This was written by me, a small section by a Chris Snider, on a Facebook group called the WWE Alternate Universe where whatever and whoever can happen. If you're not into wrestling, this really won't be your cup of tea!
This takes place AFTER a 74 Person Royal Rumble where you voted out people. The eventual winner was Bret The Hitman Hart, but several BIG names were not chosen by people and so missed out. This story takes up events that follow on from there...
WWE ALT-Parallel President Jack Tunney jumped at the barking of his name, to see C.M Punk resting on the wall beside his office.
“Got a minute?” Punk smiled.
“Actually, I wa…”
“Great!” Punk threw an arm over his shoulder making the older man a tad uncomfortable. “Seventy-four men, women, and corpses are chosen for the Greatest Alternate Royal Rumble.”
“Yes…” Tunney replied cautiously.
“Time, space, age, and talent not even considered.”
“Uh huh,” Jack was unsure where the Best Wrestler In The World was heading with his questions.
“Did you lose my invite?” Punk asked directly.
“No, it was just that…”
“A word if you will Mr Tunney,” the shrill interrupting sound of Paul Heyman echoed down the corridor. “My client, BrrrrrOck Lesnar, would like to know WHY, Oh, why was he not entered into the Royal Rumble? As you well know, Mr Tunney, my client could CLEAR the entire locker room BY. HIM. SELF!”
“I was just coming to see you, Paul.” Jack stammered.
Punk tightened his hug on the President. “We haven’t finished, Jackie boy.”
“Move it Punk!” Lesnar growled as he joined the conversation. Punk eased his arm off Jack and stepped towards the Beast Incarnate who took up much of the corridor.
“Really?” Punk stared back defiantly. Heyman smugly watched the pair invade the others personal space.
“Gentlemen, we’ll settle any disputes in the ring.” Tunney said as he stepped between.
“The ring. Here. The carpark. Doesn’t matter.” Punk said.
Brock sneered sarcastically before exploding in a rage on the Straight Edge Superstar. Knees, elbows, general manhandling before picking up C.M Punk and F-5ing him in the corridor with a sick thud. Brock looked down at the prone superstar.
“You’re right Phillip, you don’t matter.” Brock sniggered.
Paul Heyman patted Brock on the shoulder as they headed further backstage after dealing with C.M Punk. Paul paused, pulling his phone from his pocket. Brock looked at him quizzically, Heyman shrugging ‘I don’t know’. “Hello?”
“Yes, this is Paul Heyman. Who is this?”
“This is Damien Sandow.”
“Okay. Can I help you with something?” Brock grunted, Paul waved him away and the Beast Incarnate left his manager to attend the call. “I’ll deal with this. Sorry, who are you?”
“I am Damien Sandown, you boorish braggard. I am calling to ask you a question regarding your client. I know he has a reduced cranium capacity, but does he know what the collective noun for a group of tigers is?”
Heyman looked around. “Are you the host of Jeopardy? I don’t have time for these childish games.”
“Oh, this isn’t a game Paul. Now to my question, the collective noun for a group of tigers?”
“Is it a roar? Or a scratch? I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care!”
“You should Paul. It’s called…an ambush.”
Paul Heyman paused as four figures surrounded him. “I’d advise against this cours…”
“Without you, the Beast Incarnate is simply a toothless tiger,” Sandow laughed down the line. “Goodbye Paul.”
Heyman squealed as the quartet pounded him to the ground.
Out in the WWEAP arena, the familiar sound of maracas began, and John Cena's music hits and he makes his way to the ring.
“Let's get this party started!” John roared over the crowd and slid into the ring. “Well, hello Alternate Parallel Universe!”
The crowd responded in their trademark chant of ‘Let's Go Cena! Cena Sucks! Let's Go Cena! Cena Sucks!’. John smiled broadly and let them go for a bit before going on. “I love that things never change! I have a question for everyone. In a Royal Rumble that has seventy-four participants. Ranging from classics like Ted Dibiase, Ricky The Dragon Steamboat, and Randy Savage. To underdogs like James Ellsworth, Gillberg, to freaking Drew Gulak! How is one of those participants not John Cena? How is that possible?”
The crowd cheered appreciatively.
“I’m not one to brag, but I am a 15-time World Champion! I wasn't even invited to commentate! I have worked my ASS off going from a white rapper of thugonomics with ruthless aggression to what you see standing in the ring before you. I am the best WWE has to offer. I am the CHAMP. And the CHAMP IS HERE! So I’d like WWEAP President Jack Tunney to march on down here and tell me, and you, WHY, I wasn’t invited to the Royal Rumb…”
Cena’s rant was interrupted by the theme tune of Randy Orton. Like the Viper he was, Randy slowly came out onto the platform, the crowd erupting with delight. Without ever looking away he entered the ring to speak to Cena.
“You know, John, it amazes me how night after night, year after year, you can come out and spew the same…bullcrap!”
The crowd laughed, and Cena couldn’t help but smile.
“I wasn’t in that Royal Rumble either. It p!$$^d me off, but do you see me out here bitching about it? No.” Randy looked at his long-time rival. “I’d like an explanation too, but it won’t change anything. I wasn’t in it. You weren’t in it. And speaking of you…?”
With lightning like reflexes Randy launched and struck his trademark RKO on the leader of the Cenation, knocking him down and out.
“My actions speak louder than your words.”
The crowd was on their feet; placards waving, cell phones a-clicking when the arena was filled with the sounds Mozart’s Coronation Mass, much to the confusion of the crowd and the ire of Randy Orton who wasn’t expecting an interruption. Striding out onto the platform was Damien Sandow, leading Matt Striker, David Otunga and Irwin A Schyster.
“Randall. Randall. Randall.” Damien jeered. “Hitting people when they’re not ready is a coward’s way to fight.”
“What did you call me?” Orton yelled back as the crowd hissed at the Intellectual Saviour of the Masses.
“For all those Neanderthals and cretins, I am Damien Sandow. I am your better.” He paused as they crowd responded to his insulting jibe. “I have formed an Intelligent Quorum with these other clever members of the WWE Alternate Parallel Universe. Now because many of you just don’t understand, and I don’t want to hurt your minds, you may call us simply I.Q.”
Damien pointed to each of his team. “We have brilliant teacher Matt Striker. Lawyer extraordinaire David Otunga. Numbers wizard Irwin A Schyster. We are better than you. Smarter than you. And your superiors in every way!”
The crowd booed. Randy shook his head in disbelief.
“If everyone would care to look up at the screen,” Matt Striker said. “And you’ll see something quite interesting.”
Up on the giant screen was a team of medics and WWEAP personnel attending Paul Heyman when Brock Lesnar stormed onto the scene.
“What the hell is going on here?” Brock demanded.
“We found him like this,” said the medic. “Looks like he was taking a call wh…”
Brock snatched the phone away and pressed redial. The phone rang, and then rang through the arena. Randy Orton reached into his vest tentatively to pull out his cell phone.
“We cloned your number,” laughed David Otunga. “Which now puts you on a collision course with…”
“Brock?” Randy said as he answered the call looking at the screen.
“You’re a dead man Orton!” Brock roared before crushing the phone in his hand and storming for the ring. The members of I.Q gave a wide berth as the Beast’s music hit and Randy readied himself for an assault.
“…alling him out and everything! It’s a hardcore title and I want my shot!” Hardcore Holly ranted into the microphone as Renee Young nodded along. “What’s the matter Mick? You scared?”
Lesnar grabbed Holly by the waist and sent him to Suplex City, then continued his path to the ring; Renee standing shocked and stunned at the sheer power displayed.
The crowd roared as Lesnar exploded from the back and charged the ring; I.Q applauding him as he barrelled towards the Viper. Brock slid in and Randy pummelled him but there was no stopping the angry Beast who flipped him over his head, Randy landing flat on his back. Brock roared only to have John Cena spin him around and crack him to the head with a thumping fist. Lesnar replied in kind, and the pair traded blows before Brock lifted the knee and crunching Cena’s midsection. He went to flip Cena, when Randy went low and took out Lesnar’s knees from behind sending the pair to the canvas. They rolled about punching and wrestling each other before they each scrambled to their feet and the trio eyed each other off. Lesnar went for Orton when John Cena stepped in and picked the Beast up over his shoulders. Brock elbowed his way out only to be hit by an RKO out of nowhere. Cena launched onto Orton to give him an STFU. The crowd went nuts.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” yelled WWEAP President Jack Tunney as he ventured out. “BREAK IT UP NOW!”
I.Q stood there smiling like the cat's who'd got the cream.
“This is unacceptable! And unprofessional! You three superstars seem to think I owed you a place in the Seventy-Four Person Rumble. Well to settle this, you are going to have a match RIGHT NOW! A FATAL FOUR WAY! John Cena! Versus Randy Orton! Versus Brock Lesnar! Versus…”
CM Punk’s music blared and out walked a very angry Straight Edge superstar glaring at Brock Lesnar.
“C! M! PUNK!” Jack then turned to I.Q. “And I’ll see you four in my office!”
Jack turned down the volume on the monitor as the Fatal Fourway kicked off in the arena and looked at the four men in his office. “I.Q?”
Damien Sandow smiled. “That is correct.”
“I see what you’re doing Damien, I’m not stupid!”
David Otunga went to interject but Irwin A Schyster warned him off.
“I don’t know what you mean?” Sandow replied feigning innocence. “I have simply joined with some like-minded individuals to form an alliance for our mutual interests. Is there anything wrong with that?”
Tunney pushes his glasses up. “No, no there isn’t. But...”
“If there isn’t anything wrong,” Damien continued. “Then why are we here in your office?”
Tunney exhaled. “You’re manipulative and you know it Sandow! You think you’re smarter than everyone, well let’s put your brains and your bodies to a test. You four, I.Q, will be in an 8 Man Elimination Tag Match! Get yourselves ringside and once the Fatal Fourway is done I’ll have your brains go up against some brawn!”
Sandow scowled and looked at his team of geniuses. “Very well. But on one condition.”
“And that is?”
I.Q quickly convened, talked amongst themselves and then turned back to the WWEAP President. “Your team comes from those who competed in the 74 Person Rumble.”
Tunney studied them carefully, but they had excellent poker faces and gave away nothing. “It’s a deal.”
The Intelligent Quorum left the office and Jack pressed the intercom. “Elizabeth, please get me Macho Man Randy Savage, Finn Balor, Demolition Ax, and The Yeti! They’re up against I.Q later tonight. Thank you.”
“Kurt Angle and The Undertaker are waiting to see you, Mr Tunney. Something about being left out of the Rumble.”
Tunney groaned. “Send them in.”
The Fatal Fourway was a brutal and furious affair. Cena, Orton and Punk knew Lesnar was the most dangerous and they teamed up to deal with the Beast. But in a Fatal Fourway there are no real friends, the alliance broke down quickly with John hitting Randy with an Attitude Adjustment then Punk sliding in to crack Cena with the Go To Sleep. The three-count landed just as Brock Lesnar grabbed Punk’s leg and dragged him out of the ring.
Even though the match was over, the fighting continued with two dozen security guards charging the ring to attempt to restore order and allow the next match to continue.
The second Fatal Fourway was between Hardcore Holly, D-Lo Brown, Gangrel and The Godfather. The crowd loved the old school throwback match to the Attitude Era. The match started slow but soon thundered along until Hardcore Holly, who despite being earlier suplexed by the aangry Brock Lesnar, stood victorious. Holly took to the microphone to again call out Cactus Jack, the current holder of the Hardcore belt.
“I’m waiting Jack!” Holly roared. “It’s a hardcore belt and I’m Hardcore Holly! It belongs around MY waist. I get my shot!”
WWEAP President Jack Tunney looked at all the bookings on his desk. It had been a tumultuous and trying week since last week's events. Tonight had a 6-Pack Challenge between Brock Lesnar, John Cena, The Undertaker, Randy Orton, C.M Punk and Kurt Angle; all men left out of the Rumble. The last two left in this match would go on to headline the upcoming Money In The Bank. Chris Jericho, the current WWEAP champ would face Rumble winner Bret Hart in a Two-Out-Of Three Falls match. Al Snow had stomped into his office demanding a rematch with Cactus Jack.
"Elizabeth?" Jack asked into the intercom. "Who is going on first? I can't find it."
"Harlem Heat versus The Bar, Mr Tunney," came her reply. "Do you have the run sheet?"
"I seem to find it," Jack complained.
"Tag team match up first. Then the Four Way Spear Match between Goldberg, Bobby Lashley, Rhyno and Edge. Trish Stratus is taking on Asuka. This is followed by Owen Hart taking on Chris Benoit. Then it's Jericho versus Bret Hart, then the 6-Pack Challenge to close out the night."
"Hmmm," Jack rubbed his chin. "I have Dean Ambrose and Eddie Guerrero booked tonight too."
"You can slot them in after the tag match sir," Elizabeth said. "Also Mr Perfect is here asking about who is opponent will be for Money In The Bank."
"I had that written somewhere..." Jack shuffled the papers. "Tell Mr Perfect I'll let him know by the end of tonight."
"Yes Mr Tunney."
Jack paused. He felt uncomfortable, uneasy and he looked around the room to see a tall dark man in frightening white makeup standing in the corner. Tunney jumped back in terror. "STING!"
The dark one unsheathed a baseball bat and slowly glided forward. "I want Cactus Jack," he hissed.
"Okay, okay, I'll see what I can..."
The bat slammed down on the desk sending papers and pencils everywhere. "I wasn't asking."
And like that he was gone leaving the WWEAP President quite rattled.
The end for now...