AN: I apologise for the delayed update. I've been busy lately.
August 29, 2002,
SmackDown is live from the Mohegan Sun Arena in Uncasville, Connecticut. The crowd is fired up, still buzzing from the dominant performance they just witnessed from the new Undisputed WWE Champion,Brock Lesnar. This was Lesnar's first match since becoming exclusive to SmackDown, a move orchestrated by the brand's General Manager, Stephanie McMahon. Lesnar's opponent,Matt Hardy, had been thoroughly dismantled, showcasing Lesnar's raw power and leaving no doubt that he is the man to beat.
As Lesnar basks in the adulation—or rather, the fear—of the WWE Universe, the familiar music of Stephanie McMahon hits. She makes her way out onto the entrance stage, a microphone in hand, and the arena quiets down in anticipation. There's a sense that something big is about to happen.
Stephanie, with a confident smile, raises the microphone to her lips and makes a groundbreaking announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the newest member of the SmackDown roster," she declares, pausing to let the suspense build. "The Lion of Rosengård…Zlatan Ibrahimovic!"
The arena erupts as Zlatan's theme song, "The Lion" by RZA and GZA, blares through the speakers. The familiar beat pumps up the crowd, and the atmosphere becomes electric. Michael Cole, on commentary, can hardly contain his excitement. "Oh my! Zlatan Ibrahimovic has left RAW and is now on SmackDown! What a huge acquisition!"
Tazz laughs in disbelief, "I don't believe it, Cole! Zlatan's on SmackDown now?! This is insane!"
The man of the hour, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, appears on the entrance stage, dressed in his street clothes, a confident grin on his face. He twirls around with his arms stretched out, fists clenched, showing off his signature pose. The crowd is roaring with approval. As Stephanie McMahon heads backstage, leaving the stage to Zlatan, he spins around, pumping his fist in the air, and begins to walk down the ramp.
Michael Cole continues, "The former Intercontinental Champion, the first-ever Swedish champion in WWE history… and now, he's a part of the blue brand! This is a monumental moment for SmackDown!"
In the crowd, a fan holds up a sign that reads, "The Lion Roars on SmackDown!" while another sign declares, "The Lion is in the House!" The fans are on their feet, thrilled to see Zlatan make his way to the ring on SmackDown for the first time.
As the camera pans over to Paul Heyman at ringside, his face is wide-eyed, clearly remembering what Zlatan and RVD put him through with the soap prank on and how Zlatan won the Triple Threat match for the Intercontinental Title at Vengeance, where Heyman's client, Brock Lesnar, was one of the competitors. Heyman looks visibly shocked, his mind racing as he contemplates this unexpected turn of events.
Tazz notices Heyman's expression and chuckles, "Look at the face of Paul Heyman, Cole! He's in shock! I think he might be having flashbacks of what Ibra put him through!"
Michael Cole adds, "First, Brock Lesnar becomes exclusive to SmackDown, and now, the Lion of Rosengård, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, is here too! This changes everything!"
As Zlatan makes his way down the ramp, his eyes locked onto Brock Lesnar, there is a sense that this rivalry is far from over. The crowd's energy is at a fever pitch, knowing that with Zlatan on SmackDown, things are about to get even more unpredictable.
Zlatan steps into the ring, his eyes locked onto Brock Lesnar as he makes his way to the center. The tension in the arena is palpable, and the crowd is buzzing with anticipation. Zlatan and Lesnar move toward each other, engaging in an intense staredown. Both men exchange a few words, talking smack as their noses nearly touch, the air thick with animosity.
Paul Heyman, sensing the hostility and realizing things could explode at any moment, decides to back away. He carefully exits the ring, keeping the WWE Championship on his shoulder, his eyes darting nervously between the two powerhouses.
Then, in a sudden move, Zlatan raises his hand to silence Lesnar, cutting him off mid-sentence. The crowd reacts with a collective gasp, wondering what Zlatan is up to. He follows up with a taunting "Just Bring It" hand gesture, his fingers motioning toward himself, daring Brock to make the first move.
Michael Cole shouts, "Oh, look at this! Zlatan just told Brock to bring it! He's not backing down one bit!"
Tazz laughs, "Oh, man, Brock is not gonna like that, Cole! This just is going to be a fight!"
Lesnar, clearly insulted by the gesture, snarls and takes exception to Zlatan's audacity. Without wasting a moment, Zlatan brings the fight with a series of right hands, and a furious brawl erupts right in the center of the ring.
Michael Cole yells, "And here we go! Lesnar and Ibrahimovic going at it in the ring! It's chaos on SmackDown!"
Tazz adds, "These two are throwing bombs, Cole! This ain't gonna be a wrestling match—this is turning into a street fight!"
Lesnar, showing his raw power, quickly gains the upper hand by tackling Zlatan and driving him back into the corner. He begins to ram his shoulder repeatedly into Zlatan's midsection, trying to wear down the "Lion of Rosengård." With each shot, Lesnar drives his shoulder deeper, showing his dominant strength.
Lesnar takes a moment to taunt Zlatan, his face inches from Zlatan's. "I'm the champ, and you're nothing! You hear me, Zlatan? Nothing!" Lesnar snarls.
But Zlatan, unfazed and refusing to be intimidated, grabs hold of Lesnar by the neck. With a surge of energy, he switches their positions, shoving Lesnar into the corner. Zlatan then unloads with a flurry of body shots, hammering away at Lesnar's ribs, each blow echoing throughout the arena.
Michael Cole and Tazz continue to call the action, their voices filled with excitement. "Zlatan's fighting back! He's not letting Brock get the best of him!" Michael Cole exclaims.
Tazz, impressed, says, "Zlatan's taking it right to the champ, Cole! This guy's got guts!"
Zlatan, feeling the momentum shift in his favor, winds up and delivers a massive clothesline, sending Lesnar flying over the top rope and crashing to the floor outside. The crowd erupts in cheers as Lesnar, visibly angry, starts to get back to his feet, looking like he wants to charge back into the ring.
But Paul Heyman, seeing the danger, rushes over and grabs Brock by the arm, urgently advising him, "Not now, Brock! Not now! Live to fight another day!" Lesnar, reluctantly, listens to his advisor, taking a moment to calm himself and back away from the ring, his eyes still locked on Zlatan.
Inside the ring, Zlatan smirks, realizing he's sent a message. He makes a gesture around his waist, clearly indicating that he wants what Brock Lesnar has—the WWE Championship. The crowd catches on immediately, chanting "Ibra! Ibra!" as Zlatan's theme song, "The Lion," blares through the arena speakers.
Michael Cole excitedly says, "Zlatan Ibrahimovic is on SmackDown, and he's here to stay! He's made it clear that he's got his eyes set on Brock Lesnar's WWE Title!"
Tazz, equally excited, adds, "I love it, Cole! This is gonna be good! Zlatan's not backing down from anyone, not even Brock Lesnar!"
Zlatan climbs to the second rope at the corner, throwing his fist up in the air, soaking in the "Ibra!" chants from the SmackDown crowd. The fans are on their feet, knowing that the "Lion of Rosengård" has just made a powerful statement on his first night on the blue brand.
XXXX
Sept 2 2002
The backstage area of the Bradley Center was a whirlwind of activity. Staff members darted from one end to the other, producers shouted last-minute directions, and wrestlers moved through the corridors, preparing for the night's matches. Amidst this chaos, Zlatan Ibrahimovic moved with a calm sense of purpose, his expression a mixture of nostalgia and anticipation.
His eyes scanned the familiar surroundings of RAW, the place where he had carved his name into WWE history over the past several months. But tonight, Zlatan had a different mission—he was here for a few goodbyes before officially making the transition to SmackDown.
He made his way through the bustling hallway, nodding at a few familiar faces, until he reached a door marked with a simple sign: Rob Van Dam—RVD. Zlatan took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile, and knocked on the door. Almost immediately, the door swung open to reveal RVD, his face lighting up with a warm smile.
"Hey, Zlatan! What's up, man?" RVD greeted, stepping aside to let Zlatan in.
Zlatan returned the smile, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Just wanted to have a chat before I head out to SmackDown, Rob."
RVD motioned for him to come in, and they settled into a couple of chairs inside the locker room, the energy of the arena humming just beyond the walls.
"So, you're really making the move to SmackDown, huh? Big changes ahead," RVD said, leaning back and crossing his arms with a knowing grin.
"Yeah, it's a whole new adventure," Zlatan replied, nodding thoughtfully. "But you know what, Rob? Keep being yourself, following your own drum. That's what's made you successful, and that's why the fans love you."
RVD chuckled, appreciating the compliment. "Thanks, man. And you, you've made a huge impact here on RAW. Going to miss having you around."
Zlatan's smile widened, a lightness in his voice. "It's not goodbye, Rob. It's just a 'see you later.' Our paths will cross again, I'm sure of it."
RVD nodded in agreement, a spark of mutual respect passing between them. For a moment, they were silent, simply enjoying the camaraderie that came from fighting in the trenches of the WWE together. They both knew that the ring had a way of bringing people back together, no matter how far their journeys took them apart.
With a final handshake, Zlatan made his way out of RVD's locker room and continued down the corridor. His next stop was another familiar face he wanted to see before he left: Trish Stratus.
He reached Trish's dressing room and knocked gently on the door. Within moments, the door opened, and Trish greeted him with a welcoming smile that made him feel right at home.
"Hey, Zlatan! Come on in." she said, stepping aside to allow him into the room.
Zlatan stepped inside, feeling a swirl of emotions. He admired Trish's dedication, her passion for the business, and the way she had carved out a place for herself in a predominantly male-dominated sport. He was proud to have shared this journey with her.
"Hey, Trish. Just wanted to talk before I head over to SmackDown." Zlatan began, his voice carrying both gratitude and sincerity.
"Of course, Zlatan. It's been great having you on RAW. You've made quite an impression." Trish replied with a genuine smile, clearly appreciative of his presence.
Zlatan chuckled softly, nodding. "Thanks, Trish. And you know what? I still owe you that trip to Malmö. When WWE's on tour in Europe, I'm taking you up on that offer."
Trish laughed, a lightheartedness in her tone that reflected the bond they'd formed. "Deal, Zlatan. Looking forward to it."
"And hey, keep kicking butt out there. You're going to be a champion again for a reason." Zlatan added, his tone serious but with a hint of playfulness.
Trish smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "I will, Zlatan. Take care of yourself on SmackDown."
They exchanged a warm hug, the kind shared between friends who respected and admired one another. As they parted, there was a mutual understanding that their paths might diverge for now, but the unpredictable world of WWE had a way of bringing people back together when they least expected it.
Zlatan exited Trish's dressing room with a renewed sense of purpose. The final farewells had been made, the last words exchanged. As he headed down the hallway toward his next adventure on SmackDown, he knew that while he was leaving behind friends, he was stepping into the unknown with the confidence of a lion, ready to roar louder than ever.
XXXXX
The arena was buzzing with anticipation as Eric Bischoff stood in the center of the ring, a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. In his hands, he held the familiar, yet rebranded World Heavyweight Championship—the same title that once represented the pinnacle of WCW. The belt gleamed under the bright lights of the Bradley Center, a symbol of power and prestige now ready to be claimed on RAW.
Jim Ross and Jerry "The King" Lawler were at ringside, their microphones live as they narrated the unfolding drama.
"Well, folks, it looks like Eric Bischoff has something big up his sleeve tonight." Jim Ross's voice carried a note of skepticism, knowing all too well that Bischoff never made an appearance unless it was to stir the pot.
The fans in Milwaukee were already on edge, sensing that something monumental was about to happen. Bischoff, soaking in the mixed reaction from the crowd, raised the microphone to his lips, his voice dripping with smug authority.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight marks the beginning of a new era on RAW!" Bischoff announced, his voice echoing through the arena. "And what better way to usher in that era than by bringing back a title that symbolizes greatness, a title that once stood at the top of WCW… but will now represent the very best of RAW!"
Bischoff paused, lifting the World Heavyweight Championship higher for all to see. The crowd responded with a mix of cheers and boos, the tension in the air thickening with each word he spoke.
"This," he continued, "is the World Heavyweight Championship! And tonight, I have the privilege of naming the man who will compete for this prestigious title."
The crowd roared in response, eager to hear who would be given the opportunity. Bischoff smiled, savoring the moment before dropping the bombshell.
"That man… is none other than 'The Game' himself, Triple H!" Bischoff declared, his tone filled with praise.
Triple H's music hit, and the arena filled with boos as The Game made his way down to the ring. Dressed in his signature leather jacket and jeans, Triple H exuded confidence, the jeers of the crowd bouncing off him like water off a duck's back. He entered the ring and shook Bischoff's hand, soaking in the atmosphere, clearly reveling in the attention.
Jerry "The King" Lawler was beside himself with excitement. "Oh, this is great, JR! Triple H is going to be the new World Heavyweight Champion! Eric Bischoff knows exactly what he's doing!"
Jim Ross, unimpressed, muttered, "Oh please, King. This is just another one of Bischoff's schemes to stroke his own ego and Triple H's."
Bischoff continued, still holding the title as he addressed the crowd. "Triple H, if I had you in WCW, there's no doubt in my mind that we would have won the Monday Night Wars! And that's why, right here tonight, I'm going to reward you…"
The crowd held its breath, sensing something big was about to be announced.
"…With the opportunity to become the first World Heavyweight Champion on RAW!" Bischoff finished, a smirk playing on his lips as he handed the microphone to Triple H.
Triple H took the mic, a pleased expression crossing his face as he listened to Bischoff's accolades. The crowd's boos intensified, but The Game didn't care; he thrived on it.
"You know, Eric, I always knew you were a smart man," Triple H began, his voice dripping with arrogance. "And finally, someone here in the WWE recognizes greatness when they see it."
The jeers from the crowd grew louder, but Triple H only smiled wider, soaking in the heat.
"And that's why I'm going to walk out of here tonight as the new World Heavyweight Champion!" Triple H declared confidently, lifting the title in Bischoff's hand just slightly to emphasize his point.
But before Triple H could get too comfortable, Bischoff raised his hand, signaling that he wasn't finished.
"Hold on, hold on, Hunter." Bischoff's tone took on a more serious edge, causing Triple H to pause, a hint of confusion crossing his face. "There's a twist to all this. You see, I'm not just going to hand you the title. Oh no… You're going to have to earn it."
The crowd erupted in cheers at this unexpected development. Triple H's confident smirk faltered slightly as he stared at Bischoff, clearly not pleased with the sudden change in plans.
"What do you mean, 'earn it'?" Triple H asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Bischoff smiled slyly, clearly enjoying the moment. "You see, I've created something special—a way to determine who truly deserves to be the World Heavyweight Champion. I call it the Gold Rush Tournament."
The crowd popped with excitement, and even Jerry Lawler was taken aback. "What?! Now, wait a minute, JR… What's Bischoff talking about?"
Jim Ross, suddenly more intrigued, leaned in. "It sounds like Bischoff is putting Triple H to the test, King."
Bischoff continued, laying out the challenge. "That's right, Hunter. You're not just going to be handed this title. You're going to have to fight for it. You, along with seven other competitors, will participate in an eight-man Gold Rush Tournament. The winner will be crowned the new World Heavyweight Champion at Unforgiven on September 22nd in Los Angeles!"
The crowd exploded in cheers, while Triple H's expression darkened. He clearly wasn't happy about the sudden twist.
"Now, let me introduce you to your competition," Bischoff said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "First up, we have… Booker T!"
The crowd roared in approval, knowing Booker T was a formidable opponent.
"Next, Chris Jericho!"
Another cheer erupted, the fans eager to see Jericho in the mix.
"Rob Van Dam!"
The crowd popped again, RVD being one of the most popular superstars on RAW.
"Big Show!"
A mix of boos and cheers followed, acknowledging the giant's presence in the tournament.
"Jeff Hardy!"
The cheers grew louder, Jeff Hardy's high-flying antics always making him a fan favorite.
"Bubba Ray Dudley!"
A solid pop for Bubba Ray, who was seen as a tough competitor.
"And last but certainly not least… The Nature Boy, Ric Flair!"
The arena exploded with cheers for the legendary Ric Flair, as the thought of the veteran going for another World Championship excited the WWE Universe.
Jim Ross, practically shouting over the crowd, exclaimed, "What a lineup! This is going to be one hell of a tournament, King!"
Jerry Lawler, still processing the news, muttered, "I can't believe it… Triple H has to go through all of that?"
Triple H, his face a mask of anger and disbelief, stared daggers at Bischoff, clearly not pleased with the unexpected challenge. Bischoff, however, seemed to relish in The Game's frustration, enjoying the fact that he'd managed to shake up the established order.
"Good luck, Hunter," Bischoff said with a smirk as he handed the World Heavyweight Championship to the referee at ringside. "Because you're going to need it."
As Bischoff's music hit and he left the ring, Triple H remained standing there, seething with anger. The fans continued to jeer, knowing that The Game would now have to fight tooth and nail to claim the title he believed should have been handed to him.
Jim Ross concluded, "Well, folks, we're just three weeks away from Unforgiven, and it looks like the road to the World Heavyweight Championship is going to be anything but easy for Triple H!"
"This is unbelievable, JR," King said, still in shock. "Triple H is going to have to go through some of the toughest competitors on RAW to win that title! This Gold Rush Tournament just changed everything!"
As the camera panned over to Triple H's furious expression, it was clear that this was far from over. The WWE Universe knew that the road to Unforgiven would be paved with intense battles, and Triple H would have to prove himself once again, but not without leaving a path of destruction in his wake.
XXXX
Zlatan Ibrahimovic moved through the backstage corridors of the Bradley Center, his expression a mix of nostalgia and finality. He was making his last rounds, saying his goodbyes to the familiar faces he had come to know during his time on RAW. As he turned a corner, his steps slowed as he noticed a figure ahead—Triple H, standing near a production crate, fuming with barely-contained anger.
Triple H's face was twisted in frustration, clearly still seething from the unexpected announcement by Eric Bischoff earlier in the ring. Zlatan could sense the tension radiating off The Game, whose eyes flickered with a dangerous glint.
Zlatan, never one to back down, decided to approach. "Hey, Hunter," he began, his tone casual but pointed. "I've heard the stories, you know. All the things you're capable of. 'The Game.' The 'Cerebral Assassin.' The guy who put Austin on the shelf for a year."
Triple H's head snapped up, his scowl deepening as he locked eyes with Zlatan. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.
Zlatan continued, undeterred by the intensity in Triple H's glare. "But what you did to Shawn Michaels at SummerSlam ... that was too much, even for you."
Triple H's expression turned dark, a sinister grin forming on his lips. He stepped closer to Zlatan, his voice low and threatening. "If I were you, Zlatan, the last thing I'd want to do is get my attention. You know what I mean?"
There was a moment of tense silence between them, the air thick with animosity. But Zlatan didn't flinch. He held Triple H's gaze with a calm, almost amused look, and then he spoke, his voice steady and confident. "Maybe… but unlike you, I don't use a sledgehammer and date the boss's daughter to get to the top."
Triple H's grin vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure rage. His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed. The dig had clearly struck a nerve.
Zlatan, sensing the shift, pressed on. "And let me make something clear, Hunter. If you ever even think about using that sledgehammer against Zlatan Ibrahimovic, you won't like how things turn out."
For a moment, neither man moved. The tension between them crackled like electricity. Triple H's eyes bore into Zlatan, searching for any sign of fear, but he found none. Zlatan stood tall, his expression unyielding, showing that he wasn't intimidated by The Game or his reputation.
Finally, Triple H spoke, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you know me, Zlatan? You have no idea who you're dealing with. But you will… soon enough."
Zlatan smirked, unfazed. "I guess we'll see about that, won't we?"
With that, Zlatan turned and walked away, leaving Triple H standing there, his face a mask of fury and contemplation. The confrontation had only fueled the fire burning within The Game, and it was clear that a line had been drawn. As Zlatan continued his final rounds backstage, he knew he had made a powerful enemy, but he felt no fear. After all, he was the Lion of Rosengård, and he was ready for whatever came next.