This is a random idea that popped into my head in July of this year while watching Smackdown. I was/still am really, really new to the WWE Universe so forgive me if things seem out of character or off in some way. I'm trying my hardest to get facts, personalities, and rivalries correct.

It'll be a multi-chaptered fic since I'm sort of just winging it we're jumping right into things and we'll see how often it updates. I hope you enjoy and appreciate Randy and Stardust/Cody (especially together) as much as I do!

WWE. The most powerful group of superheroes the world had to offer; a hand-picked assortment of both the strange and the strong to ensure that justice prevailed no matter the cost.

There had been countless heroes, both men and women alike, that gave WWE its fame and reputation. Humanity recognized globally that when in trouble, the WWE could be counted on to help save the day. But as the WWE grew strained through countless decades of battling the odds and losing many brave protectors, The Authority fortified its structure and spread its influence.

July third, 2015: the day that, as Paige liked to remind Randy, a small group of misfit (but fairly competent) super villains lost a fight and several thousand dollars to some half-alien freak in a onesie.

Randy Orton, AKA the Apex Predator, AKA the Viper, AKA King of the RKO, and AKA the man you run away from if you see him coming towards you, was high up in the foodchain for The Authority. He took as much pride in knowing he could make both good and bad weak kneed at the sight of him as he did in blatantly and vocally hating his position. If asked why he would simply go on a rant about earlier days and a time when he wasn't bogged down by the responsibilities of being someone to report to; when he could still beat the bravado out of random citizens without the risk of limelight. It was due to this pressure that sometimes Randy found himself doing petty crimes with those deemed lower on the scale of importance. Most others who were near his level of skill wouldn't be caught dead wasting their time with small time feats.

For him, robbing a bank was like a breath of fresh air.

Seeing the terrified expressions of the tellers and assortment of hostages stuck on the floor while, "The Lunatic", Dean Ambrose shoveled money into the most threadbare of bags, well, there wasn't much that could replace that; not another doomsday device plan certainly, and most definitely not having to fight toe-to-toe with the head honchos of the WWE every other day of the week. There was just something so simplistically beautiful and freeing about tying up a bag of stolen cash and running away from incoming cop cars. He wasn't worried about being caught and put into jail (he hadn't had a problem with that since the first and only court case he had been forced to take part in. Hunter's lawyer had annihilated that court—Randy swore to this day that the judge had cried halfway through the hearing.) but it was the principle of it.

Beside him, "The Britani Knight", or as she liked to be called, Paige, let out a delighted cackle, half skipping and half jogging beside Bo Dallas (just Bo Dallas) who struggled to keep up with their longer legs. Her strange fixation on the young man was something that puzzled even the smartest of their kind, but Randy passed it off as a minion-type situation. He'd seen this sort of thing before. Paige was flourishing into quite the lovely super villainess and had been not-so-subtly hinting at receiving her own second in command for her three-year anniversary. Bo was probably the best candidate for the young woman: he was fresh enough not to have the supremely jaded attitude of a veteran and mentally unhinged enough to be enthusiastic about doing stupid things without question—such as running headfirst into a gun fight without any weapon whatsoever or being told to fight a giant robot that could shoot lasers from its eyes.

Ambrose kept up ahead of them as per usual, too headstrong to run with them but too cautious to completely throw self preservation to the wind. It worked out best to have him leading anyways. His nose was something that rivaled Randy's senses (or, at least, his tongue) with how it could detect enemies on the horizon and give them ample opportunity to switch escape tactics and avoid the police. Dean always complained they smelled like burnt rubber and cheap coffee. Randy was inclined to agree as he didn't want to make a fool out of himself sticking his tongue into the air to taste the difference.

"Boss-" Bo panted, lagging only slightly behind him with Paige making encouraging noises and repeatedly slapping at his back to run faster, "They definitely noticed."

Annoying but not surprising.

"They're on their way already. ETA...bout' one minute till' we throw down. Can we try to avoid playgrounds this time? Kids deserve breaks too, y'know." Dean threw over his shoulder.

Paige made a face at that, "That slide had it coming—who even paints them puke green?"

"Plastic slides aren't painted ya' moron."

"Is there a good stopping point ahead?" Randy interjected before the two could start arguing again. Christ but Paige's crush on Dean had developed into something headache inducing.

Bo made some vague gesture towards a traffic jammed four-way crossroad to the left, too tired and too concentrated on moving his legs to vocalize his point. Randy liked it. It was public enough to ensure the heroes would have to be careful of property or bystander damage and gave them more creative liberties with what they could use in a brawl. Paige did love to throw expensive things around. Quickly the Viper changed directions, not checking to make sure the other three were following. The bag carried in his hand was brought to his mouth before whatever Scooby gang was chosen showed up. Nothing like a back-up plan in case things went awry, and he was always under the opinion that his venom wasn't used enough in combat.

Sirens blared in the distance and announced police valiantly making an effort to track them down. It was pointless really, but Randy had to appreciate their commitment. It was dumb to underestimate how far the the local division would go—Big Show had learned that lesson when one of the lead detectives managed to shoot him in the leg a few weeks ago-and he always appreciated a good audience when the moment called for it.

This city was chaos, a buffet for the wicked and a battleground for the morally good. Crime dripped from every corner, and burned brightly like the California sun that sizzled above palm trees and cracked cement. It ached for a good show between good and evil and Randy loved it. It was so much better than his previous life in the drab state of Tennessee that he left for the lights, camera, and violence. There wasn't anything in the world he'd trade for what he'd earned.

"Great." Ambrose grumbled, "We got the hustler himself dropping in."

Dean never stopped moving, pacing angrily beside Randy and rolling his shoulders to help with the subtle shifts bubbling underneath his skin. He only paused to pick at his hand-wraps obsessively as Paige bent nearly in two to limber up.

"Not to be the bearer of bad news—because I'd much rather settle for an invigorating speech—but it's a tad too hot for me to keep up. My throat is going to get dry the longer this takes and I didn't bring any water." Bo helpfully supplied, a strained smile back on his face now that his breath had caught up, "I can provide at least three hits but that's it. Wouldn't want to strain the vocals!"

Ambrose snorted at that, clearly showing how he felt about Bo's precious vocals, but didn't comment once Paige gave him a warning side eye. Randy suppressed the urge to concentrate on how childish the three were. As much as they drove him up the wall they provided the best backup without the added pain of having to background check after every heist whether or not he was going to be stabbed in the back.

"Freeze!" And if that wasn't the icing on the cake, Randy didn't know what was.

Dean had been correct—John Felix Anthony Cena himself came jogging up with the usual intense look of concentration on his rather square looking head. Roman Reigns was right on his tail, attempting to subtly glance back towards Daniel Bryan bringing up the rear with some unknown tag-along.

The chosen group was, in all honesty, ridiculous.

No, that wasn't entirely true and perhaps if Randy wasn't, well, the Apex Predator he'd be more intimidated. After all, Cena wasn't a joke even if his choice in uniform was, Reigns had that intense thousand yard stare of his going with the wind blowing his hair just so, and Bryan had most definitely drop kicked him through a metal park bench during their last scuffle—height difference be damned. So, no, he was quite aware that the assortment of men before him were not to be taken lightly even if he knew their teamwork was shoddy at the best of times.

The man currently pacing beside Bryan—who was valiantly attempting to calm him at least for a single moment as Cena pointedly tried to pretend it wasn't happening—was a different story.

He was a fresh face, definitely a newbie just picked up, which made him more dangerous if only because they hadn't any clue what he could do. But...the face paint. And the stars. It was all so jarringly and obnoxiously out of place next to the other three that Randy couldn't help but stare. Beside him he knew Ambrose was doing the same, for once stunned into an amused silence.

"Is this guy for real?" Paige stage whispered to him, eyes darting briefly from the group before them to his face.

"He seems to be having some trouble!" Bo helpfully provided in a sickly sweet and slightly confused tone.

"He seems like he's havin' a meltdown." Ambrose finally snickered, still jittery even while watching and shifting from foot to foot like an animal.

Across the street Cena's jaw visibly clenched harder as the star patterned stranger squawked something about "morlocks" and "cosmic frequencies". Somehow knowing that his age-old rival was struggling to control his temper made dealing with this absurd situation slightly easier. The knowledge wasn't relaxing his fists but he always relished in the opportunity to see John's face tighten beneath his garishly bright cap.

The freak was finally slowing his roll and allowing Bryan to hesitantly place a placating hand on his shoulder. What exactly the shrimp was saying to him didn't matter as long as the guy shut up in time for the usual pre-melee theatrics. There was a crowd of civilians gathering on the outskirts of the packed and evacuated street and he didn't want to find a video of himself on youtube later being in the vicinity of this sideshow.

Sirens getting louder snapped his mind back into focus—handle this new information later, fight now. He straightened his back, widened his stance, and raised his chin imperiously to sneer at John. Cena, likewise, instantly reacted by drawing himself up to his full height and posturing right back. He could hear Paige mutter, "finally", and had to resist throttling her. Again. Trying to silence his group was like trying do anything of extreme and outrageous effort: best to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.

"Viper."

He really hated that calling card but he acknowledged the challenge with raised eyebrows.

"Hand the valuables over and we can end this quietly before anyone gets hurt."

Randy made a show of rolling his eyes, juggling the weighted bag between his hands with a barely contained sneer on his face. He was all for throwing a few punches over lesser things, but Bo's status had him more on guard than usual. It would be a shame if they were dominated by such an odd little four-man tag team instead of successful in escaping with the cash. No, they'd need to be more subtle about this (even if subtle wasn't something every person in his group was gifted at).

Orton allowed himself to relish the twinge of satisfaction at witnessing John's eyes widen incredulously when he suddenly and gingerly sat the bag of stolen goods down and stepped back. Ambrose made a displeased grunt but surprisingly didn't blow the sudden change in plans. Perhaps the Lunatic was finally starting to grow a brain.

His group was forced to follow his slow retreat back and left the bag in the middle of the cracked, heated pavement like some sort of peace offering. Confusion was palpable from every person involved but still Randy didn't break the guise and gestured to the loot mockingly.

Bryan had released the newbie and warily joined Cena in the forefront, Roman just off enough to the side to appear as though he was oh-so-reluctant to be associated with his squad. An unsaid debate went on for a few seconds—take the bag and regain the money or leave it and potentially lose everything they came to recover as well as admiration in the public's eye? Randy always did love the simplest of mind games, it made everything more fun, made his mouth salivate in anticipation. The beauty was that he didn't need to do anything more. He had made his move. Now they had to make theirs.

It was, of course, Cena who stepped up to the challenge. Either to reinforce the idea of his leaderly strength or to try and call Randy's bluff-he didn't care.

The bags had been dribbled on earlier during their escape from the bank, a paralytic poison that he could produce from his teeth and nails. It was a lovely addition to the set of abilities he possessed but meant only he could carry what they took out. Now, luckily, it was about to become their trump card. Once Cena was on the floor the others would be easy enough to overpower and outrun.

Paige seemed to sense that something was about to happen while John approached the bags. She had a clever head on her shoulders and a good set of instincts. He could spot her subtly nudging Bo's arm in his peripheral vision and in that moment the anticipation for what was about to occur was delectable. His teeth were elongating slowly in his mouth, just enough to put satisfying pressure on his gums, and he could feel scales trail silently up the length of his spine towards his shoulders. The change always felt nice to him, felt like something massaged his very core and made him want to arch into the feeling. It made Ambrose jealous—his own change made him antsy and more volatile.

Cena reached for the bags, stubby fingers spreading, and Randy resisted the urge to lick his lips. The other man would be played like the tool he was and better yet, it'd be him who did it. A smile flickered at the edges of his mouth while he shifted one foot just enough behind him to prepare for his sprint towards the nearest enemy. Bo began gathering air in his lungs, a soft sound that shifted the air.

Like with all good things the strategy fell apart within seconds.

Later Bo would swear up and down the star-kid's eyes changed to an unearthly orange and yellow. Paige would quip that he looked like he was concentrating so hard he was about to shit his pants. Ambrose wouldn't say anything at all because his scuffles always ended with him brooding over the thought of Reigns and their weird little "relationship". Randy wouldn't know what to think besides that everything was going as planned up until the newbie suddenly shrieked in panic and it all blew up into pandemonium.

"Trap—it's a trap!"

Cena's fingers had barely brushed the tip of the bag (not quite enough to stun, damn him) before the words startled him to a halt. Almost instantly after Bo let off an ear-splitting sonic boom, the yell sending Bryan and Reigns scattering like bowling pins.

Oh there was going to be property damage and he knew for a fact that Paige tossed the Porsche at Cena on purpose. His scales patterned themselves fully onto his arms, his chest, and up the back of his neck, and he sprang forwards with intent, leaving Bryan little time to recover. The man needed to pay a price for scorching him during their previous altercation and a few solid blows to the head would do just the trick. Hand to hand was Orton's speciality. His snake-like power had proved time and time again to be nearly impossible to deal with in close combat and what Bryan made up for in long range attacks he lost when Randy picked him up with one clawed hand and flipped him forcibly into the ground.

The air loudly expelled from Bryan's lungs, punched from his throat as Randy quickly and firmly planted a jab right to his chest and then temple, teeth tingling at the sight. Bryan groaned in pain, eyes dazedly trying to lock onto the taller man hovering above him while he raised a hand defensively. The palm of it sizzled in warning but it didn't deter the bigger man—he only needed to aim for the forearm and Daniel wouldn't have any time to counter the bite. Randy truly wished he could savor the moment longer.

"Hold still." He rumbled, mouth opening wider and wider as he felt his jaw unhinge and make room to accommodate for the oncoming attack, the ruthless sounds of the fight fading into the background once his mind locked onto his prey.

His mouth never made it to Bryan's arm.

All he comprehended before having a solid body tackle him to the side, was a hissing noise not unlike an enraged cat. He caught Daniel's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of the unnamed young man attempting to bodily pin him to the road—and who was this boy even kidding, did he really think he could outmatch him in strength? Someone didn't warn him enough about the risks of fighting with the big dogs.

"Hands off!" Newbie yelped, clawing at Randy's face with gloved fingers that irritated and cut at his skin.

In his opinion, that was quite enough.

The poor boy wouldn't even have a chance to comprehend what he was about to go through, though perhaps he realized it the moment Randy felt a true smile slip onto his face, toothy and hungry. Swift as a whip he flipped their positions, grappling with weaker but erratic arms to try and pin the younger man down. The newbie, for his part, was squawking in protest and attempting to both punch him in every available surface and kick his legs free. This felt unfair in terms of skill but Randy wasn't about to show mercy to some loud mouthed freak.

"Duck!"

There was a brief shift in the air and Randy tucked his head down in time to witness Cena sailing directly over and into the side of a shop window, glass shattering and scattered everywhere.

"This is my house, dick!" Paige screamed, barreling after the dazed man and ramming him back into the store as he tried to climb back out, metal quickly recoating his body. Randy felt a fondness developing in the back of his mind at the display of pure brutality.

"Whoopsie." The newbie's completely unapologetic voice had his attention once more—though apparently too late as he had somehow managed to wiggle a leg free without his notice and had turned onto his stomach to pull himself away. His hands and feet scrambled to find purchase on the hot asphalt, pushing hard to gain him some distance. Orton, for his part, felt a growl bubble up, a deep and warning rumble as his power set in further.

Going full strength with his particular set of skills always risked losing himself to the chase and the desire to dominate whomever had the misfortune of going up against him, but it wasn't a bad loss in his opinion. This bracket of power was always more difficult to control, there was no need to dwell on it—not when he had his gaze locked onto the dark and shiny material clinging to the pest before him. The boy half turned, eyes going again from a hazy green to sudden intense fiery red and orange.

Randy couldn't pin point exactly what happened. One second he had launched himself full power at the boy and the next he was ramming into the lamppost behind him. The metal crunched and bent around the shape of his shoulder and let out only one sad, long groan as it gave out and smashed to the ground.

How...?

"Missed me, missed me!" The boy crowed, practically hopping up and down in excitement, "Ooohhh, how embarrassing!"

Randy swore he could see red. In the next second he had turned and launched himself again, this time catching the still celebrating newbie off guard. The surprise and registering pain in his expression was satisfying even if he successfully managed to roll with the tackle and send Orton careening into a fire hydrant now. Water spewed violently from the busted top of the container and caused citizens to scatter. Figures a little liquid would scare them off but a fight to the death between super-powered freaks wouldn't.

This was not going as planned at all.

Randy took a moment to collect himself and gazed in the scene unfolding around him. Bryan was letting loose a few miniature hiccups of fire at Bo, missing every time and managing to set no less than a mail box, a bar sign, and a car tire on fire. Cena had shifted into his nearly indestructible metal form and was attempting to catch every expensive piece of crap that Paige tossed at him on purpose. Reigns was gathering momentum and energy to charge whatever it was that he did, eyes glowing an icy blue. Ambrose, half changed and sporting a dangerous set of canines, charged the taller man somewhere in there and was viciously laying hit after hit on his person.

In the middle of it was a very befuddled and absently grinning man in melting star make-up who gazed at the destruction around him with near unhinged glee. The water continued to spray around like a shoddy waterfall and soaked the boy but he didn't seem to care—nor did he seem to care that his face was now on full display for whatever media outlet was bound to show up in the next few seconds. Instead he was holding out a hand as though he could feel the water through his gloves and bleeding all over himself from the punishing hits Randy had laid into him. Bo screamed again in the background, shaking the ground with the force of it, and Orton finally straightened.

All this for a simple sack of money. It was pure discord and destruction under the guise of protecting the peace with some unnamed newcomer cackling in delight amidst the chaos.

And as he stared in disbelief at the stranger, Randy Orton thought things might finally be getting interesting again.

Now he just had to find out the kid's name.

Feedback is appreciated!