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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
"You see, my contract with Nexum Core comes with an absolute, legally binding guarantee," Lashley revealed, dropping an absolute bombshell on the entire WWE Universe. "Once my job is complete... once Brock Lesnar and Drew McIntyre are permanently, violently exterminated from the WWE title picture... I get the ultimate payoff. My contract guarantees that I get the very first, mandatory shot at Sandro Zhang's World Heavyweight Championship."
The entire Tingley Coliseum let out a massive, unified gasp of absolute, unmitigated shock!
The shockwave entirely rocked the commentary desk!
"WHAT?!" Cole shrieked, nearly leaping out of his chair! "Did I just hear that correctly?! Bobby Lashley has a guaranteed World Heavyweight Championship match written directly into his contract?!"
"This is completely unprecedented!" Lawler yelled, entirely astounded by the incredibly complex corporate maneuvering. "Sandro literally hired his own future executioner! He brought in The Dominator to take out Lesnar, but the price of that protection is putting his own title on the line!"
"It's a calculated risk, King!" JBL argued, desperately trying to process the massive revelation. "The God King knows that Lesnar is the immediate, existential threat! He is using Lashley as a weapon, and he will deal with the championship clause when the time comes! It is brilliant delegation!"
On the ringside floor, the revelation hit incredibly hard.
Paul Heyman, who was still officially serving as the General Manager of Monday Night RAW, had managed to push himself up to his feet using the barricade. Heyman had not been sacked by Sandro yet, maintaining a tenuous, incredibly dangerous grip on his executive power.
The Advocate's face went completely pale. His jaw literally dropped. Heyman stared up at Bobby Lashley with a look of sheer, unadulterated horror. Heyman had spent the entire week manipulating the board of directors, attempting to construct a path for his Beast to conquer the Undisputed System.
But with a single, legally binding contract, Sandro Zhang had entirely outmaneuvered him. The God King had bypassed the General Manager entirely, utilizing his Nexum Core billions to bring in an independent contractor who was not only capable of physically destroying Brock Lesnar, but was actively incentivized to do so with the promise of a guaranteed World Title shot.
Heyman realized, with a sickening drop in his stomach, that he never had control of his own television show, it's all controlled by Sandro. Inside the ring, Sandro let out a soft, amused chuckle. He completely recognized the absolute shock paralyzing the arena.
Sandro slowly stepped forward. He reached out his hand, entirely calm, and gently took the microphone directly out of Bobby Lashley's massive grip. The Dominator didn't resist. He simply handed the mic over, maintaining his cold, imposing stance beside the billionaire.
Sandro brought the microphone to his lips, his voice incredibly smooth, entirely lacking the manic desperation of the previous week.
"It is exactly as he says," Sandro confirmed, validating the golden clause to the entire world. "Bobby Lashley is my hired gun. He is my premium, world class bodyguard. He was brought into this company with one primary, specific purpose, to completely, systematically handle Brock Lesnar. And as you all just witnessed on the entrance stage... he is already earning every single penny of his exorbitant contract."
Sandro slowly turned his gaze down to the canvas.
Drew McIntyre was still lying motionless at his feet, completely unconscious from the catastrophic Last Note strike. Sandro's eyes immediately darkened with a cold, unforgiving malice.
"But as for the Scottish Psychopath..." Sandro's voice dropped into a dark, venomous register. "Bobby Lashley doesn't need to lift a finger. Because I am going to handle this pathetic, ungrateful traitor entirely by myself."
Sandro lightly nudged McIntyre's unconscious shoulder with the tip of his expensive designer shoe, a gesture of pure, unadulterated disrespect.
"You want to talk about cages, Drew?" Sandro mocked, his voice echoing through the silent, captivated arena. "You want to stand in my ring and cry about how I treated you like a hound? Let me remind you, and everyone watching, exactly who you were before you pledged your absolute loyalty to me."
Sandro paced slowly around the broken body of his former enforcer.
"You were nothing," Sandro spat, the venom dripping from every syllable. "You were a forgotten commodity. You were wandering the absolute wasteland of the independent circuit, wrestling in bingo halls for a few hundred dollars a night! You had absolutely no future in this industry until I reached out my hand and offered you salvation!"
The crowd booed, but the sheer, undeniable reality of Sandro's historical timeline forced them to listen.
"I am the hand that fed you, McIntyre!" Sandro roared, his sociopathic composure momentarily breaking, replaced by absolute, arrogant fury. "I am the man who brought you back to the WWE! I used my influence, my power, and my Nexum Core leverage to completely bypass the developmental system and instantly elevate you into the main roster! Because of me, you were relevant! Because of my power, you held tag team gold!"
Sandro stepped forward, entirely hovering over McIntyre's face.
"You bit the hand that fed you," Sandro whispered into the microphone, his voice incredibly cold, echoing with the finality of a judge passing a death sentence. "And in my universe, treason is a terminal offense. You thought you were fighting for your freedom, Drew. But all you did was guarantee your own absolute destruction."
Sandro Zhang abruptly lowered the microphone. He didn't drop it. He simply handed it carefully to a ringside technician, maintaining his pristine, untouchable aura.
The God King stood tall in the absolute center of the ring. He hoisted the WWE Championship and the United States Championship high into the air, the World Heavyweight Championship gleaming proudly on his shoulder.
To his right, The Dominator, Bobby Lashley, stood with his massive arms crossed, an impenetrable, horrifying wall of elite muscle.
On the entrance stage, the three Queens of the Undisputed System, AJ, Nikki, and Alexa, smiled their toxic, arrogant smiles, entirely basking in the glory of their fiancé's absolute triumph.
And laid out across the arena, completely broken and unconscious, were the two greatest threats to the empire, Drew McIntyre in the ring, and Brock Lesnar on the stage.
"The landscape of Monday Night RAW has fundamentally shifted once again!" Cole shouted, his voice entirely hoarse as the copyright graphic slowly faded onto the screen. "Sandro has completely outsmarted everyone! He has unleashed The Dominator, and he has reclaimed absolute control! The Undisputed System is not dead... it has simply been terrifyingly reborn! Goodnight from Albuquerque!"
The screen cut to commercial, leaving the entire WWE Universe to grapple with the horrific, undeniable reality, the God King was no longer hiding behind a broken army. He had purchased a monster, and the probability of the absolute reign of terror officially back in business was very high.
The screen faded back from black, the heavy, pulsing bumper music of Monday Night RAW washing over the broadcast. The sheer gravity of what had just transpired in the opening hour of the show hung over the twenty thousand fans in Albuquerque like a thick, suffocating fog.
The WWE Universe had just witnessed the absolute destruction of Brock Lesnar, the brutal, physical punishment of Drew McIntyre, and the terrifying, unholy alliance formed between the billionaire prodigy, Sandro Zhang, and The Dominator, Bobby Lashley.
As the commercial break ended, the broadcast had to march forward. The unrelenting machine of the WWE simply never stopped for anyone, not even the God King. The show continued with match after match, desperately trying to keep the energy of the live audience engaged.
There was a high flying cruiserweight bout that showcased spectacular aerial maneuvers, followed by a gritty, hard hitting Divas matchup. Promos and chaotic backstage segments were strategically inserted between the bells, advancing the storylines of the mid card roster.
But no matter what happened inside the squared circle, the fans were entirely distracted. A low, constant murmur of conversation buzzed through the grandstands. They were completely obsessed with the fallout of the opening segment.
They wanted to know the medical condition of the Beast Incarnate. They wanted to know if Drew McIntyre was going to be able to walk out of the arena under his own power. And most of all, they wanted to know what was happening behind the closed, guarded doors of the Undisputed System's private locker room.
As the final hour of Monday Night RAW approached, the production truck finally gave the WWE Universe exactly what they were begging for.
The live arena feed cut away from the ring, the Titantron flickering for a fraction of a second before displaying the final, highly anticipated backstage segment of the night.
The camera faded into the incredibly lavish, highly exclusive confines of the Undisputed System's private locker room.
The space was a stark contrast to the gritty, concrete hallways of the rest of the arena. It was outfitted with rich leather furniture, catered spreads of expensive food that remained entirely untouched, and flat screen monitors displaying the live broadcast.
But the tension inside the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was an environment of pure, unadulterated psychological subjugation.
Sandro Zhang sat at the absolute center of the room in a plush, high backed leather armchair that looked more like a throne. The Triple Crown Champion had removed his suit jacket, his crisp dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the stark white medical tape still tightly bound around his bruised ribs. His three massive championships were carelessly piled on a glass coffee table in front of him.
Flanking him to the left, seated gracefully on a matching leather loveseat, were the three Queens of the Undisputed System. AJ Lee, Nikki Bella, and Alexa Bliss sat with perfect, toxic posture, sipping bottled water and watching the scene unfold with cold, arrogant smirks.
To Sandro's right, lounging casually on a wide, expensive sofa, was The Dominator. Bobby Lashley looked massive, completely unbothered, and utterly terrifying. He casually picked at a piece of fruit from a platter, his dark eyes radiating a quiet, lethal confidence.
And standing directly in front of this picture perfect royal court, entirely stripped of their dignity, were the remaining boys of the Undisputed System.
Wade Barrett, Dolph Ziggler, Ryback, Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods stood in a tight, perfectly straight line.
They looked absolutely terrible. They were still wearing their ring gear, completely drenched in cold sweat. They hadn't showered. They hadn't changed. They were standing at attention like broken, defeated soldiers waiting for the firing squad.
Sandro Zhang was currently in the middle of delivering a completely ruthless, demoralizing lecture.
"Look at you," Sandro spat, his voice dropping into a dark, venomous whisper that echoed coldly off the walls of the locker room. "Look at the absolute, pathetic state of the men I elevated to the top of this industry. You stand there, heads bowed, trembling like a pack of beaten stray dogs. And the sad, undeniable reality is... that is exactly what you are."
Wade Barrett's jaw clenched, but he didn't dare lift his eyes from the carpet. Ryback breathed heavily, his massive chest rising and falling, but he remained entirely silent.
"I melted you down tonight," Sandro continued, leaning forward in his leather chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "I broke your fragile egos into a million pieces because you needed to be reminded of reality. You thought you were invincible. You thought the gold around your waists meant that you were inherently special. You forgot that the only reason you possess any relevance whatsoever is because I allow it."
Sandro slowly turned his head, gesturing gracefully toward the massive powerhouse sitting entirely relaxed on the sofa beside him.
"Take a very, very good look at the man sitting to my right," Sandro commanded, his tone demanding absolute, unquestioning obedience.
The six boys slowly, agonizingly lifted their heads. Their eyes met the cold, detached stare of Bobby Lashley. The Dominator didn't say a word, he simply chewed his fruit, looking back at them with profound, unmitigated disrespect.
"From this exact moment forward," Sandro declared, his voice echoing with executive finality. "You will respect this man. You will listen to Bobby with the exact same level of absolute, unquestioning obedience that you show to me. When he speaks, you jump. When he gives an order, you execute it flawlessly."
Sandro leaned back in his chair, his bruised face twisting into a mask of pure, sociopathic arrogance.
"Because right now, as it stands," Sandro sneered, "Bobby Lashley is the only truly competent asset on the Undisputed System payroll besides myself and the Queens. He stepped out of the shadows and accomplished in five seconds what the six of you couldn't accomplish with a week of preparation. He put the Beast down. He is a legitimate, cross over apex predator."
Sandro slowly stood up from his chair. He walked down the line of broken men, stopping directly in front of Dolph Ziggler and Xavier Woods, who were still nursing the physical trauma of losing their NXT Tag Team Championships.
"And as for the rest of you?" Sandro whispered, his voice dripping with pure, undeniable malice. "You are just nobodies. You are entirely replaceable. You are nothing but cogs in a machine, and without the Undisputed System to hold your hands and protect your careers, you would be absolutely nothing. Never, ever forget that."
The boys simply lowered their heads once again, entirely accepting the verbal abuse, their psychological conditioning too deep to break.
"Get out of my sight," Sandro ordered, waving his hand dismissively toward the door. "Go ice your bruises. Go think about your failures. I don't want to look at your pathetic faces for the rest of the night."
The six men didn't hesitate. They turned in perfect, silent unison and shuffled out of the luxurious locker room, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind them.
Out in the harsh, brightly lit, concrete hallways of the Tingley Coliseum, the reality of the situation weighed heavily on the exiled enforcers. They walked together in silence for a few moments, the tension between them entirely palpable. The psychological torture they had endured earlier in the dark room had fractured the group dynamic.
At the first major intersection of the backstage corridors, the group naturally, organically split.
Wade Barrett, Dolph Ziggler, and Ryback turned left, heading toward the medical trainer's room to tend to their various injuries, their faces locked in grim, unreadable expressions.
But Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods, three men whose natural chemistry and brotherhood extended far beyond the toxic confines of the Undisputed System, turned right. They walked together, shoulder to shoulder, their heads hanging low, silently making their way toward the backstage catering area just to escape the suffocating pressure of the arena.
The catering area was mostly deserted as the final hour of Monday Night RAW approached its climax. Tables were littered with half empty water bottles and picked over food trays.
But as the three men rounded the corner, entirely wrapped in their own dark, depressive thoughts, they suddenly stopped dead in their tracks.
Sitting alone on top of a heavy, black plastic production container, surrounded by the quiet hum of catering refrigerators, was the Scottish Psychopath.
Drew was a physical wreck, but he looked completely at peace. He was nursing his wounds, holding a massive, plastic wrapped ice pack directly against the side of his jaw where Sandro l had delivered that catastrophic, pinpoint accurate running knee strike.
Thick white medical bandages were wrapped tightly around his massive torso, covering the trauma inflicted by Bobby Lashley's spine shattering Spinebuster.
As the camera captured the visual of the mutinous superstar, the twenty thousand fans inside the arena immediately let out a massive, sustained cheer of pure respect!
They had watched him take a horrific, two on one beating, and seeing him sitting up, conscious, and icing his wounds was a massive relief.
Big E, Kofi, and Woods, however, did not share the crowd's enthusiasm.
The absolute second they saw McIntyre, the three men immediately, instinctively shifted into a defensive posture. Big E widened his massive stance, his fists clenching at his sides. Kofi dropped his center of gravity, entirely ready to strike. Woods, despite his injured lower back, stepped forward, his face hardening into a look of absolute hostility.
They had been programmed to view Drew as a traitor, a high value target who had betrayed their God King.
Drew McIntyre lowered the ice pack from his jaw. He looked at the three men standing in front of him, entirely ready to initiate a physical brawl in the middle of catering.
But McIntyre didn't look angry. He didn't look threatened.
A slow, incredibly genuine, slightly pained smile spread across the Scottish warrior's bearded face. He let out a soft, exasperated sigh and slowly raised both of his massive, taped hands high into the air in a universal gesture of complete surrender.
"Relax, boys," McIntyre said, his thick Scottish brogue soft and incredibly calm, entirely devoid of the roaring aggression he had displayed in the ring. "I'm not going to do anything. You can stand down. Why go all defensive like that? I can barely move my damn neck, let alone fight three of the best athletes on the roster."
Big E, Kofi, and Woods did not lower their guard. They stayed completely silent, their eyes narrowed, simply glaring fiercely at the man who had abandoned them to the Beast.
Seeing their rigid, entirely brainwashed posture, McIntyre let out a dark, knowing laugh. He shook his head, looking at the three men with a mixture of profound pity and deep understanding.
"What's with the glaring, lads?" McIntyre asked, leaning back slightly against the cold concrete wall behind the production crate. "Are you angry with me? Or... are you just jealous?"
The word hung in the air, heavy and incredibly provocative.
"Are you jealous of the freedom that I'm living right now?"
McIntyre pressed, his eyes locking onto Big E, then sweeping over to Kofi and Woods. "Look at me. I'm battered. I'm bruised. I got my head kicked in by the boss and his new shiny toy. But for the first time in a year, I am actually breathing real air. I am living without the oppression. I am living without the constant, suffocating fear of whatever cult like abuse and psychological brainwashing you three are currently drowning in right now."
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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