons think I came out here tonight to talk about that clown…" Sandro scoffed, shaking his head. "Why would I waste breath on someone who will NEVER live the life I'm living right now? Why would I give him fame? Why would I even acknowledge him?"
He scoffed, shaking his head, letting his disdain pour into every word.
"Why would I waste my breath?"
Another wave of boos rolled in. Sandro basked in it like sunlight.
"No… no, Brooklyn, I came out here tonight because I wanted to."
He slowly turned his head toward Paul Heyman, who raised the Money in the Bank briefcase slightly for emphasis.
The crowd gasped.
Cole leaned forward. "Wait… he can't be—"
Lawler stammered, "Is he actually gonna do it?! Is Sandro going to cash in tonight?! Right now?!"
The audience shifted restlessly, part fear, part shock, part reluctant curiosity.
Sandro let his gaze linger on the briefcase, his expression unreadable, the suspense stretching the air tight. The crowd was buzzing, some chanting "CASH IT IN! CASH IT IN!", others shouting "NO BALLS! NO BALLS!" at him.
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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