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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
He realized he was alone in the ring with Savage, Rock, Jericho, and Sheamus. Desperate, Drew backed into the corner, his eyes wild. He realized his only chance to survive the night was to end the match right now. Drew saw Randy Savage staggering to his feet in the center of the ring, completely disoriented from the beatdown he had just suffered.
Drew didn't wait. He hit the gas, accelerating forward with terrifying, explosive speed, launching his massive, two hundred and seventy pound frame into the air, looking for his devastating finisher.
"CLAYMORE!" Cole yelled in panic. "Drew is going for the kill!"
But Randy Savage wasn't disoriented. He was playing possum.
Possessing the ring awareness of an absolute master of the ring, Savage saw the Scottish Psychopath flying toward him out of his peripheral vision. At the absolute last microsecond, Savage dropped low to the canvas, completely dodging the massive boot!
Drew flew through empty air, crashing awkwardly onto his back.
As Drew frantically scrambled up to his feet, furious that he had missed, Savage was waiting right behind him. Savage hooked McIntyre under both arms, hoisted the massive Scotsman up into the air, and dropped him violently onto his own knee with a spectacular, bone rattling Inverted Atomic Drop!
D Drew's eyes bugged out of his head. He let out a high pitched gasp of absolute agony, stumbling forward, completely stunned, his legs turning to jelly.
Savage didn't hesitate. The Madness had fully taken over.
Savage sprinted to the corner, scaling the turnbuckles with the speed and agility of a man half his age. He reached the top rope, standing tall, pointing both of his index fingers high into the Jacksonville sky. The crowd reached an unprecedented level of volume, knowing exactly what they were about to witness.
"He's up top!" Lawler shrieked, completely losing his mind. "This is the moment, Michael! This is the moment!"
Randy Savage leaped high into the air, his body perfectly horizontal, his elbow tucked tightly against his side. He hung suspended in the air for what felt like an eternity, a perfect silhouette of professional wrestling royalty.
He crashed down with devastating, pinpoint precision, driving his elbow directly into the sternum of Drew McIntyre!
"DIVING ELBOW DROP!" Cole screamed, his voice completely giving out. "THE MACHO MAN HITS THE ELBOW!"
Savage hooked the massive leg of the Scottish Psychopath, hooking it deep, burying his face into the canvas as the referee dove into position.
One!
The crowd counted along, a massive, unified roar.
Two!
Heyman screamed in horror from the top of the ramp.
Three!
DING! DING! DING!
The iconic, majestic horns of "Pomp and Circumstance" absolutely blasted through the arena sound system, triggering a celebration that physically shook the Veterans Memorial Arena.
The ring announcer Justin Roberts raised his microphone, his voice thick with emotion.
"Here is your winner..." Roberts boomed, the respect evident in every syllable. "THE 'MACHO MAN'... RANDY... SAVAGE!"
"HE DID IT! HE DID IT!" Cole cheered, standing on his chair at the commentary desk, clapping wildly. "THE MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE HAS DEFEATED THE SCOTTISH PSYCHOPATH! HE HAS DEFEATED THE UNDISPUTED SYSTEM!"
"What an unbelievable match! What an unbelievable moment!" Lawler applauded, tears of joy in his eyes. "Savage just proved to the entire world, and to Sandro Zhang, that the Madness is truly immortal! He still has it!"
"This is a complete travesty of justice!" JBL wailed, his head buried in his hands. "He had help! It was a four on one assault! Jericho, Rock, and Sheamus illegally interfered! This match should be thrown out immediately! The God King is going to have them all fired!"
"It was a No Disqualification match, John!" Cole fired back triumphantly. "Paul Heyman made the rules, and the Undisputed System just got completely burned by them! The locker room is officially united against the empire!"
Inside the ring, the scene was absolute, triumphant magic.
Randy Savage slowly pushed himself up to a kneeling position, clutching his chest, a massive, exhausted, beautiful smile spreading across his face.
The Rock, Chris Jericho, and Sheamus walked over to him. The three men, who had just put their own bodies on the line to protect the legend, reached down. They grabbed the Macho Man by his arms and hoisted him back up to his feet.
The Rock raised Savage's left arm high into the air. Chris Jericho raised Savage's right arm. Sheamus stood guard, his Intercontinental Championship gleaming, ensuring that the Undisputed System, who were currently limping back up the entrance ramp in absolute disgrace, did not try to return.
Savage looked around the arena, taking in the deafening, standing ovation from eighteen thousand adoring fans. He pointed at The Rock, Jericho, and Sheamus, nodding his head in profound, silent gratitude.
The golden armor of the Undisputed System had not just been cracked, it had been violently shattered. The God King's disposable enforcers had been completely humiliated on live television, and the rebellion was standing tall in the center of the ring.
As the final copyright graphic appeared on the screen, freezing on the iconic visual of Randy Savage celebrating with the united front of WWE legends, the entire wrestling world knew that the Road to WrestleMania had officially transformed into a full blown revolution.
But while the fans celebrated the rebellion in the stands, a completely different, much quieter, and infinitely more dangerous battle was taking place deep within the labyrinthine bowels of the arena.
Far removed from the blinding lights, the pyrotechnics, and the sweat stained canvas, the corporate machinery of the WWE was operating at maximum capacity. Down a heavily guarded, dimly lit concrete hallway, two massive wooden doors marked the entrance to the temporary, traveling office of the Chairman of the Board.
Inside, the atmosphere was entirely devoid of the colorful, chaotic energy of professional wrestling. The room was sterile, cold, and strictly business, furnished with a heavy mahogany desk, leather chairs, and a bank of television monitors that were currently replaying the final moments of the broadcast on a continuous, muted loop.
Vince McMahon sat behind the desk, bathed in the soft blue glow of the monitors. The Chairman looked exhausted but intensely focused. He was currently reviewing a stack of preliminary television rating reports and live event gate receipts, calculating the immediate financial impact of the Macho Man's shocking in-ring return.
The heavy wooden door opened with a quiet, deliberate click.
Sandro stepped into the office.
The Triple Crown Champion had already showered and changed out of his ring gear. Despite having just been tackled and pummeled by Randy Savage in front of millions of people in Royal Rumble, Sandro did not look like a man who had just suffered a humiliating retreat.
He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal, tailored Tom Ford suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark silk tie. The only physical evidence of the chaotic brawl was a slight discoloration near his left cheekbone and a small cut on his lower lip.
Sandro closed the door behind him, entirely shutting out the ambient noise of the arena crew beginning to dismantle the stage outside.
Vince McMahon didn't immediately look up from his paperwork. He let the silence hang in the air for a few long, calculated seconds, a classic, old school intimidation tactic designed to establish dominance in the room.
But Sandro simply stood there, perfectly still, his hands clasped casually behind his back, completely immune to the psychological games.
Finally, Vince sighed, a low, gravelly sound. He reached up, slowly pulling his reading glasses off his face, tossing them onto the stack of financial reports. He looked up, his pale blue eyes locking onto the young, wildly ambitious executive standing in his office.
"Sit down," Vince commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that brooked absolutely no argument.
Sandro nodded respectfully, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he smoothly took a seat in the plush leather chair opposite the Chairman's desk. He crossed his legs, resting his hands casually on his knee, projecting an aura of absolute, unshakeable confidence.
"We need to finalize the docket for WrestleMania weekend, Vince," Sandro began, his tone pleasant but strictly business, entirely dropping the megalomaniacal persona of the God King. "Specifically, the Hall of Fame ceremony. I have several suggestions for this year's induction class that need to be locked in immediately so the production team can begin assembling the video packages."
Vince leaned back in his heavy leather chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He stared at Sandro, evaluating the young man. The dynamic between them was incredibly complex.
Sandro was not just a contracted talent, he was the son of Jack Zhang, the billionaire head of Nexum Core, which currently stood as the second largest shareholder of the WWE. Sandro was a peer, a rival, and a terrifyingly sharp businessman in his own right.
"I'm listening," Vince said carefully, his eyes narrowing. "Who exactly do you have in mind?"
Sandro didn't hesitate. He looked Vince dead in the eye.
"I want the primary, headlining inductee for this year's Hall of Fame class to be the Macho Man, Randy Savage," Sandro stated firmly. "And I want it done right now, this year, while he is still alive, well, and physically capable of standing on that stage to accept the honor."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Vince remained completely motionless. The history between Vince and Randy Savage was famously turbulent, deeply personal, and fraught with decades of bitter estrangement, broken promises, and unspoken grudges.
For years, the mere mention of Savage's name in production meetings was enough to send the Chairman into a legendary rage.
Vince looked away from Sandro, his gaze drifting to the muted television monitor on the wall, watching the replay of Savage hitting the diving elbow drop on Drew McIntyre.
The silence stretched on for nearly a full minute.
Finally, Vince let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing his jaw.
"You know," Vince began, his voice surprisingly quiet, stripped of the usual bombastic promoter bravado. "If it were anyone else sitting in that chair right now proposing this... I would have them thrown out of my office and fired before their feet hit the concrete hallway."
Vince leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany desk.
"But," Vince continued, begrudgingly acknowledging the reality of the situation, "if it weren't for you... if it weren't for your resources, your persistence, and whatever corporate magic you used to manage to convince that incredibly stubborn son of a bitch to bury the hatchet with me and this company... none of what happened tonight would have been possible."
Vince pointed a finger at the monitor.
"You got him to make an in ring return. You got him to make a television appearance. You bridged a gap that I thought was permanently destroyed," Vince admitted, a rare concession of defeat. "So, since we have passed all of that, and since the ice is officially broken... I agree. Randy Savage will be the headliner for this year's Hall of Fame class. It is the right thing to do for business, and it is the right thing to do for the fans."
Sandro smiled slightly, appreciating the massive hurdle they had just cleared.
"Anyone else?" Vince asked, picking up a pen and clicking it rapidly, his mind already moving to the next item on the agenda.
Sandro nodded, listing the names with calculated precision.
"I want the Natural Disasters, Earthquake and Typhoon, to be inducted this year," Sandro proposed. "They were a defining tag team of a massively lucrative era. Furthermore, I want Sycho Sid and the Big Boss Man to go in."
Sandro paused, holding up his hand to halt the inevitable interruption.
"Just these three additions," Sandro clarified. "I know full well that you, the WWE management committee, and the board, minus my father, of course, who abstained from the preliminary vote, have already agreed on a base list for this year's class."
"I am not suggesting we remove anyone from your approved list. I am proposing that we simply extend the list. We add Savage, the Disasters, Sid, and Boss Man. We make this year's Hall of Fame class the absolute biggest, most star studded induction ceremony in the history of the company."
Vince stopped clicking his pen. He placed it down on the desk, his brow furrowing in deep thought. He was completely silent as he mulled over the proposition.
Sandro watched the Chairman's mind work. He knew exactly what Vince was thinking. It was the classic promoter's dilemma: the fear of exhausting the available resources.
"I know what you're thinking, Vince," Sandro interjected smoothly, cutting through the silence. "You are thinking about the future. You are calculating the effect a massive class will have on the Hall of Fame ceremonies five, ten, or fifteen years down the line. You are worried that if we burn through too many top tier, recognizable names right now, we will dilute the prestige of the event in the future, and we won't have any major headliners left to sell tickets."
Vince shot him a sharp look, confirming the accuracy of the assessment.
"Don't think too much into that," Sandro advised, his tone shifting into a persuasive, visionary register. "You are looking at this through an incredibly narrow, artificially restricted lens. The WWE has a massive, virtually inexhaustible list of people who could be inducted into the Hall of Fame. But you have to be willing to open the doors."
Sandro leaned forward, placing his hands flat on Vince's desk.
"We could induct dozens, if not hundreds, of legendary wrestlers who have never stepped foot in a WWE, WCW, or ECW ring," Sandro proposed boldly. "Men and women who built the territories. Legends from Japan, icons from Mexico, pioneers from Europe. Wrestlers who never worked for you, but still made an undeniable, massive mark in the professional wrestling industry, both domestically and globally. If you acknowledge the global history of the sport, you will never run out of Hall of Fame headliners."
The reaction was instantaneous and violently hostile.
"No."
Vince's voice cracked like a whip through the office. His face immediately flushed a dark, angry red. He sat up entirely straight, his fists clenched tightly on the desk.
"Absolutely not," Vince stated, his tone radiating absolute, uncompromising rejection. "I do not agree to that, and I never will. The WWE will not put a flood of wrestlers from outside our system into our Hall of Fame. I will agree to a select few, an occasional Japanese legend or a regional draw, only if I and the management committee have explicitly agreed upon them for political or strategic reasons. But that is where the line is drawn."
Vince leaned across the desk, his eyes burning with the fierce, territorial pride of an absolute monarch.
"I do not want them inducted because I will not authorize the full, public acknowledgment of wrestling promotions that happened in America or all around the world outside of my banner!" Vince roared, his voice trembling with anger.
"I spent my entire life, my entire fortune, and my absolute sanity crushing the territories! I bought my competition, I bankrupted my rivals, and I consolidated this industry under one roof! The WWE is professional wrestling! I am not going to use my television time, my resources, and my global platform to validate the history of companies that tried to put me out of business!"
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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: 1 - 0