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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
"Are you completely delusional, John?!" Lawler laughed, entirely mocking the former champion. "Did you watch the same match we did?! Brock Lesnar was tossing world class heavyweights around like they were stuffed animals! He took Ziggler, Woods, Barrett, and Kofi to Suplex City before McIntyre even stepped off the ring apron! The Undisputed System was definitely going to lose that match, regardless of what Drew did!"
"Absolutely not!" JBL roared back, violently slamming his hand on the desk, vehemently defending the golden empire. "It is simple battlefield tactics, King! The Undisputed System operates as a single, cohesive unit! When a rogue element like Drew McIntyre betrays the commanding officer, it causes a catastrophic breakdown in communication! The Undisputed System boys lost their focus! They were entirely distracted by the mutiny, and that cowardly Beast, Brock Lesnar, simply capitalized on an unearned opportunity! If Drew hadn't stabbed them in the back, Lesnar would be drinking his meals through a straw right now!"
"That is the most ridiculous excuse I have ever heard in my life!" Cole shouted, entirely exasperated by JBL's unwavering bias. "Brock Lesnar completely dismantled them..."
Before Cole could even finish his sentence, the incredibly heated argument at the commentary desk was violently, suddenly interrupted.
A sound that had absolutely never been heard in a WWE arena suddenly echoed through the massive PA system.
It was the deep, haunting, incredibly powerful wail of Scottish war pipes. The heavy, rhythmic drone of the bagpipes filled the Tingley Coliseum, playing a fierce, pulse pounding Scottish battle anthem that entirely hijacked the audio feed.
The Albuquerque crowd froze for a fraction of a second, entirely confused by the new music, before absolute realization washed over them.
The arena fundamentally exploded!
The pop was absolutely deafening, a massive, sustained roar of sheer, unadulterated adulation for the man who had finally stood up to the tyrant.
Stepping out from behind the heavy black curtains, looking like an absolute, terrifying warlord, was Drew McIntyre.
But this was not the Drew McIntyre that the WWE Universe had seen for the past year. He had entirely shed the corporate, uniform look of the Undisputed System. He wasn't wearing the black and gold faction t-shirt. He wasn't wearing the standard issue wrestling boots. He had stripped away every single emblem, logo, and trace of Sandro Zhang's golden empire.
McIntyre stepped out onto the stage adorned in a brand-new, incredibly imposing outfit. He wore a long, sleeveless, distressed black leather duster coat that billowed heavily around his massive, muscular frame. Underneath, his chest was entirely bare, showcasing his world class physique. He wore dark, battle ready wrestling trunks and a stylized, dark tartan kilt secured around his waist, paying direct homage to his proud Scottish heritage.
He didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like an apex predator who had just been let off his leash.
"Look at this absolute traitor!" JBL screamed over the noise of the crowd, entirely ripping his headset off to yell at the stage. "Look at the sheer arrogance of this man! You are a coward, McIntyre! You are a disgrace to the sports entertainment industry!"
"Are you kidding me?!" Cole cheered, completely ignoring JBL's vitriol. "Listen to this ovation! The WWE Universe is welcoming the Scottish Psychopath with open arms! He is a hero in Albuquerque tonight! He has finally broken the psychological chains of the God King!"
"He looks like a million bucks, Cole!" Lawler added, entirely captivated by the new presentation. "He looks like a man who has finally remembered exactly who he is!"
McIntyre stood on the entrance stage for a long moment, simply closing his eyes and soaking in the deafening cheers. For an entire year, he had been met with nothing but boos, hatred, and vitriol as the heavy muscle for the most despised faction in wrestling. Hearing twenty thousand people actively chant his name was a completely intoxicating, liberating experience.
McIntyre slowly opened his eyes, a deadly serious, incredibly focused expression on his bearded face. He began a slow, methodical, incredibly confident walk down the long entrance ramp. He didn't pander to the crowd. He didn't slap hands. He simply marched toward the squared circle with the heavy, undeniable presence of a main event superstar.
He climbed up the steel ring steps, wiping his boots on the apron, and stepped cleanly through the middle ropes.
McIntyre walked directly to the center of the ring, unbuttoning his heavy leather duster and shrugging it off his massive shoulders, letting it fall to the canvas. He turned to the ringside crew, raising a single finger, and asked for a microphone.
A technician frantically slid a live mic under the bottom rope. McIntyre bent down, scooped it up, and stood tall in the dead center of the ring.
He brought the microphone to his lips, but he didn't speak immediately. He just let the crowd roar.
"CLAY-MORE! CLAY-MORE! CLAY-MORE!"
The chant was deafening, echoing off the walls of the Coliseum. McIntyre slowly nodded his head, a small, grim smile touching the corners of his mouth.
"It's been a very, very long time," McIntyre began, his deep, incredibly thick Scottish brogue echoing through the arena. The sheer bass in his voice commanded absolute silence from the audience. "It has been a long, dark time since I heard the sound of people actually happy to see me."
The crowd let out a massive cheer of validation.
"For over a year," McIntyre continued, pacing slowly across the ring, his eyes scanning the faces in the front rows. "I have walked down this ramp with my head down. I have stood on that apron, and I have done absolutely terrible, unforgivable things to incredibly good men. I have broken arms, I have ended careers, and I have sold my absolute soul to protect a man who wouldn't cross the street to pull me out of a fire."
McIntyre stopped pacing, turning his gaze directly toward the hard camera, addressing the millions of people watching at home, and more specifically, addressing the God King himself.
"People have asked me all week... journalists, guys in the locker room, fans on the street... they all ask me the exact same question," McIntyre said, his voice dropping into a dark, intense register. "They ask me, 'Drew, why did you do it? Why did you betray the Undisputed System?'"
McIntyre let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"They act like I committed a crime," McIntyre stated, his voice slowly beginning to rise with raw, unadulterated passion. "They act like I walked away from a brotherhood! Let me make something absolutely, crystal clear to everyone in this building and everyone sitting at home. The Undisputed System was never a brotherhood! It was a prison! It was a psychological, financial, and emotional cage built entirely by Nexum Core to keep us blindly obedient!"
The crowd popped massively at the complete exposure of the faction's inner workings.
"Sandro Zhang didn't want brothers!" McIntyre roared, his eyes widening with intensity. "He wanted attack dogs! He wanted mindless, pathetic lackeys who would take the bullets so his pretty, billionaire face didn't get scratched! For a year, I justified it. I told myself it was for the money. I told myself it was for the security of my family. I let that arrogant, sociopathic child slap me in the face on live television!"
McIntyre violently pointed to his own cheek, where the red mark from Sandro's humiliating slap had burned just a week prior.
"But last Monday night," McIntyre whispered, bringing the microphone incredibly close to his mouth, completely captivating the audience. "When I stood on that apron... and I watched Sandro Zhang screaming at me, begging me to save his life from Brock Lesnar... I didn't see a God King. I didn't see a Triple Crown Champion. I saw a terrified, pathetic, incredibly weak little boy who was finally getting exactly what he deserved."
The Tingley Coliseum exploded into a massive chorus of "YES! YES! YES!"
"And when I looked at him," McIntyre continued, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss crossing his face. "When I looked at his bruised face, demanding that I sacrifice myself for his ego... a switch entirely flipped in my head. I remembered who I am! I am not a bodyguard! I am not a corporate enforcer! I am the Scottish Psychopath! I am a warrior!"
McIntyre violently slapped his own thigh, mimicking the setup for his devastating finisher, causing the crowd to roar in anticipation.
"And when the sole of my boot connected with Sandro Zhang's jaw," McIntyre shouted, his voice echoing with absolute triumph. "When I felt the impact of that Claymore kick completely separate him from his consciousness... it was the most freeing, beautiful, absolute best feeling I have ever experienced in my entire life! I am free! I am completely, undeniably free!"
The fans cheered wildly, entirely supporting the massive superstar's liberation.
McIntyre lowered the microphone for a moment, taking a deep breath, before raising it back to his lips. His expression turned incredibly serious, completely acknowledging the massive, terrifying target he had just painted on his own back.
"I have seen the tweets, Sandro," McIntyre said, his voice cold, steady, and completely devoid of fear. "I know that you promised judgement tonight. I know that you promised there would be hell to pay. You think you can intimidate me? You think your threats mean anything to a man who has already walked through hell for you?!"
McIntyre threw his arms open wide, inviting the absolute destruction.
"I am standing right here in the center of this ring!" McIntyre roared, his voice shaking the stadium! "I don't have the numbers anymore! I don't have the weapons! I don't have the corporate lawyers! It is just me! So if you want your pound of flesh, Sandro Zhang... if you want your revenge... do not send your broken lackeys! Do not send the lawyers! You walk your battered, bruised, arrogant ass down this ramp right now, and I will happily give you a second dose of the Claymore!"
McIntyre violently threw the microphone down onto the canvas!
THUD!
The war pipes immediately blasted back through the sound system, entirely drowning out the deafening roar of the Albuquerque crowd!
Drew McIntyre stood tall in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely locked on the entrance stage. The challenge was officially issued and the entire WWE Universe waited with bated breath to see if the God King would answer the call.
The twenty thousand fans in Albuquerque were entirely on the edges of their seats, staring unblinkingly at the heavy black curtains on the entrance stage.
"The challenge has been issued!" Cole shouted, his voice cracking with pure anticipation. "Drew McIntyre is demanding that the God King answer for his sins! Will Sandro Zhang accept the challenge? Will he come out here and face the Scottish Psychopath man to man?!"
"He'd be an absolute fool to do it!" JBL barked, frantically looking between the monitor and the stage. "Sandro is a billionaire! He is a mastermind! He doesn't need to walk down that ramp and fight a rogue, unhinged traitor on free television! He needs to call his lawyers and have McIntyre arrested for assault!"
"Sandro promised judgement on Twitter, John!" Lawler argued, completely swept up in the electricity of the moment. "He promised hell to pay! Let's see if he's actually man enough to deliver it without his army behind him!"
The crowd waited. Five seconds passed. Ten seconds. The tension was absolutely agonizing.
And then, the audio feed was violently, completely hijacked.
But the entrance music that suddenly blasted through the massive stadium speakers did not belong to Sandro Zhang. It did not belong to the Undisputed System whatsoever.
SCREECH!
The heavy, apocalyptic, screeching electric guitar riff violently ripped through the arena, followed immediately by the terrifying, aggressive drumbeat of "The Next Big Thing"!
The Tingley Coliseum fundamentally exploded for the second time in ten minutes! The pop was an absolute shockwave of sheer, visceral energy!
Stepping through the curtain, looking entirely unbothered by the incredibly volatile situation he was walking into, was the Beast Incarnate.
Brock Lesnar marched out onto the stage, entirely ignoring the deafening noise of the crowd. He wasn't wearing his wrestling gear, he wore a simple black t shirt and jeans, but his mere physical presence radiated the promise of absolute, unmitigated violence. Beside him, clutching the WWE microphone with a look of absolute, smug superiority, was his Advocate, Paul Heyman.
"Oh my God!" Cole shrieked over the deafening roar of the audience! "It's the Beast! It's Brock Lesnar!"
Lesnar didn't pace. He didn't play to the crowd. He simply bounced in place, his massive, heavily tattooed legs acting like coiled springs, his dead, focused eyes locked entirely on Drew McIntyre inside the ring. Lesnar planted his left foot, let out a terrifying, guttural roar, and unleashed his signature, high angle kick into the air!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Massive, blinding pyrotechnics violently exploded from the entrance stage, sending thick white smoke and a wave of heat washing over the front rows!
"What in the world are they doing out here?!" JBL panicked, his voice completely laced with dread. "This has absolutely nothing to do with them! McIntyre called out the Triple Crown Champion!"
"I don't think Brock Lesnar cares who called who out, John!" Lawler laughed hysterically. "He just conquered the entire Undisputed System on Monday, and now he is walking directly into the lion's den with the man who mutinied!"
Lesnar and Heyman began their terrifying, purposeful march down the incredibly long entrance ramp. McIntyre didn't flinch. He didn't back down an inch. The Scottish Psychopath stood perfectly still in the center of the ring, his dark, battle ready kilt shifting slightly as he planted his heavy boots into the canvas, entirely prepared for a physical altercation.
Lesnar reached the bottom of the ramp. He didn't bother using the steel steps. He simply grabbed the top rope and effortlessly vaulted his massive, 280 pound frame entirely up onto the ring apron in one fluid, terrifying motion. He stepped cleanly over the top rope, officially entering the ring, entirely invading McIntyre's space.
Paul Heyman slowly, deliberately walked up the steel ring steps. The Advocate stepped through the ropes, holding the microphone securely in his hand. He looked at the massive Scottish warrior standing across from his client, a wide, incredibly theatrical grin spreading across his face.
Heyman slowly raised the microphone to his lips.
"Ladies and Gentlemen..." Heyman's voice echoed with absolute, theatrical perfection, instantly captivating the entire arena. "My name... is Paul Heyman."
The crowd cheered loudly, entirely drawn in by the master orator's cadence.
"And I am the Advocate," Heyman continued, gesturing grandly with his free hand toward the massive, heavily muscled behemoth standing beside him. "For the true Conqueror of the Undisputed System... the Beast... BROCKKKK... LESNARRRRR!"
The fans roared again, chanting Suplex City as Lesnar slowly cracked his neck, never taking his eyes off McIntyre
.
"Now, Mr. McIntyre," Heyman said, his tone dropping into a highly articulate, slightly condescending register. He began to slowly pace the ring, acting as the absolute center of gravity for the segment. "I was standing in the back, and I listened to your impassioned, incredibly emotional speech. I heard you declare your freedom. I heard you recount the horrific, psychological abuse you suffered under the thumb of the so called God King."
Heyman paused, letting a small, patronizing smile touch his lips.
"And I want to be the very first person to officially, publicly congratulate you," Heyman stated, his voice dripping with smooth corporate venom. "Because what you did last week on Monday Night RAW... stepping off that apron, slapping your thigh, and violently separating Sandro Zhang from his consciousness... that was, without a shadow of a doubt, the absolute best decision you have ever made in your entire professional career."
The crowd popped, entirely agreeing with the Advocate's assessment.
"However," Heyman suddenly pivoted, his voice hardening, his smile vanishing entirely. He stepped closer to the center of the ring, pointing a firm, accusatory finger directly at the Scottish Psychopath. "Do not let the cheers of these people go to your head. Do not let your sudden, newfound relevance inflate your ego to the point of absolute delusion."
McIntyre's eyes narrowed dangerously, his jaw clenching as he listened.
"I have been online, Mr. McIntyre," Heyman continued, directly addressing the massive internet discourse that had dominated the wrestling world all week. "I have read the forums. I have seen the Twitter timelines. I have seen the endless, rampant speculation from the fans and the journalists alike. They are painting this beautiful, completely fictional narrative that my client, Brock Lesnar, only won that handicap match because you decided to have a moral epiphany."
Heyman scoffed loudly into the microphone, a sound of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"They are making it seem like Brock Lesnar was the beneficiary of your charity," Heyman roared, his face beginning to turn a familiar shade of angry red. "They are acting like you handed us the victory! Let me get one point entirely, perfectly straight with you, and with everyone watching around the globe! Brock Lesnar defeated the Undisputed System not because you betrayed them... Brock Lesnar defeated them because he is a Beast! Because he already had the entire match in the palm of his massive hand!"
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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