If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
________________________________
(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
...
"It is!" Nikki argued, her voice cracking with guilt. "I lost the Women's Championship! I let Asuka trap Charlotte, and I tapped out! I lost our leverage in the division! If I had just held onto my title, at least we would have something to show for this weekend! I made it worse for him!"
"Listen to me," Alexa intervened, her tone firm but gentle. She stepped up, placing her hands on Nikki's arms. "You didn't lose that title because you aren't good enough. You lost because Mick Foley sabotaged us. He banned us from ringside. He isolated you on purpose. It was a setup."
"Alexa is right," AJ agreed, her eyes narrowing with anger. "Foley orchestrated this entire nightmare. He banned us from Nikki's match, and then he banned us from the main event. He literally served Sandro on a silver platter for Bray Wyatt and Christian. Foley is the one who caused this, not you."
Nikki sniffled, wiping her eyes, but she didn't look entirely convinced. The weight of the lost championship still rested heavily on her shoulders.
"We need to go in there," AJ decided, looking at the heavy wooden door. "We can't just leave him alone in his own head. We need to remind him who he is."
AJ reached out, slowly turning the brass handle. The door clicked open, and the three women stepped quietly into the luxurious executive suite.
The camera followed them inside.
The room was spacious and elegantly furnished, but it felt incredibly cold. The lights were dimmed, casting long, dark shadows across the leather furniture and expensive decor.
Sitting in the center of the room, positioned in a high backed leather chair, was Sandro Zhang.
He was staring blankly at a massive, flat screen television mounted on the far wall. The screen was playing a muted replay of the Night of Champions main event. Specifically, it was looping the final moments of the broadcast.
The camera angle shifted, allowing the WWE Universe to see Sandro's face.
The God King did not look unhinged. He did not look like a raving lunatic. He looked alarmingly calm, but it was a cold, detached calmness that was deeply unsettling. His dark eyes were fixed on the screen, tracking the movements with an obsessive, analytical intensity. He was wearing the same dark slacks and black turtleneck he had worn to the arena, his posture rigid.
On the television, Bray Wyatt was applying the Mandible Claw.
"Look at the grip tension," Sandro murmured quietly to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. It was a flat, emotionless tone. "He secures my nerve like that before applying downward pressure. It passes by the pain receptors and directly targets the oxygen flow. Very efficient move."
AJ, Nikki, and Alexa exchanged worried glances, standing frozen near the doorway.
The footage on the screen fast forwarded rapidly. It jumped to Christian swinging the silver briefcase into the back of Bray's head.
"Two hundred and eighty one days," Sandro stated, his eyes tracking the dented silver metal on the screen. "Batista held the World Heavyweight Championship for two hundred and eighty two days. I was twenty four hours away. The statistical probability of a cash in occurring precisely on the two hundred and eighty first day, immediately following a forty minute high trauma event, is incredibly low. Yet, it happened."
The footage jumped again. Christian was delivering the second Killswitch to Sandro's unconscious body. The referee's hand slapped the mat for the final time.
"Three hundred and sixty four days," Sandro continued, his voice maintaining that eerie, detached cadence. "One full year is three hundred and sixty five days. A milestone achieved by only a fraction of a percent of performers in this company's history. It requires absolute dominance. It requires a flawless operational structure."
Sandro slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out his smartphone. He didn't look away from the television screen. He tapped the phone, bringing up a pre downloaded YouTube compilation video.
He held the phone up, angling it so the three women standing behind him could see the screen.
The video began playing on a loop. It showed Sandro scaling the ladder to retrieve the Money in the Bank briefcase. It cut to him winning the United States Championship. It cut to his brutal cash in to win the WWE Championship. It cut to him standing high holding both the WWE and World Heavyweight titles high in the air.
"I have acquired everything," Sandro murmured, his eyes flicking from the television screen to the phone and back again. "I established the monopoly. The Nexum Core infrastructure was implemented perfectly. All of the variables were controlled."
"Sandro...?" AJ whispered, taking a slow, hesitant step forward.
Sandro didn't acknowledge her. He continued his obsessive recitation of his lost empire.
"The World Heavyweight Championship," Sandro listed, staring at the footage of himself holding the gold. "The WWE Championship. The United States Championship. The Women's Championship. Total market control. Absolute dominance."
He lowered the phone, placing it carefully on the glass coffee table in front of him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together. He stared intently at the muted television screen, where Christian was currently celebrating with the WWE Championship.
The psychological deterioration was subtle, but terrifyingly clear. Sandro wasn't screaming or throwing furniture. He wasn't acting like a cartoon villain. He was a billionaire and heir of Nexum Core, whose entire carefully constructed reality had just been dismantled, and his brain was desperately trying to calculate how the impossible had occurred. He was obsessively processing the data, treating the loss of his titles not as a physical defeat, but as a catastrophic failure of his corporate algorithms.
"I controlled the narrative," Sandro whispered to the empty room, his eyes fixed on Christian's celebrating face. "I was the God King."
He slowly tilted his head, his dark, calculating gaze finally shifting slightly away from the screen, staring into the dark corner of the room.
"There was a flaw in what I create," Sandro concluded quietly, his voice devoid of any warmth or humanity. "The variables were not properly taken care off. The interference was permitted."
He slowly turned his head, finally acknowledging the presence of AJ, Nikki, and Alexa. His eyes were cold, hollow, and incredibly sharp.
"We need to rewrite the code of whatever just happened," Sandro stated simply.
The broadcast camera lingered on Sandro's chilling, emotionless stare. The God King hadn't gone insane, he had gone cold. He was systematically detaching himself from the emotional reality of the loss, reducing his enemies to variables that needed to be eliminated.
The screen slowly faded to black on that unsettling visual, leaving the WWE Universe to wonder exactly what the malfunctioned God King was going to do next.
The immediate reaction from the global wrestling community was unlike anything seen in recent years. As Monday Night RAW faded to black on that unsettling, cold stare, the digital sphere ignited.
Fans weren't just discussing wrestling storylines, they were analyzing the psychological profile of a fictional character with the fervor of criminal profilers. On the major wrestling subreddits and forums, the dissection of the final segment was intense and relentless.
"Did you see his eyes?" a user posted in the main discussion thread, accumulating hundreds of replies within minutes. "He wasn't angry. That's the scary part. If Sandro had come out throwing chairs and screaming, it would just be another angry heel. But that cold, detached calculation? He looked like a machine that just identified a virus."
Another fan chimed in, echoing a sentiment shared by many. "Sandro is a genius, both in the ring and out. But he's a genius who has never tasted real failure. He bought his way in, outsmarted everyone, and held onto power through sheer dominance. Now that the empire is gone, his brain literally can't process it as a simple loss. He thinks there's a bug in the code. He's becoming unhinged, but in a very quiet, dangerous way."
The speculation ran wild. Fans debated what "rewriting the code" actually meant. Did it mean firing his legal team? Did it mean unleashing a new level of violence? Or did it mean Sandro was going to slowly descend into true, obsessive madness if he couldn't immediately reclaim what he felt was rightfully his?
"If he doesn't get those belts back soon, he's going to lose whatever sanity he has left," a prominent wrestling podcaster tweeted. "We are watching the origin story of a supervillain. The God King is dead. Welcome the Architect of Chaos."
While the internet burned with theories, the reality behind the curtain was starkly different.
The moment the red light on the broadcast camera flickered off in the executive suite, the chilling, emotionless aura surrounding Sandro Zhang instantly evaporated.
Sandro blinked, rolling his shoulders to release the physical tension of the character. He looked over at the production crew standing near the doorway, offering a warm, genuine smile.
"Great work, guys," Sandro said, his voice returning to its normal, relaxed cadence. "The lighting in here was perfect. That closing shot felt exactly right."
The lead cameraman lowered his rig, nodding appreciatively. "You nailed the delivery, Sandro. It was incredibly unsettling. The truck loved it."
Sandro stood up from the leather chair, pulling his smartphone from the coffee table. He turned to AJ, Nikki, and Alexa, who were also dropping their anxious personas, their expressions softening into relief now that the long, grueling weekend of television was finally over.
"You guys did great," Sandro praised, wrapping an arm around Nikki's waist and pulling her close. "The anxiety played perfectly. It really sold the severity of the situation."
"I felt like I was acting in a thriller movie," Alexa laughed, shaking her head. "That whole 'rewriting the code' line gave me actual chills."
"It's all about the layers," Sandro agreed, checking his messages. "We need the audience to believe that I'm completely spiraling, but in a systematic way. It builds the tension for the next few weeks."
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to the girls. "I have a quick meeting with Vince before we leave. I need to run a specific long term direction by him. Just the two of us. Give me twenty minutes, and then we are officially off the clock."
"Take your time," AJ smiled, leaning against the leather sofa. "We aren't in any rush."
Sandro nodded, slipping out of the executive suite and navigating the labyrinth of hallways beneath the Accor Arena. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who held significant sway not just in front of the camera, but behind it. He bypassed the main Gorilla Position, heading directly for the temporary office set up for the Chairman.
Sandro knocked twice on the heavy door before pushing it open.
Vince McMahon sat behind a cluttered folding table, reviewing a stack of formatting sheets. The Chairman looked up, his trademark scowl softening slightly at the sight of his top star.
"Sandro," Vince barked, gesturing to the empty folding chair across from him. "Have a seat. That closing segment was good television. Very psychological. I like it."
"Thank you, Vince," Sandro replied, taking the seat. "It sets the table perfectly for the next phase. But that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. The next phase."
Vince leaned back, lacing his fingers together. He respected Sandro, not just because of the massive revenue he generated, but because of the sheer business acumen he brought to the table through Nexum Core.
"I'm listening," Vince said.
"The fans are expecting a rampage," Sandro began, his tone serious and analytical. "They expect me to cash in rematch clauses, tear through the roster, and try to win the belts back immediately. But I think that's the wrong move. If I win them back, it cheapens the impact of what Bray and Christian just did. It makes the cash in feel like a hiccup rather than a catastrophe."
Vince narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "So, what are you proposing?"
"I propose we lean into the obsession," Sandro explained, leaning forward. "For the next few weeks, I don't get the gold back. In fact, I shouldn't even get close. I want to build a narrative where my calculations keep failing. I want the audience to watch me slowly lose my grip on reality. The cold, detached billionaire gradually turning into a desperate, dangerous sociopath who realizes his money and his intellect can't fix this."
Vince stroked his chin, digesting the pitch. "You want to strip away everything completely."
"Exactly," Sandro nodded. "We build the frustration. The Three Terrors try to keep me grounded, but I push them away because I'm too obsessed with the math of my failure. It creates a completely different dynamic. And then, when the time is right, we pull the trigger on the 'rewritten code.' creating something unexpected that no one will expect."
Vince remained silent for a long moment, staring at Sandro. The Chairman was a master of long term booking when he was invested, and this pitch had undeniable box office potential. It protected the new champions while giving Sandro a deeply compelling character arc.
"It's a slow burn," Vince finally said, a slow, approving smile forming on his face. "It requires patience. But if you can sell the psychological breakdown... it will be massive."
"I can sell it," Sandro assured him confidently.
"Alright," Vince agreed, slapping his hand on the table. "We keep this between us. I won't even put it in the creative notes yet. We let the writers think you're just hunting for a rematch, and you and I will steer the ship in the shadows."
"Perfect," Sandro said, standing up and offering his hand.
Vince shook it firmly. "Go enjoy Paris, kid. You've earned a few days off."
Sandro left the office, returning to the executive suite where AJ, Nikki, and Alexa were waiting. The heavy weight of the storyline was lifted, replaced by the anticipation of a rare, uninterrupted vacation in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
For the next four days, Sandro and his three girlfriends completely disconnected from the wrestling world.
They traded the grueling gym schedules and production meetings for the vibrant, romantic streets of Paris. They acted like normal tourists, though their sheer presence and designer wardrobes often drew lingering stares.
They spent a morning getting lost in the massive, echoing halls of the Louvre, admiring the art while Sandro quietly explained the historical significance of the pieces to Alexa, who listened with genuine fascination. They spent an afternoon walking hand in hand along the Seine, the autumn breeze cutting through the city.
The shopping was, predictably, extravagant. Sandro essentially gave them a blank check on the Champs-Élysées. AJ found a series of rare, first edition books in a quiet antique shop, while Nikki and Alexa spent hours navigating the high end boutiques, emerging with bags of designer clothing and shoes.
In the evenings, they dined at exclusive, Michelin starred restaurants, hidden away in private alcoves where they could simply enjoy each other's company without the constant pressure of cameras or fans. They drank expensive wine, laughed loudly, and enjoyed the quiet intimacy that their chaotic lifestyle rarely afforded them.
It was a necessary, beautiful reset. A reminder that beneath the characters, the titles, and the grueling travel schedules, they were a deeply connected unit.
But in the professional wrestling industry, peace is always temporary.
The vacation days melted away, and the relentless machine of the WWE schedule demanded their return. They boarded a private Nexum Core jet, flying back across the Atlantic, leaving the romance of Paris behind and stepping back into the harsh, brightly lit reality of sports entertainment.
Monday Night RAW was back on domestic soil, broadcasting live from the XL Center in Stamford, Connecticut, the corporate backyard of the WWE empire.
The arena was packed to the rafters, the fans buzzing with the residual energy of the previous week's chaotic events.
The countdown clock hit zero, and a spectacular volley of pyrotechnics exploded across the stage. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a visceral wall of sound that signaled the beginning of another volatile episode.
The broadcast cameras swept over the sea of fans, capturing the colorful signs and the electric atmosphere before swooping down to the ringside announce desk.
"Welcome everyone to Monday Night RAW, broadcasting live from Stamford, Connecticut!" Cole yelled, his voice carrying the hype of a massive show. "I am Michael Cole, alongside Jerry 'The King' Lawler and John 'Bradshaw' Layfield, and gentlemen, we are still feeling the aftershocks of Night of Champions and the incredible fallout we witnessed last week in Paris!"
"It has been a whirlwind, Michael!" Lawler agreed, adjusting his headset. "The landscape of this company is completely unrecognizable from where it was just two weeks ago!"
"We heard from the new World Heavyweight Champion, Bray Wyatt, who claims he has swallowed the mountain!" Cole recapped rapidly. "We heard from the new WWE Champion, Christian, who announced he is taking the gold to Friday Night SmackDown! And we heard from the new WWE Women's Champion, Asuka, who boldly declared she fears no one!"
"It is a dark time for this company!" JBL complained loudly, immediately setting his defensive stance. "You have a swamp monster holding the World Heavyweight Championship, an opportunistic vulture running away to SmackDown with the WWE Championship, and a thief holding the Women's Championship!"
"You sound a little bitter, John!" Lawler laughed. "The WWE Universe is thrilled with the changes!"
"I am a realist, King!" JBL barked back. "The God King and the Three Terrors built this brand! And did you see the state Sandro Zhang was in last week? He is traumatized! Mick Foley allowed this company's greatest asset to be psychologically broken!"
"Sandro Zhang looked very calculating to me," Cole noted, his tone turning serious. "He didn't look broken, he looked like a man who is trying to figure out how to dismantle the entire system. And I don't think anyone is safe when he figures it out."
_______________________________
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 US Champion, 1x WWE Champion (364 Days -1st), & 1x World Heavyweight Champion (281 Days - 1st)
Other Achievements: 1x Inaugural 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), Youngest World Heavyweight Champion, Youngest Triple Crown Champion, & Longest US Title reign In WWE History (376 Days - 1st reign)
Wrestlemania Record: 2 - 0 Main Event: 1 - 0