Becoming A Wrestler

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Sandro Zhang walked out, slow and methodical, the TNA World Heavyweight Championship slung over his left shoulder. His expression was unreadable, ice carved into the shape of a man. But it wasn't just Sandro that made the crowd hiss like a pit of vipers, it was who came behind him.

The Undisputed System.

Stu, Big E, Ryback, and Drew, dressed to kill in sleek black suits, hands folded in front of them like they were at a funeral… or about to start one.

But just as the crowd braced for interference in the match later on one way or another, Sandro did something no one expected. He stopped. Turned to his stablemates. And said something inaudible over the crowd but clear in body language.

This was his.

They nodded, wordless, and stepped back into the entrance tunnel.

Alone now, Sandro began his slow descent down the ramp, every step radiating defiance. He didn't flinch at the hatred pouring over him like boiling oil. He didn't rush. He soaked it in.

He wasn't here to be liked.

He was here to be remembered.

The ring announcer's voice came again.

"And introducing the champion… representing The Undisputed System… from Orlando, Florida, weighing in at 220 pounds… he is the TNA World Heavyweight Champion… Sandro Zhang!"

The arena responded with an earsplitting chorus of boos and jeers. Trash was thrown, none hit, but the venom in the air was thick.

Sandro didn't acknowledge any of it. He stepped through the steel cage door, climbed into the ring like he was stepping into his domain, and held the belt high for everyone to see. Defiant. Proud. Unbending.

He handed the belt to the referee without a word.

The official raised the championship high, slowly turning in a full circle, letting every camera and every fan see what was on the line tonight.

Then he passed it through the cage door to the outside referee.

That same referee pulled the chain taut, locked the padlock, and wrapped it once more for security. The door clanged shut, final and heavy.

The referee inside looked to Lashley.

Then to Sandro.

Both nodded and the referee gave the signal.

And the bell rang.

Main event. Against All Odds. TNA World Heavyweight Championship.

Steel cage.

Mike Tenay's voice came through the commentary headset, a mixture of awe and tension. "We've waited weeks for this. Lashley. Sandro. The Undisputed System turned the wrestling world on its head… and now it's time to find out if Sandro Zhang can survive without them."

Don West followed up, voice cracking with passion." That man attacked legends. He brutalized Mick Foley. He embarrassed Lashley. But tonight, there's no place to run. No one to help. This is where legacies are made or broken."

At the ring, Lashley stood in his corner, a mountain of fury and muscle, veins pulsing beneath his skin. Across from him, Sandro Zhang, leaner but cut from granite, eyes unblinking, body loose but coiled tight like a predator ready to spring. The crowd, still frothing with venom, had fallen into a buzzing tension, like they all knew something terrible was about to happen.

Mike Tenay spoke low but intense, "You can cut the atmosphere with a knife, Don. These two are about to unleash hell on each other."

Don West gritted through his teeth, "And they can't run. They can't hide. This cage isn't a boundary, it's a sentence."

The two titans circled. No wasted movement. Lashley moved first, surging in with a brutal double leg takedown that sent Sandro crashing to the mat. The impact rattled the ring. Sandro twisted, flailing elbows down toward Lashley's spine, but the bigger man muscled him down, grinding a forearm across his face.

But Sandro wasn't here to play defense.

He snarled, locked Lashley's arm, and wriggled his hips to sweep him, catching the powerhouse off balance just enough to get him off. In a flash, Sandro was back on his feet, wiping his lip where a tooth might've chipped. The crowd roared as both men stared each other down again.

Lashley came at him again, this time throwing wild fists, left, right, left again, and Sandro weaved under, landing a stiff slap to the back of Lashley's head, taunting him, then springing backward into the ropes to build momentum. He ran straight into Lashley's shoulder.

Like hitting a wall.

Sandro bounced off and hit the mat hard.

"Oh my God," Don West gasped. "Sandro might be dead already!"

But he wasn't. He sat up, blinking through the pain, and smirked through blood stained teeth.

Lashley stomped forward, and Sandro rolled to his feet, only to eat a big boot that sent him reeling into the corner of the steel cage. The impact left an imprint on his back, metal grating against flesh, and Lashley wasn't done. He charged.

Sandro ducked at the last second.

Lashley slammed into the turnbuckles shoulder first, metal and bone colliding. He staggered, and Sandro didn't hesitate. He hit the ropes again, this time connecting with a running knee to the back of Lashley's head, driving him face first into the cage.

CLANG.

Blood smeared the mesh. Lashley's face twisted in agony.

"Jesus Christ, that sound!" Don West cried out.

Tenay leaned in, "These two are going to kill each other, Don."

Sandro saw red, literally, and went feral. He grabbed Lashley by the neck and dragged him back into the center of the ring, then hit a brutal neckbreaker straight onto the mat. Lashley didn't move. The crowd counted reflexively as Sandro covered.

One. Two—

Kick out.

Not just a kick out. Lashley launched him off like a damn bear shrugging off a hunter.

But Sandro didn't give him time. He kicked Lashley in the ribs. Once. Twice. A third time. Then dropped a knee right onto Lashley's fingers, grinding them against the canvas. Sandro grabbed the same hand, twisted the wrist, and wrenched back in a modified Fujiwara armbar.

"Submission attempt here!" Tenay shouted.

But Lashley roared in defiance, his body surging with adrenaline. He powered through the pain, rolled through, and deadlifted Sandro from the mat, arm still locked, before swinging him into the steel cage wall like a battering ram.

CRASH.

Sandro bounced off like a ragdoll. He hit the mat in a heap, gasping, clutching his ribs.

Both men down. The ref didn't count. He was only here to call a winner. No escape. No count outs. Only pain and glory.

Lashley was the first up. Blood ran down his forehead now, matting into his eyebrows. His eyes were wild. He grabbed Sandro by the leg and dragged him into the center. He lifted him with a military press.

The crowd screamed.

And Lashley threw Sandro full force into the steel cage wall.

Sandro's body hit like a missile. He stuck, slid down, and collapsed between the ropes and the cage. Skin peeled from his back in crimson streaks.

"He's dead! There's no way... how is he alive?" Don West croaked.

Somehow, Sandro moved. He crawled on elbows and knees, one of his eye a bit swollen, the other still burning with hate. Lashley grabbed a handful of hair, yanked him upright.

But Sandro caught him.

Desperation. Guillotine choke.

Lashley staggered.

The crowd popped. He fell to one knee.

"No way. NO WAY." Tenay stood from his chair. "He's got it locked in! The champ might steal it!"

But Lashley dug deep. His arms trembled. Sandro's grip tightened. But inch by inch, Lashley powered through the choke, lifting Sandro while still in the hold and spiked him backward into the turnbuckle with a modified spinebuster.

Sandro crumpled. The hold broke.

Lashley collapsed, gasping for air, the blood in his eyes mixing with sweat.

They lay there. Two warriors bleeding, breathing, breaking.

Tenay muttered low, reverent. "This is beyond a match. This is war."

Don West added, "We've seen bloodbaths before… but this is something primal. This is absolutely nuts!"

Around thirty seconds passed. Maybe more.

Both men rose again and then hit each other.

Blow after blow.

Right hand from Lashley. Left from Sandro.

Another right. Another left. Another right. Another left.

Then Sandro with a sudden spin kick to the ribs. Lashley doubled over. Sandro hooked his head, went for a diamond cutter.

But it was blocked.

Lashley turned it into a German suplex. The impact bounced Sandro onto his knees. He couldn't even stand straight. He let out a cough and stumbled, and Lashley grabbed him again, powerbomb.

But Sandro reversed it mid air into a Hurricanrana.

Lashley's head smacked the turnbuckle. He staggered going away from the turnbuckle.

Sandro ran to the top turnbuckle.

Then he jumped backward locking his target.

TOP SYSTEM CUTTER.

The crowd exploded as it hit.

Sandro fell onto the cover.

One.

Two.

THR—NO.

KICK OUT.

"SWEET MOTHER OF GOD," Don West howled.

Sandro sat up, in shock. He laughed, bitter and broken. He had nothing left, and still it wasn't enough.

He crawled to a corner. Peeled himself up like his spine was a ladder. Looked to the crowd.

Then back to Lashley.

And he flipped them off.

Both middle fingers. One to Lashley. One to the world.

He charged.

Spear.

Lashley speared him out of the air.

But Lashley didn't cover. He stood, looked at Sandro's broken body, and walked to the cage wall.

He goes to the corner and hype up the fans as he wanted to hear another spear.

He then turned. Waited.

Sandro dragged himself up.

Lashley run full speed toward Sandro.

But Sandro managed to counter and land a kick to the face of Lashley causing him to stagger. Seeing this Sandro run yo the top rope and pointed at Lashley, while the crowd let out a big boo.

When Lashley was in place and range, Sandro launched himself from the top turnbuckle once again.

DOWNFALL DDT.

Crowd lost their minds.

Mike Tenay shouted, "This is it! This HAS to be it!"

Sandro flopped onto Lashley.

One.

Two.

THREE—

NO!

Lashley's foot was on the rope.

The crowd gasped.

Don West's voice broke, "HOW?! HOW THE HELL IS THIS STILL GOING?!"

Both men lay in the center again. Breathing ragged. Blood on steel. Flesh on fire.

And still, they rose.

Lashley first this time. He could barely stand, but he dragged Sandro up and hit a suplex.

Held on.

Second suplex.

Held on.

Third suplex into the cage wall.

The crowd stood on their feet. Every eye glued.

Sandro was a ghost now. He stumbled around, barely coherent. Lashley pulled him in for the Dominator.

He lifted—

Sandro slipped out, landed behind—

Then he rolled it up into STF, John Cena's signature submission.

Lashley was caught in the middle. Blood running down his chin. Screaming.

But he didn't tap.

He powered out again. And finally, he had enough.

He stood.

And SPEARED Sandro so hard the ring shifted.

Then, Lashley grabbed Sandro's legs.

ANKLE LOCK.

Sandro screamed.

Tenay screamed with him. "Lashley's got him! He's gonna snap the ankle!"

Sandro was screaming, real screaming. Not the dramatic kind, not a theatrical cry for sympathy. No, this was raw, throat shredding agony.

The Ankle Lock was locked in tight, and Lashley's grip was merciless. Sandro clawed at the canvas with his fingertips, eyes wild, fingers trembling as he dragged himself, inch by grueling inch, toward the ropes.

"HE'S GONNA TAP!" Mike Tenay yelled, practically leaping out of his seat.

But Sandro didn't. He reached, just an inch more. His fingers grazed the bottom rope.

And Lashley yanked him back like a bear dragging prey into a cave.

The crowd let out a collective gasp as Sandro screamed louder. Lashley didn't just hold the ankle, he cinched it in deeper, dropping his entire body weight on Sandro's leg, twisting it into an unnatural angle. Now it wasn't just an ankle lock. It was a death grip. His fingers crushed Sandro's calf. His chest bore down on the knee. There was no escape.

Don West's voice cracked. "This is too much! He's gonna break it! He's gonna end Sandro's career right here!"

Sandro thrashed, hands slapping the canvas in every direction but never signaling submission. His face was drenched in sweat and twisted in pain, eyes wide as tears streamed down, real tears, from the sheer shock of pain flooding his nervous system. He reached again, desperate, toward any kind of salvation.

And then—

"SHOCK THE SYSTEM" blasted through the arena.

The Undisputed System's theme hit like a sledgehammer, and the fans roared in fury. Stu Bennett led the charge down the ramp, flanked by Big E, Drew McIntyre, and Ryback, each man thundering toward the ring like hounds unleashed.

The referee stationed outside the cage threw up his hands, shouting for them to turn back, ordering them away from ringside.

But they didn't listen.

Stu didn't even glance at the ref, he just pointed forward, cold as ever. "Big E. Handle it."

Big E nodded.

BOOM.

The ref was bulldozed into oblivion. Big E shoulder checked him so hard the poor man flipped mid air and crashed onto the ringside floor in a heap. The fans erupted in boos, disgusted and shocked all at once.

"What the hell are they doing?! What is this?!" Tenay shouted, furious.

"This is disgusting! The referee's out! Somebody get security out here!" Don West bellowed.

Inside the ring, Lashley didn't let go of Sandro, but his eyes were on the wolves circling. His grip wavered, not from lack of strength but sheer calculation. He was outnumbered. Drew and Ryback were already climbing the cage like demons scaling a fortress. The crowd booed louder, some hurling garbage toward the ring.

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Name: Alessandro Zhang

Age: 20 (2010)

Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA

Brand: FCW

Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles

Faction: The Undisputed System

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