The air inside the arena was thick—buzzing with anticipation, the kind that crawls along your spine and settles in your chest like a weight. Raw’s energy was electric that night. The crowd had shown up in full force, signs waving, chants echoing. And me? I was standing in our corner backstage, gloves tight on my hands, eyes fixed on the monitor while Cody stood to my left and Randy to my right. Then the coin was flipped. “Heads,” Rock had said, too smug for someone who hadn’t even laced a boot in the last decade.
The coin hit the mat.
Heads.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, jaw tightening as the bell tolled in my ears. Cody didn’t react—he just rested a hand briefly on my shoulder.
“Stick to what you know,” he said calmly. “You’ve got this.”
“Don’t die,” Randy added dryly.
I smirked. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
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Now I stood inside that steel monstrosity—the Wargames cage surrounding us like a twisted coliseum. Two rings, one battlefield. I bounced slightly on my toes, loosening up my shoulders as I stared across at my opponent. The first to enter for their side: John Cena.
Great. He cracked his neck with that familiar grit-eating grin on his face and pointed at me from across the ring. “You sure you’re ready for this, rookie?”
I snorted. “I’ve been ready for weeks. Hope you stretched, Grandpa.”
The bell rang. We collided like thunder. Cena was all strength, brute force and experience, but I was speed and precision. I ducked a shoulder tackle, spun behind him, and caught him in the ribs with a quick kick. He grunted, but I didn’t let up—another strike to his thigh, followed by a dropkick that staggered him into the ropes.
I’d studied this match type. I knew how dangerous it could be. The unforgiving steel, the chaos, the ticking clock—five minutes until the next person entered. That timer was everything. I stayed on Cena, using the ropes, bouncing from one ring to the next to keep him guessing. I wasn’t going to beat him with raw power, but if I could make him chase me, wear him down, I had a chance. He caught me once—spun me around and hit a suplex that rattled my spine. But I rolled with it, popped back up, and nailed him with an enziguri.
The crowd roared. My heart pounded. Three minutes in. I was holding my own. Then the timer started to count down. Ten seconds. I glanced up at the stage, breath catching in my throat.
Please not Fatu. Please not—
BZZZZZZZT.
Nia’s music hit and the crowd let out a mix of boos and anticipation. She marched down the ramp like a war machine, her eyes locked on me like a predator spotting her prey. My stomach sank. Cena smirked at me from the corner, panting slightly. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Yeah?” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. “Tell her to bring snacks. I’m still hungry.”
The cage door slammed open, and Nia stepped in like a wrecking ball. I backed off instinctively, trying to keep both her and Cena in my line of sight. I dodged the first strike—barely. Her fist hit the ropes and snapped them back with a vengeance. I ducked under her arm and caught her with a few strikes to the side. Not enough to do real damage, but enough to keep her moving.
But then Cena grabbed me from behind, hoisting me up into a back suplex that dumped me right in Nia’s path. She stomped down on my ribs—once, twice—and I gasped, curling up as pain blossomed in my side. “Still think you can survive this?” she sneered, pulling me to my feet.
“I don’t think. I know,” I spat, raking an elbow across her collarbone before diving between the ropes. It bought me a few seconds, but that was it. Cena was already coming again, grabbing my arm and slinging me into the steel. My shoulder slammed into the chain-link wall and I crumpled, gasping for air.
They started working together now—her brute strength, his calculated strikes. I couldn’t keep up. Not really. Not with both of them hammering me from opposite angles. My body screamed at me to lie down, to give in. But I knew I couldn’t. I was the first one in. I had to survive. Time ticked slower now. My ribs throbbed. My vision blurred for a second as Nia shoved me into the turnbuckle and Cena ran in with a shoulder to the gut.
I collapsed to my knees, arms draped over the second rope, chest heaving. I could hear the crowd chanting something, but it was all a blur behind the ringing in my ears. Then I heard it—faintly, above the chaos. “Thirty seconds!” Cody’s voice.
Thirty seconds until backup. I could do thirty seconds. Nia grabbed a handful of my hair. “What was that you said earlier?” she growled. I gritted my teeth. “I said… I’m hungry.”
Then I bit her hand. She yelped and shoved me back, and I used the second to drive a knee into her stomach.
Twenty seconds.
Cena tackled me again, but I twisted midair and we both crashed down into the mat. I rolled away, gasping, crawling toward the ropes.
Ten seconds.
I heard the crowd start to build again—like a wave.
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One.
BZZZZZZT.
And like a lightning bolt in human form, Cody Rhodes hit the ramp. Relief crashed into me like a wave. I managed to lift my head, seeing him sprint down the ramp like a man on a mission. Our mission. The cage door slammed open, and he was inside a heartbeat later. He didn’t charge in blindly, though—Cody was smart. He dropped to a knee next to me first, gripping my shoulder gently. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but laced with concern.
I nodded once, swallowing the metallic taste of blood. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be alright.”
He gave me the briefest ghost of a smile, then stood. “Stay low. Breathe.”
And then he was gone—charging at Cena like a bullet. The two collided mid-ring, fists flying in a blur. I started to sit up, forcing oxygen back into my lungs when—
A shadow. Instinct kicked in. I rolled to the side just as Nia’s arm came crashing down like a wrecking ball. Her forearm slammed into the turnbuckle instead of my head. She growled—low and guttural—and rounded on me with fire in her eyes “Oh, come on, I just got a second to breathe!” I wheezed, ducking under her swing and driving my boot into the back of her knee. She stumbled, but didn’t fall. Of course not.
“Stay still, you little—” she started, lunging at me.
“Language,” I grunted, using the ropes to springboard over her and deliver a sloppy but effective forearm to the side of her face. She reeled, but Cena came flying into frame next, grabbing me from behind and slinging me to the mat with a hard snap suplex. Cody was on him instantly, grabbing Cena’s ankle and dragging him off before he could follow up.
The next few minutes blurred into a chaotic, breathless dance—Nia gunning for me, Cena and Cody trading hard shots, fists echoing like thunderclaps inside the steel tomb. The crowd was roaring nonstop, surging like waves with every reversal, every slam, every scream. And then—
BZZZZZZZT.
The crowd shifted again—this time with boos, screams, and a rumble that settled in my bones like a warning tremor.
The Rock. I scrambled up to my feet, hand gripping the top rope, and saw him strolling down the ramp with the arrogance of a king who thought he’d already won the war. But he wasn’t coming empty-handed.
Steel chair.
Kendo stick.
Chains.
He pulled them from under the ring one by one, tossing them casually into the cage like he was setting the table for a feast. The chair clattered near Cena’s feet. The kendo stick slid across the mat, stopping inches from Cody. The chains landed last, snaking like silver vipers on the mat. My gut twisted.
Rock finally stepped into the cage, door slamming shut behind him with a metallic finality. He didn’t hesitate—he went straight for the chains. His eyes flicked toward Cody, who was too focused on Cena to see the danger coming. “Cody!” I tried to yell, but my voice barely carried over the roar of the crowd.
Move, damn it!
Rock raised the chain high, coiled around his fist like a weapon of war. His smirk was venomous. “Lights out, prince,” he muttered. I didn’t think. I just moved.
Nia tried to intercept me with a clothesline, but I ducked, sliding under her arm and sprinting full-tilt across the ring. I launched myself between the ropes of the two rings and threw my arms up just as Rock brought the chain down.
CRACK!
White-hot pain exploded through my forearms as metal struck skin and bone. I cried out, my legs buckling as the force of the blow sent me crashing to my knees. But Cody was untouched. He turned then, eyes wide as he caught what had just happened. “Angel—!”
“I’m fine,” I panted, voice shaking but defiant, arms already bruising. Rock’s expression darkened. He laughed. That low, arrogant, condescending laugh that made my skin crawl. He didn’t even look impressed—just amused, like I was a joke barely worth the punchline. His eyes dragged over me with that same smirk he always wore when he thought he was in control.
“You’re just as dumb as your brothers,” he said, voice smooth like poisoned silk. “Maybe even dumber. At least they knew when to stay down.”
My blood went cold. Not from fear—but rage. I forced myself up straighter, even though my arms were still trembling from the blow. Pain was just noise now—background static I could tune out. My eyes locked with his, and I felt my lip curl. “Maybe,” I growled. “But I’m twice as stubborn. And I don’t stay down. You should’ve figured that out by now.”
His smirk twitched. Just a little. My forearms were on fire. Every nerve screamed, every muscle trembled, but I didn’t stop. The second The Rock’s smug face turned away from me, I surged forward with everything I had left. My boots slammed against the mat as I sprinted, and then—like a damn missile—I speared him. Full force. My shoulder rammed into his gut and the impact shook my entire spine. But it worked. The Rock hit the mat with a grunt, air whooshing out of him. “HAH!” I barked, breathless but giddy. “Not so smug now, huh, Hollywood?
I staggered to my feet, still dizzy from pain, just as Cody and Cena locked up again. Cody glanced at me mid-strike—his eyes checking me like radar before focusing back in. That was us. Always watching each other’s backs. Always knowing the other was still breathing. “Nice tackle,” Cody called out, ducking a wild right from Cena.
“Thought I’d give him a little taste of gridiron justice,” I panted, gritting my teeth as I looked around. My eyes locked on the chains The Rock had dropped. I dove for them, grabbing the cold metal just in time—
CLANG!
Nia’s forearm smashed into the length of chain I’d barely lifted. The vibration rattled through my already battered arms, but it stopped her. She stumbled back, blinking like she couldn’t quite believe I’d blocked her. “Oh, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that,” I muttered, forcing myself upright, feet planted. I spun, yanking the chains and cracking them across her chest with a whip-like SNAP. Nia howled and staggered, arms instinctively shielding her torso.
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Sorry, sweetheart. No refunds.”
It should’ve bought me time. Should’ve given me a second to breathe, to check on Cody—maybe even shout a dumb joke his way just to break the tension. That’s what we did. Even in chaos. But no.
The Rock got up. Big hands grabbed me like I weighed nothing, and the next thing I knew, I was airborne. My body slammed to the mat hard enough to rattle my teeth. Pain bloomed across my back and ribs like a damn wildfire. I laid there, blinking stars out of my vision, the arena tilting and spinning around me. I couldn’t move—not yet. My limbs weren’t listening.
I heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate. I craned my neck, heart sinking.
The Rock. He was walking toward me, steel chair now in hand, dragging it behind him with that god-awful screech of metal on canvas. His expression was calm. Cold. Cruel. My stomach flipped. Then I heard it. A voice that cut through everything
“ANGEL!”
Cody. My head turned just in time to see him sprint across the ring. He launched off his back foot like he was taking flight and hit The Rock with a Cody Cutter so fast it was a blur. Steel clanged as the chair flew out of Rock’s hand and clattered to the mat beside me. He was down. Cody landed with a thud and rolled to his feet, chest heaving, face flushed with effort. “Damn good timing,” I coughed, grinning weakly at him from the floor. Cody reached down with one hand, helping haul me up.
“You ever not cause chaos?” he huffed, smirking as he held me steady for a second.
“You love it,” I said, squeezing his hand once before pulling away, getting my footing back.
He shot me a look—part fond, part exasperated. “You okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m still standing.”
“Then we’re good.” He nodded, turning back toward Cena just as—
BZZZZZZZT.
The buzzer blared and the crowd erupted again. I barely had time to register the sound before Randy Orton stormed into the ring like a man possessed, going straight for Cena without hesitation.
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and then Add to home screen.