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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.
Then—
BOOM!!
The entire stage erupted in pyro.
"WELL… IT'S THE BIG SHOW!"
The crowd ROARED in approval.
The WWE Champion stepped through the curtain, massive, imposing, gold glinting on his shoulder. He didn't smile. He didn't taunt. He just stared straight at Sandro, deadly calm, daring him.
Challenging him.
Sandro turned slowly, meeting Big Show's stare with an evil, slow spreading grin.
"You wanna know what I came out here to say, champ?"
He paused, milking the silence.
"I came out here… to tell you…"
Another pause. He leaned forward just slightly.
"That I'm NOT cashing in my Money in the Bank contract tonight."
The crowd's reaction was a chaotic mixture of relief, confusion, and anger.
Sandro continued, voice dropping into a sinister tone.
"No, no… I'm not cashing in. Not because I can't beat you. Not because I'm scared."
He tapped his temple.
"But because I'd rather live in here."
The crowd's noise shifted, confused and uncomfortable.
Sandro smirked wider.
"Oh yeah, Big Show… I'm gonna haunt you. I'm gonna crawl inside your big, dumb brain and make myself comfortable. I'm gonna turn your mind into my own personal living room."
Heyman cracked up. Alexa hid her laughter behind her hand. Wade smirked. Big E snickered. Drew smirked, arms crossed. Kofi laughed. Ryback grunted approvingly.
"And every time you breathe… every time you sleep… every time you THINK about defending that title…"
Sandro tapped his temple again.
"You're gonna wonder… Is tonight the night he cashes in?"
The boos thundered.
"Is he behind me?"
"Is he waiting in the dark?"
"Is he about to strike?"
The crowd's disgust intensified. Cole groaned loudly on commentary.
"This guy is sick. He's absolutely sick. This isn't just mind games, this is psychological warfare."
Lawler nodded vigorously. "He's not just haunting Big Show, he's haunting us! What kind of twisted mind thinks like this?!"
In the ring, Sandro and the entire Undisputed System broke into laughter, loud, unrestrained, taunting laughter echoing across the arena.
Big Show clenched his jaw hard, grinding his teeth, visibly seething.
Sandro leaned forward again, smug as ever.
"See you around, champ."
As soon as he heard that, Big Show took a single step forward.
Just one.
But that one step was enough to shift the energy in the room. The Undisputed System instantly tensed, Drew stepping up like a hunting dog ready to lunge, Wade shifting slightly to block Sandro with his arm, Kofi stood behind Sandro to put him out of danger if needed, Big E and Ryback widening their stance as if preparing for an incoming charge.
Heyman mouthed, "Stay calm," though his eyes were alive with predatory excitement.
Sandro, however, didn't flinch. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.
He just tilted his head at Big Show, almost pitying him.
"Ohhh… you're mad. Of course you are. Look at you, standing up there like a giant balloon ready to pop."
The crowd booed ferociously, but Sandro raised his voice over them.
"You think stepping toward me scares me? You think your size, your strength, your intensity means a damn thing to me?"
He thumped a fist against his own chest.
"I've survived more dangerous things than you."
Big Show raised an eyebrow at that, unimpressed.
But Sandro wasn't finished.
"You're predictable, Show. And predictable champions don't stay champions for long."
Cole's commentary kicked in like reflex.
"Look at this man, talking to the WWE Champion like he's nothing!"
Lawler replied, "I swear, Cole, one day someone is going to snap and knock that smug look off his face."
Back in the ring, Sandro pointed at the briefcase in Heyman's hand.
"This little beauty right here? It's not a weapon. It's not a shortcut. It's not even a threat."
He rubbed his chin, pacing slowly.
"It's a curse."
The building went silent.
"You're cursed now, Show. You walk around every day with this thought gnawing at the back of your skull. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. You're going to wonder if tonight is the night I pull the trigger."
Sandro's voice dropped even lower.
"Or tomorrow night."
"Or next week."
"Or the pay per view."
"Or maybe MONTHS from now, until "
He smirked again.
"And that is the beauty of it."
Big Show shook his head slowly, raising the mic in his hand. The crowd cheered instantly, hungry for the champ's voice.
"You know, Sandro…" Big Show began, voice deep, resonant, and steady. "I've dealt with punks like you my whole career."
Sandro raised an eyebrow.
"Guys who think mind games are enough. Guys who think they're smarter, slicker, more dangerous."
The champ looked directly at the Money in the Bank briefcase.
"And every single time… I put them down."
The crowd cheered wildly.
Big Show stepped forward again, this time more bold, shoulders squared.
"You don't scare me. You don't haunt me. And you sure as hell don't live rent free anywhere in my head."
Sandro's smirk faltered for half a second, then returned even stronger.
"Ohhh, that's cute."
He put a hand on Alexa's shoulder, motioning casually.
"But I don't need you to admit it, Show. I don't need you to acknowledge me. I don't even need you to like me."
He leaned forward an inch.
"Because the fear you feel? It's involuntary."
Big Show clenched his fists.
Sandro's voice rose just slightly, carrying across every inch of the arena.
"You can lie to the fans. You can lie to the commentary team. Hell, you can lie to yourself."
He pointed to Big Show's head.
"But you can't lie to this."
The boos were deafening.
Lawler facepalmed. "Oh my God, he's completely unhinged!"
Cole added, "He's rewriting the definition of psychological manipulation."
Sandro finally stepped back, raising the mic dramatically.
"And now, champ, now that you're out here… I think it's time for you to do what you do best."
Big Show tilted his head.
Sandro grinned.
"Walk away."
The crowd gasped.
Big Show didn't move.
Sandro shrugged.
"Oh, you don't want to? Fine."
He pointed toward the entrance ramp.
"Because we're done here."
He handed the microphone to Heyman. Cult of Personality began playing again—
But Big Show didn't budge.
Instead, he lowered his WWE Championship from his shoulder, gripping it tightly in his left hand.
A tense ripple shot through the Undisputed System.
Drew stepped forward. Wade squared up. Kofi puffed up. Big E and Ryback shifted into defensive stances. Alexa took a step closer to Sandro. Heyman muttered something under his breath, likely a warning.
Big Show pointed his title at Sandro.
"You want to play games, kid? Fine. But remember one thing."
Sandro raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"When I catch you? When I finally get my hands on you?"
He tightened his grip on the belt.
"I'm not holding back."
Sandro's grin returned instantly.
"Ohhh… I'm counting on it."
Cult of Personality hit full volume again as the Undisputed System began slowly backing away, still facing Big Show, still in formation, still daring someone to try anything.
The crowd booed relentlessly.
Cole closed out the segment on commentary.
"Well, folks… if you wanted answers, there's your answer. Sandro Zhang isn't cashing in tonight. But he's going to torment the WWE Champion every chance he gets."
Lawler sighed heavily.
"And if that doesn't terrify Big Show… it terrifies ME."
Meanwhile, after that intense confrontation, the show pushed forward like a machine trying to regain rhythm after an earthquake.
Match after match rolled out, mid card bouts, backstage interviews, quick recaps, hype packages, everything WWE could throw at the audience to soften the lingering electricity Sandro had left behind. Yet even during the commercial breaks, even during backstage promos where rookies were trying their best to look relevant, the crowd kept murmuring about one thing.
Sandro Zhang's mind games.
Every now and then, a camera backstage would catch a wrestler side eying the Money in the Bank briefcase in Heyman's hand as the Undisputed System moved through hallways like a pack of wolves. They didn't even need to say anything. Their presence infected the backstage area with tension.
But the show rolled on, because it had to.
And finally, after the last commercial, the lights shifted, and the commentators straightened up, ready to sell the main event of the night.
Then—
"I WALK ALONE!"
The iconic crackle of Batista's theme hit the speakers like a gunshot, and the arena EXPLODED with reaction. The boos were enormous, but so were the cheers from the fans who loved the pure intensity he brought whenever he appeared.
Batista stepped out from behind the curtain, chest gleaming, shoulders broad, his expression already tight with anger. A microphone in his right hand, a fire in his eyes.
But before he walked even a single step down the ramp, he turned to his right, raised his arm—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The machine gun pyro shot upward behind him as he performed his signature pose, every muscle in his body flexing with authority. The crowd's reaction doubled, the combination of fireworks, music, and Batista's sheer presence rattling the entire arena.
He lowered his arms, exhaling sharply, before striding with purpose down the ramp. Every step was a message: something was about to go down.
He entered the ring, suddenly snapping his wrist outward toward the production truck.
"Cut the music."
The theme died instantly.
"Cut it," Batista repeated, pacing to the center of the ring.
Now the arena was wrapped in raw noise, boos, cheers, a constant swirl of reactions.
Batista lifted the mic again, jaw tight.
"Last week," he began, "everybody saw what happened. EVERYBODY saw Sandro get jumped by some lunatic that hopped the barricade. And you know what?"
He paused, tilting his head as if waiting for the crowd to react.
The audience gave him mixed heat, some booing, some cheering his bluntness.
Batista smirked bitterly.
"I don't care."
Batista continued, raising his voice slightly.
"You wanna know why I don't care? Because in my eyes, that was karma. Pure, simple karma. Karma for that punk and his little Undisputed System screwing me out of a WWE Championship opportunity I already had in the bag."
Cole immediately spoke from commentary. "Oh come on! That's a disgusting thing to say, Sandro was attacked by a fan!"
Lawler sighed. "I mean… it was chaos last week… but Batista's not exactly wrong about getting screwed."
Back in the ring, Batista jabbed a finger toward the curtain.
"You cost me the chance to beat Big Show. You cost me a title shot that SHOULD have been mine. You think I forgot? You think I'm just gonna roll over?"
He leaned on the ropes, glaring up the ramp.
"No. I'm not done with you. So Sandro… Heyman… all of you little cowards in the Undisputed System…"
He raised his voice.
"If you've got the balls, come out here and face me like a man!"
The crowd buzzed, rising onto their feet in anticipation.
And then—
SHOCK THE SYSTEM.
The arena BLACKED OUT.
The crowd roared in shock. Golden static flickered across the titantron. Sparks rained from the stage.
Then—
DA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA…
The Undisputed System theme crashed through the speakers, the lights turning GOLD in a sweeping, ominous flood.
As the music hit full force, the boos became thunder.
Because there they were.
Sandro stood front and center, United States Championship strapped proudly around his waist, microphone in hand. Alexa stood at his left, arms crossed, unimpressed.
Heyman stood on his right, clutching the Money in the Bank briefcase like it was the Ark of the Covenant. Behind them: Wade Barrett, Drew McIntyre, Big E, Ryback, Kofi Kingston, the full force of the faction, united and intimidating.
The boos hit like thunder.
Sandro raised the mic with an exaggerated sigh.
"Batista, Batista, Batista… I swear, you must've taken too many bumps to the head tonight because all I hear from you is whining. Whining. WHINING."
The crowd booed again, some laughing because the delivery was too perfect.
"What are you nowadays?" Sandro continued, tilting his head mockingly. "The Animal… or the Whiner?"
Batista paced in the ring, nostrils flaring.
"You should be THANKING me," Sandro said with a grin. "I saved your career. Because if you had lucked your way into beating Big Show… if you got that title shot… and through some miracle you won the WWE Championship?"
He pointed directly at Batista.
"Then you would become my target. And trust me, you don't want to be my target."
Alexa smirked. Wade nodded. Drew cracked his knuckles.
"So instead of crying," Sandro added, "you should be saying, 'Thank you, Sandro.'"
Batista snorted, raising his mic with a harsh laugh.
"You talk too damn much," Batista growled. "Why don't you and your group of PUSSIES come down here… finish what you couldn't finish last week… and TRY to put me down for good?"
The arena reacted with a collective OHHHH!!!
Sandro blinked slowly.
Then he and the entire Undisputed System burst into laughter. Real, belly-deep laughter that filled the arena with venom.
Sandro wiped away a fake tear.
"You know what? Since you asked so nicely… I'll oblige."
He tossed the mic aside.
"Tonight, Batista, we show the world how REAL men slaughter an animal."
With that, Sandro stepped forward. Wade, Drew, Big E, Ryback, and Kofi, every member of the Undisputed System fell in line behind Sandro as they marched down the ramp like a firing squad. Batista's stance tightened. His muscles tensed. He positioned himself like a man ready to throw down with an entire army.
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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