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Sandro stopped at the top of the ramp. He slowly turned in a full circle, taking in the crowd, then spread his arms wide. Pyro erupted on both sides of him in perfect synchronization, golden flames shooting skyward as the heat washed over the first few rows. Sandro didn't flinch. He smiled.
He and Heyman began the slow, deliberate walk down the ramp. Heyman wore that familiar, smug expression, nodding along to the music, whispering something inaudible as he followed his champion. Sandro kept his eyes forward, posture relaxed, every step confident, like a man who had already decided the ending.
Justin Roberts' voice cut through the chaos.
"Ladies and gentlemen… this match is scheduled for one fall… and it is for the WWE United States Championship!"
The boos somehow got louder.
Roberts continued, voice steady despite the hostility. "Introducing first… the champion. Representing The Undisputed System… accompanied to the ring by the RAW General Manager and Special Advisor, Paul Heyman…"
Heyman raised the briefcase slightly, drawing another wave of venom from the crowd.
Sandro reached the ring steps, paused, then ascended them with measured precision.
"From Orlando, Florida… weighing in at 220 pounds… he is Mr. Money in the Bank… and the WWE United States Champion… The Maestro… SANNNNDROOOO ZHAAANG!"
Sandro removed the title slowly and raised it high above his head, turning in a slow circle so every side of the arena could see it. He didn't yell. He didn't pose wildly. He just stared into the hard camera with a look that said everything.
You can hate me.
You still can't stop me.
The reaction was venomous.
"You can feel the hate pouring down on him," Striker said. "And he couldn't care less."
Sandro handed the belt to the referee, rolled his shoulders once, then leaned back casually into his corner. Heyman stepped down to ringside, positioning himself directly behind Sandro's corner, briefcase still in hand, eyes sharp and calculating.
Then—
BANG!
Sheamus' music hit.
The response was instant and thunderous.
The Allstate Arena exploded into cheers, a roar of approval that washed away the boos like a tidal wave. Green lights flashed as the Celtic Warrior strode onto the stage, chest out, jaw clenched, fire blazing in his eyes.
"There he is!" Lawler yelled. "The man Chicago believes can finally knock Sandro off his throne!"
Sheamus paused on the stage, soaking in the reaction, then beat his chest and let out a thunderous roar. He marched down the ramp with purpose, slapping hands, nodding to fans, never once taking his eyes off the ring.
Justin Roberts raised his voice again. "And introducing the challenger opponent… from Dublin, Ireland… weighing in at 272 pounds… THE CELTIC WARRIOR… SHEAMUSSS!"
Sheamus slid under the bottom rope and popped to his feet, climbing the turnbuckles and throwing his arms wide, letting out a thunderous roar that shook the building. He hopped down and stared directly across the ring at Sandro, the two men locking eyes for the first time.
No smiles.
No taunts.
Just tension.
The referee took the United States Championship from Sandro, turned to Sheamus to show it, then held it high in the center of the ring. Cameras flashed. The gold gleamed.
He handed it off, checked both men, asked if they were ready.
Sheamus cracked his neck and nodded.
Sandro smirked.
The referee called for the bell.
DING DING DING!
And the match was on.
Sheamus charged out of his corner immediately, looking to overwhelm Sandro with raw aggression. Sandro slid sideways, avoiding the initial collision, and the two circled quickly, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Smart by Sandro," Cole noted. "He doesn't want to get caught early by Sheamus' power."
They locked up hard in the center of the ring, muscles straining, boots sliding on the canvas. Sheamus used his size advantage, driving Sandro back step by step, forcing him into the ropes.
The referee called for a break.
Sheamus broke clean, then blasted Sandro with a stiff forearm to the chest.
The crowd roared.
"Right out of the gate!" Lawler shouted.
Sandro stumbled back, surprised, but quickly fired back with a sharp kick to Sheamus' thigh, chopping him down just a bit. He followed with a second kick, then a quick snap kick to the midsection.
Sheamus growled and answered with a brutal clubbing blow to Sandro's back that echoed through the arena.
They traded strikes, forearms and fists snapping back and forth, the crowd reacting to every impact. Sandro ducked a wild swing and snapped off a crisp enziguri that caught Sheamus on the side of the head, staggering him.
Sandro went to the ropes, bounced—
Sheamus cut him off with a massive shoulder block that sent Sandro flipping through the air and crashing onto his back.
"Good lord!" Striker exclaimed.
Sheamus stood over him, chest heaving, then dragged Sandro up and slammed him down with a hard scoop slam. He followed with a knee drop straight across the chest, then covered.
ONE!
Sandro kicked out with authority.
Sheamus stayed on him, pulling him up by the arm and hammering him with short, brutal strikes in the corner. He whipped Sandro across the ring—
Sandro reversed—
Sheamus hit the turnbuckles hard.
Sandro charged in with a running forearm, then another, then a snap suplex that brought Sheamus down clean in the center of the ring. Sandro floated over into a cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sheamus powered out.
The match settled into a fierce rhythm, momentum swinging like a pendulum. Sandro targeted the legs, chopping Sheamus down with low kicks, trying to neutralize the power advantage. Sheamus responded with crushing blows, sheer force shaking Sandro every time he connected.
Sandro attempted a springboard maneuver—
Sheamus caught him mid air and launched him across the ring with a fallaway slam that sent Sandro tumbling into the corner.
The crowd was electric.
"This is exactly what the United States Championship should look like!" Cole said. "Two elite competitors, leaving it all out there!"
Sheamus lined Sandro up and charged—
Sandro slipped out at the last second, Sheamus crashing chest first into the turnbuckles. Sandro seized the opening, hammering Sheamus with a flurry of strikes, then climbing to the second rope and driving a knee into the back of his head.
Sandro pulled Sheamus out and hit a sharp DDT, spiking him on the mat.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sheamus kicked out again.
Heyman clapped slowly at ringside, shouting encouragement, while the crowd booed him relentlessly.
Sandro wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavier now, realizing Sheamus wasn't going anywhere easily. He dragged Sheamus up and attempted a German suplex—
Sheamus blocked it, stomped Sandro's foot, and exploded backward with a thunderous Celtic Cross attempt—
Sandro slipped free, landing behind Sheamus and snapping a dragon screw leg whip that twisted Sheamus down to the mat.
Sheamus grabbed at his knee, grimacing.
"There it is," Striker said. "Sandro is dissecting him piece by piece."
Sandro stayed on the leg, dropping elbows, stomping the knee, then locking in a grounded leg lock, wrenching back with malicious precision. Sheamus roared in pain, slapping the mat, dragging himself inch by inch toward the ropes.
The crowd clapped, urging him on.
Sheamus reached the ropes, forcing the break.
Sandro released at four, backing away with his hands raised innocently, smirk firmly in place.
Sheamus pulled himself up, using the ropes, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. Sandro charged—
Sheamus exploded with a sudden Brogue Kick attempt—
Sandro ducked just in time, the kick missing by inches.
Both men froze for a split second, realization flashing across their faces.
The crowd erupted.
They went at it again, trading shots, exhaustion beginning to show but neither willing to give ground. Sandro fired a spinning back kick, Sheamus answered with a headbutt that nearly took Sandro off his feet.
Sandro staggered—
Sheamus hoisted him up and drove him down with a thunderous powerslam.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sandro kicked out.
The arena was shaking now, noise pouring down, every fan invested.
Sheamus sat back on his knees, breathing hard, staring at Sandro with frustration and determination etched across his face. He stood, signaling for the end, the crowd rising with him.
Sandro slowly pushed himself up in the corner, sweat-soaked, battered, but still dangerous.
Sheamus charged—
And Sandro sidestepped, snapping another vicious kick into the leg, chopping Sheamus down mid stride.
Sheamus dropped to one knee as Sandro's kick smashed into the already targeted leg, his face twisting in pain as he slapped the mat to steady himself. The crowd groaned in frustration, then immediately roared encouragement, clapping in rhythm, trying to will the Celtic Warrior back to his feet.
Sandro didn't waste a second.
He darted forward, driving a knee into Sheamus' chest, then another. Sheamus grunted but refused to go down, shoving Sandro away with raw strength and firing back with a brutal right hand that snapped Sandro's head to the side. Sweat flew. Sandro staggered, caught himself on the ropes, and came back with a sharp backfist that rocked Sheamus.
"These two are beating the hell out of each other," Lawler said, voice rising. "And Sheamus is doing this on one good leg!"
Sheamus roared, feeding off the pain, and charged again. Sandro ducked under a clothesline, rebounded off the ropes, and drilled Sheamus with a running dropkick to the knee, finally taking him down. Sandro followed with a quick double stomp to the leg, then another, before snapping off a basement dropkick to the side of Sheamus' head.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sheamus kicked out, sheer defiance written across his face.
The crowd erupted again, chants of "LET'S GO SHEAMUS!" echoing through the Allstate Arena.
Sandro sat back on his heels for a moment, jaw clenched, breathing hard. He glanced toward Heyman at ringside. Heyman nodded, clapping slowly, shouting instructions that only Sandro could hear.
Sandro hauled Sheamus up by the wrist and whipped him into the ropes—
Sheamus reversed it at the last second, yanking Sandro forward and crushing him with a massive Irish Curse backbreaker. Sandro screamed in pain, arching his back as he tumbled off Sheamus' knee.
"Oh!" Cole shouted. "What a counter!"
Sheamus shook out his bad leg, limping but fueled by adrenaline. He dragged Sandro up, locked his arms—
Celtic Cross attempt—
Sandro slipped out the back again, landing on his feet and immediately chopping the leg once more, bringing Sheamus back down to one knee. Sandro followed with a blistering roundhouse kick to the side of the head that sent Sheamus collapsing to the mat.
The boos poured down.
"Listen to this crowd," Striker said. "They know exactly what Sandro's doing, and they hate every second of it."
Sandro backed into the corner, eyes narrowed, watching Sheamus struggle. He charged in with a running knee—
Sheamus exploded upward at the last second, blasting Sandro with a sudden spinebuster that shook the ring.
The Allstate Arena came unglued.
Sheamus covered.
ONE!
TWO!
Sandro kicked out.
Sheamus pounded the mat in frustration, then slowly pushed himself up, using the ropes for balance. His breathing was heavy now, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat dripping from his face.
"This is where heart comes into play," Cole said. "Sheamus is running on fumes, but he refuses to quit."
Sheamus lined Sandro up again, slapping his own chest, summoning the crowd. He charged—
Sandro sidestepped again, trying to catch the leg—
Sheamus anticipated it and cracked Sandro with a thunderous knee strike to the face, snapping his head back.
Sandro stumbled.
Sheamus seized the moment, hoisting Sandro up and slamming him down with a vicious sit out powerbomb.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sandro barely kicked out, his shoulder popping up at the last possible instant.
The crowd gasped, then roared.
Sheamus stared down at Sandro in disbelief, hands on his hips, shaking his head. He pulled Sandro up again, forearm after forearm smashing into the champion's jaw, backing him into the corner.
Sheamus stepped back, limped forward—
Running corner shoulder block.
Again.
A third time.
Sandro slumped forward.
Sheamus hooked him—
White Noise!
Sandro crashed onto his back, bouncing off the canvas.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Sandro kicked out again.
The Allstate Arena was shaking now, the noise a constant wall of sound.
"How much does Sandro have left?" Lawler asked. "Because Sheamus is throwing everything at him!" Sheamus rolled onto his knees, eyes wild, chest heaving. He looked out at the crowd, then down at Sandro, and slowly, deliberately, he backed up into the corner.
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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