A/N: Kayfabe. Warning: Psycho Randy. And I mean psycho. One shot for now. May or may not continue. I don't know. Probably not, though. So don't ask.

"When does it stop?" Samantha Orton viciously asked as she scrubbed the dirty dishes with a rag.

"Sam, we have a dishwasher. Use it," Randy Orton nonchalantly instructed as he sat alone at the kitchen table, reading the day's sports section of the newspaper.

"Stop avoiding the subject."

Randy's lips thinned as he pressed his mouth together. Gently, he set the fragile paper down on the wooden surface. He clasped his hands together and swiveled around in the rolling dinner chair to face his wife. "I'm married to you. Not her."

A wet plate 'slipped' out of Samantha's hands, crashing in the porcelain sink and smashing into pieces.

"Be careful! Are you hurt?" Randy asked, standing up and rushing to his wife's aid, about to check for cuts.

"Hurt? Hurt? Did my husband just ask me if I was hurt?" the brunette asked, quickly stepping away from her husband. "How can you ask me that when you're the one that hurt me? Some great protector you are."

"What are you—"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Randy. First, you're outed as Kelly's mystery lover on national television. And then just a short time later, I'm revealed on that same television program as your wife? How do you think I felt when it was shown that you were cheating on me like that? And now you're going crazy for Stephanie?"

The jaw of the Legend Killer clenched at his wife's accusation. "What?"

"You heard me." Although a petite woman, Samantha was not afraid to stand up to her husband in her angered state. She jabbed a French manicured nail in her husband's chiseled chest. "Damnit, Randy. I know she's the princess of the company, but do you really have to be the evil prince? Am I not enough for you?"

"I don't even know who you're talking about, Sam," Randy lied, his foot tapping in annoyance. Why wasn't Sam acting like any other woman would in her position? She was married to Randy Orton. Any other woman he wanted would gladly switch places with her and keep herself in line, not saying anything out of order, no matter what Randy chose to do on his free time or on national television.

Sam sighed as she turned back towards the sink, angrily slamming the used rag in the sink, stray droplets of water spraying her arm. "I think I need to leave."

"Okay, go watch a movie and settle down."

"No…Leave. Leave you. I married an immature little boy who wasn't ready tapping everything before he put a ring on a girl's finger. I can't give you what you want. You don't want love. You don't want a family."

"Sam, I—" Randy started as he closed his eyes, but the sharp clicking of heels against the tile floor stopped him.

And when he opened his eyes, she was gone.


Insanity is one in the same with the wrestling business. Where else can someone witness a true clash of the titans? A man in a cape warding off a masked crusader?

The most evil villain in the WWE sat in the dark silence of his office, one of his 'assistants' standing on either side of him, Cody on the right and Ted on the left.

Randy let out a depressed sigh that had not gone unnoticed by the two second-generation Superstars flanking his side.

"Sorry, Randy," Ted quickly said, trying his best to calm his superior, the man he fought for every week.

"Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that my wife left me? Please, Ted, just do me a favor and shut your trap. The world doesn't understand my misery…"

And then one of the most dangerous natural phenomena had occurred in that dark, drab office.

Randy Orton got an idea.

He let out a slow laugh. "...But it will." The slower chuckle quickly erupted into shrill, maniacal laughter.

Cody and Ted exchanged glances and smirked at one another, knowing that whatever plan that the evil genius that was Randy Orton had concocted was sure to be insane.


"I feel like we're Conquistadores Uno and Dos," Ted mumbled under his all black outfit, including a hat that covered his entire head, leaving two small slits for the eyes.

"Shut up," Cody snapped back, wearing a similar outfit. "Just be quiet and wait."

"Yes, master," Ted mocked, making a talking motion with his hand and making faces as his younger tag team partner.

"Ted, you're so imam—Is that his car?" Cody asked, noting the black sports car that was speeding into the parking lot.

"I think so," Ted answered, looking at the license plate.

SHANE-O

"Let's move," Cody nodded. He and Ted swiftly moved from their hiding spots and went in for the kill.


"Ugh…" Shane grunted as he came to his senses, opening his eyes as they adjusted to the dark. "Where am I?"

"Heh. Good work, boys. I'm impressed," a deep voice called from the shadows.

"Hunter?" Shane asked, Triple H being the first person he thought of when he heard that deep drawl.

"You wish."

A bright light suddenly shone high above Shane's head. He recoiled as he covered his eyes, shocked from the sudden change in atmosphere. He squinted as he felt three people approach him. "You!"

Randy stood tall, his long legs stepping closer to the son of Vincent Kennedy McMahon. He held a long crowbar in his hands. He raised it up high above his head and grinned.

"Here comes the money, Shane O-Mac."

And he swung.


"STEPH! VINCE! SOMEBODY! CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

A crowd of people rushed towards Triple H's private locker room that he demanded when he made appearances on the RAW brand. And of course, he was not denied of his personal needs.

The crowd consisted of security, wrestlers, and other backstage workers. They all wondered what all the commotion was about.

And then Triple H emerged from his locker room, the lifeless body of Shane McMahon in his arms.


Stephanie sat alone in a nearly comatose state in the cafeteria. Everyone gave her the space she deserved. Her brother was just murdered.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Seeing that it was her husband who was calling, she answered. "Hello?"

"He's alive. But barely."

Stephanie started crying, out of fear and joy. She wasn't strong enough to go to the hospital to see her brother potentially dead, and it was a relief that he was really alive, his heart still beating. With everything that had happened to her on RAW in recent weeks, seeing a hospital would make the fact even more clear that she could easily be the next one there.

They finished their conversation, Stephanie ensuring Hunter that she would be safe by herself.

She was a damsel in distress before she even hung up the phone.

The snake himself sat down across from her. But for once, he was alone, neither member of Priceless anywhere in sight.

"Why did you do it?" Steph weakly asked, burying her head in her hands. She couldn't look him in the eyes. She knew it was him.

"Why, Steph, you have me pegged for a criminal!" Randy sweetly answered, attempting to take her hand. She furiously batted him away.

The Billion Dollar Princess smashed her eyelids shut. "He was my brother…"

"Still is. He's not dead. I didn't kill him," Randy smiled. "See? No harm, no foul."

"Is it even the title you want? Because you're hurting my family. I'll ask Hunter to relinquish it to you if you'll stop. Please, Randy." Stephanie wiped her eye, a stray tear beginning to fall.

"And you think that would stop me? It's not the title, I want, Stephanie."

"Then what is it?" Stephanie screamed, not only drawing attention to herself, but also looking Randy in the eye for the first time.

"You."