JOHN CENA HEEL TURN

My joints clicked loose as the heavy silence in the ring broke. I planted my boots firmly on the white canvas, feeling the grip beneath my soles. Three figures leaned against the turnbuckles while one lay face down near the center emblem. I took a measured step forward and reached out, tapping the prone wrestler's shoulder with two firm fingers to check on him. He stayed still, but the sudden strength surging through my own hands was undeniable. I stepped back, squaring my stance in the corner, ready for whatever bell rings next.