Becoming A Wrestler

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As Slater entered the ring, Bray remained on his knees, his arms still outstretched. Slater paused, his grin faltering for a moment as he took in the bizarre sight before him. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the unease, and raised his arms to rally the crowd. The cheers grew louder, but Bray didn't flinch. He simply rose to his feet, his eyes locked on Slater, his expression unreadable.

The referee after ensuring both men was ready called for the bell, and the match officially began.

From the opening bell, it was clear that this wasn't going to be a typical wrestling match. Bray moved with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, his every action calculated to unnerve his opponent. Slater, for his part, tried to maintain his usual cocky demeanor, but it was clear that Bray's presence was getting under his skin.

The early moments of the match saw Slater trying to use his speed and technical skills to gain the upper hand. He hit Bray with a series of quick strikes and a dropkick that sent Bray staggering into the corner. But instead of looking hurt, Bray simply smiled, his eerie grin sending a chill through the arena.

"What is wrong with this guy?" Slater muttered under his breath, his frustration evident.

Bray responded with a sudden burst of aggression, catching Slater with a stiff clothesline that sent him sprawling to the mat. Bray followed up with a series of methodical strikes, each one delivered with a chilling precision. He punctuated the assault with a uranage slam, the impact echoing through the arena.

The crowd, initially unsure how to react, began to warm up to Bray's unique style. His movements were unlike anything they had seen before, a mix of power and unpredictability that kept them on the edge of their seats. The commentators, too, were captivated.

"This is incredible," one commentator said. "Bray Wyatt is unlike anyone we've ever seen. He's not just wrestling; he's telling a story."

"You're right," the other agreed. "And Sebastian Slater is doing a great job selling it. He's the perfect foil for Bray's character."

As the match progressed, Bray continued to dominate, his every move designed to showcase his character. He hit Slater with a body avalanche in the corner, the impact drawing a collective wince from the crowd. He followed up with a spider walk, his movements unnervingly fluid, before transitioning into a modified version of what would later be known as Sister Abigail.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Bray went for the pin.

"One! Two! Three!"

The referee's hand slapped the mat, and the bell rang, signaling the end of the match. Bray stood tall in the ring, his arms spread wide as if basking in the adulation of the crowd. The lights dimmed once more, and Bray retrieved his lantern, holding it aloft as he made his way up the ramp. The crowd's murmurs of unease had turned into cheers, their initial uncertainty replaced by fascination.

Backstage, Sandro watched the match on a monitor, a proud smile on his face. He knew this was just the beginning for Bray, but it was a hell of a start.

After that, the atmosphere backstage was electric as Sandro and Drew stood in the Gorilla position, the final moments before their main event match ticking away. The tension between them was palpable, but it was the good kind, the kind that came from mutual respect and a shared desire to put on a show that would be remembered for years to come.

Drew turned to Sandro and extended his fist. Sandro met it with a firm bump, the unspoken understanding between them clear tonight, they were going to tear the house down.

Drew was up first. As his entrance music blared through the arena, the crowd erupted in a chorus of boos. Drew smirked, his heel persona in full effect as he sneered at the fans, playing up his role as the arrogant, cocky challenger.

He walked down the ramp with a swagger, his eyes scanning the crowd as if daring them to boo him louder. The ring announcer's voice cut through the noise, announcing the match.

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

The crowd's boos grew louder as the announcer continued. "Introducing first, the challenger… from Ayr, Scotland, weighing in at 265 pounds… Drew McIntyre!"

Drew climbed the steel steps and entered the ring, his expression one of pure confidence. He raised his arms, taunting the crowd, and they responded with even louder boos. Drew loved it. He thrived on their disdain, using it to fuel his performance.

As Drew's music faded, the arena lights dimmed slightly, and the opening chords of *Cult of Personality* filled the air. The crowd erupted in cheers, their energy shifting instantly as Sandro stepped out onto the entrance ramp.

The FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship rested on his shoulder, gleaming under the bright lights. The fans chanted, "Let's go, Sandro! Let's go, Sandro!" as he made his way down the ramp, high-fiving the outstretched hands of the fans.

The ring announcer's voice boomed once more. "And his opponent… from Orlando, Florida, weighing in at 220 pounds… he is the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion… Sandro Zhang!"

Sandro climbed the steel steps and entered the ring, his eyes locked on Drew. He made his way to the lower right turnbuckle, raising the championship high above his head as the crowd cheered even louder.

The gold of the title belt reflected the arena lights, a symbol of everything Sandro had worked for. He stepped down, handing the title to the referee, who held it up for both men to see before showing it to the crowd. The title was then handed off to the ringside crew, and the referee signaled for the bell.

Ding, ding, ding!

The match was officially underway.

The bell rang, its sharp echo slicing through the electric hum of the crowd. Both men stood in their respective corners, eyes locked, absorbing the energy of the moment. The FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship was on the line, but more than that, this was about pride, respect, and leaving an indelible mark in wrestling history.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, chants of "Let's go, Sandro!" and "Drew sucks!" clashing like waves. The commentators' voices layered over the chaos.

The first commentator excitedly said, "This is it, folks. The main event. Two of the best FCW has to offer." and his partner continued his words, "And look at the intensity. Drew McIntyre's got that cold, calculating glare, but Sandro… there's a fire in his eyes. This is going to be special."

They circled each other, bodies tense, calculating. Drew, the larger man, smirked arrogantly, but Sandro didn't bite. Instead, he lunged forward, initiating the first lock up.

Their bodies collided, muscles straining as they jockeyed for position. Drew used his size to force Sandro back into the corner. The referee stepped in to break it up, but Drew delivered a cheap slap to the chest before backing off with a smug grin.

Sandro's jaw tightened, but he stayed calm. They locked up again, this time Sandro slipped behind, showcasing his technical prowess with a slick waistlock takedown. Drew scrambled, trying to stand, but Sandro transitioned smoothly into a front facelock, grounding the bigger man early.

Drew powered out, rising to his feet with Sandro still clinging like a vice. In a display of brute strength, Drew lifted Sandro and launched him backward with a belly to back suplex. Sandro hit the mat hard but rolled through, popping back to his feet. The crowd roared.

Sandro sprinted toward Drew, ducking a wild clothesline, rebounding off the ropes with blistering speed, and hitting a beautiful tilt a whirl headscissors, flipping Drew across the ring. Drew scrambled to his feet, furious, only to eat a dropkick square to the chest that sent him tumbling through the ropes to the outside.

The crowd erupted as Sandro stood tall in the ring, his confidence surging. Drew paced outside, slamming his fists on the barricade, trying to shake off the early flurry.

The commentators excitedly talked about what they just saw with one of them saying,"Sandro's speed and agility are giving Drew fits early on."

Although he agrees with what his partner had just said, he also added, "But don't count Drew out. That man's dangerous when he's angry."

Drew climbed back onto the apron, glaring daggers. Sandro approached, but Drew snapped Sandro's neck down across the top rope. Sandro staggered backward, clutching his throat.

Drew seized the moment, springboarding over the top rope with surprising agility for a man his size, delivering a stiff forearm smash that floored the champion.

Now it was Drew's turn to dominate. He stomped Sandro methodically, each strike punctuated with taunts to the crowd. He dragged Sandro to his feet, whipping him into the corner with such force the ring shook. Drew charged, crushing Sandro with a massive body avalanche.

Sandro crumpled to the mat, gasping for air. Drew covered.

The referee seeing this began to do the count, "One… Two—"No! Kickout!

Drew didn't waste time arguing. He pulled Sandro up, hoisting him into a vertical suplex position. But he didn't drop him immediately. He held Sandro aloft, showing off his strength, blood rushing to Sandro's head as the crowd counted along, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, before slamming him down with authority.

Another cover.

"One… Two—"

Another kickout!

Frustrated, Drew locked in a tight chin lock, wrenching Sandro's head back, his knee driving into the champion's spine. The crowd rallied, clapping in unison, willing Sandro to fight back. Slowly, Sandro's fists clenched. He fed off the energy, pushing to his feet despite Drew's weight bearing down.

Elbow to the gut. Another. A third. Sandro broke free, sprinting to the ropes, only to be met with a devastating big boot that nearly took his head off. Drew covered again.

"One… Two… Thr—NO!"

Sandro kicked out, but barely. The crowd was going crazy and cheering for Sandro, willing him to fight on while the commentators was also going nuts, "Sandro's resilience is off the charts. Drew's throwing everything at him and Sandro's still in it. That's the heart of a champion."

Drew pounded the mat in frustration. He dragged Sandro to the corner, setting him up on the top rope. He climbed, hooking Sandro's head, looking for a superplex. But Sandro fought back, punching Drew's ribs repeatedly.

The crowd roared as Sandro slipped under Drew, turning the tables, POWERBOMB FROM THE TOP ROPE! Both men crashed to the mat with a thunderous impact.

Both were down, gasping for breath. The referee began the count.

"One… Two… Three…"

Sandro stirred first, crawling toward Drew. He draped an arm over.

"One… Two… Thr—NO!"

Drew's shoulder shot up.

The crowd was on their feet now, sensing something special. Sandro slowly rose, his face a mask of determination. He climbed the turnbuckle again, summoning his last reserves of strength. 450 SPLASH! But Drew rolled out of the way at the last second. Sandro crashed hard, clutching his ribs.

Drew capitalized immediately, Scot Drop! Cover!

"One… Two… THR—NO!"

The arena exploded as Sandro kicked out at the very last second. Drew's face twisted in disbelief. He argued with the referee, slapping his hands together to demonstrate the supposed three count. The ref stood firm. Drew seethed.

He dragged Sandro up, looking for a new finshier he would like to introduce, but the commentators and the crowd doesn't knew yet and was talking what Drew was doing. He backed into the corner, his expression fierce, stomping the mat to signal the end.

He charged, but Sandro sidestepped! Drew's momentum carried him into the ropes, and Sandro hit a superkick square on Drew's jaw. Drew staggered. Sandro followed up with a running knee strike.

Cover.

"One… Two… Thr—NO!"

The crowd couldn't believe it. Sandro didn't stop. He pulled Drew up, and run to the ropes attempting his signature move, Dragon Twist Cutter. But Drew slipped out, shoving Sandro into the ropes. On the rebound, Drew finally hist his new finisher, a modified big boot where he takes of boot of his leg, and his right boot hit Sandro squarely in the face, which was out of nowhere!

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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