January 5th, 2026
Opening Match: Intercontinental Championship
Chad Gable (c) vs. “Main Event” Jey Uso
🔥 The camera pans across the sold-out arena as the final burst of pyro fades. The crowd is already standing.
Joe Tessitore:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monday Night Raw—and what a way to start our first Raw of the new year! The Intercontinental Championship kicks things off tonight, and the champion is walking into this fight already wounded.”
Chad Gable steps through the curtain, Intercontinental Title strapped tightly around his waist. His ribs are taped. His shoulder wrapped. He pauses on the stage, breathing deeply, knowing full well the toll that this past Friday on Smackdown took when Braun Strowman ripped the United States Championship from him.
Wade Barrett:
“Joe, you don’t recover from a beating like that in three days. Chad Gable is a world-class athlete, but tonight he’s defending his title with half a tank.”
Gable slides into the ring, raises the title—but there’s no smile. Just resolve.
Then—
“IT’S JUST ME, UCE!”
The crowd detonates.
Jey Uso storms out, jaw set, eyes locked straight ahead. No theatrics. No wasted movement. He slaps hands, nods once to the camera, then climbs the steel steps and steps into the ring, never breaking eye contact with the champion.
Tessitore:
“This is a different Jey Uso. Focused. Dangerous.”
Barrett:
“This is Main Event Jey Uso, and that Intercontinental Championship is the last piece he needs to prove it.”
🔔 Bell rings.
Gable immediately shoots for the legs—textbook wrestling—but Jey sprawls, shoves him off, and fires a stiff right hand that snaps Gable’s head back. Jey follows with a second, then a third, backing Gable into the corner.
Barrett:
“Smart strategy—straight to the body. Those ribs are a target, Joe.”
Jey drives a shoulder into Gable’s midsection. Gable grimaces, but counters with a sudden snap German suplex that sends Jey skidding across the mat. The crowd pops as Gable bridges into another German, rolling through—
But when he tries for a third, he hesitates. Pain flashes across his face.
Tessitore:
“You saw it. Just a split second—and that’s all it takes.”
Jey spins and lands a superkick flush on the jaw.
Cover!
ONE!
TWO!
Gable kicks out!
Jey stays aggressive, hauling Gable up and planting him with a powerslam. He heads to the top rope, crowd buzzing—but Gable rolls out to the floor, clutching his ribs.
Jey pursues, but Gable pulls him shoulder-first into the ring post with veteran instinct.
Barrett:
“That’s survival. Not pretty, but effective.”
Back in the ring, Gable locks in an ankle lock, grapevining the leg. Jey screams, clawing toward the ropes as Gable grimaces, his own body betraying him as much as his opponent’s.
Tessitore:
“The pain goes both ways here!”
Jey reaches the ropes. The referee forces the break.
Both men rise—and Jey explodes with an enziguri that drops Gable cold.
The crowd builds as both men lie motionless.
They rise slowly, trading forearms in the center of the ring. Gable lands one. Jey answers with two. A headbutt rocks the champion.
SUPERKICK.
Gable staggers into the ropes.
Jey hits the opposite side—
SPEAR!
Cover!
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
Barrett:
“How?! How is Chad Gable still in this fight?!”
Jey backs into the corner, eyes burning. He climbs the turnbuckle, steadying himself.
USO SPLASH—
Gable rolls away!
Jey crashes hard. Gable digs deep, deadlifting Jey into a German suplex. Another. The crowd is electric as Gable attempts Chaos Theory—
But his ribs fail him.
Jey lands on his feet.
SUPERKICK!
Gable drops to his knees.
Jey rebounds off the ropes—
SPEAR!!!
Without hesitation, Jey rolls through and climbs the turnbuckle one last time.
USO SPLASH—PERFECT!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
🎉 NEW INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION: JEY USO! 🎉
The arena explodes.
Jey Uso sits in the ring, breathing heavily, staring at the championship as it’s handed to him. He presses the title to his forehead, emotion pouring out.
Tessitore:
“Main Event Jey Uso has arrived.”
Barrett:
“This is career-defining. No Bloodline. No safety net. Just Jey Uso proving he belongs.”
Chad Gable pulls himself up in the corner, watching. Exhausted. Broken. A mighty fall from where he was not too long ago when Doc Brown was by his side.
Jey stands on the turnbuckle, Intercontinental Title held high as the crowd chants—
“UCE! UCE! UCE!”
Raw is off to an unforgettable start.
Backstage
The camera cuts backstage just minutes after the opening match of Monday Night Raw.
The sound of the crowd is still bleeding through the walls—“UCE! UCE! UCE!” echoing faintly in the background.
Seth Rollins stands near a production crate, World Heavyweight Championship slung confidently over his shoulder. He’s watching a monitor replay the final moments of the opening match—Jey Uso’s Uso Splash, the three-count, the eruption.
Seth tilts his head, impressed.
Joe Tessitore (voice-over):
“An incredible way to open Monday Night Raw—Jey Uso is the new Intercontinental Champion.”
Seth lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.
Seth Rollins:
“That’s how you start a show.”
He turns toward the camera, energy crackling, but there’s a sharp edge of seriousness underneath.
Seth Rollins:
“First bell of the night, and the entire building is already on its feet. That’s what happens when someone steps up and claims their moment.”
He adjusts the title on his shoulder, tapping the gold with his fingers.
Seth Rollins:
“Jey Uso didn’t close the show… he set the tone. And that right there? That’s dangerous.”
Seth leans closer, lowering his voice.
Seth Rollins:
“Because momentum doesn’t care where it starts—it just keeps rolling.”
Suddenly, the mood shifts.
The camera subtly reframes.
GUNTHER walks into view.
No music. No rush. Just presence.
He stops.
Seth notices him instantly.
The two men lock eyes.
The crowd noise seems to fade, replaced by tension so thick it feels physical.
Wade Barrett (voice-over):
“Oh my…”
Gunther’s eyes flick down—directly to the World Heavyweight Championship. Then back up to Seth’s face.
No words.
No expression.
Just cold, absolute intent.
Seth slowly turns his body fully toward Gunther, posture relaxed… but alert.
A grin creeps across his face.
Seth Rollins:
“Ahhh…”
He gestures to the title on his shoulder.
Seth Rollins:
“You see it too, huh?”
Gunther doesn’t respond. He steps closer—close enough that there’s no mistaking the message.
Joe Tessitore (voice-over):
“Gunther hasn’t talked much during his time in WWE… but he’s saying plenty right now.”
Seth straightens the championship, standing tall.
Seth Rollins:
“Jey Uso lit the fuse tonight.”
Seth Rollins:
“But this? This burns slow.”
Gunther holds the stare for another long, uncomfortable moment… then walks past Seth without another glance.
Seth watches him go, the grin gone now—replaced with something more focused.
More serious.
Wade Barrett (voice-over):
“That wasn’t coincidence. That was a message.”
The camera lingers on Seth Rollins, eyes narrowed, World Heavyweight Championship gleaming under the lights.
The tone of Raw has officially shifted—and it’s only the beginning.
ad break: “Hit and Spear” Podcast
The familiar, slightly overproduced intro music plays.
Bill Goldberg:
“Alright, we’re back. This is Hit and Spear—”
Bret Hart:
“Still hate the name.”
Goldberg:
“—and before you complain any more, let me introduce today’s guest. The Women’s World Heavyweight Champion… Rhea Ripley.”
Rhea appears on the screen, championship resting on her shoulder, posture relaxed, confidence effortless.
Rhea Ripley:
“Wow. I’ve walked into hostile locker rooms before, but this feels different.”
Bret Hart:
“That’s because he talks too much.”
Goldberg:
“That’s because you never talk enough.”
Awkward silence.
Rhea smirks.
Goldberg:
“Alright—Royal Rumble’s coming up. Chaos, opportunity, careers changing overnight. How are you feeling heading into it?”
Rhea doesn’t blink.
Rhea Ripley:
“Confident.”
Bret Hart:
“No nerves at all?”
Rhea Ripley:
“I’m the Women’s World Champion. The Rumble doesn’t scare me—it reminds everyone who’s already on top.”
Goldberg nods approvingly.
Goldberg:
“Let’s talk about The Judgment Day. Looks like things have shifted.”
Rhea leans back slightly.
Rhea Ripley:
“The Judgment Day is no more.”
Both hosts react.
Goldberg:
“Wow.”
Bret Hart:
“End of an era.”
Rhea Ripley:
“Damian Priest is on SmackDown. Dom and JD want to focus on the World Tag Team Championships—and they should.”
She lifts the title slightly.
Rhea Ripley:
“It came down to one thing. Only one person can be at the top.”
A pause.
Rhea Ripley:
“And Mami is always on top.”
Goldberg chuckles.
Goldberg:
“I like that because it sounds dirty but it is really meant to be dangerous.”
Bret studies her carefully.
Bret Hart:
“Confidence is one thing. Pressure is another.”
Rhea Ripley:
“Pressure breaks people who aren’t built for it.”
Goldberg turns serious.
Goldberg:
“I’ll say this—you’ve earned your spot. You’ve dominated, you’ve carried yourself like a champion. I wish you all the best at the Royal Rumble.”
Rhea nods.
Rhea Ripley:
“Appreciate it.”
She shifts in her chair—
Suddenly, the screen jolts.
The camera shakes violently as a figure rushes in from off-screen.
NATALYA.
She slams Rhea out of the chair and onto the floor.
Bret Hart:
“HEY—HEY!”
Goldberg:
“What the hell?! Are you behind this, Bret!?”
Natalya rains down punches, screaming as she grabs the Women’s World Championship and throws it aside.
Natalya:
“You think you’re untouchable?!”
She drags Rhea up by the hair and drives her into the podcast table, knocking over microphones and equipment.
Rhea fights back, throwing elbows, but Natalya shoves her down and locks in a brutal SHARPSHOOTER on the studio floor.
Bret Hart (half-rising from his chair):
“Alright—that’s enough!”
Goldberg:
“Somebody get security in here! Bret has set up the Women’s Champion!”
Officials rush in, pulling Natalya off as Rhea rolls to her side, clutching her lower back but glaring with fury.
Natalya backs away, pointing at Rhea.
Natalya:
“Royal Rumble… you’re not walking in on top anymore.”
Security escorts Natalya out as the set lies in ruins.
Rhea slowly reaches for her championship, pulls herself up using the table, and stares into the camera—anger replacing confidence.
Rhea Ripley:
“You just made a very big mistake.”
Goldberg: “I apologize Mami, this is all Bret’s fault!”
The feed cuts to black.
In-Ring Segment
We cut back to Monday Night Raw.
No music.
No pyro.
Just a familiar figure already standing in the center of the ring.
John Cena.
The crowd realizes it a half-second late—and then the reaction hits like a wave. Cheers, chants, a few stunned gasps. Cena soaks it in, slowly raising a hand, not smiling yet. Serious. Focused.
Joe Tessitore:
“John Cena… and judging by that look, he didn’t come out here for any type of nostalgia.”
Cena lifts a microphone. The noise fades.
John Cena:
“You hear that?”
He lets the crowd respond again before speaking.
John Cena:
“That’s not a nice to see you again chant. That’s expectation.”
He paces the ring once, then stops dead center.
John Cena:
“I’m not here for a Greatest Hits tour. I’m here because the road to WrestleMania Legacy runs straight through the Royal Rumble.”
The crowd buzzes.
Cena looks directly into the hard cam.
John Cena:
“And I’m entering the Royal Rumble… at number one.”
The arena erupts.
Wade Barrett:
“Number one?!”
Cena nods, calm.
John Cena:
“Not thirty. Not a surprise spot. Not a shortcut.”
He points to the entrance ramp.
John Cena:
“From the first step to the last man standing.”
Cena pauses, letting it breathe.
John Cena:
“And when I win the Royal Rumble… I go to WrestleMania Legacy.”
The tone shifts. Heavy. Historic.
John Cena:
“And standing across from me will be 29 victims.”
John Cena:
“Whether that’s Gunther…Seth…Priest…Reigns…The crowd reacts instantly.
John Cena:
“…or whoever manages to show up when the lights are brightest.”
Cena steps closer to the ropes.
John Cena:
“I will be the one who takes it.”
Silence. Then thunder.
Joe Tessitore:
“This is unreal.”
Cena straightens up.
John Cena:
“Now I know what people say. ‘Cena, you’ve done everything. You’ve got nothing left to prove.’”
He shakes his head.
John Cena:
“My résumé speaks for itself.”
He starts counting on his fingers.
John Cena:
“Two-time World Heavyweight Champion.”
Pop.
John Cena:
“HCW original.”
Bigger pop.
John Cena:
“And yeah—when I’m not here, I’m out there making history with Peacemaker.”
The crowd laughs and cheers.
Cena smiles for just a moment—then it’s gone.
John Cena:
“But none of that matters when that bell rings.”
He taps the canvas with his boot.
John Cena:
“This ring doesn’t care about fame. It doesn’t care about Hollywood. It only cares about who can stand when everything hurts.”
Cena looks around the arena, voice rising.
John Cena:
“I’ve been doubted. I’ve been booed. I’ve been written off more times than I can count.”
He points to himself.
John Cena:
“And I’m still here.”
The crowd chants “CENA! CENA!”
Cena lowers his voice—quiet, deadly serious.
John Cena:
“So to every man in that Royal Rumble match…”
He points up the ramp.
John Cena:
“Line up. Take your shots. Throw your best.”
He looks straight into the camera.
John Cena:
“Because number one isn’t a disadvantage.”
John Cena:
“It’s a statement.”
Cena drops the mic.
The crowd explodes as his music finally hits, but Cena doesn’t move. He stands there, eyes locked forward, WrestleMania Legacy suddenly feeling closer—and heavier—than ever.
Wade Barrett:
“That… might be the most dangerous version of John Cena we’ve ever seen.”
ad break: “Hit and Spear” Podcast
The screen fades in with the “Hit and Spear” logo.
The set is… worse.
The table is cracked. Microphones are taped back together. One chair is missing entirely.
Two POLICE OFFICERS stand near the desk, notepad out.
Officer #1:
“Mr. Hart, just to clarify—where were you standing when the altercation occurred?”
Bret Hart sits stiffly in his chair, arms folded, glaring.
Bret Hart:
“I was sitting. Like a professional. Hosting a show.”
Officer #2:
“And you didn’t physically intervene?”
Bret Hart:
“I’m not getting sued because someone lost their temper.”
Bill Goldberg stands off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Bret slowly turns his head.
Bret Hart:
“…Did you call the cops on me?”
Goldberg’s eyes widen.
Goldberg:
What?! No! Why would I call the cops on you?
Bret Hart:
Because you’ve been trying to get me arrested since 1997.
One officer looks up.
Officer #1:
…1997?
Goldberg:
Look, I called security. Not the cops. Big difference.
Bret Hart:
Uh-huh. That’s exactly what someone who called the cops would say.
The officer scribbles something down.
Officer #2:
“So, Mr. Hart, you’re saying you had no prior knowledge of the attack?”
Bret points at the wrecked table.
Bret Hart:
Does this look planned to you?!
Goldberg gestures wildly.
Goldberg:
The only thing we planned was to ask questions on camera! That’s the show!
Bret Hart:
And yet somehow violence follows you everywhere.
Goldberg scoffs.
Goldberg:
Oh please—if I wanted chaos, I’d still be wrestling.
The officers exchange a glance.
Officer #1:
So… this is normal for your program?
Both men answer at the same time.
Bret Hart:
No.
Goldberg:
Yes.
The producer off-camera whispers that they’re live.
A red light flicks on.
Goldberg instantly turns to the camera, smiling like nothing’s wrong.
Goldberg:
Welcome back to Hit and Spear, folks.
Bret snaps his head toward him.
Bret Hart:
We are being questioned by the police.
Goldberg:
Allegedly.
One officer slowly steps out of frame, realizing this is not worth it.
Bret Hart:
I swear, if my passport gets flagged because of you—
Goldberg:
I didn’t spear anybody!
Bret leans into the camera, deadpan.
Bret Hart:
Yet.
Goldberg sighs.
Goldberg:
Next week, we’re getting a safer guest.
Bret Hart:
Like who?
Goldberg:
Someone who won’t attack the champion.
Bret thinks.
Bret Hart:
…So nobody from this business.
The camera awkwardly zooms out as the officers continue asking questions and the two legends bicker.
Goldberg:
This show is never winning an award.
Bret Hart:
It already lost credibility.
Fade out.
Main Event
Gunther vs. Rey Mysterio
Rey Mysterio’s music hits and the crowd erupts, the living legend stepping onto the stage with his usual energy. He slaps hands, fires up the fans, and sprints to the ring.
Joe Tessitore:
“Rey Mysterio—one of the most beloved and resilient competitors this industry has ever known.”
Rey climbs the turnbuckle, throwing up the horns—
Then the mood changes.
Gunther’s music hits.
No rush. No flash.
Gunther steps out, stone-faced, eyes locked on the ring. He doesn’t acknowledge the crowd. He doesn’t rush. Every step is deliberate.
Wade Barrett:
“Joe, this man isn’t looking for approval. Gunther is looking for domination.”
Gunther removes his coat, folds it neatly, and steps between the ropes. He never takes his eyes off Rey.
🔔 Bell rings.
Rey immediately tries to use speed—low kicks, quick jabs, darting in and out—but Gunther barely reacts. A single chop from Gunther stops Rey cold.
CRACK.
Rey staggers backward, clutching his chest.
Barrett:
“That’s not a chop—that’s murder.”
Rey tries to rebound off the ropes, but Gunther swats him out of the air with a thunderous boot. Rey crashes to the mat.
Gunther hauls Rey up by the mask—
POWERBOMB.
The ring shakes.
Gunther doesn’t cover.
He lifts Rey again.
SECOND POWERBOMB.
Rey’s body folds unnaturally.
Tessitore:
“Good God!”
Gunther stands over Rey, breathing steady, almost annoyed. He drags Rey up a third time.
Rey tries to fight—desperately throwing punches to the body—but Gunther absorbs them, unimpressed.
A short-arm lariat flips Rey inside out.
Gunther lifts him again.
THIRD POWERBOMB.
The crowd groans.
Barrett:
“This is becoming uncomfortable to watch.”
Gunther stacks Rey’s arms, pulls him up—
FOURTH POWERBOMB.
Gunther holds him at the apex for a brief moment… then drives him down.
He finally covers.
ONE.
TWO.
TH—
Gunther pulls Rey up before the three-count.
The crowd reacts loudly—half boos, half shock.
Tessitore:
“He’s not finished!”
Gunther stares down at Rey, eyes cold. He grabs Rey by the mask again.
Rey, barely conscious, manages a quick headscissors attempt—but Gunther plants his feet and deadlifts him straight up.
FIFTH POWERBOMB.
The loudest one yet.
Gunther folds Rey in half and this time hooks both legs.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Gunther stands up immediately, no celebration, no gesture to the crowd.
Rey Mysterio lies motionless as officials slide in to check on him.
Joe Tessitore:
“That was decisive. That was brutal.”
Wade Barrett:
“Rey Mysterio is a legend. And Gunther just used him to send a message to I believe our World Heavyweight Champion.”
Gunther looks down at Rey one last time… then turns his attention toward the hard camera.
He slowly raises his chin.
No words.
Just intent.
Tessitore:
“If anyone had questions about Gunther earlier tonight…”
Barrett:
“They don’t anymore.”
Gunther steps through the ropes and walks up the ramp, methodical, unbothered—like this was simply business.
The camera lingers on Rey being helped by officials as the crowd applauds him… then cuts back to Gunther disappearing behind the curtain.
A name has been made.
Backstage
We cut backstage immediately after officials help Rey Mysterio through the curtain.
The camera finds Seth Rollins standing in front of a monitor, World Heavyweight Championship still over his shoulder. He hasn’t moved since the final powerbomb.
On the screen: replay after replay. Rey folding. The ring shaking. Gunther standing unmoved.
Seth doesn’t smile this time.
Joe Tessitore (voice-over):
“We are looking at Seth Rollins watching what may be the most dominant performance we’ve seen from Gunther yet.”
Seth exhales slowly. Runs a hand through his hair.
Seth Rollins:
“…That wasn’t a match.”
He turns toward the camera, eyes serious, voice lower than usual.
Seth Rollins:
“That was a declaration.”
He gestures back toward the monitor.
Seth Rollins:
“Rey Mysterio is a Hall of Famer. A legend. And Gunther just treated him like a stepping stone.”
Seth shifts the title on his shoulder—subtle, intentional.
Seth Rollins:
“And I know exactly what that was about.”
Before he can say more—
Gunther walks into frame.
The air changes instantly.
The two men lock eyes—World Heavyweight Champion and the most dangerous man on Raw.
Wade Barrett (voice-over):
“This again… this is not coincidence.”
Gunther stops just a few feet from Seth. He glances at the championship. Lingers.
Then looks Seth dead in the eye.
Gunther:
“That ring…”
Gunther:
“…is where men are exposed.”
Seth doesn’t back up. He smiles—but it’s tight, controlled.
Seth Rollins:
“You think I didn’t notice?”
He steps closer now, chest almost touching Gunther’s.
Seth Rollins:
“You didn’t powerbomb Rey Mysterio five times because you hate him.”
He taps the title lightly.
Seth Rollins:
“You did it because you want this.”
Gunther’s jaw tightens—just a fraction.
Gunther:
“I am not looking.”
Pause.
Gunther:
“I am coming.”
The crowd can be heard reacting even backstage.
Seth nods slowly.
Seth Rollins:
“Good.”
He adjusts the championship one more time, deliberately placing it front and center.
Seth Rollins:
“Because when you step into my ring, Gunther…”
Seth leans in.
Seth Rollins:
“…you don’t get to powerbomb your way through history.”
A long stare.
Gunther says nothing. He turns and walks away—same calm, same certainty.
Seth watches him go, the smile gone now.
Joe Tessitore:
“This is no longer subtle.”
Wade Barrett:
“No. This is inevitable.”
The camera lingers on Seth Rollins alone, World Heavyweight Championship gleaming—his expression focused, alert, and very aware.
Raw just found its gravity.
End of show
World Of Wrestling: Murrey Universe 