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The camera pulled back. Wide shot. Golden pyro exploded above the ring, raining down sparks as Sandro lifted his arms, soaking in the hatred like fuel. Jericho leaned against the ropes, smiling like a man reborn. The blond man stood tall, chin raised, soaking in his moment back on the main stage.
The fans booed louder than they had all night.
SummerSlam faded out on that image.
The screen faded to black.
And the moment the broadcast ended—
The wrestling world and the internet exploded.
Within minutes, Twitter lit up on fire instantly.
Fans praised the match as one of the greatest elimination tag matches ever wrestled. Analysts broke down the pacing, the drama, the near falls, the physical storytelling. But none of that mattered.
Because the headline was everywhere.
Chris Jericho betrayed SmackDown.
Betrayer. Turncoat. Traitor.
No one had seen it coming.
Podcasts screamed. Journalists dissected every frame. Former wrestlers argued on live streams. Fans cursed Jericho's name, unable to believe that a veteran, a legend, had aligned himself with Sandro and the Undisputed System. Clips spread like wildfire, the Lionsault to Kane, the handshake, the pin, the collapse of SmackDown.
And then came the second shock.
FCW fans immediately recognized Nic Nemeth, celebrating his return to the main roster but not as a solo star, as he aligned with the most powerful faction in the company. Speculation erupted about his role, his future, and how far this alliance could go.
The biggest faction in modern WWE history just got bigger, stronger, and more dangerous, with the addition of two new members just like that.
Podcasts went into emergency recordings.
Journalists dissected every frame.
What deal did Sandro make with Jericho?
Power? Protection? A guaranteed World Heavyweight Championship run?
The most common theory spread fast, Sandro had promised Jericho Kane's title. After all, Sandro had no interest on it, yet. But one thing was certain. SmackDown would never be the same again.
And with the Intercontinental and WWE Tag Team Championships now firmly in the Undisputed System's sights as they got shots at both, the faction stood on the brink of total domination.
Gold everywhere.
Power consolidated.
Narrative controlled.
The Undisputed System hadn't just won a match.
They had won the future of WWE.
The shock didn't fade when the cameras stopped rolling.
If anything, it intensified.
While Twitter melted down and podcasts scrambled to hit record, the real aftermath unfolded behind the curtain, where the noise of the arena bled through the concrete walls in a constant, distant roar.
The curtain parted.
Sandro stepped through first.
The United States Championship hung heavy in his right hand, the gold catching the harsh white light of the gorilla position. Sweat still clung to his hair and shoulders, his chest rising and falling as the adrenaline slowly burned off. Behind him came Paul Heyman, clutching the Money in the Bank briefcase like it was a holy relic, his face flushed, eyes shining with manic pride.
Jericho followed, towel draped around his neck, expression calm, almost serene, like a man who had finally stopped pretending to care what anyone thought of him.
Nic Nemeth came last, blond hair damp, jaw set, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he took it all in. Main roster again. Biggest stage. Biggest moment.
Waiting for them was the rest of the Undisputed System.
Alexa Bliss leaned against a production crate, Divas Championship slung over her shoulder, clapping slowly with a grin that said she'd enjoyed every second of the chaos. Wade Barrett stood tall beside her, arms crossed, nodding once in approval.
Drew McIntyre laughed openly, shaking his head like he still couldn't believe how perfectly it had all landed. Big E and Ryback slapped hands, already replaying the ending out loud to anyone who would listen, while Kofi Kingston bounced on his heels, excitement radiating off him.
A few feet away stood Kane, Christian, R-Truth, John Morrison, and Rey Mysterio, no longer characters, no longer rivals, just professionals who had shared the ring in something special.
Christian stepped forward first, extending a hand to Sandro. "That was… insane," he said honestly. "One hell of a main event."
Rey nodded beside him. "Crowd hated it," he said with a chuckle. "Which means it worked."
Morrison grinned. "People are gonna be talking about that one for years."
Even Kane, towering and still partially in gear, inclined his head slightly. "You got them," he said simply.
Sandro smiled and raised his hands gently. "It wasn't just me," he said, voice calm, no edge, no ego. "Every single one of you did your part. The match had to be that good for the ending to land. If the crowd isn't completely invested, the betrayal doesn't hit. The surprise doesn't matter. Teamwork made the moment."
That earned nods across the board.
The kayfabe walls were down now.
This was respect.
Then a familiar voice cut through the circle.
"Well damn."
Vince McMahon stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That," he said, looking directly at Sandro, "was spectacular."
Sandro inclined his head slightly.
Vince glanced toward Jericho, eyebrow raised. "Now you'll admit… throwing him into the mix? That threw everyone, what I say is correct isn't it."
Sandro nodded. "You were right at first," he said honestly. "I just thought it could hurt his legacy at first."
Jericho chuckled from the side. "Legacy's overrated," he said casually. " "Please. I've been a villain, a hero, a punchline, and a headline. Besides, what's better than being remembered as part of the most dominant faction this company's ever seen?" He smirked. "That's one hell of an accolade."
Vince laughed, shaking his head. "You never change."
Sandro smiled at Jericho, then turned back to Vince. "Once he said he wanted in, I knew it was right."
Vince placed a hand on Sandro's shoulder. "Get some rest," he said. "You earned it."
Then his eyes flicked to the briefcase in Heyman's hands.
"And when are you planning to use that thing?"
Sandro's smile turned sharper.
"I've got time," he said. "Maybe WrestleMania. Maybe sooner. Right moment matters more than the moment itself."
Vince studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Just don't wait so long the people forget."
Sandro met his gaze. "They won't."
Vince walked off, already barking orders, already thinking about tomorrow.
The night ended with laughter, handshakes, and quiet conversations as the greatest storm of the summer continued to rage online.
And then—
A day passed.
Monday Night RAW.
Staples Center.
Los Angeles.
The same building.
A completely different energy.
Los Angeles buzzed with anticipation as fans flooded in early, buzzing, arguing, shouting opinions in the hallways. Signs filled the air, JERICHO IS A TRAITOR, SANDRO WAS RIGHT, UNDISPUTED SYSTEM ERA, WELCOME BACK NEMETH.
Chants already starting before the first pyro ever went off. Everyone wanted answers. Everyone wanted to see them. Everyone wanted to hear Jericho explain himself or get torn apart trying.
The opening pyro exploded, lighting up the arena as Michael Cole welcomed the world, his voice still carrying disbelief.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monday Night RAW! We are coming to you live from Los Angeles, and I don't think anyone has stopped talking since SummerSlam ended!"
Jerry Lawler leaned forward in his chair. "How could they? I've been watching wrestling my whole life and I still can't believe what we saw last night. We are still trying to process what happened at SummerSlam!"
Cole nodded. "The Undisputed System defeated Team SmackDown in one of the most shocking main events in history, thanks to not one, but two, surprises."
Lawler shook his head. "Chris Jericho. I still can't believe it."
Cole leaned forward. "Unless Jericho explains himself tonight, we may never understand why he stabbed SmackDown in the back."
The crowd erupted suddenly, a wave of boos rolling through the building as the lights flickered.
SHOCK THE SYSTEM!
The bass hit first, rattling the floor, and the arena drowned in venom.
Golden light washed over the stage.
Out stepped Sandro first, United States Championship strapped proudly around his waist, chin lifted, eyes calm. Paul Heyman followed, briefcase in hand, grinning like a mad prophet. Alexa Bliss emerged next, Divas Championship shining. Wade Barrett. Drew McIntyre. Big E and Ryback, World Tag Team Titles raised high. Kofi Kingston stepped out last, nodding confidently.
The boos grew louder with every step.
But it wasn't over.
Sandro stopped at the top of the ramp and turned.
Nic Nemeth walked out next.
That familiar smirk.
That unmistakable presence.
The reaction was immediate, shock, recognition, and noise.
And then—
Chris Jericho.
The boos hit a new level.
Booing. Screaming. Middle fingers raised. Signs ripped in half. Jericho stood tall, arms out, soaking it in, completely unapologetic.
Cole shouted over the noise. "There they are! The Undisputed System, expanded!"
Lawler growled. "This makes me sick."
The group entered the ring slowly, deliberately, soaking in every ounce of hatred. Jericho leaned back against the ropes once he enter the ring, eyes scanning the crowd like a man who had just set the world on fire and liked the warmth.
Heyman was the first to step forward, microphone already in hand, soaking in the hatred like oxygen.
"Ladies and Gentleman, my name," he began, voice trembling with glee, "is Paul Heyman."
The boos intensified.
"And last night at SummerSlam," he continued, "the Undisputed System didn't just defeat SmackDown. We exposed it."
He gestured behind him. "This is not a group. This is inevitability."
Sandro took the mic from him, waiting for the noise to die down just enough.
"Last night," Sandro said calmly, "you didn't witness a betrayal. You witnessed clarity."
The boos surged again.
"Chris Jericho didn't turn his back on SmackDown," Sandro continued. "SmackDown and even WWE turned its back on him years ago. I just offered him honesty and something extra on the side."
Jericho stepped forward now, taking the microphone from Sandro's hand.
He stood there for a long moment, microphone hanging loosely at his side, letting the boos wash over him. The Staples Center was hostile in a way few buildings ever were, raw and personal, like the crowd felt genuinely betrayed. Jericho turned slowly, taking it all in, eyes drifting across the sea of faces, signs, middle fingers, mouths screaming his name with venom.
And then he smiled.
Not the smug grin. Not the cocky smirk.
Something quieter. Older. Almost nostalgic.
He raised the microphone.
"You know," Jericho began, pacing slowly across the ring, eyes scanning the crowd, "I've heard every name you people can think of in my career. Traitor. Sellout. Prima donna. Ego maniac."
The boos sharpened.
"But here's the funny part," he continued, stopping dead center. "Every single time you think you've figured me out… I change the game."
Lawler scoffed audibly on commentary. "Oh, here we go."
Cole replied, voice tight. "Jericho's trying to justify the unjustifiable."
Jericho smirked and pointed directly at the hard camera, his voice calm, steady, cutting clean through the noise, "I've been doing this for a long time."
The boos intensified.
Jericho nodded, as if he expected nothing else. "I've been in WCW. I lived through the Monday Night Wars. I was there when this business was alive."
That word hung in the air.
Cole stiffened on commentary. "Uh oh."
Jericho paced slowly, deliberately, never taking his eyes off the crowd. "That was a time when anything was possible. When opportunities didn't come from a script or a committee. They came from guts. From talent. From daring enough to grab them."
He pointed to the hard camera. "Back then, an unknown kid could walk into a ring and walk out a champion if he was good enough. If he was hungry enough."
He paused, nodding to himself.
"And I loved it."
Sandro stood behind him, arms folded, eyes fixed, letting Jericho have the floor completely.
A few scattered cheers tried to break through.
Jericho scoffed. "But that era died."
The boos swelled again.
"It was replaced by something safe," Jericho continued, voice sharpening now, "it got buried under polish. Under branding. Under smiles and scripts and bright colors. Somewhere along the way, this stopped being about wrestling… and started being about bedtime stories. Something soft. Something corporate approved and focus group tested."
He paused, then said it.
"Disney wrestling."
The crowd erupted in outrage.
Cole immediately reacted. "That's uncalled for!"
Lawler shook his head. "He's out of his mind."
Jericho raised his voice over the noise. "Everything became bland. Everything became fake. Heroes always win. Villains always lose. Everyone smiles, everyone plays their part, everyone stays in their little box."
He tapped his chest. "And me? I resigned myself to it. I told myself the wrestling I loved was dead. That I was alone. That I had to wear a mask, say the lines, play the role, smile when they told me to smile… because what choice did I have?"
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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