Becoming A Wrestler

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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."

Joe mounted Sandro again and started hammering him with forearms to the side of his head. Sandro tried to block, but Joe's strikes were wild and relentless. The referee warned him, but Joe didn't care.

The crowd tried to rally behind Sandro, clapping rhythmically, and chanting his name.

"SAN-DRO! SAN-DRO! SAN-DRO!"

Joe sneered at the audience, grabbing Sandro by the hair again and pulling him up, only to slam him down with a snap suplex. Sandro arched his back in pain.

Joe sat up, looking over at the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship that was displayed at ringside. He pointed at it before looking back at Sandro.

"That's mine. That's MINE. I will take it back and put it in the rightful shoulder."

He stood, dragging Sandro up with him. He hooked his arms, setting up for another big snap suplex, but Sandro suddenly came alive.

Using all the strength he had left, Sandro fought back releasing himself from the hold, and hit Joe with an explosive headbutt!

Joe stumbled back, shaking his head in shock. Sandro, breathing heavily, acting as he was wincing from the pain, dug deep. He let out a loud roar and exploded forward with a stiff Lariat!

"Sandro's still in this fight!" One of the commentators commented excitedly, as he saw what happened.

Joe scrambled back to his feet, only for Sandro to hit him with another Lariat! Joe went down again, but this time when he got up, Sandro hoisted him onto his shoulders and hit Joe with a Samoan Drop.

Joe writhed on the mat after the impact of the Samoan Drop, clutching his back as Sandro sat up, his chest heaving. The energy in the arena had shifted, Sandro was still in this fight, and the crowd could feel it. The chants of his name grew louder, fueling him as he forced himself to his feet.

Joe, grimacing in frustration, pushed himself up, shaking off the pain. Sandro locked eyes with him, and for the first time in the match, Joe hesitated.

Sandro took that moment and charged forward, and BOOM! A running knee strike cracked Joe right in the jaw!

Joe's head snapped back, and he staggered toward the corner, dazed. Sandro wasn't about to let up now. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sprinted forward, launching his entire body at Joe and hitting a corner clothesline!

Joe's head snapped back against the turnbuckle, and Sandro immediately followed up with a series of stiff forearm shots to Joe's face, each one landing with a sickening thud. The crowd counted along with merry.

One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven!

Then, Joe, in desperation, shoved Sandro to the top turnbuckle and walked away from the corner, trying to create some distance. But Sandro came roaring right back, hitting a diving dropkick on Joe as he turned to look at Sandro!

The impact sent Joe flipping over, landing flat on his back in the center of the ring.

"Sandro has completely turned this match around!" one of the commentators shouted.

Sandro pounded his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. He bent down, grabbing Joe by the arm and pulling him up. But just as he did, Joe used his thumb to hit Sandro's right eye!

The referee didn't see it, and Sandro instantly recoiled, clutching at his face in pain. The crowd erupted in boos, and the commentators yelled in frustration. "Come on ref! That was blatant!"

Joe, now smirking again, took advantage. He grabbed Sandro's wrist and yanked him forward into a brutal short arm lariat. Sandro hit the mat hard, and his momentum completely halted.

Joe knelt beside him, grabbing his head and talking trash. "You think you're the man, huh? You think you're better than me?" He then SLAPPED Sandro across the face.

The fans erupted in anger.

Joe stood up, dragging Sandro with him, and then lifted him onto his shoulders, positioning him for something big.

"Oh no… No way! He's going for it!"

MUSCLE BUSTER!!

Joe drove Sandro viciously into the mat, the impact shaking the entire ring. The crowd gasped in horror as Sandro lay motionless.

Joe immediately hooked the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE—NO!!

KICKOUT!!!

The arena exploded. The commentators were losing their minds. "How the HELL did Sandro kick out of the Muscle Buster after all of that punishment?!"

Joe sat up in absolute disbelief. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. He shook his head, grabbing at the referee's shirt.

"That was three! That was THREE!", The referee firmly held up two fingers, standing by his count.

Joe slammed his fist against the mat in frustration. He took a deep breath, collecting himself.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "You wanna play hero? Fine."

Joe slid out of the ring, ignoring the referee's warnings. He stormed over to the timekeeper's area and grabbed a steel chair.

The crowd erupted in boos as Joe held up the chair, smirking.

"Oh, come on! He's trying to get himself disqualified!"

Joe slid back into the ring, chair in hand, and raised it high above his head.

The referee immediately got in his face, warning him.

"Drop it, Joe! Right now!"

Joe smirked, looking at the referee… and then pretending to drop the chair. But as soon as the referee turned slightly, Joe swung for Sandro's head, but Sandro ducked at the last moment!!!

The chair smashed against the mat, the impact reverberating through Joe's arms. Sandro, fueled by pure instinct, kicked the chair out of Joe's hands and then hit Joe with a gutwrench powerbomb with all of his strength!

Joe's body crashed against the mat, the air driven out of his lungs. Both men lay on the canvas, completely spent. The referee began the double count.

One!

Two!

Three!

Sandro started stirring, one hand still clutching his ribs. Joe, groggy, rolled onto his stomach, his fingers digging into the mat as he tried to push himself up.

Four!

Five!

Sandro grabbed the ropes, using them to pull himself up.

Six!

Joe got to his knees, shaking the cobwebs from his head.

Seven!

Both men were back on their feet, staring each other down. The exhaustion was clear on their faces, but neither man backed down.

The crowd was on their feet.

Joe let out a growl and threw the first punch. Sandro absorbed it and fired back with a right hand of his own.

Joe swung again, and Sandro countered with a spinning backfist hitting Joe right on the cheek!

Joe staggered, and Sandro lifted him up onto his shoulders, and dropped him on the mat with an Attitude Adjustment, and Joe collapsed onto the mat.

Sandro, gasping for air, dropped down for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- KICKOUT!

Sandro collapsed onto the mat, disbelief etched across his face. He had hit Joe with everything, even with the famous Attitude Adjustment used by John Cena, and somehow, Joe still managed to kick out.

The fans were just as shocked, many had risen to their feet, hands on their heads, mouths open in disbelief. The commentators were losing their minds.

"What is Joe made of?! He just survived an Attitude Adjustment! How is this man still breathing?!"

Sandro sat up, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, his face contorted in frustration. He slammed his fists against the mat, exhaling sharply. He had to dig deeper.

He turned his gaze toward Joe, who was barely stirring, his chest heaving as he tried to push himself up onto his knees. Sandro could see the pain in Joe's face, the exhaustion in his movements, but Joe was still in this. He refused to die.

Sandro looked around, his breathing still heavy, and the crowd immediately caught on.

They knew what was coming next.

"SAN-DRO! SAN-DRO! SAN-DRO!"

Sandro let out a roar, his energy renewed by the deafening chants. He reached down, ripped off his kneepad, and pointed straight at Joe.

"That's it! He's going for the Dragon's Shot!"

Joe, barely able to keep himself upright, looked up just in time to see Sandro sprinting to the ropes, using the momentum to propel himself forward—

DRAGON'S SHOT, BUT NO!!!

At the last possible second, Joe ducked! And the collective gasp from the crowd was deafening. Before anyone could even process what had happened, Joe exploded into motion.

"OH MY GOD! COQUINA CLUTCH!!"

Joe wrapped his massive arms around Sandro's neck and locked in the Coquina Clutch, dragging him down to the mat in a split second. The speed, the precision, it was terrifying to see a man the size of Joe love at such speed.

The crowd was in shock.

Sandro flailed, his eyes wide with panic. He reached for the ropes, but Joe was dead center in the ring. There was nowhere to go.

"Sandro's caught! He's caught badly! He's got nowhere to go!"

Joe's face was a twisted snarl of determination. He squeezed tighter, his biceps pressing against Sandro's throat, cutting off his air supply.

The referee dropped to the mat, checking Sandro closely.

"Do you give up?! Sandro, do you give up?!"

Sandro's movements were getting weaker. His arms, which had been fighting with all their might, started to slow. His eyes blinked rapidly, his body beginning to slacken.

The crowd was screaming.

"DON'T TAP! DON'T TAP!"

Joe yelled out, veins bulging from his forehead.

"GO TO SLEEP, BOY! YOU'RE DONE!"

Sandro's hands grasped at Joe's arms, but his strength was leaving him fast. His breathing became shallow. The ref raised Sandro's arm—

It dropped once.

The ref raised it again—

It dropped twice.

"Oh no… Sandro's fading! We might have a new champion!"

Joe's eyes were wild, knowing he was seconds away from reclaiming the title. He wrenched the hold even tighter, ensuring there was no escape.

Sandro's body slumped slightly—

But then… something clicked.

Through the haze of exhaustion and lack of air, an idea hit him.

Summoning every last ounce of strength in his body, Sandro forced himself up onto one knee, dragging Joe along with him.

The crowd ERUPTED.

Joe's eyes widened in shock.

"No way. NO WAY!"

Sandro, his face twisted in pain and determination, pushed himself up further, step by step, inch by inch, dragging Joe's entire body weight toward the corner.

Joe shook his head violently.

"STAY DOWN, DAMN IT!"

But Sandro refused.

The fans were going insane.

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

Sandro reached the turnbuckle.

And then with one final burst of strength, Sandro planted his foot against the bottom rope, pushed off, and flipped backward—

DRAGON TWIST CUTTER!!!

Joe's head snapped against the mat with a sickening impact!

Both men lay motionless with Sandro on top of Joe. The referee, eyes wide in shock, quickly dropped to the mat for the count.

ONE!

The crowd screamed.

TWO!

Joe didn't move.

THREE!!!!

DING DING DING!!!

THE ARENA EXPLODED.

The bell rang over and over as Sandro rolled off Joe's lifeless body, barely able to move.

"HERE IS YOUR WINNER… AND STILL THE FCW FLORIDA HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… SANDRO ZHANG!!!"

The referee handed Sandro his championship, and he clutched it against his chest, his entire body shaking from exhaustion.

The camera zoomed in on Joe's face, his eyes were glazed over, and his mouth was open in shock. He hadn't even processed what had happened.

Sandro had survived.

Sandro had endured.

And Sandro was STILL the champion.

As he slowly pulled himself up, he lifted the title high into the air, standing on wobbly legs, his body battered and bruised, but victorious.

The crowd gave him a standing ovation while Joe, still lying flat on his back, slowly turned his head toward Sandro. His lips moved, but no words came out. He had lost, and Sandro, staring down at his fallen opponent, gave him a single nod. A silent acknowledgment. He had earned this win and the world knew it.

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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