Becoming A Wrestler

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The conversation shifted after that, with Dusty and Steve debating potential names for the title and how it could fit into the existing structure of FCW. Sandro listened intently, offering his thoughts when asked but mostly soaking in the experience of being included in such an important discussion.

After that, they parted ways, Dusty and Steve heading toward the gorilla position, while Sandro made his way through the bustling backstage area. The locker room was alive with energy, wrestlers chatting and making last-minute preparations for the night ahead. The anticipation was palpable.

The FCW Monday program opened with an electrifying intro package, highlighting tonight's key matches. The commentators hyped up the show, their enthusiasm spilling over into every word.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another incredible night of FCW action! We've got a huge main event in store as Sandro defends his Florida Heavyweight Championship against Joe in a highly anticipated rematch!"

The arena was already buzzing, the energy building as the night unfolded. Fans were eager for the show to begin, and they didn't have to wait long before an unexpected theme hit.

The opening guitar riffs and heavy metal drum for Tyler and Jon's entrance music blared through the speakers, and the crowd erupted into a mix of boos and cheers. The reactions were split, some fans hated what Tyler Black had done to Sandro and Kofi, while others couldn't deny his and Jon Moxley's dominance as the FCW Tag Team Champions.

Tyler and Jon walked out with their titles draped over their shoulders, oozing confidence. Tyler had a smug smirk on his face, while Moxley, in his usual unpredictable fashion, looked as though he was ready to start a fight at any moment. The two made their way down the ramp, completely unfazed by the jeers.

Inside the ring, Tyler grabbed a microphone, taking a moment to soak in the mixed reaction before speaking.

"Oh, would you look at that, Mox? Seems like these people just can't make up their minds, do they hate us, or do they respect us?"

Jon grinned, pacing behind Tyler.

"You know what, Tyler? It doesn't matter. 'Cause at the end of the day, it's not about cheers, it's not about boos, it's about winning. And we do a whole lot of that."

Tyler nodded.

"You damn right, Jon. Because we are the best tag team in FCW today! Scratch that, we are the ONLY tag team in FCW that matters. We've taken on every so-called legitimate team, and what happened? We beat them. We crushed their dreams. And now? Now we're standing here, still the champions, and no one, I mean, NO ONE, is left to challenge us."

The crowd erupted, with some fans booing loudly while others cheered for the sheer audacity of Tyler's claim.

"What's next for us? Do we wait for another makeshift team to step up, just for us to send them back to irrelevance? Or do we go ahead and crown ourselves the greatest of all time?"

Jon smirked, shaking his head.

"Ain't nobody left, Tyler. We own this division."

Tyler Black and Jon Moxley stood in the ring, soaking in the jeers from the crowd as they continued boasting about their dominance. The energy in the arena had shifted, the fans growing increasingly restless, their distaste for the champions' arrogance overpowering any lingering admiration for their in-ring success.

But then—

"Common Man Boogie" hit the speakers.

The reaction was instantaneous. The crowd erupted into cheers, the boos vanishing in an instant as Dusty Rhodes, the American Dream himself, stepped onto the stage. The commentators couldn't contain their excitement.

"Oh my God! It's Dusty!"

"And you know when Dusty Rhodes comes out here, something big is about to happen!"

Tyler and Jon exchanged glances in the ring, their arrogance momentarily replaced by confusion and wariness. Dusty didn't come out just for show—he had a purpose, and judging by the smirk on his face, they weren't going to like what he had to say.

With a microphone in hand, Dusty took his time, letting the cheers roll in as he stood at the top of the ramp, soaking in the adoration of the fans. Once the crowd settled enough for him to speak, he raised the mic.

"Now, I've been listenin' to you two run your mouths, talkin' about how you got no competition, how you done beat every team in FCW, how there ain't nobody left who can take those titles from ya."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air. Tyler crossed his arms, feigning impatience, while Jon paced restlessly, eyeing Dusty with suspicion.

"Now, I ain't gonna sit here and tell ya that you boys haven't been dominant, 'cause you have. You walked into that tag team division, and you took over. But let me tell ya somethin', daddy, just 'cause you've been on top, don't mean you ain't got challengers left."

The crowd roared in approval, and Tyler's smirk faltered slightly. Moxley shook his head, already sensing bad news.

Dusty's eyes twinkled as he continued.

"See, I was sittin' in the back, talkin' with some folks, and we decided that if y'all wanna prove you're really the best, really the most dominant tag team in FCW history… then you gotta show it under the toughest circumstances possible."

The arena was electric, fans were on the edge of their seats. Tyler took a step forward, gripping his microphone tightly.

"Get to the point, Dusty," he said, trying to sound unimpressed, but there was a tension in his voice.

Dusty chuckled.

"Alright, kid. Next week, you and Jon are gonna defend those FCW Tag Team Championships… but it won't be a regular ol' match. Oh no, no, no."

The anticipation in the arena skyrocketed.

"Next week, it's gonna be a Triple Threat Tag Team Match!"

The crowd exploded, and the commentators lost their minds.

"Oh my God! A Triple Threat Tag Team Match for the titles!"

"That means two other teams will be challenging for the gold at the same time!"

Tyler and Moxley's reactions were priceless. Tyler's face darkened as his smirk completely disappeared, and Moxley let out a frustrated grunt, shaking his head as he kicked the bottom rope.

Dusty wasn't done. He leaned forward slightly, his voice filled with amusement.

"And just to make it real interesting… there ain't gonna be no disqualifications. No count-outs. No rules. You boys say you're dominant? Then prove it."

The crowd went absolutely nuts.

"A NO DISQUALIFICATION TRIPLE THREAT TAG TEAM MATCH?! This is insane!"

"Tyler and Moxley don't even have to be pinned to lose their titles!"

Inside the ring, Tyler tried to protest, but Dusty wasn't interested in hearing it. He simply gave them a knowing smile before turning on his heel and heading backstage, leaving the champions standing in the ring, reeling from the bombshell announcement.

Moxley turned to Tyler, fuming.

"This is bullshit, man. You know how dangerous this is?"

Tyler clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply before adjusting the title on his shoulder.

"Yeah. I know. But it doesn't matter. We're still the best. We'll handle it."

Moxley's expression was grim, but he nodded.

"Damn right, we will."

The segment ended with the champions standing defiantly in the ring, but the tension was undeniable. Their dominance was about to be tested like never before.

The rest of the night carried an undercurrent of excitement as the announcement of the tag team title match spread. Backstage, wrestlers were buzzing about it, and speculation ran wild over which teams would be entering the match.

But as the night unfolded, one thing was still left to be settled, the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship match between Sandro and Joe.

The energy in the arena was electric as the ring announcer stepped into the center of the ring, microphone in hand.

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall… and it is for the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship!"

The crowd erupted, anticipation surging through the audience.

Then—

"Cult of Personality" hit.

The fans roared in approval as Sandro emerged from the backstage area, his FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship draped over his shoulder. His eyes were locked in, his face a mask of focus and determination.

Tonight wasn't just another title defense, it was a statement. A chance to solidify his reign and silence the doubters.

He strode down the ramp, his body language exuding confidence but also an understanding of the war he was about to step into. He had been in the ring with Joe before, he knew exactly what kind of opponent he was dealing with.

But just as he reached the halfway mark on the ramp—

The crowd gasped.

The commentators shouted out warnings.

"TURN AROUND, SANDRO!"

From the entrance area, Joe came charging down with a malicious glint in his eyes, his face twisted in a smirk that signified nothing but violence. Sandro barely had time to react before—

BAM!

Joe struck him from behind, sending him tumbling forward onto the steel ramp. The boos from the crowd rained down as Joe stood over Sandro, his smirk widening. He didn't wait, didn't gloat, he immediately mounted Sandro, raining down stiff punches to his head and upper body.

"Oh, come on! What the hell is this?! Joe is attacking Sandro before the match has even started!"

"This is disgusting! Have some damn honor!"

Sandro tried to cover up, but Joe's blows were relentless. The referee sprinted down from the ring, shouting at Joe to stop, but Joe just sneered. He grabbed Sandro by the head, yanking him up before driving a vicious knee into his ribs.

Sandro gasped for air, staggering back, but Joe didn't relent. He grabbed Sandro by the arm and whipped him hard into the steel steps. The sickening CRASH echoed throughout the arena, and Sandro crumpled to the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.

The fans booed even louder, some even throwing their drinks toward the barricade in frustration.

The referee got between them, shouting at Joe to back off. "Enough! Back off, Joe! You keep this up, and I'm calling off the match!"

Joe rolled his eyes, exhaling in mock exasperation, but the amusement never left his face. He crouched down next to Sandro, gripping his face and forcing him to look up.

"You feel that, champ?" he taunted. "You ain't walking out of here with that title tonight."

Sandro tried to shove him away, but Joe responded with a stiff slap across his face before grabbing him by the neck and dragging him toward the ring.

Joe then shoved Sandro under the bottom rope, following closely behind. He shot the referee an impatient glare.

"Ring the damn bell!"

The referee hesitated, looking at Sandro, who was clutching his shoulder, clearly in pain. "I need to check on him first—"

Joe stepped forward, his expression darkening.

"I said RING THE DAMN BELL!"

The official had no choice. He looked over at Sandro one last time before reluctantly signaling for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

The moment the bell rang, Joe pounced like a predator smelling blood.

He grabbed Sandro by his bad arm, yanking him up violently before whipping him hard into the turnbuckle. Sandro's back slammed against the pads, and before he could even register the pain, Joe was already sprinting toward him.

BOOM!

A brutal corner clothesline crushed Sandro against the turnbuckles, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He slumped forward, but Joe wouldn't let him fall—he gripped his hair, pulling him in and hoisting him up onto his shoulders.

"Oh no—he's going for it already!"

Joe walked to the center of the ring, grinning as he adjusted his grip, and then—

SIT-OUT POWERBOMB!

The entire ring shook from the impact.

Sandro's body went limp for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the pain coursed through him. Joe hooked his leg, a smug grin still plastered across his face.

ONE!

TWO!

TH—KICKOUT!

The crowd erupted in cheers as Sandro managed to get his shoulder up at the last second! Joe's smirk faded into an annoyed scowl. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head before looking down at Sandro. "Alright, fine. I'll just beat you down some more."

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Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 19 (2009)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Style

Faction: Dragon Boom (Tag Team)

Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions & 1 FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion