John Cena lay unconscious outside the ring. The monster got him again. Ruthless, careless action got Cena out of the match. He would not win the title tonight. It was one on one. Brock Lesnar vs. Seth Rollins. The eyes of the devil stared deep into Rollins's soul. For a minute, he stopped feeling like a heel, like the most hated guy in the company. Surely, the audience did not want him to become a champion, but someone had to feel sympathetic for him. There was nowhere to run . . . not that he wanted to give up his chance to win.
Seth stood in the corner of the ring, his arms spread over the ropes. His breathing was heavy; the match has already exhausted him. But it would get worse. He knew that. Instinct made him look to the left where he saw the briefcase. There was always a plan B. But he did not mean to resort to that option.
He was the one to attack. The re-found energy came with the deep desire to be the one to finally defeat the vicious beast. Beat him to death. How, flashed through his mind. It was a fact that Seth was smaller and weaker. He had the youthful energy and excitement, but Lesnar had experience. Not only with wrestling. He did mixed martial arts in the UFC where the fight was taken to a whole new level. A fighter who did not care for his opponent stood in front of Seth. He felt like David trying to defeat Goliath. But unlike the biblical hero, Seth was still a villain here. As if it weren't enough, beside the ring, with a grin on his face, there was Paul Heyman. That was another difference between Lesnar and Rollins. Seth had nobody cheering for him. No support. Yes, there was the Authority, but those people would find it easy to replace Seth with someone new if he failed. He was alone. But that got him going. If he wins, it'll be his victory. He got to this position, he got himself in the championship match. He was the holder of the Money in the Bank briefcase. Nobody could take these accomplishments away from him. Not even Brock Lesnar.
It took no longer than two minutes to be above him, beating him harder than he could imagine he was capable of. He got the situation under control. Heyman could stand there, but his look of superiority quickly changed into despair. As the belief in his client diminished.
Cena was out of the picture, taken out on the stretchers. Only two guys were eligible to win. And as for now, it looked pretty good for Mr. Money in the Bank. He might get the chance to challenge himself as the new champion for the championship.
Lesnar got up. Everybody could see that coming. He wouldn't give up either. Especially not when he was aware of his strength. Cheered by Heyman, and some people in the audience too, he quickly turned the defense into great offense. He got his opponent down and started his series of suplexes. Suplex. Suplex. No chance for Seth to take a break. Brock Lesnar has done this before. Absolutely destroying his opponent. Another German suplex. It went on for a while; the beast incarnate could do this forever without pausing to relax. Besides, Seth Rollins was not heavy at all, and that made the work so much easier. More suplexes came. F-5. Rollins kicked out at two. However, enduring the punishment without giving up, without letting Brock Lesnar have that victory, did not suffice. To win the title he would need to defeat the reigning champion. Seth Rollins needed a miracle.
He did not believe in miracles. You make your own faith; that was his philosophy. And you survive and defeat everything that gets in the way. All the obstacles. No matter how heavy and ruthless they are.
Seth Rollins got up. There was always some leftover energy in his body; inside of him there was a hopping bunny who only needed to recharge batteries and was able to supply Seth with vigor and drive to win this fight. To win every fight.
He grinned at Lesnar who did not understand. Nevertheless, he was ready to continue in manhandling his rival. This time, however, he would not succeed. He could gather all the demons guiding his path and would not get Rollins down on his knees again. Quite the opposite. Mr. Money in the Bank became the one in charge. And he would fight till the very end.
Some people began to cheer. After they've witnessed the heel almost lose but fight back and eventually succeed in once again getting the situation under control, there were a couple of fans who sympathized with the one they formally boo'd. That zeal got people's support. Of course that was only a minority but still it counted. Anything, even the smallest appreciation of his skills, gave Seth that extra push that he needed.
And there he stood, finishing off his opponent. Defeating the monster. Getting ready to give the fans what they least expected. Getting ready for that curb stomp. A grin on his face, a look of horror on Paul Heyman's. Fans cheering. Fans booing. WWE Universe shouting You sold out. Some screaming Yes. Well, most of what he heard was just noise in his ears and head. Mind was flooded with thoughts about how to cause the most damage. At the same time, though, it was empty. He was fully focused on his dinner.
He put the boot down on his opponent's neck. The head heavily hit the ground. Seth lay down, covering Lesnar's body with his chest. Waiting. That was all he could do. Hope his adversary would not recover. One . . . two . . . one more, he was begging in his mind . . . three. He got him. He got him! I won, he whispered, still lying over the motionless body of his enemy. "I won." The words were louder now but still not quite loud. His voice needed to get stronger. He needed to absorb what just happened. He let it sink in. Then, as his body regained the power that he used completely in his now-or-never match, he stood up. Slowly . . . still in the process of grasping everything. He was flooded with emotions. Happiness . . . disbelief . . . euphoria . . . satisfaction . . . ecstasy. He was standing in the middle of the ring, wide-eyed, hands not knowing what to do, mouth wide open. "I won," Seth Rollins shouted. He repeated it a couple of times, each time directed at a different part of the crowd to make sure everybody heard him. "I am the champion." Tears of joy were forming in his eyes.
"And the winner of this match . . . your new WWE World Heavyweight Champion . . . Seth Rollins!"
The music of the champion started to play as they handed him the trophy . . . well, the championship belt. Seth hurried to get it.
He never felt so happy. So fulfilled. This was what he has done it all for. To stand here, holding that belt. Champion. The blood, the tears . . . all was worth it. The laughs, the quarrels . . . the hatred. Now they can boo all they want.
He was holding the title. His lips couldn't help themselves; they had to kiss it. It was his after all, and he deserved it. Now he had the title . . . and the briefcase, too. There was nobody who could stop him. Now he was the one stopping people from achieving their dreams.
He watched the Royal Rumble match from the comfort of the backstage. There was a private room, big screen . . . and the championship. All his. He knew that the person winning the match was the one that would try to take on him, so he kept an eye on it. Did he have a favorite? Only he knew. But he liked watching others flying out of the ring, getting they dreams destroyed. That misery of other wrestlers, his coworkers, only made his joy greater. Sitting on the couch, he petted his new love. The belt he would wear even in the shower. How much he loved it. It grew on him quite quickly. At the same time, it proved to be a distraction. He was losing important – and hilarious – moments of the match. Only few remained. No, he decided, watching it so far away from the real action did not quite bring the satisfaction it had potential of.
Closing the door behind him, he left the room for good. He did not need to isolate himself anyway. He did not want to give an impression that he was scared of the losers, those that were below his level now. As he walked through the backstage, there was an aura of confidence, even arrogance, spreading around him. The belt hung over his right shoulder, and he rewarded people enviously looking at it with a victorious stare. Yes, it was his. No, you cannot touch it.
There was a goal of his journey, he reminded himself. He was missing out on a good match. Well, that's what you get for being a Mona Lisa of the WWE. Everybody looked and he couldn't just ignore all those people. So much envy going to waste? Hell no. Instead, he absorbed it. That was the reason why he almost came late. When he reached the spot closest to the ring that was still in the backstage and hidden from WWE Universe's sight, he stopped and enjoyed the last few minutes of the main event. He made a guess for the winner . . . well, like it was not clear enough. But he waited to hear the name of the one who earns the chance to challenge the champion. Actually, he turned away from the screen and let people surprise him with the cheering.
So when the last participant of the match removed the one that was blocking his victory, the entrance theme of the remaining wrestler – the Royal Rumble winner – started to play. Now knowing who the most successful one of this year was, Seth Rollins smiled.
Dean Ambrose. Of course.
Seth confidently looked at his belt. Ambrose may be the winner of the Royal Rumble and the future challenger for the championship, but the name of the WWE Champion was Seth Rollins. And he got through worse than some wannabe. He defeated the beast incarnate, Brock Lesnar, after all. And he had enough energy left to fight anyone who would want to stand in his way to glory.
The music hit again. It was a different tune this time. People realized Ambrose wouldn't have it that easy. There was still one person who could – and would – bring misery into his petty life. The winner of the WWE World Heavyweight Championship title match. The new champion, Seth Rollins.
As Rollins was confidently walking toward the ring, Roman Reigns stepped inside the ring to help out his buddy. That did not worry Rollins. If getting him scared was the objective, Reigns failed. But no, he was there mainly as a protection, that was clear to everybody.
The clash was inevitable. A year ago, everything was so different. The three guys fought over who should win the Royal Rumble match . . . and ended up eliminated, laying outside the ring. Roman Reigns well deserved the hostility back then. And Ambrose too for his attempt to throw his partner out of the ring. This time, however, the situation was different. Seth Rollins was the pest.
Although it did not look good for him – there were two enemies standing inside the ring and he was there alone – he was not afraid. He walked with confidence until he reached the ring. He walked up the stairs, the belt over the right shoulder, briefcase in his left hand, microphone in the right hand. For a few seconds he just stood on the same level as them, looking at them from more or less safe distance. The ropes were conveniently in the way, preventing direct clash. However, even if they weren't, Rollins would feel no fear. He was grinning. A second later, he brought the mic up to his lips.
"Congrats," he mockingly said to his former partner. "And look, it's Roman Reigns . . . once again failing to win the Royal Rumble. The third time's the charm?" He chuckled.
The whole audience has been watching the scene. Would they fight? Would Reigns serve as a shield to protect the winner of the match that just ended? Those two were still exhausted from the show. Rollins, on the other hand, had time to rest and recharge.
"I remember the last year," Seth reflected. He was looking up, unintentionally focusing on the entrance they used to come through . . . walking down the stairs with fans patting their shoulders. "We couldn't defeat those other 27 participants. We couldn't work as a team." Seth Rollins crossed the ropes, but neither Ambrose nor Reigns moved one inch. "Now, one year later, almost eight months after I hit you with that chair," he happily looked at Reigns, "I'm standing here with a championship belt." He addressed the crowd, "Those of you who think I'd regret that decision to leave The Shield are stupid. I am a champion," he shouted. Then he laughed.
"Well," Ambrose interrupted his speech, "I get to headline WrestleMania." He appeared calm but everybody knew he could explode any minute. People wondered how long before the tension turns into a deathly combat.
A smug on Seth Rollins's face accompanied a verbal answer. "You can headline WrestleMania all you want, but you're not getting this." He pointed at his property. "This," he arrogantly waved with his belt in front of the duo, "is staying with me forever."
"Oh, isn't he cute," Roman uttered. "He's got the title for five minutes and he already thinks he's the greatest champ ever. And he's so naïve." Reigns watched as Rollins had suddenly difficulty with holding three objects in his hands. "You think nobody's got courage to take you down? They're all hungry for you . . . Seth." Roman laughed. Consequently, the champion failed at looking confident when he dropped the belt. The microphone, the briefcase, and the championship belt was simply too much. Dean Ambrose joined Reigns in laughter. Then, as Seth Rollins was reaching for the belt to pick it up and place it back over his shoulder, Dean Ambrose ruined that intention when he was quicker to get the champ's property.
"Hey! Hey!" Rollins shouted at him, and struggled to regain what he won an hour ago.
The distraction served Reigns who stole the Money in the Bank briefcase. All Rollins was left with was that mic that he kept shouting at. "It's mine. Mine!"
"Who's the champ now?" Ambrose asked, and the crowd immediately started shouting Ambrose, Ambrose, Ambrose . . .
It took more than three minutes of running around the ring, trying to catch the thieves, until the WWE World Heavyweight Champion got his stuff back. Of course, he wouldn't succeed if the other two wouldn't willingly return his property to him. Roman explained that decision with "Look, Dean, we don't need to steal those things when we can get them fairly. You don't need to steal the championship to be a champion. Am I right?" He demanded – and got – a reaction from the WWE Universe. Then Reigns turned to Rollins in an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry. You won it fair and square."
Seth accepted the apology, gathered his stuff, and turned around to avoid another awkward situation. But he had to do one more thing. Look at them in a demeaning way, grinning, asserting dominance.
A spear came from nowhere. Getting up from hitting victorious move, Roman first roared, enjoying the audience's reaction, and then he leaned toward the defeated Rollins, whispering. "There you go, you motherfucker." When he turned around, he noticed Dean's hand waiting for a high-five. Roman took the mic that laid on the ground and screamed, "And the champ's down!" A few seconds later, when he saw that Seth was recovering from the clash, sitting up, he said to him, acting all confused, "I meant, congrats." And the fans were cheering Roman Reigns, Roman Reigns, Roman Reigns . . . . And others Ambrose, Ambrose, Ambrose. . . . There were none who would pity the champion.
With shame in his eyes, Seth Rollins got up. "I still am a champion." He went to collect the things that flew away from him in the moment that Reigns speared him, but what he cared about was really just the belt now. He grabbed it as quickly as he could to prevent any other accidents. That confidence he came there with was now basically gone. He got the facts on his side, that was true, but recent embarrassments mattered to people more than his deserved victory.
"Hey, Rollins," Ambrose suddenly shouted at him. Seth turned around to hear what the main winner of the day got to say. Dean Ambrose was quiet even when he got Rollins's attention. And Seth Rollins waited and waited. Finally, there came a reaction. No words, though. Just a wide smile. And the same one – if not wider – appeared on Seth's face. Consequently, Dean Ambrose said, "We did it. We did it!" Now he was shouting. The guys were laughing, changing the hostility into friendly happiness and joy over each other's accomplishments. And unable to keep pretending, Rollins starting running, holding his title, and jumped at Ambrose, almost getting him on the floor.
"Yeah! Fuck yeah!" Seth screamed.
Soon Reigns joined them in celebration, and they all started jumping high, ecstatic about what they achieved that night.
A well-known theme started playing. Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta . . . Shield.