Raw 7/28/25
The lights of the arena were hot above us, blinding in places, but I was used to that now. I stood in the ring next to Jey, microphone in hand, the buzz of the crowd swelling around us like a living heartbeat. Jey’s energy was electric beside me—tense but controlled, the kind of simmering storm I’d grown to recognize. We’d been through enough together for me to know when he was holding something in, keeping his fists at his sides when every part of him wanted to swing. And across from us stood Paul Heyman. That weasel. That manipulative, calculated, soft-spoken snake who could dress poison up like poetry. And right now, he was spitting it directly at Jey.
“Did your father tell you that he wanted you to be more iconic than he ever was? Is that what your father, Rikishi, told you? He doesn't want that, your father lied to you too. Tell me this, when Roman Reigns named next in line for tribal chief, he didn't pick you, did he? He picked Solo. And how did that work out for your family, huh? And now, now, does he tell you, you know you would have been a better choice as tribal chief, right? Does he tell you now he wants you to be as rich and as famous and as big as he is, because if Roman Reigns told that to you…” Paul’s voice dipped to a syrupy sweetness. “Roman Reigns lied to you too.”
“I want you to know I'm not saying this out of anger… out of malice.” Paul placed a hand over his heart. “I’m saying this because, Jey Uso… I love you.”
He smiled that smug little smile. “I love you. Jey Uso, you know… just like family. YEEEEET!”
The crowd exploded in boos. And then the chant started: “BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!”
Man, I loved the WWE Universe. I raised my mic, letting the noise thunder for a moment before I spoke. “My turn,” I said, and my voice sliced through the jeers like a blade. “They see you, Paul. The Universe sees through you.” I gestured to the crowd. “That chant? That’s not just noise. That’s truth. Because every time you lie with that calm little voice of yours, they hear it. We all do.”
I turned fully toward him now, standing tall. “You talk a lot about family—but you only ever meant it when it served you. Jey? He’s family to you when it keeps you relevant. You say you love him, but all I hear is manipulation dressed up in sympathy.”
I stepped back, letting the words sink in. Jey raised his mic, fire in his eyes. “You know what family is, why I'm here, yeah and Imma tell you one more time, OG, keep running your mouth about my family, because, you know, I'll play by mine. Here I go. OG you know me, I will push, I will pull up for my family every single time. ‘ey, cause that's just me uce and guess what that bloodline is still runnin’ deep in my veins, uce.”
The cheers were deafening. I caught Jey’s eye for just a second, and gave him a slight nod.
You got this, uce.
I raised my mic again, voice calm but razor-sharp. “You think you know what family is, Paul?”
The crowd quieted, hanging on the edge. “You manipulate people by calling it love. You break them down, tell them they aren’t enough unless they bow down to someone else’s throne.”
I turned to Jey, letting them all see it—how much I respected this man. “But Jey? Jey never needed a crown to prove he was royalty. He earned everything he’s got because he never stopped fighting for the people he loves.”
I stepped closer to Heyman now. “You wanna talk about family? Blood family ain’t the only kind that matters. He’s got real ones standing beside him now.”
I gestured between me and Jey. “People like me.”
And then I added, for the final hit—
“People like Cody.”
The crowd exploded again at the mention of Cody’s name.
“You can keep your lies and your bloodline manipulation. We’ve got something stronger than that. Loyalty. Trust. Love that ain’t conditional.”
And then I leaned into the ropes, eyes locked on Heyman. “I’d trust Jey Uso with my life before I’d ever trust one more fake ‘YEET’ from your mouth.”
A murmur of “Damn” spread through the crowd. Paul shifted uneasily, his confidence thinning around the edges. “You say you love Jey?” I finished, my voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “Then stop trying to break him into pieces and call it guidance.”
I looked to Jey again, and for a moment, everything else faded—the cameras, the lights, the crowd. He wasn’t just a teammate. He wasn’t just a friend. He was family. I raised my mic one final time. “We’re not your puppets. And Jey Uso? He’s more than your story. He’s writing his own.”
Later that evening-
I stood just behind the curtain, fists clenched at my sides, watching the monitor with every nerve in my body wired and tense. Jey Uso was out there, holding his own like the warrior he always was, trading shots with Bronson Reed. The crowd in Detroit was on fire for him—each hit, each dodge, each dive had them screaming. Michael Cole’s voice crackled in my earpiece.
"A former world champion—Jey Uso—with a suicide dive! Takes out Bronson Reed!"
I couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Let’s go, Jey,” I whispered to myself. He was in it. Focused. Locked in. That was the Jey I knew. That was Main Event Jey Uso. But the second I saw Braun Breakker charging down the ramp like a damn freight train, my heart dropped into my stomach. No. The impact of Breakker’s spear echoed in the arena—and through my chest. The bell rang, disqualifying the match, but that wasn’t the point. This wasn’t about wins or losses. This was about pain. “This isn’t about wins,” Cole was shouting, panic rising in his voice. “This is about damage before SummerSlam!”
Braun and Reed pounced, swarming Jey like wolves. I watched every second of it from backstage, teeth grinding, heart hammering. I could hear Heyman laughing ringside like this was all some twisted game. But then—
Roman’s music hit. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the monitor. Roman was out there in a flash, fists flying, taking the fight to Breakker with that cold fire in his eyes. But even Roman—Roman—couldn’t turn the tide alone. Reed caught him from behind, and the numbers game shifted hard. “This had to be the plan,” Wade Barrett muttered. “Breakker and Reed, softening up Roman and Jey five nights before SummerSlam.”
I saw the moment Breakker speared Roman a second time—saw him fold like a piece of paper—and I’d had enough. The lights flickered. The audience roared as my music hit: “Heart of Fire” by Black Veil Brides. I’d changed it after that dream visit I had from WWE Legends. I stepped out into the arena like a storm had just walked in. My wings unfolded behind me, glowing silver and shadow under the lights, and I felt that familiar pulse of purpose settle into my chest. I wasn’t here for a show. I was here to end this.
Breakker stood at the edge of the ring, all cocky grin and smug posture. "The so-called Guardian Angel,” he sneered. “Come to save the day?"
I tilted my head, just slightly, and let my voice burn with the fire crawling through my veins. "No. I came to burn it down."
I climbed into the ring, slow and steady, never breaking eye contact. "You think you're impressive because you jumped two men after a war? Try me one-on-one, coward."
Reed charged at me first. Predictable. I ducked, spun, and slammed my boot into the back of his knee. He stumbled—good. I followed with a sharp crescent kick that cracked across his face and sent him reeling into the corner. Breakker was right behind him, charging like a bull. I ducked again and used his own momentum to flip him with a flying lariat. He crashed to the mat and rolled out of the ring, staggering. The crowd exploded.
I turned—eyes locked on Jey. He was trying to get up, one hand on his ribs, the other gripping the rope. His face was twisted in pain, but he was still breathing. Still fighting. I crossed the ring fast and dropped to one knee beside him. "You're not done yet, Main Event,” I murmured, sliding my arm under his to help him stand. “Not on my watch."
He winced but grabbed my forearm tight, pulling himself up with a grit only he had.49Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYZcMviKFmG
"You always show up when it counts,” he muttered, voice raw. “You’re a damn machine, girl. Thank you."
I gave him a crooked smile. “Somebody’s gotta keep your reckless ass alive, right?”
He chuckled through the pain. That sound—weak but real—hit me harder than any roar of the crowd ever could. That’s when I saw Roman. He was crawling toward the ropes, blood trailing from his lip, a slow fire building behind his eyes. Our gazes met, and for a long beat, the world shrank to just the two of us. "Didn’t think you still gave a damn,” he said, voice low and rough. I hesitated for half a second. The truth was complicated. Always had been.
"I don’t," I said, walking over and holding out my hand. “But I won’t let monsters take over this place. Not while I’m still standing.”
He studied me like he was trying to find the lie. Then, slowly, he grabbed my hand. I hauled him to his feet, and just like that, the three of us—me, Roman, Jey—stood shoulder to shoulder. Breakker and Reed were backing up the ramp, furious. They’d won tonight in body count, but they hadn’t broken us. Not completely. Not yet. I took one step toward them and raised my voice. “You want to break legends?” I called. “Come for me next. I dare you.”
Breakker pointed a furious finger back at me. “You just put yourself in our crosshairs!”
I smirked. “Good. I never miss when I shoot back.”
The arena roared as the lights shifted and music swelled, but I didn’t move. Roman and I exchanged a slow, tense nod. Truce, maybe. Or understanding. Jey clutched his ribs, eyes squinting through the pain, and raised his fist. And me? I raised mine right back. Let ‘em come. I wasn’t afraid. Not tonight. Not ever.
Smackdown 8/1/25
The crowd was deafening as I followed Cody down the ramp, every spotlight trained on us. I stayed a half-step behind him, not because I was uncertain—but because I needed to watch. Every move, every twitch in his jaw or flick of his fingers. Cody might’ve been walking tall, head held high, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He was bracing himself for something big.
When we slid into the ring, the atmosphere shifted. John Cena was already standing in the center, mic in hand, his expression unreadable. I crossed my arms, leaning against the ropes just behind Cody. My gaze stayed locked on Cena. I didn’t trust easily—and after the chaos of the last few months, I sure as hell didn’t trust him yet. Then he started to speak.
“Cody Rhodes, I told you that I was exhausted. And that a match at SummerSlam would be too difficult for me.”
I blinked, chest tightening. The crowd simmered, hanging onto his words.
“You didn’t listen. You assaulted me. You forged my signature. And you forced me into one of the most dangerous matches in WWE on one of its grandest stages for its biggest championship.”
I narrowed my eyes, ready to jump in. My fingers twitched at my sides. I knew Cody—he wouldn’t have done that unless he had no other choice. Unless Cena needed a wake-up call. But Cena held up his hand slightly, like he wasn’t finished yet. And then his tone shifted.
“I only got one thing left to say to you. Thank you.”
Wait—what?
“Cuz that was just the boot in the ass that I needed. For 25 years, day in and day out, I have forged a reputation off of hard work, honesty, and respect.”
I tilted my head, studying his face. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t performing. He was being… real?
“And I now realize that five months ago, I flushed it all down the toilet, chasing false glory when I bought into somebody’s crazy idea to make shocking TV. And we did. We shocked the world, we made great TV, but then the dust settles. And then everybody goes back to their normal lives and the people that were supposed to be on my team, they left. And they left me alone, trying to pretend to be something I’m not.”
There it was—truth. Raw and exposed. I eased a bit, arms loosening at my sides. I wasn’t sure if I was buying everything he was selling, but damn if he wasn’t starting to sound like the Cena I grew up watching.
“I want to leave here with this. After my last match, I wanna take this home with me. But it’s not because I wanna ruin wrestling. Jeez, you guys know I don’t wanna ruin wrestling, I love wrestling.”
His voice cracked, just slightly. I swallowed hard.
“I wanna take this home with me, so after I’m gone, you guys don’t forget about me. I was so hung up on how you might see me tomorrow, that I forgot to realize how stupid I am acting today. And y’all tried to tell me, over and over again you tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. Cody, you tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen.”
He turned to Cody now, and I could feel the air shift again. This part was personal.
“But you did what a good friend should do. You forced me to face it. You forced me into a fight. Not a match, a fight. Something that’s gonna be brutal, something that is gonna force me to dig down and be who I really am. Something that if I don’t show up for war, I shouldn’t show up at all.”
I felt my heart pound against my ribcage. Damn. He was really doing it—owning up to everything.
“Mark your calendar, Cody. August 1st, 2025, Newark, New Jersey—the day that John Cena came back to the WWE.”
The crowd erupted. My hands clenched, but this time not out of defense. This time it was adrenaline.
“You hear that? I don’t know who leaves with this on Sunday, but I do know who wins. Each and every one of you. Because I’m finally over my own BS and at long last, we get to see Cody Rhodes face off against the greatest of all time at my best. With something to prove in a main event street fight with no rules that you wanted. Well, if you want some…”
Cena stepped forward, his voice rising, and instinctively, I stepped forward too—like I could feel the electricity crackling in the ring.
“Come get some! And on Sunday, the only platinum rapper showing up to whip your ass is me. The champ is here.”
I breathed out a low whistle. Damn. Cody turned toward him, shaking his head with a grin, and grabbed two beers from the edge of the ring. He offered one to Cena, and the two of them toasted like warriors who finally understood one another. I watched them closely, still a little wary. There was a sliver of doubt curled in the pit of my stomach, but… Cena’s eyes didn’t lie. Not tonight.
I crossed my arms again, but the tension had drained from my shoulders. I wasn’t letting my guard down fully—but maybe, just maybe, John Cena was really back. And if he was? Then Sunday night… was gonna be a war worth watching.49Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8br0howb3E
and then Add to home screen.