The Shield Locker Room – 1:22 a.m., Hours After Survivor Series
The aftermath of war often leaves silence.
Roman sat in the corner of their private locker room, a black towel draped around his neck, steam rising faintly from his shoulders. The dim fluorescent light flickered above them, casting their faces in shades of fatigue and fire. His boots were still laced. The wrist tape still clung to his forearms. Sweat still trailed along his spine.
He hadn't moved much since they returned from the ring.
Dean Ambrose sat on a folding chair near the doorway, swinging a half-empty water bottle in slow circles, his smirk faint but present. Seth paced along the far wall, phone in hand, muttering responses to texts that wouldn't stop pouring in.
They had shocked the world.
But in here? In this quiet, hidden corner of the arena?
It felt like the calm before a greater storm.
"Twitter's blowing up," Seth muttered, not bothering to look up. "Punk's people want to meet tomorrow. Some are calling us mercs. 'The Shield.' That's what they're calling us already."
Dean chuckled and looked over to Roman. "Fits. You looked like you were straight out of a damn war zone out there, big man."
Roman didn't answer right away. He stared at the concrete floor, the sound of his breathing the only thing grounding him. He was still in it. Still tasting adrenaline.
"Ryback's ribs are cracked," Seth added, glancing at a message from a backstage doc. "Nice spear."
Roman finally spoke—low, gravelly, deliberate.
"He had it coming."
Dean raised a brow. "Shit. You sound like you mean it."
Roman stood, stretching slowly, bones and joints clicking like gun chambers. "I do."
Next Morning – Hotel Gym, 7:13 a.m.
Most of the roster was still asleep. Most, but not all.
Roman moved through his final set of weighted squats, sweat pouring from his jawline, vest discarded on a nearby bench. His body moved like a machine—precise, explosive, disciplined.
He didn't train to stay in shape.
He trained for war.
"...You don't rest, huh?"
The voice came from behind him—accented, amused, feminine.
He turned, slowly lowering the bar.
Paige.
Dressed in all-black gym gear, dark eyes sharp beneath pulled-back hair, she tilted her head slightly.
"I figured you'd sleep in after spearing a mountain into the mat," she said, walking over, grabbing a towel off the rack.
Roman grabbed his water bottle, barely giving her a full look. "Could say the same."
She smirked. "I sleep like a rock. But you? You move like you've done this before."
Roman's eyes met hers then. That flicker—just a second. Enough to make her breath pause.
"I have."
Paige squinted. "Humble. I like that."
She wiped her face, casually leaning against the rack. "So… you just appear outta nowhere, wreck a main event, and now people say you're the next big thing. You cool with that?"
"I don't care what they say," Roman replied, wiping down the bench. "I know what I am."
Paige let out a low chuckle. "Confident, too."
She stepped closer, just enough to be noticed but not close enough to be obvious. "I'm watching you, Reigns."
Roman didn't flinch. "Good."
And with that, he grabbed his towel and walked past her—leaving a faint trace of heat in his wake.
Paige blinked. Then smiled.
Later That Week – RAW (Before Air)
The three Shield members stood near gorilla position, waiting for their next ambush segment. The crowd outside was roaring for Orton and Kane's tag match. They'd strike during the finish. Classic.
Dean leaned toward Roman. "You're being watched."
Roman arched a brow. "By who?"
Dean shrugged. "A couple of people. Paige's been glancing. AJ asked about you. And the Flair girl? Charlotte? She showed up to the Performance Center just to sit in on one of your drills."
Roman stared straight ahead, unmoved. But inside, he marked it.
Interest was building.
Not just from the audience. Not just from the boys in the back.
The women were watching.
And Roman?
He wasn't chasing anything.
They'd come to him.
He wasn't the kind of man who begged for attention.
He was the kind of man they noticed.
The cue came from gorilla—go time.
Roman took a breath. Every cell in his body woke. His lips curled into the faintest smirk.
Time to remind them why they should.
End of Chapter 2