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Then he ran. He hit the ropes hard, momentum building. He came back around, and swung his right arm outward in a vicious arc, elbow snapping from inward to outward, smashing into the back of Henry's head and neck.
LAST NOTE.
Henry collapsed forward, face first to the mat, completely motionless.
The arena erupted into nuclear heat.
Sandro fell on top of him immediately, hooking the leg, pressing his chest down with everything he had left.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rang.
DING DING DING!
Boos rained down from every corner of the arena, deafening and relentless.
Justin Roberts stepped forward, microphone in hand, voice barely audible over the reaction. "Here is your winner… and STILL… WWE UNITED STATES CHAMPION… SANDROOO ZHANGGGG!"
Sandro rolled off Henry, lying flat on his back, staring up at the lights, chest rising and falling violently. His arm draped across his face as he laughed softly to himself, exhausted beyond measure. He had done it. He had survived.
Cole sounded disappointed but respectful. "What a match. What a fight. Mark Henry gave everything he had tonight."
Lawler sighed. "I hate the outcome, but you can't deny what we just witnessed. That was an instant classic."
The Undisputed System flooded the ring, but not to interfere, too late for that. Alexa knelt beside him, placing a hand on his chest. Heyman hovered nervously, shouting praises. The others stood around them, protecting their leader.
Sandro slowly sat up, clutching his ribs, pain written all over his face. He accepted the United States Championship from the referee, holding it to his chest like a lifeline. The boos continued, but mixed within them was a strange undercurrent of reluctant respect.
After that Sandro pushed himself to get on one knee, then to his feet, raising the title high despite the pain.
Mark Henry remained down for a long moment, finally rolling onto his side, disappointment heavy but pride intact.
The crowd kept booing.
Sandro didn't smile.
He just stood there, champion still, having survived one of the toughest tests of his career.
Cole finished solemnly. "Tonight, Sandro proved something. He's not just collecting championships. He's surviving legends."
Sandro stood there for a few seconds longer, the United States Championship still raised high above his head, the noise crashing over him like a tidal wave. He didn't acknowledge it. He didn't sneer. He didn't taunt. He simply absorbed it, as if this reaction, this hatred, this resistance, was proof that everything he believed was correct.
Then he lowered the title.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The Undisputed System closed ranks around him, a moving wall of gold and muscle and quiet menace. Alexa Bliss with her title on her waist, slipped in beside him, her hand brushing his arm as if to steady him, while Heyman hovered just behind, still talking, still gesturing wildly, still living off the electricity of survival.
Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre took point with their WWE Tag Team title on her shoulder, Big E and Ryback flanking wit then World Tag Team title, Ziggler and Jericho watching the crowd like predators daring someone to make a mistake.
They didn't celebrate.
They exited.
Sandro led them up the ramp, step by step, shoulders stiff, body clearly aching, but posture unbroken. The boos followed them, rolling down from the upper decks, relentless and furious. Cameras tracked every step. Cole narrated what everyone was seeing, his tone heavy.
"Whether you like him or not, Sandro Zhang just went toe to toe with Mark Henry and walked out with his championship intact."
Lawler added bitterly, "Walked out… but barely."
They reached the midpoint of the ramp.
And then everything changed.
There was no music.
No pyro.
No warning.
A massive shadow stepped out onto the entrance stage.
Big Show.
The reaction was instant and thunderous. The boos transformed into roaring cheers as the World's Largest Athlete stood there, arms at his sides, jaw set, eyes locked straight down the ramp at Sandro.
Cole's voice spiked instantly. "WAIT A MINUTE—WHAT IS THIS?!"
Lawler nearly shouted. "That's Big Show!"
Before anyone could process that, another figure emerged beside him.
Kane.
Red and black, towering, silent, his face tilted slightly forward like a weapon being aimed.
"And Kane!" Cole exclaimed. "Oh my—"
The cheers grew louder.
Then—
The Undertaker.
The Deadman stepped out slowly, coat hanging open, eyes burning beneath the brim of his hat. He didn't pose. He didn't raise his arms. He simply stood there, presence alone enough to send shockwaves through the arena.
Lawler was nearly shouting. "You've gotta be kidding me!"
And then, last—
Triple H.
The Game stepped out with a snarl, fists clenched, eyes locked on Sandro with a look that promised unfinished business. Eight men stood across the stage, aligned without a word spoken.
The crowd lost its mind.
Cole could barely keep up. "This is unbelievable! This is the same group that was evaded on SmackDown! They're back and they're blocking the exit!"
But it wasn't over.
From the crowd itself, movement began.
Fans screamed as security tried to react too late. A hood came down. Then another.
John Morrison vaulted the barricade first, landing smoothly at the base of the ramp.
R-Truth followed, sliding in beside him.
Christian climbed over next, eyes locked on the ring.
And finally—
Rey Mysterio, mask gleaming under the lights, stepping into position at the bottom of the ramp.
Eight men.
Above them, Big Show, Kane, Undertaker, and Triple H.
Below them, Morrison, Truth, Christian, and Mysterio.
Sandro and the Undisputed System stood trapped in the middle.
Detroit erupted into the loudest cheers of the night, people screaming, pointing, chanting wildly.
Cole was nearly breathless. "This is unreal! They're surrounded!"
Lawler sounded ecstatic. "This is payback! This is EVERYTHING these fans have been waiting for!"
The eight men didn't move in immediately. They didn't need to. The visual alone said enough. This wasn't a sneak attack. This was a message. A wall closing in.
Sandro stopped walking.
The Undisputed System halted behind him.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Sandro slowly turned.
Not with panic.
Not with anger.
But with visible exhaustion.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes drifting across the stage, then down the ramp, taking in every single face surrounding him. Big Show cracking his knuckles. Kane rolling his shoulders.
The Undertaker unmoving. Triple H staring daggers. Morrison leaning forward. R-Truth bouncing. Christian jaw clenched. Rey Mysterio standing calm and focused.
Sandro sighed.
Audibly.
He raised his voice just enough for the ringside cameras to catch it.
"I am so… tired… of this."
The crowd roared louder.
"Are we really doing this again?"
The crowd booed louder.
Sandro shook his head. "I'm exhausted," he said plainly. "Not physically. Mentally."
Triple H snarled from the stage, jaw flexing.
Sandro shook his head slowly. "This back and forth. This posturing. This idea that if you just stack enough legends together, something changes."
He gestured lazily with the championship. "It doesn't."
Boos intensified.
"We've beaten all of you," Sandro continued, voice flat, almost bored. "Some of you once. Some of you twice. Some of you three times."
His eyes flicked to Jericho behind him. "Some of you more times than you care to remember."
He paused.
Then his gaze locked onto Triple H.
Triple H snarled, stepping forward half a step before restraining himself.
Sandro met the look without flinching.
"I knew this was coming," Sandro said. "So I planned for it."
Triple H's eyes narrowed.
Sandro smiled faintly.
Then he snapped his fingers.
Sirens.
At first, the sound was distant, barely noticeable beneath the crowd noise.
Then it grew louder.
Red and blue lights flashed along the sides of the arena.
Detroit Police officers poured out from both sides of the entrance stage and ramp, moving quickly, professionally. Within seconds, a solid line of uniformed officers formed between the Undisputed System and the eight men surrounding them.
The reaction was immediate and violent.
"BOOOOOOO!"
The boos were deafening.
Cole shouted over it. "Oh come on! You've gotta be kidding me!"
Lawler was furious. "This is ridiculous! He called the cops?!"
The eight men froze, shock written across their faces. Morrison stared in disbelief. R-Truth threw his hands up. Christian cursed under his breath. Rey Mysterio shook his head slowly.
At the top of the ramp, Big Show clenched his fists. Kane took a step forward before stopping. Triple H looked like he wanted to tear someone apart.
The Undertaker stared at the officers, expression unreadable.
Sandro laughed.
Not loudly.
Not maniacally.
Just a quiet, satisfied laugh.
He leaned forward slightly, speaking again, voice low and mocking.
"Go on," he said. "Step forward."
He spread his arms slightly. "Touch one of them. Let's see what happens."
The boos grew even louder.
"You want to fight me?" Sandro continued. "Go through them."
He smirked. "Or are you suddenly worried about consequences?"
Kane took another step forward.
And stopped.
The Undertaker reached out, placing a hand firmly on Kane's arm.
Big Show moved closer too, subtly blocking him.
It wasn't fear.
It was strategy.
They knew exactly what Sandro was doing.
Cole caught it immediately. "They know. If they put hands on those officers, everything changes."
Lawler nodded grimly. "They lose leverage. They lose allies. They lose the war before it even starts."
Sandro saw it.
He saw the hesitation.
And his smirk widened.
He turned slightly, gesturing with his hand. "Open it up."
The officers parted, creating a narrow path up the ramp.
Sandro didn't rush.
He didn't gloat.
He simply walked.
The Undisputed System followed, one by one, passing through the opening as the officers closed ranks behind them. The eight men watched, helpless, furious, knowing they'd been outplayed.
As Sandro reached the stage, he stopped one last time and looked back.
Not at the officers.
Not at the crowd.
But at Triple H.
Then he turned and disappeared through the curtain.
Cole's voice carried frustration and disbelief. "This is unbelievable. Once again, Sandro and the Undisputed System walk away untouched."
Lawler shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this. They only fight when they want to."
RAW went off the air on that image, eight men standing frozen, the crowd screaming, and the Undisputed System once again untouched, not because they couldn't be stopped, but because they chose the moment they could be touched.
And that was worse.
Three weeks passed.
And somehow, that was the most unsettling part.
Sandro and the Undisputed System didn't escalate.
They didn't provoke.
They didn't flaunt their power beyond the ring.
They just… existed.
They wrestled their matches. They kept their titles. They left.
No ambushes.
No police.
No chaos.
And that silence made everything louder.
Week One.
Dolph Ziggler faced Rey Mysterio in a singles match. It was fast, crisp, emotional. Mysterio survived everything Ziggler threw at him and caught him at the last possible second with a 619 and a clean pin.
The crowd cheered.
Ziggler didn't.
He snapped after the bell, attacking Rey viciously, dragging him up and slamming him repeatedly until officials swarmed the ring. He lost, but he sent a message.
Later that night, Chris Jericho faced Kane in a non title match. Kane controlled much of it, but Kofi Kingston appeared at ringside at just the right moment, distracting Kane long enough for Jericho to strike. Jericho capitalized, stealing the win.
The Undertaker arrived too late.
Kofi ran.
Jericho smiled.
Week Two.
John Morrison and R-Truth challenged Wade Barrett and Drew McIntyre in a non-title match. Morrison and Truth fought with everything they had, but Wade and Drew were ruthless, efficient, and unrelenting. One misstep was all it took.
Wade hit the Bull Hammer.
Drew followed with the Claymore.
Match over.
Later that night, Kofi Kingston faced Triple H in a non title match. It was physical, heated, personal. Triple H controlled most of it, until the referee turned away for a split second.
Kofi struck low.
The crowd erupted in boos.
Kofi capitalized, hitting Trouble in Paradise and pinning Triple H clean.
Week Three.
The main event.
Big E and Ryback versus The Undertaker and Kane.
Non title.
Power met darkness.
The Brothers of Destruction weathered everything thrown at them and emerged victorious in the end, standing tall as the crowd roared.
But even then, something felt off. Because wins and losses didn't matter anymore. Only Night of Champions did. Rosemont, Chicago, Illinois. The battlefield was set. And everyone knew, whatever happened next would not be subtle.
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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