~ WWE: The Blueprint ~

[WrestleWizard]

~THE BLUEPRINT ~

SUNDAY JANUARY 25, 2004
Wachovia Center - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
TABLES MATCH
EVOLUTION (RIC FLAIR & BATISTA [c] def. THE DUDLEY BOYZ
via table (5:29) to retain the World Tag Team Championships

The Dudley Boyz brought the fight, but Evolution’s numbers advantage proved too much. Batista’s raw power sent D-Von crashing through a table with a devastating Batista Bomb, securing the victory for the champions. Flair’s veteran instincts and Batista’s brute strength kept the gold firmly in Evolution’s grasp.

WWE CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
SINGLES MATCH
REY MYSTERIO [c] def. JAMIE NOBLE w/NIDIA
via pinfall (3:06) to retain the WWE Cruiserweight Championship

Jamie Noble’s underhanded tactics were in full effect, using Nidia’s "blindness" as a distraction. However, Mysterio’s resilience shined through as he countered Noble’s Tiger Bomb into a West Coast Pop for the win, successfully defending his title.

SINGLES MATCH
EDDIE GUERRERO def. CHAVO GUERRERO
via pinfall (8:02)

With revenge in his heart, Eddie unleashed his fury, dominating much of the match with aggressive offense. Chavo tried to use his technical prowess to slow Eddie down, but the fiery Latino Heat was unstoppable, eventually securing the victory with a Frog Splash. After the match, Eddie, still seething with rage, delivered a brutal post-match beatdown, bloodying Chavo and leaving him a broken mess—a fitting exclamation point to their family feud.

WWE CHAMPIONSHIP
SINGLES MATCH
BROCK LESNAR [c] def. HARDCORE HOLLY
via pinfall (6:22) to remain the WWE Champion

Hardcore Holly was out for revenge after breaking his neck at Lesnar’s hands, but the beast was simply too dominant. Holly had flashes of offense, but once Lesnar hoisted him up for the F-5, it was all over. The champion retained, cementing his reign of destruction.

WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
LAST MAN STANDING MATCH
TRIPLE H [c] vs. SHAWN MICHAELS ENDED IN A DRAW
via draw (22:47) Triple H retains the World Heavyweight Championship

This was a war. Triple H and Shawn Michaels brutalized each other in a match filled with chair shots, blood, and shattered tables. In the end, both men collapsed after a simultaneous knock-out, leading to a draw. The Game retained the title, but both men left on stretchers.

ROYAL RUMBLE MATCH
KURT ANGLE WINS
via last eliminating Big Show (1:01:37)

The Royal Rumble delivered on chaos, surprises, and heartbreak. With a WrestleMania main event spot on the line, 30 men entered, but only one could stand tall.
​

• Surprise entrants included Mick Foley, returning to attack Randy Orton in revenge for their past battles.​
• Kane dominated early on, eliminating several superstars before being haunted by the eerie return of The Undertaker’s gong—leading to his elimination in a state of shock.​
• Goldberg entered at #30 and tore through the competition, racking up eliminations left and right. But when he went for one more, Eddie Guerrero used his quickness to counter and eliminate Goldberg to the shock of the crowd.​

However, Goldberg was furious. In a shocking act of betrayal, he stormed back into the ring, dragging Eddie out, and brutally annihilated him with a Spear and Jackhammer on the outside. Security struggled to pull him away as he roared in anger. Eddie’s dreams were shattered. With the match down to its final moments, Kurt Angle outlasted the field, eliminating Big Show in the final sequence to win the Royal Rumble! Philadelphia erupted as the Olympic Hero pointed to the WrestleMania XX sign, solidifying his spot in the main event.​

---

CHAMPIONSHIP HISTORY
(As of Royal Rumble 2004) ​

---

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WWE CHAMPIONSHIP
BROCK LESNAR (September 18th, 2003- Present)
Defeated Kurt Angle on Smackdown (Sept 18)

WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION
TRIPLE H (December 14th, 2003- Present)
Defeated Kane and Goldberg @ Armageddon

UNITED STATES CHAMPION
BIG SHOW (October 19th, 2003 - Present)
Defeated Eddie Guerrero @ No Mercy

INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION
RANDY ORTON (December 14th, 2003 - Present)
Defeated Rob Van Dam @ Armageddon

CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION
REY MYSTERIO (January 1st, 2004 - Present)
Defeated Tajiri on Smackdown (Jan 1)

WOMEN'S CHAMPION
MOLLY HOLLY (July 28th, 2003 - Present)
Defeated Gail Kim on RAW (Jul 28th)

WWE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS
THE BASHAM BROTHERS (October 23, 2003 - Present)
Defeated Los Guerreros on SMACKDOWN (Oct. 23)

WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS
BATISTA & RIC FLAIR (December 14th, 2003 - Present)
Defeated The Dudleys @ Armageddon (Dec 14)

SUNDAY FEBRUARY 15, 2004
Cow Palace - Daly City, California

SUNDAY MARCH 15, 2004
Madison Square Garden - New York, New York​

 

[WrestleWizard]

Post-Show Press Conference

As soon as the Royal Rumble pay-per-view goes off the air, WWE.com airs an exclusive post-show press conference. The room is filled with reporters, photographers, and WWE officials, all eagerly awaiting insight from the night’s biggest names. The atmosphere is buzzing with energy following one of the most unforgettable Royal Rumble events in history. At the podium, Todd Grisham stands with a microphone in hand, scanning the room before addressing the press.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Royal Rumble Post-Show Press Conference,” he begins. “Tonight, history was made. We saw champions retain their titles, alliances tested, legacies cemented, and, of course, a new Royal Rumble winner crowned. We are officially on the Road to WrestleMania XX, and the stakes have never been higher. Without further ado, let me introduce the man who runs the show, the Chairman of WWE, Mr. Vince McMahon!”

The room erupts with flashes of cameras and murmurs as Vince McMahon makes his way to the podium, dressed sharply in a tailored suit. He smirks, gripping the microphone with confidence as he addresses the room.

“First and foremost, congratulations to Kurt Angle on winning the 2004 Royal Rumble,” McMahon declares, his voice filled with authority. “Kurt fought through 29 other competitors to earn his ticket to WrestleMania XX at Madison Square Garden. And let me tell you, that is no small feat.”

Pausing briefly, he adjusts his tie before moving on to the night’s business success.

“Now, let’s talk numbers. Tonight, we had a completely sold-out crowd here in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with over 17,000 passionate fans in attendance. And when it comes to pay-per-view buys, early indications suggest we are well over 600,000 buys, making this one of the most successful Royal Rumble events in WWE history!”

McMahon lets the media absorb that information before transitioning.

“And speaking of success, the Road to WrestleMania only gets bigger from here. Our next stop? No Way Out, next month. And I am here to announce that, starting with No Way Out, all future WWE pay-per-view events will be co-branded, featuring both Raw and SmackDown Superstars. That means bigger cards, bigger matchups, and even more history to be made.”

McMahon lets the statement sink in before dropping the night’s biggest bombshell.

“And to kick off this new era of co-branded pay-per-views, we are going to give the fans a blockbuster main event at No Way Out—a match worthy of WrestleMania itself. For the first time ever, it will be WWE Champion Brock Lesnar going one-on-one with World Heavyweight Champion Triple H!”

A wave of chatter spreads through the room as reporters quickly jot down notes. McMahon nods, satisfied with the reaction.

“Now, with that said, let’s hear from the man who still holds the WWE Championship after tonight’s dominant performance—Brock Lesnar!”

McMahon steps aside as Brock Lesnar emerges, his WWE Championship slung over his shoulder, a confident yet intimidating expression on his face. He steps up to the podium, grips the microphone, and speaks with his signature intensity.

“Tonight, I did exactly what I said I was going to do—I walked into the Royal Rumble as the WWE Champion, and I walked out the same damn way. Hardcore Holly? He ran his mouth for weeks about breaking my neck, about ‘settling the score.’ And what happened? I took his best shot, and I put him down. Because that’s what I do. I take guys who think they have a chance and I crush those dreams."

Lesnar pauses for a moment, scanning the room before nodding toward another reporter who quickly fires off a question.

“Brock, many believe that your dominance as WWE Champion is unmatched. But with your match against Triple H, do you feel like you have something to prove in this Champion vs. Champion match at No Way Out?”

Lesnar scoffs, shaking his head. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear—I don’t have to prove anything to anybody. Triple H has had his little reign of terror over on Raw, hiding behind Evolution, picking his spots, and holding onto that title by any means necessary. But I don’t need backup. I don’t need anyone watching my back. I walk into that ring alone, I wreck people, and I leave as the most dominant force in this industry. So no, I don’t have to prove anything. But Triple H? He does. Because when he steps into the ring with me at No Way Out, he’s gonna find out real quick that this isn’t Raw, this isn’t Evolution running the show—this is Brock Lesnar’s world. And he’s in for a very, very rude awakening.”

A slight murmur spreads through the room as reporters scribble down notes. Another hand goes up.

“Brock, you’ve talked about being the most dominant force in WWE. But with Kurt Angle winning the Royal Rumble and having the chance to challenge you at WrestleMania, do you think he poses the biggest threat to your championship reign?”

Lesnar lets out a small, amused chuckle before his demeanor turns ice-cold. “Threat? Listen, I respect Kurt Angle. The guy is one of the greatest to ever step foot in a ring. He’s an Olympic Gold Medalist, a world-class athlete, and one hell of a competitor. But if he picks me, I don’t care what he’s done in the past—I will tear him apart.”

Lesnar leans in slightly, gripping the podium. “See, go back to WrestleMania XIX, I defeated Kurt Angle to win the WWE Championship. Now? I’m bigger. I’m stronger. I’m even more dangerous. Kurt might be looking at me and thinking he knows what he’s getting himself into, but he doesn’t. Nobody does. So if he wants to relive history, he better be ready for a nightmare.”

Lesnar straightens up, taking in the tension in the room before nodding at Todd Grisham.

Grisham clears his throat, shifting nervously. “Alright, well, thank you for your time, Brock.”

Lesnar smirks, adjusting the WWE Championship on his shoulder before stepping away from the podium, his presence still lingering in the air as he walks off.

Lesnar steps away from the podium as Todd Grisham takes over. “Thank you, Brock. Next up, let’s hear from the Intercontinental Champion and Evolution’s own—Randy Orton!”

Orton walks in, his Intercontinental Championship slung over his shoulder, but frustration is written all over his face. A reporter quickly asks, “Randy, Evolution had a successful night with Batista and Ric Flair retaining the World Tag Team Titles, and Triple H keeping his World Heavyweight Championship. But you? Mick Foley ruined your shot at winning the Royal Rumble and potentially main-eventing WrestleMania. Thoughts?” Orton sneers, his patience wearing thin. He grips the mic, muttering under his breath, "I don’t have time for this shit," before dropping the mic, turning on his heel, and walking out, dragging the IC title with him.

Grisham hesitates, then regroups. “Well, uh… up next, the man of the hour—the 2004 Royal Rumble winner, Kurt Angle!”

As the press room settles, Kurt Angle takes a deep breath, still visibly exhausted but riding the high of his monumental victory. The reporters, sensing the opportunity to get deeper insight, continue firing questions. A journalist leans forward. “Kurt, in your storied career, you’ve accomplished nearly everything there is to accomplish. You’ve won multiple WWE Championships, headlined major pay-per-views, and, of course, won an Olympic gold medal. But tonight, you outlasted 29 other superstars to earn your spot in the main event of WrestleMania XX. Was this the most difficult match you’ve ever competed in?”

Angle tilts his head, considering the question. “Physically? No,” he admits. “I’ve been through Iron Man Matches, I’ve fought inside Hell in a Cell, I’ve gone to war with the toughest guys in this industry. But mentally? Yes. The Royal Rumble is a different beast. You don’t just have one opponent—you have twenty-nine. You have to outlast legends, up-and-comers, and the biggest powerhouses this company has to offer. There’s no way to prepare for it. The fact that I was able to make it to the end and throw the Big Show over the top rope? That might make this one of the biggest wins of my career.”

Another reporter raises their hand. “Kurt, the last time you were WWE Champion, it was Brock Lesnar who ended your reign. You two have one of the most competitive rivalries in WWE history. Does that play into your decision on who you’ll challenge at WrestleMania XX?”

Angle lets out a small chuckle. “Oh, it definitely plays into it. Look, Brock and I, we’ve pushed each other further than anyone else has. We’ve fought for that title before, and trust me, I haven’t forgotten that night. The difference is, this time, I’ll be the one going in with the advantage. I’m healthier, I’m sharper, and I’m even more dangerous than I was a year ago.”

A third reporter jumps in, flipping through their notes. “But if you were to pick Brock, that means you’d have to go through the most dominant WWE Champion in years. Brock has torn through every challenger put in front of him, and just tonight, he dismantled Hardcore Holly in decisive fashion. Are you truly ready for that kind of challenge?”

Angle doesn’t hesitate. His eyes lock in, filled with competitive fire. “I was born ready. I’ve taken on the biggest, the strongest, the meanest guys in this business, and I’ve beaten them all including Brock Lesnar himself. Brock may be a freak of nature, but last time I checked, he’s not an Olympic Gold Medalist. If I choose Brock, I’m walking into familiar territory and at WrestleMania if it is Brock I choose I'll be ready to break him down and take his title.”

Another hand shoots up. “And what about Triple H? You two have had your share of battles, but you’ve never faced each other one-on-one at WrestleMania. If you choose to challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship, do you think you’d have the advantage over The Game?”

Angle lets out a deep breath, nodding slightly. “Triple H is one of the greatest of all time, no doubt about it. He’s survived against Shawn Michaels, Goldberg, and countless others. But if you ask me, he’s gotten comfortable. He’s used to being at the top, used to having Evolution watching his back. But if I decide to come after him? That title reign of his won’t last past WrestleMania.”

The final question comes in, the one everyone has been waiting for. “Kurt, have you officially decided which champion you’ll challenge at WrestleMania XX?”

Angle exhales, adjusting his medals again. “Like I said before… It's been barely an hour since I won the Rumble. This is the biggest decision of my career, so I’m going to sleep on it. But I’ll tell you all this—by the end of Raw tomorrow night, I will have my answer. So if you want to know who I’m challenging, Raw is a must-watch. Don’t miss it.”

A murmur spreads across the room as the press notes Angle’s words. The WWE Universe will have to wait just one more night to find out the fate of the WrestleMania XX main event. As Todd Grisham steps forward, adjusting his tie, he clears his throat and prepares to bring the chaotic evening to a close.

“That concludes the official Royal Rumble press conference—”

But before he can finish his sentence, a sudden commotion erupts from the back of the room. The murmurs among the press quickly turn into gasps as Goldberg storms onto the stage, his presence alone sending a wave of tension through the air. His nostrils flare, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might snap. His rage is palpable.

“This isn’t over,” Goldberg growls, his voice dripping with venom. He grips the edge of the overturned podium, his knuckles white with fury. “My dream—my destiny—of main-eventing WrestleMania ended tonight because of Eddie Guerrero. And Eddie found out the hard way what happens when you cross Goldberg.”

Goldberg’s breathing is heavy, his eyes darting across the reporters, but he’s not looking at them. He’s looking past them.

And then—BAM!

Eddie Guerrero blindsides Goldberg from behind!

The crowd erupts as Eddie—his face twisted in pure fury—tackles Goldberg to the ground, fists flying. The impact sends the podium toppling over, microphones scattering across the floor. Chairs crash in every direction as reporters scramble out of the way. The scene is pure chaos. Goldberg, caught off guard for just a second, roars in anger and shoves Eddie off him, sending him rolling across the stage. Eddie, ever the scrapper, bounces right back up and lunges at him again, this time landing a stiff right hand to Goldberg’s jaw! Security immediately rushes the stage, but it’s already madness. Goldberg shakes off the punch, his eyes wild with fury, and grabs Eddie by the throat. With sheer brute strength, he drives him backward into the backdrop, nearly tearing it down! Eddie groans but refuses to back down, grabbing a loose microphone from the floor and smashing it into Goldberg’s ribs! Officials flood the stage, trying to pry the two apart. It takes at least half a dozen men to restrain Goldberg, who is foaming at the mouth like a caged animal, veins bulging from his neck.

“YOU’RE DEAD, EDDIE! DEAD!” Goldberg bellows, trying to rip free from security’s grasp.

Eddie, panting and grinning through the madness, spits to the side and laughs. “Órale, puto! You want some more?! LET’S GO!”

Despite security holding them back, the two continue shouting, the fire in their eyes unrelenting. Reporters, cameras, and WWE officials are completely overwhelmed as chaos reigns on the press conference stage. The camera captures the wreckage—the shattered podium, the knocked-over chairs, the microphones scattered across the floor. The stage is in complete disarray.

And just as the scene hits its fever pitch—

The screen fades to black.
​

The Road to WrestleMania XX is only just beginning…​

 

[WrestleWizard]

MONDAY JANUARY 26, 2004
Giant Center - Hershey, Pennsylvania ​

The show opened with an intense video package recapping the unforgettable moments from the 2004 Royal Rumble just 24 hours earlier. Dramatic music underscored the highlights, beginning with Shawn Michaels and Triple H’s brutal Last Man Standing match for the World Heavyweight Championship—both men battered, bloodied, and unable to stand by the time the final bell rang, leaving the title in a frustrating stalemate. The footage then transitioned to the chaotic Royal Rumble Match, showing Randy Orton’s dominance throughout before his world crumbled when Mick Foley stormed into the ring, leading to an all-out brawl that saw Foley eliminate Orton before taking himself out as well. And then came the biggest moment of the night—the victory of Kurt Angle. The package slowed down to show Angle tossing the Big Show over the top rope, securing his WrestleMania moment. The camera cut to footage from the post-Rumble press conference, where an emotional but determined Angle addressed the media, announcing that he would make his decision tonight on Raw regarding which champion he would challenge at WrestleMania XX. As the video faded, the Monday Night Raw intro package played, featuring the explosive pyrotechnics as the camera panned around the packed Hershey crowd. Jim Ross and Jerry "The King" Lawler welcomed the audience to the fallout from the Rumble, hyping up the major events lined up for the night. A graphic appeared on the screen showcasing Kurt Angle’s decision—which championship would he chase at WrestleMania? Another graphic followed, featuring a determined Randy Orton with the text: "Orton Calls Out Foley – LIVE TONIGHT!" The anticipation was palpable as JR reminded the fans that Orton was furious after Foley cost him his Rumble dream and was demanding an answer.

Suddenly, the camera cut to the ring, revealing the familiar setup for The Highlight Reel. The oversized JeriTron 5000 was displayed prominently in the background, the red carpet was laid across the mat, and two stools sat in the center. The crowd erupted as "Break the Walls Down!" blared through the speakers, signaling the arrival of Chris Jericho. The self-proclaimed "King of the World" strutted onto the stage, clad in his signature leather jacket, smirking as he made his way down to the ring. With microphone in hand, Jericho soaked in the reaction before casually leaning on one of the stools, nodding his head as he prepared to speak.

"Welcome to… RAW… IS… JERICHO!" he declared, his voice filled with its usual bravado as the crowd responded enthusiastically. However, his expression quickly shifted to one of frustration as he continued. "Now, I gotta be honest with you people—I’m not exactly in the best mood tonight. Y’see, last night at the Royal Rumble, I had one goal—to punch my ticket to the main event of WrestleMania XX. I wanted to go to Madison Square Garden and steal the show like I always do. But unfortunately… it didn’t happen." The audience booed in sympathy as Jericho shook his head. "Now, I could sit here and whine about it. I could complain that the Rumble was unfair, that the numbers weren’t in my favor, but that’s not what Y2J does, baby! Because here’s the thing—whether I won the Rumble or not, whether I’m in the main event or not, one thing remains true… WrestleMania XX is coming, and I will steal the show, just like I have every single damn year." Jericho adjusted his jacket, regaining his cocky swagger. "But you know what? My life isn’t all bad right now. In fact, things are actually looking pretty great in another department. And no, I’m not talking about my rockstar good looks or my incredible wrestling ability, though I do have both. I’m talking about my personal life. Because lately… things have been going very well in that department, and the reason why… well, why don’t I just bring her out here right now?" Jericho grinned as the crowd buzzed in anticipation. "Ladies and gentlemen, my special guest tonight on The Highlight Reel… Trish Stratus!" The sultry sound of "Time to Rock & Roll" filled the arena as Trish Stratus made her way onto the stage, smiling confidently as she strutted down to the ring. Dressed in stylish denim and a fitted crop top, the blonde bombshell stepped between the ropes, flashing Jericho a playful grin. Jericho pulled out a stool for her like a gentleman, prompting a small laugh from Trish as she took a seat.

"Well, well, well, Trish… looking absolutely stunning tonight," Jericho complimented smoothly.

"Oh, stop it, Chris," Trish teased, rolling her eyes but clearly enjoying the attention.

The two exchanged flirtatious banter, their chemistry on full display. Jericho leaned in slightly. "Now, Trish, we’ve had our… ups and downs, haven’t we?" Trish smirked. "Yeah, you could say that. I mean, first, there was that little bet you and Christian made about me and Lita—which, for the record, was not cool. But…" She bit her lip slightly. "Somewhere along the way, I realized something—I was wrong about you. You’re not just some arrogant, self-absorbed jerk. You’re actually… a pretty good guy." The crowd cheered as Jericho chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, Trish, I do owe you an apology for that whole bet thing. But listen, now that we’ve moved past that… maybe it’s time we take this thing to the next level." Trish raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what exactly do you mean by that, Jericho?" Jericho smirked. "How about this? After tonight, when me and Christian win the Tag Team Turmoil Match, we become the #1 contenders for the World Tag Team Titles. And after that? We head back to my place… pop open some champagne… and celebrate, together." The crowd erupted as Trish giggled, nodding her head. "You know what, Chris? I think that sounds… perfect." Just as Chris Jericho and Trish Stratus leaned in, the crowd buzzing in anticipation of a kiss, the familiar sound of Christian’s theme music hit the arena. The atmosphere shifted instantly from romantic to hostile as the cocky, self-proclaimed "Captain Charisma" stormed down the ramp, shaking his head in disbelief. His expression was a mixture of frustration and disgust as he grabbed a microphone and slid into the ring. "Oh, for God’s sake, Jericho! What the hell is this?!" Christian snapped, pacing around the ring as Jericho and Trish slowly pulled away from each other. "This is what you’re doing right now? Flirting? Making googly eyes with Trish when we have the biggest match of our careers tonight?! Are you kidding me?!" Jericho rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the interruption. "Christian, relax. Take a deep breath, maybe get a massage or something. I got this," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I’m not distracted. I will win tonight. You just need to stay out of my way." Christian scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. "Stay out of your way? You mean stay out of the way of the guy who’s too busy chasing skirts to focus on what really matters?" He jabbed a finger toward Jericho’s chest. "I’m trying to keep you from throwing away everything we’ve worked for! Do you even care about this match tonight? Or are you too busy planning a candlelight dinner?"Trish let out a dramatic sigh, placing her hands on her hips. "Honestly, Christian, you’re like a bad sitcom character. Always interrupting the romantic moment. Can’t you just let us have one nice moment?" she said with exaggerated exasperation. The crowd chuckled at her sarcasm.

Christian turned toward her, shaking his head. "Nice moment? Oh, you mean the moment where Jericho forgets he has a career?" His voice dripped with condescension. "You really think you’re helping him, Trish? I’m trying to save him from himself!" Jericho, his patience wearing thin, suddenly stepped up, going nose to nose with Christian. "Save me from myself? You can’t even save yourself from being a complete and utter loser!" The crowd ooh’d at the jab as Christian’s face twisted into an annoyed smirk. "Oh yeah? Big words from a guy who's one heartbreak away from being a sad, sappy, Bon Jovi-loving mess," Christian shot back. "I mean, let’s be real, Jericho—last time you let your feelings get involved, you ended up looking like a complete idiot. And now you’re about to do it again." Jericho clenched his jaw. "Oh, and I suppose you know what’s best for me, huh? The guy who—let’s face it—hasn’t exactly been swimming in championship gold lately?" He smirked mockingly. "Or maybe you’re just jealous, Christian. Jealous that while I’m out here making connections, you’re back there alone, probably still checking your reflection and flexing in the mirror." Christian laughed sarcastically. "Oh, yeah, that’s it, Jericho. I’m so jealous that you’re about to throw away everything we’ve worked for so you can whisper sweet nothings to Trish." He shook his head, then suddenly his face darkened as he leaned in closer. "Let me ask you something, Jericho…" His smirk returned, this time more arrogant than ever. "Titles… or titties?" The entire arena gasped, followed by a massive reaction from the crowd, a mix of laughter, shock, and "oooohs" at Christian’s audacious line. Jericho’s face instantly twisted with rage. Without a moment of hesitation, he slapped Christian hard across the face, the sound echoing through the arena. Christian staggered back, touching his jaw… and then, surprisingly, he laughed. He nodded, rubbing the spot where Jericho struck him, and then looked his tag partner dead in the eyes. "See?" Christian grinned. "That’s the guy I need by my side tonight. Bring that fire, and maybe—just maybe—we’ll actually win this thing." Jericho continued to glare at Christian, mouthing something under his breath as the two locked eyes in tense silence. Trish, sensing things escalating, gently placed a hand on Jericho’s chest, a subtle effort to diffuse the situation. The tension hung thick in the air as the camera slowly faded to black.

COMMERCIAL BREAK
​

As Monday Night Raw returned from commercial break, the women’s division took center stage with a tag team bout featuring Molly Holly & Jazz taking on Victoria & Lita. The first team to make their way to the ring was Molly Holly, the self-proclaimed purest women’s wrestler in WWE, accompanied by the fierce and relentless Jazz, with the ever-menacing Theodore Long at her side. Molly walked down the ramp with her usual smug confidence, adjusting her Women’s Championship around her waist, while Jazz cracked her knuckles, glaring out at the audience with a look of pure intimidation.

The mood inside the arena shifted as Victoria’s music hit, and the unpredictable powerhouse emerged, her wild energy evident as she made her way down to the ring. Though still unhinged, the recent support from the fans gave Victoria a newfound edge, and she was ready to prove she belonged in title contention. The crowd erupted as Lita’s theme blared, and the high-flying daredevil sprinted onto the stage, pumping her fist in the air before charging to the ring. Lita’s presence always electrified the WWE fans, and tonight was no different as she joined Victoria, the two exchanging a nod of confidence before focusing on their opponents.

TAG TEAM MATCH
MOLLY HOLLY & JAZZ vs. VICTORIA & LITA​

As the bell rang, Victoria and Molly Holly started the match off, locking up in the center of the ring. Molly, ever the technician, quickly transitioned into a headlock, wrenching Victoria down to the mat. However, Victoria used her strength advantage to power out, shoving Molly into the ropes and flooring her with a hard shoulder block. Wasting no time, Victoria followed up with a standing moonsault for an early pin attempt, but Molly kicked out at two. Molly quickly scrambled to her corner and tagged in Jazz, who wasted no time getting in Victoria’s face. The two women exchanged blows, with Jazz gaining the upper hand by raking Victoria’s eyes before nailing a brutal snap suplex. Jazz, never one to shy away from punishment, targeted Victoria’s lower back with stiff knee strikes and a backbreaker, dragging her toward the ropes. With Theodore Long barking orders at ringside, Jazz applied a camel clutch, bending Victoria’s spine in an unnatural angle. The crowd rallied behind Victoria as she clawed her way toward the ropes, and after an intense struggle, she managed to escape, countering into a roll-up that nearly stole the victory. Jazz, furious, exploded forward with a clothesline, but Victoria ducked and leaped to her corner, tagging in Lita. The fans erupted as Lita stormed the ring, taking Jazz down with a pair of clotheslines, followed by a head-scissors takedown that sent the powerhouse reeling. Molly tried to intervene, but Lita saw it coming and countered with a dropkick, sending the Women’s Champion tumbling to the outside. Jazz tried to capitalize on the distraction and went for the Fisherman Buster, but Lita fought out of it and hit a reverse Twist of Fate! Seeing an opening, Lita climbed to the top rope, the crowd roaring in anticipation. With perfect precision, she soared through the air and connected with a beautiful moonsault, landing directly on Jazz. Lita quickly hooked the leg as the referee counted one, two, three!

WINNERS:

Spoiler

VICTORIA & LITA

The bell rang, and Victoria and Lita celebrated their hard-fought victory, standing tall as Molly Holly looked on from the outside, clutching her Women’s Championship with a mixture of anger and concern. As Victoria and Lita embraced their moment of triumph, the message was clear—both women were coming for the Women’s Title, and Molly’s days as champion could be numbered.

The camera cuts to Evolution’s private locker room, a lavish setting with black leather couches, a stocked bar, and championship gold proudly displayed. Triple H, in a suit but with an ice pack pressed to his neck, leans back in his chair with a smug grin. The World Heavyweight Championship rests beside him. Ric Flair, Batista, and Randy Orton stand nearby, engaged in conversation. Triple H exhales sharply, shifting the ice pack. "Man… last night was a war," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "But here I am—battered, bruised, still the World Heavyweight Champion. And now the whole world waits on Kurt Angle’s decision. Well, Angle, I dare you to pick me. I dare you." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Because that would be the dumbest decision of your entire life. I am THE GAME, the greatest wrestler walking the planet. And as for Brock Lesnar?’ He scoffs. "At No Way Out, he will just be another guy on my list. He can join Goldberg, Scott Steiner, Kevin Nash—every so-called dominant force that’s stepped up and fallen right back down." Triple H asks Orton if he's alright, Randy Orton steps forward, his expression dark and seething. "Am I alright, did you see what happened last night, -Mick Foley." His nostrils flare, gripping the Intercontinental Championship in his hand. "For months, he’s been running from me, ducking me like the coward that he is. And then decides to show up at the Royal Rumble last night and costs me my dream of main eventing Wrestlemania, but tonight, I end Mick Foley once and for all. If Foley has the guts to show up tonight he will fall at the hands of the legend killer." A moment of silence lingers before the mood shifts as Ric Flair lets out a woo, nudging Batista with an excited grin. "Boys, boys, boys—Evolution is still draped in gold!" He gestures proudly at himself and Batista, the World Tag Team Championships slung over their shoulders. "We said we were walking out of the Rumble with these, and that’s exactly what we did!" Batista, his usual stoic demeanor cracking into a confident smirk, nods. "And now we get some fresh meat. Whoever steps up next—they better be ready for a fight." Flair laughs, patting Batista on the back. "Damn right! We’re just getting started!" Triple H smirks, soaking in the confidence radiating around him. He leans forward, his eyes gleaming. "This… this is what dominance looks like. We are Evolution. We run this show. And tonight, we keep proving it."

The camera lingers on the group, their confidence unwavering as they prepare for the night ahead. The screen fades to black.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

The arena was bathed in a sinister red glow as the opening flames of Kane’s theme shot up from the stage. The Big Red Machine emerged from the curtain, his heavy boots thudding against the ramp as he marched toward the ring with cold, calculated aggression. His face, partially obscured by his signature mask, showed no emotion—only pure, unrelenting fury. Awaiting him in the ring was a local competitor, wide-eyed and hesitant, already realizing the fate that awaited him.

SINGLES MATCH
KANE vs. LOCAL COMPETITOR​

The bell rang, but the match was nothing short of a merciless slaughter. Kane lunged forward, nearly taking his opponent's head off with a big boot that echoed throughout the arena. As the poor soul tried to scramble to his feet, Kane effortlessly yanked him up by the throat, lifting him with one arm and tossing him across the ring like a ragdoll. The local wrestler gasped for breath, using the ropes to try and pull himself up—but Kane was already on him. A vicious corner clothesline crushed his body against the turnbuckle. As he stumbled forward, disoriented, Kane snatched him up again. Without hesitation, Kane hoisted him high into the air and drove him into the mat with a ring-shaking Chokeslam. The crowd let out a collective “OHHH!” but Kane wasn’t done. With zero emotion, Kane grabbed his lifeless opponent, lifted him once more, and delivered a devastating Tombstone Piledriver. The man’s body folded under the impact, his limbs motionless as Kane simply placed one hand on his chest.

1… 2… 3.

Winner: ​

Spoiler

Kane

But Kane didn’t even acknowledge the referee’s hand being raised. He stood still in the center of the ring, his chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. Then, without a second thought, he stormed toward the ropes and called for a microphone. As the red lights intensified, Kane brought the mic to his lips, his voice filled with venom. “UNDERTAKER! I know you're out there! I know you're playing your little games, but I’m sick of it! I’m done with the shadows! I’M DONE WITH THE MIND GAMES!” Kane roared, his voice filled with fury as he paced the ring. The crowd erupted into a mix of anticipation and unease, knowing that whenever The Undertaker was involved, something eerie wasn’t far behind. Kane’s expression twisted with anger as he clenched his fists. "I lost the Royal Rumble because of you! You cost me my shot at WrestleMania! YOU HAUNT ME WHEN YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" The mere mention of those words sent an unsettling hush over the audience. Kane turned his head toward the entrance ramp, nostrils flaring. "I BURIED YOU ALIVE! I PUT THE FINAL NAIL IN YOUR COFFIN! YOU. ARE. DEAD!" Kane bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the arena. But just as those last words left his lips… the arena lights suddenly flickered. A loud, thunderous gong reverberated through the building, sending chills down the spines of everyone in attendance. The TitanTron crackled with static, and then—darkness. The crowd erupted in excitement and fear, the eerie ambiance sending an unmistakable message. Suddenly, a dim, ominous purple spotlight illuminated the stage. And there, at the top of the ramp, a casket had appeared out of nowhere. Kane’s breathing grew heavier as his eyes widened in disbelief. He took a step back, his face twisting with anger and something he refused to admit—fear. The casket sat motionless, closed tight, its presence alone sending a message. The arena buzzed with anticipation, fans on edge, waiting to see if it would open… Kane shook his head violently, gripping the sides of his head as if trying to shake off the haunting vision.

"NO! NO! THIS ISN’T REAL!" he roared. "YOU'RE DEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!"

But then…

The lid of the casket suddenly creaked open… but no one was inside. The arena gasped. Kane’s expression flickered with confusion before quickly shifting back to rage. With a guttural roar, Kane stormed out of the ring and charged toward the stage. But just as he reached the casket—

BOOM!

A massive lightning bolt struck the casket, igniting it in flames! The fire roared to life, surrounding the eerie symbol of the Undertaker’s return, as Kane stumbled back in shock.

The gong hit one more time.

The arena was completely unglued, the audience cheering and chanting "UN-DER-TA-KER!" as Kane stood there, his face contorted in pure frustration.

COMMERCIAL BREAK​

"Burn in My Light" blasted through the arena. Randy Orton, the cocky, young Intercontinental Champion, strutted onto the stage, dressed in his Evolution-branded leather jacket, with the prestigious Intercontinental Championship draped over his shoulder. His face showed no signs of amusement—only burning resentment. As he stepped into the ring, he took his time, smirking at the hostile reaction before raising the microphone to his lips.

"Last night was supposed to be my night," Orton began, pacing the ring, his arrogance replaced with sheer bitterness. "The Royal Rumble match was mine for the taking. I was moments away from winning the whole damn thing and going to WrestleMania—until one man decided to steal that moment from me." His eyes darkened as he stopped in his tracks. "Mick Foley." The mention of Foley's name brought an overwhelming roar from the crowd. Orton shook his head in disgust. "You people cheer for a man who didn’t even have the guts to enter the match at number one or even number ten! No, he waited, like a coward, hiding until the moment he could get involved and screw me over!" The Intercontinental Champion sneered, pointing to himself. "I am the Legend Killer! The future of this business! And Mick Foley? He’s nothing more than a washed-up, broken-down, relic of the past! A pathetic excuse for a man who can’t stand to see the next generation surpass him!" Orton leaned against the ropes, his voice dripping with contempt. "And for what? For some pathetic form of revenge? What, Mick? Did it make you feel like the hardcore legend again? Did it make you feel alive?" He scoffed. "You disgust me, Foley. You don’t belong in my ring, you don’t belong in my world, and you sure as hell don’t belong in the same conversation as me!" He stepped back to the center of the ring, staring hard at the entrance ramp. "So if you have even the tiniest shred of courage left in your broken-down body, I dare you—no, I beg you—to drag your ass down to this ring and face me like a man!"

A brief pause followed, and then—

"Wreck!"

The arena exploded as Mick Foley’s music hit, and the hardcore legend himself emerged onto the stage, clad in his signature red flannel over a black "Wanted: Dead" shirt. Foley, with a smirk stretched across his face, soaked in the reaction before making his way toward the ring. Orton stood his ground, rolling his eyes as Foley entered, pacing around him like a shark circling its prey. "Ah, Randy," Foley chuckled, gripping the microphone. "You sound angry. You sound… upset." He tapped his chin in mock contemplation. "Could it be because you got exactly what you deserved last night?" The crowd erupted as Foley grinned, shaking his head. "Because, let me tell you, Randy… nothing felt sweeter than watching the look on your face when I threw your ass over that top rope!" Orton's jaw tightened, but Foley wasn’t done. "And you're damn right, I wasn’t there to win the Rumble. I didn’t come back to headline WrestleMania. No, no, no. My only goal was simple: to make your life a living hell." His expression darkened. "You took something from me, Orton. You took my dignity when you spat in my face, when you and Evolution tried to take me out. You thought I’d just walk away?" Foley scoffed. "No, son. I'm still here. And I'm not just here to cost you a match—I'm here to tear you apart."

The two men locked eyes, the intensity boiling over.

Orton chuckled dryly. "That’s really touching, Mick. But you and I both know you don’t have what it takes anymore. You may have eliminated me last night, but when was the last time you actually won a match that mattered?" Orton smirked. "You’re a shell of what you used to be. And honestly? I feel sorry for you." Foley’s grin faded. "Oh, you feel sorry for me?" He took a step forward, getting right in Orton’s face. "Then let’s see how sorry you feel when you step inside a steel cage with me in 2 weeks on Raw—with your Intercontinental Championship on the line." The crowd roared at the challenge, but Orton immediately shook his head, laughing. "No. No way. You don’t get to just waltz back in here and demand a title shot. You don’t deserve it." Foley nodded, taking a deep breath—before suddenly blasting Orton across the face with a right hand! The crowd erupted as Orton staggered backward, and Foley tackled him to the mat, unloading with wild punches! Orton scrambled, trying to cover up, but Foley was relentless, raining down fists with a crazed look in his eye!

Before Orton could recover—Evolution stormed the ring!

Batista and Ric Flair rushed down the ramp and immediately dragged Foley off Orton, with Batista clubbing him across the back with a devastating forearm! Foley tried to fight back, but Flair struck with a low blow, and Batista followed up with a spine-shattering spinebuster! The crowd booed as Orton recovered, standing over a battered Foley, catching his breath. The smirk returned to Orton’s face. He looked down at Foley, shaking his head. Then, without hesitation, he backed up into the corner, measuring his shot.

BAM!

A sickening punt kick connected flush to Foley’s skull! The audience gasped as Foley’s body went limp, his head snapping back violently. He lay motionless in the ring as Evolution stood over him, admiring their destruction. Orton, breathing heavily, crouched down, bringing the microphone back to his lips. "You want your match, Mick?" He wiped his mouth, grinning. "You got it." With that, Orton dropped the microphone onto Foley’s chest, draping his Intercontinental Title over his shoulder as Evolution stood tall. As Raw cut to commercial, the last image the audience saw was Orton, his cold smirk widening, as he whispered:

"Have a nice day."

COMMERCIAL BREAK​

Raw returns to Chris Jericho’s locker room, where he sat hunched over on the bench, methodically lacing up his boots. His fingers moved quickly, almost aggressively, the frustration from earlier still fresh in his mind. His jaw was clenched, his eyes stormy with thoughts he couldn’t shake—the slap, the words exchanged, the unspoken tension between himself and Christian. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Then, without warning, the door swung open.

Jericho barely flinched, but his eyes darted up as Christian strolled in, his usual cocky smirk subdued, but not completely gone. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying Jericho like he was waiting for a reaction. A heavy silence hung between them for a few moments before Christian finally broke it.

“So… are we gonna do this thing or what?”

Jericho exhaled sharply, not looking up right away. Instead, he finished tying his boot, his movements slow and deliberate, as if grounding himself. Finally, he met Christian’s gaze, his voice low but edged with something sharp. “That depends,” he muttered. “You done playing therapist? Or are you gonna give me another speech about how I’m ruining my career?” Christian rolled his eyes but didn’t fire back immediately. Instead, he took a step forward, the usual bravado in his posture shifting into something more real, more raw. “Look, man, I get it. Trish is hot. She’s cool. You’re having fun. Great. But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is about us getting back on track and becoming the number one contenders for the World Tag Team Titles. You and me, Y2J and Captain Charisma—one of the best damn teams in WWE. That’s what matters.” Jericho let Christian’s words settle, studying his longtime partner with an unreadable expression. There was something in Christian’s voice—conviction, urgency—that made it clear this wasn’t just some routine pep talk. He actually meant it. Jericho’s scowl softened, just barely, but the fire in his eyes didn’t fade. “You really think I don’t know that?” Jericho shot back. “I slapped you in the middle of the ring, didn’t I? That was me telling you that when the bell rings, it’s all business.” Christian huffed out a chuckle, rubbing his jaw where Jericho had struck him earlier. “Yeah, you got me pretty good. Had me seeing stars for a second.” His smirk returned, but this time, it wasn’t just bravado—it was the grin of a man who knew exactly who he was dealing with. “But hey, at least I know you still got that fire.”

For the first time all night, Jericho smirked back. It was faint, but it was there. The walls between them weren’t completely torn down, but a crack had formed. Christian took that as a sign and extended his fist toward Jericho, a silent truce. Jericho stared at it for a moment, the tension still lingering in the air between them. Then, finally, he bumped his fist against Christian’s. “Yeah, we’re good. But if we’re doing this, I don’t want any screw-ups. No excuses. I want to win this thing and go to No Way Out with momentum.” Christian’s grin widened. “Now that’s the Chris Jericho I want by my side. Let’s go out there and remind everybody who the hell we are.” Jericho cracked his neck, his smirk growing. “Damn right.” Without another word, the two longtime partners walked out of the locker room, side by side, back on the same page and ready to seize their opportunity. The road to No Way Out was still uncertain, but one thing was for sure—when Chris Jericho and Christian were in sync, the entire WWE Tag Team Division was on notice. As Christian turned to leave, he glanced back at Jericho one last time. “Let’s handle business,” he said with a nod before stepping out of the locker room, the door swinging shut behind him. Jericho exhaled, rolling his shoulders, the weight of the night still pressing on him. He ran a hand through his damp blonde hair, preparing himself mentally for the match ahead.

Then, just a few moments later, the door gently creaked open again.

Jericho looked up, and there stood Trish Stratus. Dressed in her signature sleek leather jacket and form-fitting ring gear, she stepped inside, her warm eyes searching his face. There was something in her expression—not quite concern, but understanding. She had seen the tension earlier, had witnessed everything unravel between Jericho and Christian, and she knew how much was at stake tonight.

“Hey,” she said softly, closing the door behind her.

Jericho smirked, but it was different from his usual cocky grin—this one was more subdued, more genuine. “Hey yourself.”

Trish took a step closer, tilting her head slightly. “So... you and Christian? Everything good?”

Jericho let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, we’re fine. Just a little... team-building exercise, I guess.”

Trish smiled. “Well, if that’s what you call slapping your best friend in the face, remind me never to be on the wrong side of your ‘team-building.’”

Jericho smirked again, but this time with a hint of amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A beat of silence passed before Trish reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Seriously, Chris... I know how much this match means to you. You and Christian have a chance to go all the way tonight, to get back to the top where you belong.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “And I know you will.”

Jericho looked at her, his expression softening. There was something in the way she said it—the confidence in her voice, the trust in her eyes—that made him believe it just a little bit more himself.

Trish gave him a playful nudge. “Now, go out there and do what you do best.”

Before Jericho could respond, she leaned in and gently pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t dramatic—it was just real. A moment of quiet support before the chaos.

As Trish pulled back, Jericho raised an eyebrow, his signature smirk returning in full force. “Well... that’s one hell of a good luck charm.”

Trish rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Don’t let it go to your head, rock star.” She winked before heading toward the door.

Just as she disappeared into the hallway, the arena’s speakers erupted, signaling the beginning of Tag Team Turmoil. The rumbling bass of entrance music pulsed through the walls, the crowd roaring in anticipation.

Jericho took one last deep breath, shaking off any remaining doubt. Then, with a final smirk, he grabbed his jacket and headed toward the gorilla position.

As Tag Team Turmoil kicked off, the Dudley Boyz made their entrance to a thunderous ovation from the crowd, fired up and ready to battle. Bubba Ray and D-Von, the most decorated tag team in WWE history, stormed down the ramp with intensity, feeding off the energy of the fans. Their signature camouflage gear and fiery demeanor made it clear—they were here to dominate. As they entered the ring, they wasted no time rallying the crowd, shouting “Wassup!” as they prepared for war. The anticipation in the arena grew as they awaited their first challengers. The entrance music of Lance Storm and Val Venis hit next, signaling the arrival of a technically sound but unorthodox duo. Storm, ever the serious tactician, walked to the ring with a focused expression, while Venis, oozing charisma, smirked confidently at the audience. The contrasting styles of the two men were evident—Storm was all business, while Venis exuded swagger, playing to the crowd before stepping into the ring. Despite their different approaches, they knew their only chance against the hard-hitting Dudleys was to use their technical prowess and quick tags. The announcers hype the ramifications of this matchup where the winners will challenge Evolution for the World Tag Team Championships at No Way Out. With both teams in the ring, the referee signaled for the bell, and the Tag Team Turmoil match was officially underway.

TAG TEAM TURMOIL MATCH​

As the bell rang to kick off Tag Team Turmoil, the legendary Dudley Boyz stood in the ring, ready to kick off the gauntlet against the technically sound tandem of Lance Storm and Val Venis. The match began with Storm trying to slow the pace, using his mat wrestling ability to keep Bubba Ray grounded. Venis tagged in, executing a snap suplex followed by a quick elbow drop, but Bubba powered out at two. As Storm and Venis continued to use quick tags, D-Von finally got the hot tag, coming in with a flurry of right hands before hitting a diving clothesline on Storm. The crowd erupted as Bubba called for the "What's Up!" diving headbutt, and after connecting, the Dudley Boyz finished Storm with a 3D for the three-count.

Eliminated:

Spoiler

Lance Storm & Val Venis

Before the Dudleys could catch their breath, the young and athletic duo of Mark Jindrak & Garrison Cade hit the ring with explosive energy. Jindrak immediately targeted Bubba, using his quickness to keep the veteran off balance. Cade joined in, hitting a double-team back suplex, nearly stealing an upset victory. However, after missing a high-risk maneuver, Jindrak was met with a devastating clothesline from Bubba, who then made the crucial tag to D-Von. With momentum shifting, the Dudleys took control, eventually countering a double-team attempt and hitting another 3D on Cade for the pinfall.

Eliminated:

Spoiler

Mark Jindrak & Garrison Cade

The celebration was short-lived as La Résistance (Sylvain Grenier & René Duprée) w/ Rob Conway made their way down, immediately ambushing the worn-out Dudleyz. Rob Conway provided a distraction, allowing Duprée and Grenier to double-team D-Von. The French-Canadian duo effectively cut the ring in half, focusing on quick tags and underhanded tactics. D-Von fought back, catching Grenier with a spinning elbow, and crawled desperately toward Bubba. As Bubba got the tag, he cleaned house, nailing both men with clotheslines and a sidewalk slam. However, as Bubba went to lift Duprée for a powerbomb, Conway slid into the ring behind the referee’s back, smashing Bubba with the Quebec flagpole! Grenier quickly covered, stealing the pinfall and eliminating the Dudleyz.

Eliminated:

Spoiler

The Dudley Boyz

The crowd was eager for revenge as Rob Van Dam & Booker T made their entrance, met with a thunderous ovation. They immediately hit the ring, RVD unleashing his explosive kicks, sending Grenier flying. Booker followed up with a spinning heel kick on Duprée, shifting the match in their favor. La Résistance tried to slow things down, but RVD & Booker were too fast and too determined. Booker T hit the Scissors Kick on Grenier, and as the crowd erupted, RVD nailed the Five-Star Frog Splash for the victory.

Eliminated:

Spoiler

La Résistance

It was time for the final match. Christian & Chris Jericho walked to the ring with intensity, despite lingering tension from earlier in the night. Their eyes were locked on the No. 1 contendership for the World Tag Team Titles. Jericho started the match against Booker, engaging in a technical exchange, but the match soon turned into a brawl as Christian and RVD entered the fray. Christian and Jericho used their experience as a team, isolating RVD and cutting the ring in half. They worked over RVD’s legs, targeting his high-flying ability, with Jericho locking in a modified single-leg Boston Crab. RVD struggled, fighting to the ropes. After several minutes of punishment, RVD countered a Lionsault with his knees up and rolled to the corner to tag in Booker! Booker stormed in, laying out both men with spinebusters and a jumping sidekick on Jericho. The match broke down as RVD hit a somersault plancha on Christian outside the ring, leaving Booker and Jericho inside. Booker went for the Scissors Kick, but Jericho dodged and locked in the Walls of Jericho! The crowd was on their feet as Booker clawed toward the ropes, finally breaking free. As the match reached its chaotic climax, Trish Stratus suddenly climbed onto the apron, frantically waving her arms to get the referee’s attention. Her voice rang out over the crowd’s deafening roar, pleading with the official as the action continued behind him.

Seizing the moment, Christian grabbed a steel chair, eyes locked on RVD. With a wicked grin, he raised it high, ready to swing.

But at the last second—RVD ducked!

CRACK!

The sickening sound echoed through the arena as the steel chair collided full force with Trish’s face! The impact sent Trish flying off the apron, crashing hard onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Gasps filled the arena as the realization of what had just happened set in. Jericho’s expression turned from determination to absolute horror. His body stiffened as he slowly turned to see Trish motionless on the floor. Panic overtook him as he slid out of the ring, immediately kneeling beside her. His hands hovered over her, unsure of what to do, his face riddled with guilt and shock. Inside the ring, Christian’s expression shifted from concern to frustration. He stepped toward the ropes, yelling, "Chris, forget her! I need you!" But Jericho didn’t even look up. His eyes remained locked on Trish, pleading with the ringside medics to help her. The medical team rushed down the ramp, carefully placing a neck brace on Trish before loading her onto a stretcher. Jericho, still kneeling beside her, gently took her hand, murmuring words no one could hear over the buzzing crowd. Meanwhile, Christian turned back around—straight into a devastating Scissors Kick from Booker T! The force sent Christian bouncing off the mat as he writhed in pain. Before he could even react, RVD ascended to the top rope, the crowd rising with him. Without hesitation, he soared through the air, twisting mid-flight before crushing Christian’s ribs with a Five-Star Frog Splash!

1… 2… 3!

Winners:

Spoiler

Rob Van Dam & Booker T – New No. 1 Contenders for the World Tag Team Titles!

As Booker and RVD had their hands raised in victory, Jericho never even noticed. His focus was entirely on Trish being wheeled up the ramp, his expression one of heartbreak and regret. Christian, still gasping from the Frog Splash, rolled onto his side, glaring at Jericho with frustration. As Trish Stratus was stretchered up the ramp, Chris Jericho finally turned his attention back to the ring. The match was over, the dust had settled, but the tension between him and Christian was far from finished. Jericho slid back inside, his eyes blazing with frustration as he walked straight up to Christian, standing nose to nose with his tag team partner. The two began to argue, their voices low but intense, speaking amongst themselves, but the body language said it all. Christian, his hands up defensively, shook his head. "I didn’t do it on purpose, man! Trish got involved—it was an accident!" he insisted. Jericho, still seething, exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched. "Accident or not, you hit her with a damn chair!" Jericho shot back, his voice filled with frustration. Christian’s expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. "She shouldn’t have been up there in the first place!" he snapped, his voice laced with agitation. Jericho’s eyes narrowed, his anger boiling over. Without hesitation, he shoved Christian hard, sending him stumbling back. The crowd let out a loud "OHHH!" as Christian regained his footing, staring back at Jericho with a look of betrayal. Jericho turned away, running his hands through his hair, clearly about to leave the ring. But just as he took a step toward the ropes—Christian struck. From behind, Christian blindsided Jericho, clubbing him across the back with a stiff forearm! Jericho collapsed to one knee, caught completely off guard. The arena erupted in boos as Christian grabbed him by the hair, yanked him up, and with no hesitation, drove him face-first into the mat with a thunderous Unprettier! Jericho lay motionless on the canvas, but Christian wasn’t done. A fire burned in his eyes as he rolled out of the ring and grabbed a steel chair, sliding it into the ring. He then grabbed another chair and stepped back inside, a twisted smirk forming on his face. The crowd gasped as Christian placed one chair underneath Jericho’s skull, then lifted the other high above his head. The realization of what was about to happen sent shockwaves through the arena.

CRACK!

The sickening sound of a Con-Chair-To echoed throughout the arena, the steel-on-skull impact making the crowd collectively wince. Jericho’s body jolted before going completely limp, knocked unconscious from the brutal chair shot. Christian stood over his fallen former best friend, breathing heavily, his eyes scanning the damage he had done. He then tossed the chair aside and looked out at the hostile crowd, his face void of remorse. As officials rushed down the ramp to check on Jericho, Christian rolled out of the ring and backed up the ramp, his face still twisted in anger. He had just sent a message—one that was loud and clear. Jericho lay lifeless in the ring, his head resting on the dented steel chair, while Christian looked on from the stage.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Back from break and a video package airs.....

Goldberg: “What happened at the Royal Rumble… was only the beginning.”

Clips of Eddie Guerrero’s mischievous grin and his cunning elimination of Goldberg played in slow motion, the moment burned into the audience’s memory. The clip cut back to Goldberg, his expression growing more intense.

Goldberg: “Eddie… I don’t play games. I don’t do cheap shots. And I sure as hell don’t let things slide.”

The video package intensified, showing Goldberg attacking Guerrero post elimination and spearing him and jackhammering him out of the ring, absolutely destroying Latino Heat.

Goldberg: “You wanted to make a name for yourself at my expense? You wanted to pull a fast one? That was your first mistake.”

Goldberg clenched his fists, his muscles tensing as he took a step toward the camera.

Goldberg: “But your biggest mistake? Thinking you got away with it. You think you’re untouchable, Eddie? You think you can just sneak by and move on?”

The sound of a revving motorcycle engine echoed in the background, the camera zooming in on Goldberg’s clenched jaw.

Goldberg: “I’m coming to SmackDown this week… and I’m coming for a fight.”

The screen suddenly cut to static before fading into a shot of the SmackDown logo with the ominous message:

"THIS THURSDAY… GOLDBERG ARRIVES."

The package ended with Goldberg’s signature growl before the screen cut to black and back to the ring.

The energy in the arena was still electric after the intense Goldberg video package, the anticipation for his arrival on SmackDown looming. But now, it was time for some in-ring action as the ominous opening riffs of Test’s theme music blasted through the speakers. The towering, chiseled powerhouse stormed onto the stage, his expression one of pure intensity. His long blond hair hung wildly over his face as he stomped down the ramp, cracking his neck and stretching out his arms. Test had a chip on his shoulder, and tonight, he was looking to take his frustrations out on his opponent. The arena lights flickered as the upbeat sound of "Live for the Moment" hit, signaling the arrival of Matt Hardy Version 1.0. The crowd popped as Matt walked onto the stage, throwing up his signature V1 hand gesture. As always, his Matt Facts appeared on the TitanTron, drawing chuckles from the crowd:

"Matt takes longer showers than you."
"Matt always gets the window seat."

Matt, exuding his usual cocky confidence, strutted down the ramp, pointing to himself while mouthing off to the camera about how he was superior in every way. Sliding into the ring, he leaned against the ropes, throwing up the V1 symbol again, but Test wasn’t amused. The moment the referee called for the bell, Test charged forward like a freight train, forcing Matt to duck and roll out of the way just in time.

SINGLES MATCH

MATT HARDY vs. TEST​

Matt, knowing he couldn't go power-for-power with Test, stuck to quick, well-placed strikes—stiff forearms, a few kicks to the legs, and an elbow to the jaw. Test barely flinched, shoving Matt off like a ragdoll. Matt rebounded off the ropes, but Test caught him mid-air, countering a running crossbody attempt into a thunderous powerslam that shook the ring. He smirked as he stood over Matt, clearly in control. For the next few minutes, Test dominated the contest, using his overwhelming strength to punish Hardy. He hit a devastating backbreaker, then wrenched Matt's spine over his knee, taunting him while the crowd booed. Matt winced in pain, struggling to fight back as Test continued to dictate the pace, clubbing him down with brutal forearm smashes to the back. The former Intercontinental Champion lifted Matt with ease and slammed him into the corner, following up with a running clothesline that nearly took Hardy’s head off. But Matt wasn’t about to be counted out. As Test went for a vertical suplex, Hardy desperately countered, slipping behind him and chopping at the knees. With Test momentarily stunned, Matt capitalized, planting him with a swinging neckbreaker that brought the crowd to life. Matt quickly climbed to the second rope, taking a deep breath before dropping a perfectly executed leg drop across Test’s throat! He hooked the leg…

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Test powered out, sending Matt flying off him. Hardy stayed on the attack, attempting to hook Test for the Side Effect, but Test fought out of it and shoved Matt hard into the ropes. As Matt rebounded, Test swung for the Big Boot, looking to end things decisively—but Matt ducked at the last second! As Test turned around, Hardy rolled him up, grabbing a handful of tights for extra leverage! The referee, unaware of the cheat, dropped down for the count.

1… 2… 3!

Winner:

Spoiler

Matt Hardy

The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and jeers as Hardy quickly rolled out of the ring, a cocky smirk on his face. Inside the ring, Test sat up, eyes wide in shock, furious as he realized how he had been robbed. He pounded the mat and got to his feet, storming over to the referee, yelling in his face about the illegal tactics Hardy had used. Meanwhile, Matt strutted up the ramp, throwing his hands up in victory, shouting, “Version 1, baby!” as he laughed to himself.

On commentary, Jim Ross voiced his frustration. “Oh, come on! Matt Hardy stole one!”

Jerry "The King" Lawler chuckled. “It’s not stealing if you don’t get caught, JR! That’s just a veteran move from Matt Hardy!”

As Test continued to seethe in the ring, Hardy celebrated his win, all while the commentary team turned their attention toward the upcoming main event segment, where Kurt Angle was set to make his historic WrestleMania decision.

COMMERCIAL BREAK​

The scene opened in the interview area, where Jonathan Coachman stood with a microphone in hand, looking eager to speak. Standing beside him were the newly crowned No. 1 Contenders for the World Tag Team Titles—Rob Van Dam and Booker T. The crowd gave a loud cheer as the duo stood confidently, sweat still glistening on their faces from their grueling victory in the Tag Team Turmoil match earlier in the night.

Coachman: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the team that just outlasted four other teams to earn themselves a shot at the World Tag Team Championships—Rob Van Dam and Booker T! Guys, congratulations on your victory. You now have a date with Evolution’s Ric Flair and Batista at No Way Out. How are you feeling about this huge opportunity?"

Booker adjusted his wrist tape while RVD, still catching his breath, smirked.

RVD: "Coach, let me tell ya, man, we went through the wringer tonight. That was no easy ride, but when it comes to getting the job done—who does it better than R-V-D?"

The crowd popped as he pointed to himself, emphasizing each letter of his name.

Booker T: "Tell ‘em, dawg. You see, what we did tonight was just a preview of what we’re bringing to No Way Out. Evolution’s been runnin’ their mouths for too long, holdin’ onto those tag team titles like they own the place. But news flash—this ain’t their world, and we ain’t playin’ by their rules."

Before Booker could continue, slow sarcastic clapping echoed through the interview area. The camera panned to reveal Ric Flair and Batista striding onto the scene. Flair, dressed in an expensive suit with a cocky grin, let out a signature "WOOOOO!" as he and Batista stepped in close. The big man towered over RVD and Booker, arms crossed, a smug look on his face.

Flair: "Oh, wow, what a moment, huh, Batista? These two just pulled off the biggest win of their careers. We should be proud!"

Batista smirked, nodding.

Batista: "Yeah, Ric, real inspiring. They barely survived tonight, and they think they’re ready for us? That’s adorable."

Booker and RVD exchanged glances, not backing down.

Booker T: "Yo, why don’t y’all save the talkin’ for the ring? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, all I see is two guys who know their time is runnin’ out."

Flair chuckled, adjusting his Rolex.

Flair: "Booker, Booker, Booker... let me give you a little history lesson, pal. You’re looking at a 16-time World Champion, and you’re standing next to the future of this business! My man Big Dave here? He ain’t just muscle—he’s dominance personified, baby!"

Batista stepped forward, getting in Booker’s face.

Batista: "You two? You’re good... but you’re not Evolution. At No Way Out, we’re not just beating you. We’re embarrassing you."

RVD smirked and stepped in between them.

RVD: "Embarrassing us? Man, the only thing embarrassing is the fact that you two actually think you can keep those titles when you step in the ring with us."

Booker pointed at Flair.

Booker T: "And Ric, I don’t care if you’re a 16-time champ or a 16-time loser—come No Way Out, we takin’ them titles, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Now can you dig that… SUCKA?"

The crowd roared as Booker threw his signature hand taunt in Flair’s face. Flair, insulted, took off his jacket and looked like he was ready to fight, but Batista put a hand on his chest, holding him back.

Flair (seething): "You’re gonna regret that, Booker. You and your little stoner buddy."

RVD and Booker smirked, unbothered, while Batista and Flair backed away. As Evolution left, Flair continued shouting off-mic, "No Way Out is gonna be the end of you two!"

Coachman turned back to RVD and Booker.

Coachman: "Well, there you have it—things are already heating up between these two teams. We’ll see if Booker T and RVD can back up their words when they face Evolution at No Way Out!"

Back to the arena, a chorus of boos erupted as Eric Bischoff’s music hit, signaling the arrival of Raw’s General Manager. Dressed in a sharp suit, Bischoff strolled down the ramp with a smug grin, reveling in the reaction from the crowd. He stepped into the ring, microphone in hand, raising it as the boos finally began to die down. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gonna cut right to it, the clock is ticking and its decision time. Please allow me to introduce to you… your reigning, defending WWE Champion… Brock Lesnar!" The familiar guitar riff of Lesnar’s theme music shook the arena, and the crowd exploded as the WWE Champion emerged onto the stage. With his title strapped around his waist, Lesnar marched to the ring with purpose, his eyes locked forward, his face showing no emotion. He hopped onto the apron and entered the ring, towering over Bischoff as he adjusted his championship. "And now," Bischoff continued, "The man who calls himself ‘The Game’—your World Heavyweight Champion… TRIPLE H!"

"Time to Play the Game…"

The boos intensified as Triple H made his entrance, The World Heavyweight Champion sauntered down the ramp, his signature arrogance on full display, gold shining around his waist. As he entered the ring, he and Lesnar immediately stepped forward—face-to-face, nose-to-nose. The tension between the two champions was palpable, neither man blinking, neither backing down. Bischoff quickly stepped between them, smirking. "Easy, easy, gentlemen. We all know the two of you will collide at No Way Out in a Champion vs. Champion match—but tonight isn’t about that. No, tonight, we’re here for one reason only—to find out who Kurt Angle will choose to face at Wrestlemania. So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen…..the 2004 Royal Rumble Winner…….KURT ANGLE"

The arena exploded as the triumphant sound of "Medal" hit the speakers, signaling the arrival of the 2004 Royal Rumble winner, Kurt Angle. The Olympic Gold Medalist emerged onto the stage, dressed in his signature red, white, and blue tracksuit, a fire burning in his eyes. A mix of intensity and pride was evident on his face as he looked out at the sea of cheering fans, his hands on his hips, nodding his head in acknowledgment. The crowd erupted as the 2004 Royal Rumble winner, Kurt Angle, stepped onto the stage, his signature red, white, and blue tracksuit gleaming under the arena lights. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, his expression one of pride, focus, and unshakable determination. He stood at the top of the ramp for a moment, absorbing the thunderous reaction, his lips curling into a small smirk as he took in the significance of this moment. Angle marched down the ramp, his Olympic gold medal resting against his chest, bouncing slightly with every step. He was methodical, deliberate—his presence alone commanding respect. He slid into the ring and immediately locked eyes with both champions before grabbing a microphone. He took a deep breath, adjusting his stance, before slowly lifting the mic to his lips. Angle nodded, slowly pacing the ring as he let the moment sink in. "You know, last night was one of the biggest nights of my career," he began, his tone carrying the weight of his words. "Winning the Royal Rumble Match isn’t just about going to WrestleMania—it’s about cementing your legacy. It’s about standing in the history books alongside the greatest to ever do it." He turned to the hard camera, holding up a single finger as he counted off the names. "Austin. Michaels. Hart. Flair, Hogan. And now… my name is on that list."

The crowd erupted once more, chanting "ANGLE! ANGLE! ANGLE!" as the Olympic Gold Medalist let their adulation fuel him. He looked out into the sea of fans before turning his focus back to the two champions standing before him.

"And now I have the biggest decision of my career—who do I face at WrestleMania XX?"

Angle’s eyes locked onto Brock Lesnar, his longtime rival, his former friend-turned-adversary. He pointed at him.

"Brock, you and I? We’ve been through wars. We’ve battled for this championship before. We’ve broken each other down. I know you. I know how you think. I know how you fight. And if I chose you, I have no doubt we would go to war all over again." Lesnar remained stone-faced, gripping the WWE Championship tighter over his shoulder, his body language unreadable. Then, Angle turned his gaze to Triple H, eyes narrowing slightly as he took a step forward. "But then there’s you, Triple H. The so-called ‘Game.’ The self-proclaimed ‘Cerebral Assassin.’ A man who prides himself on being the measuring stick of this business. A man who will do anything to stay on top. And that makes you dangerous—but it also makes you exactly the kind of challenge I thrive on."

Angle smirked, the intensity in his face growing. "So, the question is—who do I choose?"

Before he could answer, Triple H suddenly stepped forward, cutting him off.

"You want to talk about legacies, Kurt?" Triple H scoffed, shaking his head. "Let’s get one thing straight—you don’t belong in the same conversation as me." The crowd booed loudly, but Triple H ignored them, keeping his gaze locked on Angle. "You might be an Olympic Gold Medalist, but that means nothing in my world. This isn’t amateur wrestling, Kurt. This is my ring. My business. My championship. I have spent years making this title mean more than any piece of gold you’ve ever won. And you think you can just waltz in, win the Rumble, and take what’s mine?" Triple H laughed coldly, then turned his focus toward Lesnar. "And you?" He sneered. "You’re nothing more than a big, dumb neanderthal who got lucky. You walked into this business and had everything handed to you. You didn’t grind for it. You didn’t fight for years to reach the top. You just came in, threw people around, and were gifted a championship. That’s not how this business works, Brock. This business wasn’t built for guys like you. It was built for guys like me—the ones who run this place. The ones who dictate history."

The moment those words left Triple H’s lips, Lesnar snapped.

With a sudden, sharp breath, Lesnar lunged forward, stepping directly into Triple H’s face. Their foreheads nearly touched as the tension exploded in the ring. The WWE Champion’s grip on his title tightened, his muscles tensing as his eyes burned with fury.

"You like to talk, don’t you, Hunter?" Lesnar growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this business was built for you? Let me tell you something, pal—you may play ‘The Game,’ but I break people like you for fun."

The crowd roared, sensing the hostility rising between the two champions.

Lesnar smirked slightly, tilting his head. "I don’t need a suit. I don’t need a sledgehammer. I don’t need a bunch of stooges watching my back. All I need? Are these two fists. And trust me, Triple H—you don’t want to find out what happens when I use them."

Triple H’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, but before he could respond—

Angle had enough.

"ALRIGHT! ENOUGH!" Angle shouted, stepping between the two men. He turned his head, looking at Lesnar, then at Triple H. The tension in the ring shifted, all eyes now fully on Angle as he slowly raised the microphone to his lips.

His face hardened, his breathing steady.

"I’ve thought long and hard about this decision," Angle said, his voice deliberate. "And the truth is… either one of you would be the fight of my life. Either one of you would push me to my absolute limit. But at WrestleMania....."

Angle locked eyes with Lesnar, his expression unreadable.

And then—he turned to Triple H.

With absolute conviction, Angle took a deep breath, leaned forward, and shouted—

"I CHOOSE YOU, TRIPLE H!"

The arena erupted into a frenzy as Triple H’s eyes widened in shock, his lips curling into a slow, sinister smirk. The arena shook with an eruption of cheers as the realization set in—Kurt Angle had made his decision. His path to WrestleMania XX was clear. Triple H, standing inches from him, was frozen, his usual arrogance stripped away, replaced by pure, boiling rage. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the World Heavyweight Championship as his ego took a bruising hit. Meanwhile, across the ring, Brock Lesnar smirked. He glanced at Angle, gave a subtle nod of respect, and then, without another word, he stepped out of the ring. As he walked up the ramp, the camera lingered on him, his WWE Championship glistening over his shoulder. They stood face-to-face, the energy between them nearly palpable. Triple H’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling as his frustration threatened to boil over. Angle, however, stood his ground, meeting the champion’s intense glare with one of his own. The crowd knew exactly what was about to happen—this wasn’t going to end without a fight.

Then—

"OH, OH, SHAWN!"

The sound of "Sexy Boy" hit like a lightning bolt, and the roof nearly blew off the arena. Shawn Michaels stormed onto the stage, his signature swagger mixed with a fierce determination. His eyes burned with purpose as he paced at the top of the ramp, a microphone gripped tightly in his hand.

"Hold on just a second!" Michaels shouted, his voice cutting through the roaring crowd.

Angle and Triple H both turned their attention to him, watching as he marched down the ramp. The fans were rabid, sensing the tension about to explode.

"You want to talk about who deserves a shot at Triple H?" Michaels questioned, stopping just before entering the ring. "How about the guy who took Triple H to the absolute limit at the Royal Rumble?! How about the guy who—if we’re being honest—never actually lost?" The crowd erupted, rallying behind HBK’s claim. Angle shifted, his brow raising slightly, while Triple H’s scowl deepened.

"The way I see it, Kurt," Michaels continued, stepping between the ropes and now standing face-to-face with Angle, "you earned your shot—but so did I. And that means, at WrestleMania, I should be in that match!"

The audience was electric, the possibility of a Triple Threat Match making the stakes even higher. Triple H scoffed, rolling his eyes, while Angle narrowed his gaze, considering the argument. Then, from the side, Eric Bischoff stepped forward. His signature smirk was plastered across his face, clearly intrigued by the chaos unfolding before him.

"You know what, Shawn?" Bischoff mused, rubbing his chin as he slowly circled the three men. "You’ve got a point."

The crowd popped as Bischoff's smirk widened.

"And I love shaking things up. So here’s what we’re gonna do—at No Way Out, you, Shawn Michaels, will get the opportunity of a lifetime."

Michaels and Angle both turned their focus to the Raw General Manager.

"You will go one-on-one with Kurt Angle!" Bischoff announced.

The crowd exploded again as Angle’s expression hardened. Michaels smirked slightly, nodding his head, relishing the fight ahead.

Bischoff, reveling in the moment, continued. "And if you win, Shawn? Then the World Heavyweight Championship match at WrestleMania XX will become a Triple Threat Match!"

The audience's excitement hit a fever pitch as Michaels nodded, but Bischoff wasn't done. He lifted a finger, his smirk twisting into something more sinister.

"BUT—" he said, pausing dramatically, "If you lose? Then you will NEVER get another shot at the World Heavyweight Title. EVER AGAIN!"

The crowd gasped, the stakes reaching unfathomable heights. The camera zoomed in on Michaels’ face, his signature cocky smirk now replaced by serious contemplation. His dream of regaining the top prize in WWE was on the line. Michaels slowly turned toward Angle, their eyes locking once again. Tension filled the air. After a brief, intense moment, HBK extended his hand. Angle, after a second of hesitation, took it.

But before they could part—

BAM!

Triple H suddenly shoved Michaels, forcing him into Angle and sending the Olympic Gold Medalist crashing through the ropes to the outside! The crowd gasped as Michaels stumbled, turning just in time to see Triple H charging at him! The Game pounced, throwing wild, vicious right hands at HBK’s skull! Michaels fought back, blocking a shot and firing back with a hard chop! "WOOO!" echoed throughout the arena as Michaels unleashed a flurry of knife-edge chops, forcing Triple H into the corner. Triple H, enraged, swung wildly, but Michaels ducked, sending The Game flying into the turnbuckle. As he staggered back—

Angle slid back into the ring!

He grabbed Triple H, hoisting him up for the Angle Slam!

But Triple H twisted mid-air, landing on his feet!

HBK swung!

Sweet Chin Music—BUT IT HIT ANGLE INSTEAD!

The crowd was shocked as Angle crumpled to the mat, completely knocked out. Michaels froze, realizing his mistake. But before he could react—

LOW BLOW FROM TRIPLE H!

Michaels collapsed, clutching his midsection as Triple H stood over him, chest heaving. The World Heavyweight Champion snatched up his title belt, raising it over his head, his smug grin returning.

But suddenly—

Brock Lesnar STORMED BACK INTO THE RING!

The crowd EXPLODED as the WWE Champion re-entered the chaos!

Triple H barely had time to turn around before Lesnar scooped him onto his shoulders—

F-5!

The impact was devastating, sending Triple H crashing to the canvas. The arena erupted as Lesnar picked up the World Heavyweight Championship that had fallen to the mat.

With an ice-cold stare, Lesnar took one last look at the unconscious Triple H before slamming the title down onto his chest.

Lesnar then raised his WWE Championship high above his head, his message crystal clear—he was still the most dominant force in WWE.

Around him, chaos remained—Angle unconscious, Michaels writhing in pain, and Triple H laid out.

As Raw went off the air, one thing was certain—war was coming.

NO WAY OUT CARD
February 15th, 2004
Cow Palace - Daly City

CHAMPION vs. CHAMPION
BROCK LESNAR vs. TRIPLE H

SHAWN MICHAELS vs. KURT ANGLE
**IF Michaels wins he is added to HHH/Angle World Title Match at Wrestlemania XX

WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
RVD & BOOKER T vs. RIC FLAIR & BATISTA​