Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – After the Show
The roar of the crowd had only just begun to fade when Cody Rhodes stepped through the curtain. Sweat clung to his skin, mat burns stung faintly across his arms, and his chest rose and fell with the adrenaline rush that never seemed to wear off, even after all these years in the ring. The cheers of thousands still echoed faintly in his ears, the chants of “Cody! Cody! Cody!” fueling that familiar warmth inside him.
It wasn’t just about winning. It was about belonging. About proving, night after night, that the “American Nightmare” could carry the weight of a legacy without being crushed beneath it.
He grabbed a towel from a production assistant, dabbing at his face as Seth Rollins walked past, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Hell of a match, brother,” Seth said, his grin sharp but genuine. “Crowd ate it up.”
Cody managed a tired smile. “You made me work for it out there.”
“That’s the point,” Seth laughed, already striding toward the locker room.
Behind him came Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn, both offering tired waves. The camaraderie of the road. The shared language of bruises, sweat, and exhaustion. Cody loved it. Needed it.
Still, when the noise of the arena dimmed and the locker room quieted, there was always that flicker of unease—loneliness that clung in the spaces between shows. He missed Brandi and their daughter more in those moments than he could say. The road was home, but it was also a kind of exile.
---
Later, after the last fans had trickled out of the parking lot, Cody lingered near the barricades. A few stragglers had waited, clutching programs and championship replica belts, hoping for an autograph. He could never walk past them.
He signed until his hand cramped, posed for photos, listened to nervous teenagers thank him for inspiring them. Those moments mattered as much as anything in the ring.
“Thank you, Cody,” one boy said, his voice trembling with awe. “You make me believe I can be strong too.”
Cody’s heart squeezed. He bent down, looked the kid in the eyes. “You already are strong. Don’t ever forget that.”
The boy’s smile could’ve lit the entire parking lot.
But behind them, past the glow of cell phone cameras and arena floodlights, Cody thought he saw someone standing just beyond the shadows. A man, maybe. Still. Watching. The hair on his arms prickled, though he forced himself to smile for another picture.
When he looked again, the figure was gone.
---
His rental car smelled faintly of leather and stale air freshener. He tossed his gear bag into the backseat, sliding into the driver’s seat with a groan. His body hurt everywhere in that familiar, almost comforting way. A thousand little injuries stitched together into the shape of a career.
He started the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the nearly empty lot. For a moment, he just sat there, breathing. He should call Brandi, let her know he was on the road. But exhaustion tugged at him. Maybe once he was at the hotel.
The drive stretched on, quiet roads lit only by sodium lamps. His phone buzzed on the passenger seat—probably a text from Seth about meeting up tomorrow, or Kevin sending another meme. Cody ignored it, humming absently to the faint static of the radio.
Then, headlights flared bright in his rearview mirror.
A van, too close.
Cody frowned, adjusting slightly, but the vehicle matched his speed. The hair on his neck prickled again, the same way it had back in the parking lot.
“Alright,” he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. “Not funny.”
He accelerated. The van did too.
Before he could react further, another vehicle screeched from a side street, cutting him off. His tires screamed against the asphalt as he jerked the wheel, heart pounding.
The world exploded into chaos—shattering glass, a sudden, crushing impact from behind. The seatbelt bit into his chest. Pain flared across his ribs. He barely had time to suck in a breath before the driver’s side door wrenched open and hands grabbed at him.
“Hey!” Cody shouted, swinging instinctively, landing a glancing punch against a shadowed figure.
But there were too many of them.
A sharp blow caught him across the temple. Stars burst behind his eyes. His body felt heavy, unresponsive. He tried to fight, tried to kick, but his strength bled away as rough hands forced a cloth against his face.
The world narrowed to the sharp chemical sting of chloroform, to muffled voices, to his own frantic heartbeat.
And then—darkness.
---
When he stirred again, he wasn’t in his car. The first thing he noticed was the cold—biting, metallic, seeping through the concrete floor beneath him. The second was the ache in his arms and shoulders. He tried to move, but his wrists clinked against chains bolted to the wall.
Panic surged.
His vision swam, but he forced himself to focus. The room was dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. Bare walls. No windows. His gear bag and phone—gone. His heart hammered so loud he thought it might break his ribs.
“Hello?” his voice cracked, hoarse. “Is anyone there?”
No answer.
Cody closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. Fear clawed at his chest, but he couldn’t afford to let it swallow him. He thought of Brandi. Of his daughter. Of his father’s voice, telling him to keep his head, to never stop fighting.
But as the chains bit into his wrists and silence pressed heavy all around him, Cody Rhodes—the man who had walked into arenas filled with thousands, who had stared down legends and carried a legacy—felt something he hadn’t in years.
He felt helpless.