It’d only been a week since we got out of that hospital. Doctors told us to rest. Take it easy. Don’t lift anything heavier than a bag of ice. Avoid high stress. Avoid trauma. They clearly had no idea what business we were in.
So yeah, we rested. For about thirty seconds.
Cody was still wrapped up like a half-unwrapped Christmas gift, gauze hugging his ribs where they’d bruised deep enough to echo in his breathing. My arms looked like they lost a knife fight—bandaged, sore, healing. But every time I flexed my fingers and felt that lingering sting, it reminded me of why I fought. Who I brought back.
And as much as I loved the silence of recovery, I loved the roar of an arena more. RAW opened with the usual pyro and hype—but it didn’t take long for him to show up.
The Rock.
Strutting down the ramp like he owned the damn place, microphone in hand and sunglasses on like he was hiding from how full of it he was. The crowd was split—half cheering, half booing. But me? I sat backstage, watching with a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. Cody stood beside me, arms crossed, trying not to look like he was ready to rip someone in half. The Rock started pacing the ring, mic raised. “Now let me ask you something, WWE Universe… who’s the biggest joke in this company? I’ll give you a hint—he’s blond, he’s bandaged, and he gets beat up so often I’m startin’ to think he’s sponsored by an ER!”
The crowd laughed. “That’s right, I’m talking about Cody Rhodes. The so-called ‘American Nightmare’—but let’s be real. The only nightmare around here is watching him try to stay conscious for an entire match without someone needing to revive him.”
Cody flinched beside me. I put a hand on his arm. He didn’t need to react…yet. The Rock wasn’t finished. “And let’s not forget his little sidekick, what’s her name… Angel? Oh please. More like Hospital Room Barbie. Every time you see her, she’s covered in bandages and tears, clinging to Cody like a rejected Hallmark movie. If she’s alive, someone better double-check the monitor.”
I let out a slow breath, lips twitching. There it is. He kept going. “Word is they’re still at the hospital, snuggled up in matching beds, probably cryin’ over their last match and whisperin’ things like ‘Next time I’ll take the chair shot.’”
Cody looked at me.
I looked at him.
We nodded.
Time to wake the world up. The lights cut out just as the crowd started to laugh again—then BOOM. A hard bassline, crashing drums, and a scream of rebellion shook the arena.
“AWAKE AND ALIVE” — Skillet.
At first, confusion rippled. This song wasn’t tied to anyone on the roster, not yet anyway. Then the screen lit up with fire and static—and out we walked. Cody and me. Shoulder to shoulder. Bandaged, bruised, but with fire in our eyes. The crowd exploded. I had a mic in one hand, Cody had the other. My boots hit the ramp and the adrenaline kicked in so hard I barely noticed the pain. This wasn’t about comfort. This was about payback. The Rock’s face was a mixture of surprise and irritation. Cody and I walked down to that ring like we’d never left it. The music faded. The lights settled. And the crowd kept roaring. Cody brought the mic to his mouth first. “You know, Rock… I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but I try not to lie on national television.”
“OHHHHHHHH!” shouts came from the crowd.
Cody stepped closer to him. “You got jokes, I’ll give you that. But maybe next time you run your mouth, you should double-check who’s actually in the building… because we’re not in a hospital anymore, we’re here, right in front of your face. And we didn’t come back for sympathy. We came back to remind you why this is our story—not yours.”
The Rock raised an eyebrow and smirked, about to speak, but I didn’t let him. “See, Rock, you like to call me Hospital Room Barbie—cute, by the way, I’ll put it on a t-shirt—but you forgot something important.”
I stepped up, right beside Cody, and smiled cold. “I dragged Cody out of hell. You? You just talk about fire—we walked through it.”
The crowd started chanting, “LET’S GO ANGEL! LET’S GO CODY!”
“And you’re standing there like you’re untouchable, but I saw your face change just now when you heard this song. When you realized we’re not broken—we’re reborn.”
The Rock rolled his shoulders like it didn’t bother him, but his jaw twitched. Just enough. Cody added, voice sharp as a blade: “You’re looking at the strongest damn tag team on this roster. You want a joke, Rock? Keep talking. But just know—next time you hear this song, we won’t be walking—we’ll be running straight through you.”
And then—darkness. Total blackout. Even the commentary table went silent. For a beat, there was nothing but the crowd murmuring and a growing sense of dread in the air. Then the lights snapped back on. Cena stood in the ring. But he wasn’t smiling. His face… was ashen. Eyes wide, fists clenched at his sides. Like he’d just stared into the void and saw something that didn’t look back. Cody went still beside me.
I turned slightly, studying Cena. Then I looked at Rock. Just for a second, he twitched. Something in his eyes flickered. He saw that fear in Cena, and he didn’t know what it meant—but he felt it.
I smiled. Big. Sharp. Dangerous. I knew exactly what happened to Cena, and I knew the same was going to happen to The Rock sooner or later. “Huh,” I said into the mic, tilting my head, “Did anyone else see that? That little—moment—where the Final Boss looked like he felt a chill? Don’t worry, Rocky. It’s just the ghosts. They always come back.”
The Rock’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward, mic raised— “You better watch your damn mouth, Angel—”
“Why?” I cut in, grinning. “You scared I’ll say what we’re all thinking? That maybe you’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be? That maybe… the fear that just passed through you means you know what’s coming.”
The crowd was going wild. Cody leaned into his mic again. “Tick-tock, Rock.”
I raised mine one last time. “We’re awake. We’re alive. And we’re coming for you.”
Cue hard stare. Crowd chanting. Rock fuming. Cena still frozen. This war wasn’t over. Hell, it had just started.
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