Becoming A Wrestler

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The announcement sent the crowd into a frenzy, cheers echoing through the arena. Dusty smiled, nodding approvingly. "And now," Dusty continued, "let's bring out the two men who are gonna make this match unforgettable! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Joe and Sandro!"

Joe's music hit first, and the fans responded with a mix of boos and cheers. He walked out confidently, his expression calm but intense, feeding off the energy of the arena while his title was on his left shoulder with his left arm holding it.

As Joe stepped into the ring joining Dusty, the music shifted, and the crowd exploded with cheers as Sandro's theme 'Cult Of Personality" blared through the speakers. Sandro emerged, his focus evident as he strode toward the ring. He climbed inside, meeting Joe's gaze as the two men stood face-to-face.

Dusty handed them each a microphone, and then stepping back to let them take center stage, to have the both of them become the focus of the fans.

Joe was the first to speak, his voice steady and full of confidence. "No Holds Barred, huh? That's just fine with me. See, I don't need rules to beat you, Sandro. In fact, I prefer it this way. No limits, no boundaries, just you and me, and I will be walking out as champion while you would be covered at the pool of your own blood." The crowd reacted with a mix of boos and cheers, Joe's words stoking the flames of anticipation.

Sandro raised his microphone, his voice calm but powerful. "No Holds Barred? Perfect. Because when there are no rules, no restrictions, that's when the real fighters shine. Joe, I've been through hell before, and I've come out stronger every time. You think you're ready for this? You'd better be, because I'm bringing everything I've got."

The fans erupted into cheers, firmly behind Sandro as the favorite. Joe smirked, pacing slightly as he responded. "You can talk all you want, Sandro, but words won't save you in that ring. When it's just the two of us, no refs to break it up, no disqualifications, you'll see why I'm the the face of FCW."

Sandro paced the ring slowly, his expression calm but calculating. The crowd hung on his every move, the tension in the air palpable. He stopped suddenly and nodded, acknowledging the reality of the situation. "You're right, Joe," he said, his voice steady and deliberate. "You've got the size. You've got the power. And in a match with no rules, no limits… it sure as hell looks like the odds are stacked against me."

The fans began to murmur, some leaning forward in their seats, waiting to see where Sandro was going with this. He smirked slightly, lifting the microphone again. "But here's the thing, Joe… I don't need to overpower you. I don't need to outsize you. All I need is three seconds. Just three."

The crowd erupted into cheers, fully behind Sandro as their underdog hero. Joe's expression darkened, and he rubbed his face with his free hand, visibly trying to hold back his anger. The crowd's reaction only seemed to fuel his frustration.

Sandro took a step closer, his voice growing more intense. "Three seconds, Joe. That's all it takes to make you go from being the guy to being the guy who lost. Three seconds to take that title off your shoulder and put it where it belongs, around my waist!"

Joe's eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship slung over his left shoulder. His face twisted into a mix of disdain and fury as he raised the title high above his head, stepping directly into Sandro's personal space. Their faces were mere inches apart now, the crowd roaring with anticipation.

"You think I'm going to let you have those three seconds?" Joe growled, his voice low but dripping with menace. "You think you're even going to get the chance? Sandro, I'll make sure you can't even lift a finger, let alone hold me down. I'll inflict so much pain, so much damage, that you won't be able to move a single damn muscle. Forget three seconds, you won't last three minutes with me in a No Holds Barred match."

The tension between them was electric, the arena buzzing with energy as Dusty Rhodes stepped in, trying to calm things down. "Alright, boys, that's enough!" Dusty barked, stepping between them and holding out his hands. "Save it for the pay-per-view. This ain't the time, and it sure as hell ain't the place."

Sandro didn't take his eyes off Joe, his jaw clenched in determination. Joe, meanwhile, smirked, clearly enjoying the animosity radiating from his opponent. Dusty pushed gently against Sandro's chest, trying to get him to back off, and turned toward Joe to do the same.

But as Dusty turned his back to Sandro, Joe took his shot. With a swift motion, he slapped Sandro across the face, the sharp crack echoing through the arena. The crowd erupted into boos, their outrage shaking the very walls of the venue.

Sandro stumbled back a step, his head snapping to the side from the impact. His eyes flared with fury as he lunged forward, but Dusty threw himself in Sandro's path, holding him back with both hands.

"Not here! Not now!" Dusty shouted, his voice strained as he struggled to contain Sandro's fury.

Joe took a step back, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he raised the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship high above his head, taunting both Sandro and the crowd. "This is mine, Sandro! And it's staying mine!" he declared, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Security flooded the ring, rushing to help Dusty separate the two men. Four guards held Sandro back, while two more positioned themselves between him and Joe. Sandro strained against their grip, his eyes locked on Joe with pure determination.

Joe, meanwhile, allowed himself to be escorted out of the ring by security, his smirk never fading. As he reached the top of the ramp, he turned back toward the ring, raising the title high once more. "This is the closest you'll ever get to this championship, Sandro!"

The boos from the crowd were deafening, a sea of disapproval crashing down on Joe as he basked in their hatred. Sandro stood in the ring, still held back by security, his chest heaving as he glared at his rival.

Dusty stepped in front of Sandro, his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Listen to me, kid," Dusty said, his voice firm but calm as he use the microphone in his hand. "Save it. Don't let him get in your head. You'll get your shot, but it's gotta be on your terms, not his."

Sandro nodded slowly, the fire in his eyes dimming just enough to allow security to release him. He grabbed the microphone from the mat, his breathing heavy as he raised it to his lips.

"Joe!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the arena. The crowd quieted instantly, hanging on his every word. "You've made your point loud and clear. You think you're untouchable. You think this title is safe in your hands. But at the pay-per-view, when there are no rules, no excuses… I'm going to show you that three seconds is all I need. And when it's over, you'll be the one lying in a pool of your own blood."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their faith in Sandro unwavering. Joe stood at the top of the ramp, his smirk faltering slightly as he stared back at Sandro.

The camera lingered on Sandro's intense expression as the show faded to black, leaving the audience at home buzzing with anticipation for the pay-per-view.

The clash between Sandro and Joe had become more than a title match, it was a battle of wills, a collision of two unstoppable forces. And in the end, only one of them would emerge victorious.

Back in the ring, the crowd was still buzzing from the heated exchange. Sandro stood firm, his eyes following Joe as the champion reached the top of the ramp.

Joe, ever the showman, paused for one final taunt. He raised his championship belt high above his head and, with a smirk, let his microphone fall to the ground with a dramatic thud. The sound echoed through the arena, punctuating his exit as he turned and walked through the entrance area, disappearing from view.

Sandro remained in the ring, his chest heaving with adrenaline, his fists clenched at his sides. He let the intensity linger for a moment before slowly lowering his microphone, his expression shifting from fiery determination to calm resolve. Without saying another word, he let his microphone drop as well, the sound reverberating through the speakers.

The crowd, fully invested in Sandro, erupted into cheers once again as he turned to Dusty, who was still in the ring. Sandro extended his hand toward the veteran, a gesture of respect and gratitude. Dusty didn't hesitate, shaking Sandro's hand firmly. The camera zoomed in on the moment, capturing Dusty's proud smile as he nodded approvingly.

The fans in the arena responded with a standing ovation, appreciating the sportsmanship and the respect Sandro showed to the man who had facilitated this unforgettable confrontation. Dusty, ever the showman himself, raised Sandro's hand briefly before patting him on the back, signaling his approval to the fans.

As Sandro exited the ring, he took his time, soaking in the energy of the crowd. Fans along the ramp reached out eagerly, and Sandro obliged, slapping hands and exchanging smiles with as many as he could. This small but meaningful gesture won him even more support, solidifying his place as the heart and soul of FCW in the eyes of the fans.

By the time he disappeared through the entrance area, the crowd was fully satisfied, their excitement palpable as they began to file out of the arena. The night's performances had been electric, but it was the intense confrontation between Sandro and Joe that left everyone buzzing with anticipation for the pay-per-view.

Behind the curtain, the atmosphere was equally charged, but with a different kind of energy. Dusty Rhodes was already waiting near the gorilla position, a wide grin on his face. As soon as Sandro and Joe stepped backstage, Dusty clapped them both on the back, his approval evident in the gleam of pride in his eyes.

"Now that's how you sell a main event!" Dusty exclaimed, his voice carrying the same warmth and authority that had endeared him to generations of wrestlers. "You boys just put on one hell of a promo. The crowd ate it up, and I reckon they're gonna be talking about this for weeks."

Joe, still holding the championship over his shoulder, chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "It's all Sandro," he said, gesturing toward his opponent with genuine respect. "The kid's a natural. That fiery promo at the end? Man, I was almost convinced I was gonna lose right then and there!"

Sandro laughed, a bit of humility showing through as he shook his head. "Nah, Joe, it's the chemistry. You gave me so much to work with out there. That slap? Perfect timing. You got the crowd right where we needed them."

Dusty crossed his arms, nodding as he listened. "You're both right," he said, his tone more serious now. "Chemistry like that doesn't come along every day. It's rare, and when you've got it, you gotta nurture it. That slap and the way you," he pointed at Sandro, "responded? That's the kind of storytelling that keeps people coming back."

Joe turned to Sandro, his expression turning into something akin to admiration. "Seriously, though, Sandro," he said, "you're in your first year, and you're already showing up veterans in this business. That promo? That was masterful. You had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand. Hell, you had me believing you were gonna take my head off in that ring."

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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