A/N: Hello, dear readers, and welcome to "Turn On the Lights" 2.0, otherwise known as "Steal the Show." If you followed/favorited TOtL, or if you've discovered this fic for the first time, please follow/favorite this little fic, as well - I promise you won't regret it. Thank you again to everyone who's stuck with me over the last three years and change, and welcome new readers :) I certainly hope this story exceeds expectations. As always, reviews are much appreciated.

Chapter One

Wednesday, January 9, 2013
WWE Headquarters
Stamford, Connecticut

"Can this wait? I'm late for my meeting with El Generico." Hannah McMahon anxiously checked the time on her Michael Kors watch; she was four minutes late, to be exact, and every extra second that ticked by chimed like a gong in her skull. If she botched this meeting she'd never forgive herself—she'd been working on signing El Generico since November. Surely, whatever her father wanted to speak with her about could wait until later.

She should have known better. Vincent Kennedy McMahon waited for no one. "This will only take a moment," he returned as he swiveled to face her. He folded his hands atop his expansive oak desk and asked, "Tell me: how do you feel about the Shield?"

Hannah stared back at him, dumbfounded and more than a bit perturbed. She did not have time for this. "Seriously? You could've texted me about this."

"No, we need to have this conversation face-to-face."

"Why?"

"Because, Hannah," Vince obliged, "we're planning on revealing the mastermind behind the Shield soon, and I want it to be you."

The seconds stopped chiming; Hannah stopped breathing. She must have misheard him. "What?"

Vince sat up straighter, a slight smirk on his lips. That was clearly the reaction he'd been hoping for. "I want you written into this storyline. I want you on TV."

Hannah shook her head. The ticking from her watch resumed. "No. You know I don't want to be on TV."

"I know, but you're the perfect person for this role."

"No, I'm not," she repeated. "I already have my perfect role, and it's finding you people to put in front of the camera—not being in front of the camera myself. And speaking of that, I need to go sign one of those people right now."

"I agree; you've done a helluva job as Director of Talent Relations. But that's exactly why I want you for this job."

Hannah paused, one foot out the door. "That doesn't make any damn sense."

"Sure it does!" Vince argued. "Tell me, what do you look for in a WWE Superstar? Why are you so eager to sign El Generico, for example?"

"Because he deserves it," she blithely returned.

"Okay. But why?"

Hannah checked her watch again; she was six minutes late now, but there was no point arguing with her father. He'd keep her here all day if she didn't entertain his ridiculous notions. "Because he's a master of his craft," she answered. "He lives and breathes pro wrestling. He's dedicated his life to it. He's busted his ass for years and years to get to where he is and goddammit now I see your point." She collapsed back against his office doorframe, defeated. She'd proven Vince right and he hadn't even broken a sweat.

"You see?" Her father's eyes twinkled; Hannah could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "The Shield is fighting for the exact same thing onscreen that you've been fighting for for years behind the scenes: justice for the dedicated worker. For the little guy, the unconventional guy, the guy who's given his blood, sweat, and tears to this business. You and the Shield have the same M.O, Hannah. So who better than you to lead them?"

Hannah stood up straight. Sure, she could see Vince's reasoning; she'd been working for years now to change the landscape of World Wrestling Entertainment. She hated signing models over accomplished women wrestlers. She loathed holding back a skilled worker just because he wasn't the biggest or best-looking guy on the roster. In fact, if she had it her way Daniel Bryan would be the No. 1 contender to the WWE Championship, not the Rock. The Rock wasn't a wrestler, not anymore; he had abandoned WWE to become a movie star. Why should he get to waltz in the door and be handed a title match while all the guys who busted their asses each and every night were overlooked?

"So, what do you say?" Vince prodded. "Do you want to be the mastermind behind the Shield?"

Hannah glanced down at her watch again. Nine minutes late. Indeed, she and the Shield did have the same M.O.; but that sure as hell didn't mean she wanted to work with them on television. "I'll think about it," she returned, and she left before Vince could get in another word.

Hannah McMahon's House
Greenwich, Connecticut

Some eight hours and a glass of merlot later, Hannah was still thinking—and she wasn't any closer to a decision. She was so far from a decision, in fact, that she broke down and did the absolute last thing she ever wanted to do: ask her sister for advice.

"I don't know, Steph. This whole thing came out of left field." She frowned as she pressed her iPhone against her ear. She and her older sister rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially when it came to the family business. But if there was anyone who could give her some insight on Vince's mad machinations, it was Stephanie.

"I know it did," Stephanie agreed. "But he's got his heart set on you being the Shield's leader."

Hannah took another gulp of wine. "When did he even come up with this?"

"Monday night during the TLC match. Remember when all the lights went off, and when they came back up the Shield was in the ring? It was like a light bulb went on above his head. He turned to me and said, 'Hannah's the one who turned off the lights!' He pointed his finger in the air and everything. It was kinda weird, actually."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She didn't have to sound so perplexed by the whole thing. "And what did you say?"

"I told him he was nuts. You've never been on TV before."

"Hey—that's not true," Hannah shot. She had been on TV before, once, during Stephanie's scripted wedding to Test in 1999. She'd been fourteen years old at the time, and it had been the most ridiculous experience of her life.

"Fine, you haven't had a speaking role on TV," Stephanie corrected. "Standing in the ring holding a bouquet of flowers for 10 minutes hardly counts. And besides—you couldn't stop laughing the entire time."

Hannah grinned wryly to herself. "It was funny!" she proclaimed. Admittedly, Stephanie's disaster wedding to Test was one of her favorite moments in WWE history. When Triple H had interrupted the nuptials to play the video footage of him marrying a drugged-up Stephanie at a Las Vegas drive-thru wedding chapel, Hannah was supposed to act just as shocked and appalled as the rest of her family—but she had burst out laughing instead. To this day people still came up to her to say that her reaction had stolen the entire segment.

"Yeah, well it didn't speak much to your acting ability," Stephanie groused.

"I was fourteen," Hannah returned. "I think I've gained some maturity over the last thirteen years."

"Well good, because you'll need it if you're gonna do this."

Hannah's brow puckered. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Seriously?" Stephanie incredulously countered. "The Shield's been working as mercenaries for CM Punk ever since their debut, Hannah. If you take on this role you'll probably have to work with Phil."

Hannah paused, her wine glass pressed to her lips. She'd forgotten that little detail. How the hell had she forgotten that detail? There'd been an implied alliance between the Shield and CM Punk for months now—Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, and Roman Reigns had interfered in every one of Punk's pay-per-view matches (and then some) since Survivor Series. If she was going to work with the Shield, of course she'd have to work with Punk too.

"Hannah?" Stephanie asked into the silence. Hannah shook her head.

"That's a non-issue," she dismissed. "So what if I have to work with Phil?"

Stephanie hesitated. "You two don't exactly get along."

"So? You and I don't get along either and we work together just fine."

"I'm your sister," Stephanie reasoned. "Phil is your ex."

"And?" Hannah parlayed. She really didn't see what the big deal was. "Do you know how many people in this company have to work with their ex? If everyone in WWE refused to work with their ex half the locker room would be out of a job."

"Yeah, but Phil left you for someone else in that locker room."

Hannah bit down on her jaw—hard. "Yeah, I know," she deadpanned. "It was my relationship. You really don't need to remind me how it ended."

"I'm sorry," Stephanie backtracked; Hannah took another giant gulp of wine. "I just want you to know what you'd be getting into."

"Oh I know exactly what I'd be getting into. And you know what? I'm doing it. I'll tell dad tomorrow. Thanks for the advice, Steph."

"Hannah, don't let your pride make the decision for you," Stephanie said, but Hannah had made up her mind.

"Goodnight!" She abruptly ended the call and tossed her iPhone to the other side of the couch. The WWE Universe better get ready, because Hannah McMahon was making her long-awaited return—and she'd make damn sure to steal the show again.