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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The Deadman extended a massive, heavily taped hand.
"Hell of a job, kid," the Undertaker said, his voice a deep, quiet rumble. He congratulated Sandro, nodding his head in profound approval. "You and Jericho put on a clinic out there. The psychology was brilliant. You took a hell of a beating to make that story work. That's what this business is all about."
Sandro shook the Phenom's hand, feeling the immense weight of the compliment. Getting praise from the Undertaker after a WrestleMania main event was the ultimate validation in the professional wrestling industry.
"I appreciate that more than you know, Taker," Sandro said earnestly, his tone filled with absolute respect. "Thank you. But honestly, I was just trying to follow what you and Hunter did. That match was a masterpiece. The emotion you guys pulled out of that crowd... it was amazing. It set the bar for the entire night."
The Undertaker offered a rare, subtle smile, tapping Sandro on the arm before slowly making his way toward the trainer's room to tend to his own injuries.
Right behind the Deadman, stepping into Sandro's line of sight, was the massive, terrifyingly wide frame of Brock Lesnar, closely followed by a beaming, completely out of character Paul Heyman.
The intense, homicidal tension that had radiated between Sandro and Lesnar in the center of the ring just minutes ago had completely vanished.
Sandro and Lesnar stepped toward each other and locked hands in a firm, mutually respectful handshake.
"Thank you for doing this, Brock," Sandro said, looking up at the massive heavyweight. "I know it took a lot of negotiating. I genuinely appreciate you agreeing to return to the WWE to work this angle after you lost the UFC title to Velasquez. It means a lot to the business, and it means a lot to me personally."
Lesnar, wiping the sweat from his forehead, offered a surprisingly warm nod. The Beast Incarnate, usually notoriously private and entirely business oriented, seemed genuinely relaxed.
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, kid," Lesnar said, his voice surprisingly soft compared to his terrifying on screen persona. "It was entirely because of your lobbying through Nexum Core and the UFC brass that I finally agreed to come back and do this run. You greased the wheels perfectly."
Lesnar looked Sandro up and down, his eyes appraising the champion not as a sports entertainer, but as a legitimate athlete.
"And honestly," Lesnar continued, a hint of professional curiosity in his voice, "after feeling your movement in the ring tonight, and knowing your actual martial arts background... I know that if you ever decided to transition and go to the UFC, you could absolutely contend against the others there in the light heavyweight class."
Lesnar paused, letting out a short, amused grunt. "Well, it's an 'if.' Because I'd need to see firsthand how well you could actually stay in there when the gloves are four ounces and the strikes are much more real. But the raw mechanics are absolutely there."
Sandro let out a loud chuckle, shaking his head at the massive compliment mixed with the inherent challenge.
"I appreciate the scouting report, Brock," Sandro laughed, leaning against the equipment cases. "But I think I still need to see if my father and my mother would even give the green light for something like that. Because let's be honest, if my parents don't sign off on it, I don't think Dana White will ever agree to have the son of the boss step inside the octagon. He knows damn well he'd be fired from his position as CEO if he let me get knocked out on pay per view."
Sandro paused, a fond, slightly terrified smile crossing his face. "And that's entirely assuming my three girls would even allow it. AJ, Nikki, and Alexa would probably kill me themselves before they let me step into a legitimate cage fight. They complain enough about the bumps I take in here."
Lesnar let out a massive, booming, incredibly rare belly laugh, completely shattering the illusion of the Beast.
"Women run the world, kid. Never forget it," Lesnar chuckled, slapping Sandro on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "But seriously. At least go and give it a try if you ever want to in the future. You've got the athleticism for it."
As Lesnar and Heyman walked off toward their private locker room, Sandro turned his attention to the man he had just spent thirty minutes physically destroying in front of seventy thousand people.
Chris Jericho was sitting on a medical trunk a few feet away, surrounded by two EMTs who were actively checking his vitals and cleaning a deep cut above his eye.
Jericho's Painmaker face paint was almost completely washed away by sweat and blood, his chest was covered in red welts, and he looked like he had been run over by a commercial truck.
Sandro walked over. The EMTs stepped back slightly, allowing the two competitors to interact.
There was no need for a massive, emotional speech. They both knew exactly what they had just accomplished. They had just put on one of the absolute best, most brutal, most psychologically sound matches in WrestleMania history.
They had pushed each other to their absolute physical and mental limits, and they had created a masterpiece.
Sandro reached out, and Jericho stood up, ignoring his battered knees. The two men shared a deep, exhausted, intensely respectful bro hug.
"Thank you, man," Sandro whispered, patting Jericho's back. "You made me look like a million bucks out there."
"You earned it, kid," Jericho rasped, his voice legitimately hoarse from screaming during the Walls of Jericho spot. "We tore the damn house down. Now, I am going to go take a very, very long vacation."
After this match, Jericho was officially scheduled to take time off to rest, recuperate, and tour with his band Fozzy. Sandro knew the veteran desperately needed the break.
Before parting ways, Sandro flagged down a WWE photographer who was documenting the backstage aftermath. Sandro and Jericho, both completely battered, sweaty, and exhausted, stood side by side. Jericho threw up the rock and roll horns, while Sandro managed a tired smile, and the camera flashed, immortalizing the mutual respect between the God King and the Painmaker behind the curtain.
After the photo, the adrenaline finally began to aggressively wear off. The aches, the bruises, and the sheer, mind numbing exhaustion hit Sandro like a tidal wave.
Guided by the trainers, Sandro finally made his way down the long concrete hallway toward the medical room to be properly checked on, evaluated for concussions, and treated for the deep abrasions covering his back.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of ice baths, medical tape, room service, and the heavy, dreamless sleep of a man who had completely emptied his physical tank.
The next day arrived with the speed of a bullet. The sun rose over Atlanta, Georgia, and the entire professional wrestling industry was completely vibrating with electricity. It was officially time for Monday Night RAW.
While WrestleMania had taken place in the cavernous, massive Georgia Dome, the flagship television show was scheduled to be held in a different, more traditional arena across town, the Philips Arena.
But traditional did not mean small. The arena was configured to hold more than twenty thousand fans, and it was entirely, absolutely sold out. Tickets had been gone for months, and the secondary market prices were astronomical.
The RAW immediately following WrestleMania is universally known as the most highly anticipated, chaotic, and important television taping of the entire WWE calendar year.
It is where storylines are reset, where massive debuts happen, and where the most passionate, hardcore fans from around the globe gather to make their voices heard.
Tonight, the anticipation was at an absolute, unprecedented fever pitch. Everyone in that arena, and millions watching at home, desperately wanted to see the immediate fallout of WrestleMania.
The narrative was incredibly compelling. The Undisputed System, the faction that had held the entire company hostage for a year, had truly, visibly cracked. It wasn't just because of the massive championship problems, with Kofi Kingston, Wade Barrett, Drew McIntyre, Big E, and Ryback all failing to secure gold and facing the God King's wrath.
It was the devastating, deeply personal betrayal of Paul Heyman that had truly shaken the foundation of the faction.
Heyman, the architect, the Special Advisor, the speaker of the Undisputed System, had defected.
And he hadn't just walked away, he had brought Brock Lesnar back to the WWE as his personal weapon of mass destruction, utilizing the Beast as an impenetrable shield against Sandro and whatever was left of the Undisputed System.
The fans were dying to know how a sociopathic, arrogant billionaire like Sandro Zhang would possibly react to being publicly humiliated, F-5'd into oblivion, and betrayed by his closest confidant.
At exactly 8:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, the arena went pitch black.
The heavy, aggressive guitar riff of the Monday Night RAW theme song blasted through the sound system, and the opening pyros immediately shot out from the massive stage!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The explosions rattled the lighting rig, sending plumes of thick, white smoke billowing into the rafters. The twenty thousand fans inside the Philips Arena completely lost their minds, unleashing a deafening, sustained roar that physically vibrated the floorboards of the stadium.
The broadcast went live. The camera panned dynamically across the sprawling sea of humanity. The fans were on their feet, screaming into the lenses, aggressively upholding their homemade posters.
The signs painted a vivid picture of the current cultural zeitgeist of the WWE Universe, "SUPLEX CITY EST. 2011", "THE EMPIRE HAS FALLEN", "GOD KING VS BEAST", "PAUL HEYMAN IS A TRAITOR", and "WE WANT ICE CREAM BARS".
The energy in the building was not just loud, it was feral. The post Mania crowd was infamous for hijacking segments, chanting whatever they wanted, and refusing to play along with traditional face heel dynamics. They were here for chaos, and the WWE was prepared to give it to them.
Slowly, the sweeping crane camera descended from the rafters, gliding over the ringside barricade, and finally came to rest on the commentary team seated at their desk adjacent to the entrance ramp.
It was the iconic, highly combustible trio of Michael Cole, Jerry "The King" Lawler, and John Bradshaw Layfield.
"Welcome, everyone, to the most highly anticipated Monday Night RAW of the entire year!" Cole shouted into his headset, his voice already straining to be heard over the deafening, continuous roar of the Atlanta crowd.
Cole was wearing a sharp, dark suit, looking entirely energized by the paradigm shift that had occurred the night prior. "We are live in front of a completely sold out, electric crowd of over twenty thousand strong here at the Philips Arena in Atlanta, Georgia! I am Michael Cole, alongside WWE Hall of Famer Jerry 'The King' Lawler, and John Bradshaw Layfield! And gentlemen, I have not slept a single wink since we went off the air last night!"
"Who could possibly sleep after what we witnessed, Michael?!" Lawler laughed enthusiastically, adjusting his crown. "WrestleMania XXVII was an absolute rollercoaster from the pre show all the way to the final second! We saw the Undertaker extend his immortal streak, we saw Edge and Orton cement their legacy, we saw champions crowned and also retained, and we saw the absolute, brutal limits of human endurance in that 'I Quit' match!"
"But King, let's address the massive, terrifying elephant in the room," Cole smoothly transitioned, leaning forward, his tone turning serious. "The entire landscape of the WWE was violently, fundamentally altered in the closing moments of the broadcast. The Undisputed System... the faction that has entirely dominated Monday Night RAW and Friday Night SmackDown for the past calendar year... has crumbled!"
"It has not crumbled!" JBL immediately bellowed, slamming his heavy hand onto the commentary desk, instantly taking the bait. JBL looked like he had aged five years overnight.
His usual arrogant swagger was completely gone, replaced by a defensive, panicked energy. "The Undisputed System simply shed some dead weight, Michael! Wade Barrett, Drew McIntyre, Kofi Kingston, Big E, Ryback... they failed the God King! They were weak! Sandro Zhang proved in that main event that he is the only man who truly matters! He beat Chris Jericho into unconsciousness! He is still the WWE Champion! He is still the United States Champion! He is still the World Heavyweight Champion!"
"He may have the gold, John, but he has absolutely no friends left!" Lawler shot back, pointing a finger at JBL. "He alienated everyone! He pushed Paul Heyman too far, and Paul Heyman made him pay the ultimate price! Paul Heyman brought the Beast back to the WWE! We all watched Brock Lesnar absolutely dismantle Sandro Zhang with our own two eyes! He left the God King completely broken in the center of that ring!"
"It was a cowardly, unprovoked sneak attack!" JBL argued loudly, his face turning red. "Sandro was exhausted from fighting a thirty minute war! Lesnar capitalized on a wounded man! That doesn't prove anything other than the fact that Paul Heyman is a treacherous, backstabbing snake who deserves to be sued for breach of contract!"
"Sneak attack or not, the message was sent loud and clear," Cole concluded, speaking directly to the television audience. "Brock Lesnar is officially back. Paul Heyman has declared war. The Undisputed System is fractured, and the God King is completely isolated. The entire WWE Universe is asking the exact same question tonight, How will Sandro Zhang respond? What happens when a sociopathic billionaire is humiliated on the grandest stage of them all?"
"I'll tell you what happens, Michael," JBL muttered, a dark, serious tone creeping into his voice. "He doesn't get sad. He gets even. Somebody is going to pay for what happened last night, and I genuinely fear for the safety of this entire roster."
"Well, we won't have to wait very long to find out!" Cole yelled, looking toward the entrance ramp as the crowd noise suddenly shifted in pitch. "Because the Triple Crown Champion is in the building, and we are told he is heading to the ring right now!"
The crowd inside the Philips Arena immediately rose to their feet. The thousands of conversations, chants, and arguments all instantly synthesized into a massive, suffocating wall of pure, unadulterated anticipation. The fallout of WrestleMania was officially underway, and the shattered pieces of the Undisputed System were about to be put on full, public display.
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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, 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