Summary: Randy Orton, an extraordinary detective and doctor, has been introduced to a world that he could only imagined. With the help of a mysterious man, John Cena, and his network, the Sanctuary, he will learn to adjust and become part of the abnormal world. Eventually, he learns what it means to be part of something, and to be with someone who actually cares for him. He will help prevent catastrophic events from happening and chaos making its reign.

Warning: swearing, lots of technical terms, lots of scientific terms, and M/M.

Disclaimer: I don't own WWE or Sci-Fi's Sanctuary.

A/N: Hey Hey Hey! So, I decided I'm gonna start a new story. I lost inspiration for NXT and can't think of anything for it. Also because NXT will be gone soon. . But Sanctuary will be here for a long time. . Also, I'm know all of this psychological, cryptozoological, and scientifical stuff. So…..Onward HooooOOOOooo!

A/N: Also, I will write sex scenes separately to keep the rating appropriate. I might also ask some friends to help me co-write the sex scenes. . Yay! That means I'm talking to anyone that writes slash. Like maybe, BornThisWay (MJ), Cenarko1986, FangirlxFantasies, Dreamscarred, candycenton, Inthedark34, AuntJackie, Candy-RKO, DarkAngel0410, LegacyChick, Bourtonfreak13, Addicted to Cenaton, Baby-Got-Burned, or somebody else. I just basically listed my favorite slash writers. Note: If your name was not mentioned, that does not mean you're not one of my favorites. This is a list of my favorite slash writers. If you are a slash writer and were not mentioned, I'm sorry, leave a review mentioning that I forgot and I will mention you in my next chapter.

A/N Re-Upload: Hey guys. Sorry i had to delete this. Somebody found me on here and i had to make an emergency delete to prevent any other kind of embarrassment. XD! But thanks to that, i'm out of the closet. And now "he" knows about me and he's okay with. He actually let me down really easy and we're just friends. I'm okay with that. :-). So...READ ON! THANKS FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT! MY GOAL FOR THIS STORY IS 100 REVIEWS! PLEASE HELP!

New York City, New York.
Rural Brooklyn Apartments
Late Summer. 6:47 PM

It was another night in the overrun streets of New York. It was night time, but lights illuminated the summer dusk. Sirens reverberated off the bricks walls of the Brooklyn apartments. A public disturbance call had been made for an apartment complex, saying that there were screams, arguments, and "sounds."

The police hopped out of their car and walked into the building. They followed the address they were given. Behind the door they heard a family arguing in a foreign language. One of the officers knocked on the door and the voices deafened. A lady opened the door.

"Hello Miss, We received a public disturbance call and we would like to investigate your apartment." The officer explained. There were 3 people in the little room. A middle aged couple and an elderly woman, their faces ridden with worry. The apartment had 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, and a small bathroom. One of the bedroom's doors was closed.

"There no problem here. No problem." The woman responded, obviously hiding something. She also had a thick Eurasian accent, "No trouble" She said again. Her voice cracked. The husband stood there quiet, his eyes shifting around the room.

The officers looked at each other, "Then you wouldn't mind if we had a look around?" The second officer said. The family looked defeated and the woman nodded with her head down. The officers stepped around the small apartment. While checking around the living area and kitchen, a hiss came from one of the closed bedroom.

"What was that?" Asked the first officer. The woman looked up immediately from the chair she was sitting on. The officer glared at the husband and caught that he his kept on shifting from the small coffee table to the source of the sound.

"No. No go in there! No go in there!" She wirily warned, but the officers did not listen. Usually the officers found drugs or other illegal substances in these kinds of places, but they were not prepared for what they were about to experience. The three foreigners watched in horror as the officers opened unlocked the door and peered inside. On the left side wall, there was an elderly man on the floor with a hole in his head. He assumed the old man was the old lady's former husband. Slowly, the officer looked up and was horrified by how much blood there was on the wall. He took a step into the room and allowed his partner inside.

"Oh God." The first officer exclaimed. The second officer looked inside and gasped.

The foreign family stood outside, gazing inside the room, horrified expressions on their faces. The elderly woman muttered something in her language and brought her hand over her mouth looking at her dead husband. The officers concluded that the dead man was the woman's spouse. The woman gasped again as another hiss was heard.

The first officer heard the hiss come from under the bed. He signaled his partner to watch his back and he kneeled down to look under the bed. He popped his flashlight out of his belt and peeked under the bed. He waved his flashlight back and forth. His light found the face of a kid. He looked back at his partner.

"Hey, it's just a kid." He relaxed and looked back under, "Hi, what's your….." But something caught his eye and something hissed again. He shot his flashlight at "it." "It" was like a snake and snapped at his face. He screamed in agony for a second, but "it" pierced his eye, through his brain, past his skull, killing him instantly. His body went limp and his partner kneeled by his side.

"Bill? Bill! Are you okay?" The second officer wailed, shaking his partner's lifeless corpse. There was a hiss again. The second officer looked up at where it came from. The "thing" looked like a snake with razor sharp teeth at the end, like a three pronged spear. The image burned into his brain for only a second before *SHICK*he too was killed. The woman screamed again as the blood splattered on her face, her hand covering her cheeks. The old lady had a rosary out, praying in her native language, begging for the officers' poor poor souls. The husband ran forward and slammed the door shut before "it" killed what was left of his family.

Same Place.
Approximately 1Hr Later

About an hour later, more sirens were heard around the same apartment. Randy Orton stepped out of his car and entered the building. He fixed his glasses and stopped the gurney that was passing by. He opened up the body bag and looked inside, not liking the bloody corpse. The officer's face was matted with blood that spurted from his right eye. There was hole that went straight through the eye and ran through the cranium like it was a high caliber bullet. Randy closed up the bag and walked into the room where the murders were committed.

Detective Striker was in the room mumbling something to the officers. In mid-sentence he turned his head and he saw Randy walk in, ducking under the crime scene tape. Randy was dressed in a white v-neck t-shirt, a leather jacket that fit snugly on his muscular build, and dark wash jeans that curved to his legs perfectly.

"You're late Orton" Striker sternly said.

"I know, I was at dinner." Randy explained. Striker just nodded letting Randy pass by this time.

"We got the killer already." Striker said.

Randy nodded, "Good, that's great. He killed two of us." Randy bit his lower lip, "That's too bad. Is the family that lived here okay?" He asked looking around scratching his head.

"No, apparently, an elderly man was shot right before the call was made. One Helluva head shot telling by all of the blood on the walls. The killer is at the hospital being questioned as we speak. We think he used the apartment as a temporary hide out and used the old man as a hostage. Then when the call was made, he killed him. Then he surprised our officers by hiding under the bed." Striker further explained.

Randy pulled out a pair of blue sanitation gloves, "Then you wouldn't mind if I looked around?" Sure the NYPD always ran over a crime scene like a fine tooth comb, but Randy went over crime scenes to an atomic level compared to them. He's always had a knack at finding things for what they really were, but most of the time people didn't know what the Fuck he was talking about.

Striker shook his head and pointed at the kitchen and bed room giving the taller man permission. Randy walked into the kitchen observing the room like it was under an imaginary microscope. His mind immediately took in some key points. It was some kind of instinct he had. Like he was able to sense what to and not to look for. He focused in on the cot, the poster of Jesus, the Eurasian décor, and the scratches on the floor. The scenario and evidence already was adding up to form a hypothesis in his subconscious.

"A lot of people living in one little apartment." Randy said, "Five people?"

"Four," answered Striker, "not including the killer." Randy walked around and messed with some little trinkets on the shelves on the shelf. There was one of those little Russian dolls that you open up and you find an even smaller doll inside. His finger's revolved around the doll as he began to deduce his findings.

"They were religious. From Ukraine or Russia." Randy concluded.

"Russia?" Striker asked confused as to why Randy had said this. What the Hell did that have to do with this.

Randy put down the little trinket, "Just the one kid?" There must've been someone here to play with these little toys.

"No kids" Striker affirmed, but Randy didn't think so.

Randy thought for a second, he looked at the floor and ran his finger tips on the wooden floor. There were scratches under the chair's leg and good scratch marks in the hard wood. "The kid was energetic. Hyperactive. Jittery." Randy mumbled to himself, "And these scratches are pretty fresh from the rough feel of it."

"What the fuck is he talking about?" An officer asked Striker. He just put up a hand and stepped next to Orton.

"We got the killer Orton. There's no need to investigate more." Striker explained again, but Randy just walked into the bedroom as if he didn't hear anything. His mind focused in on key points again. It was like reading a book, finding the clues. His eyes' shifted from the several blood splatter on the walls, the small cot, the open bedside drawer with a comic book, the lock on the door, and the roll-up window curtain.

The room was barely 12ft by 12 ft. It desperately needed a paint job and it gave away a grungy dirty feeling. Randy walked over to the bedside drawer and pulled out the comic book. He looked it over and set it on the bed. He opened the next drawer but it was empty. The gears in his brain were working out the situation and what had happened.

Striker watched along with another officer as Randy went through the room. "The guy's a forensic investigator. He sees everything and thinks of anything possible. But he has a psychological problems." Striker explained.

"I thought the agency gave him the boot?" The officer said.

"Yeah, but, he's good. Still, we have to keep an eye on him." Striker added. He knew Randy was good at times but, other times, he was just fucking crazy.

Randy swiped his fingers along the top of the window curtain and rubbed any substance in between his fingers. There was a slight friction in between his fingers. Then he kneeled beside the bed and sniffed the aroma coming from it. There was an odorous stench. Natural but foul.

"He has bed sweats. There's a lot of fear in the air." Randy explained. His mind was focused on his findings and beginning to form the solution to this happening.

Striker raised an eyebrow in bewilderment, "Gee Randy, maybe it was caused by the homicide." Striker sarcastically commented.

Randy continued and pointed at the door, "There's a dead lock on the door, it locks from the outside. Also there was a lot of dust on the curtain, so the shades were always down and never open." He turned to Striker again, "They're legal right? They're allowed to be here?" He thought the residents were selling Russian alcohol or European drugs. It was fairly common for immigrants to bring over indigenous drugs.

"That's right" Striker nodded. He leaned against the side of the door.

"Good." Randy pondered, "But what are they hiding." He brought his right hand to his chin and supported his right arm with his left to kept balance. Why did they keep so down low? What were they trying to hide? How does this fit in with the murders? What exactly is going on here?

"Hey!" Striker interrupted Randy's train of thought, "What part of, 'We got the killer,' don't you understand?" Striker crossed his arms in frustration. Really, he was started to get aggravated by Randy's persistence.

Randy stood up and looked at Striker in the eye, "I don't think there was a killer." Randy said.

Striker smirked, "Look, I don't need to be a ballistics expert to know that he used a close range gun. The weapon left a circular opening, thus means he used a gun. AND we have eyewitnesses. Or were you not listening to that part." That was all there was to this in Striker's mind, but not in Randy's opinion.

"But some things don't quite make sense." Randy points at the walls with the blood splatters. "There are multiple blood splatters. Most likely from a blunt implement possibly. But maybe not, because in one small apartment, they would need all the space they need so they wouldn't have a baseball bat. And the empty drawer…"

"Four people." Striker interrupted. He wanted this to be over already.

"Plus, there's a comic book hidden under the clothes." Randy announced.

"So what?" Striker relented. He couldn't add any of what Randy was blabbing about together at all.

"It's not like its porn. It's just a normal comic book. Who would want to hide a comic? And for what reason?" Randy explained. Striker scratched his head. Randy continued, "Also, why were four adults sleeping in the living room?" Randy paused, something clicking in his cranium.

"There's something else happening here…something that we haven't accounted for." Randy stated.

Striker just nodded and smiled, acting as if randy was a lunatic. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Randy shrugged, "I don't know."

Randy left the crime scene and walked back into the streets of the "City that never sleeps." The sounds of cars passing by filled his ears. With hands in his pockets, he looked around at the buildings. Suddenly, a peculiar sound caught his ears. He heard shoes scuffing cement, but they didn't come from the side walk. It sounded like it came from someplace…higher.

Randy slowly gazed up at the ledges along the building. hoping to find a cat or a rat. Instead, his eyes caught a small shadow of a figure along the fifth story's ledge. His eyes followed it until it jumped on fire escape. He walked down the side walk and saw "it" climbing down the fire escape. "it" was making animalistic sounds that were….abnormal.

"Hey!" Randy yelled.

"It" turned his head. "It" was just a kid. Around 12 years old, dark brown hair, and pale freckled skin. The kid quickly climbed down the ladder and jumped into the alleyway.

"Hey! Hold up!" Randy yelled, but before Randy could say anything else, the kid ran into the shadows of a sewer tunnel in the wall. He stumbled into the alleyway, trying to spot any other movement within the shadows. He squinted his eyes, finding nothing significant. Suddenly, he heard the roar of a motorcycle's engine behind him. The rider flexed his grip on the handle and accelerated straight for him. Instinctively, Randy side stepped out of the way, the wind catching the end of his leather jacket.

"Whoa! Hey! Watch where you're going!" Randy yelled. The driver gripped the brakes and swerved to the side, lined up to the sewer tunnel, and turned his head at Randy. The rider's helmet shade was up and Randy caught a glimpse of his face. He had very tan skin, dark brown hair, sapphire like eyes, and a very, very, dashing face! The rider shut the visor, twisted his wrist on the throttle, and he flew into the sewer tunnel. Randy was confused now. He walked down the alley and peered into the sewer tunnel. His icy blue eyes looked around for anything that made sense to him. "This is getting weird." Randy sighed.

Then all of a sudden, a car came out of nowhere and rammed Randy. The bumper rammed his thighs, flinging him over the windshield, he rolled over the top, and then back down. He hit the ground with a loud thud and a slight crack, landing on his side. Randy clutched his elbow in pain. He was going to feel that in the morning.

The driver stepped out of the car, rushing to his side. Randy's vision was blurred but he could still make out some main characteristics. The guy was wearing long black trench coat with a black t-shirt underneath, dog tags around his neck, and khaki pleats. He was BUILT, with baby blue eyes, and an adorable, yet, handsome face. It was obvious that he regretted hitting Randy and that it was a complete accident. Randy watched as the man kneeled next to him, checking his vital signs.

The man ran his hands through his buzz cut hair and muttered, "This was not how I wanted us to meet." That was all Randy heard before he passed out.

A/N: So yay! This one I'm gonna update really really soon. Maybe later today. Well, That's all folks. REVIEW!