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The bell rang, and the crowd erupted in cheers. It wasn't a deafening pop, but it was strong. Stronger than expected for two women making their debut. Charlotte sat up, chest heaving, and looked over at Alexa, who was already on her knees, hands on her head in disbelief. The two women shared a look relief, pride, joy. Then they hugged, right there in the middle of the ring, as their music played.
Backstage, Sandro grinned and gave a slow clap. April nudged into his shoulder and smiled. "Told you they'd be fine."
"They were more than fine," Sandro said. "They just made a statement."
In the Gorilla position, Dusty chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "That's what I'm talkin' about, baby. That's the future."
The crowd gave them a warm sendoff as they exited the ring, both women waving and slapping hands with fans. The chemistry was there. The connection was made.
Their journey had just begun, but already, the first chapter was something to remember.
Backstage, as Charlotte and Alexa returned to gorilla position, they were met with nods and handshakes. Steve Keirn offered a small smile and a clap on the shoulder for each.
"You made us proud," he said simply. "Welcome to the dance."
Sandro met them with open arms. "Told you so."
They both laughed, sweat soaked and glowing. Charlotte hugged Sandro filled with excitement even though exhausted. "Okay, fine. You were right."
After Charlotte release the hug, Alexa goes to hug Sandro as well and after releasing him, she held up a finger. "Just this once that you will be right, though."
Sandro chuckled. "Deal."
The show rolled on.
Following Charlotte and Alexa's heartwarming debut victory, the night kept its pace. Promos hit hard, rivalries were teased, and new feuds seemed on the horizon.
The fans, still buzzing from the women's tag match, kept that energy alive, filling the FCW arena with anticipation. But as the night wore on, everyone knew what they were really here for, the main event.
The ring announcer stepped forward as the lights dimmed, the tension sharp in the air like the flick of a blade.
"The following contest is scheduled for one fall and it is for the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship!"
The crowd roared.
Wes Brisco's music hit first, an upbeat, rock laced theme. He walked out with purpose, slapping hands with fans on the ramp before rolling into the ring. He looked focused, fired up, and ready to finally grasp the gold.
Then the lights shifted.
A beat dropped, smooth and powerful, as Sandro's theme 'cult of personality' thundered through the speakers. The screen lit up with his entrance graphics, neon lines, data pulses, and a sharp flickering silhouette of a falcon over a circuit board.
But this time, something was different. Just as the beat dropped again, Big E emerged first, towering, silent, his arms crossed as he stood on the stage.
The crowd popped for him big time. Behind him came Sandro, FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship around his waist, arms stretched wide, soaking in the reception. He looked confident and intimidating, something he earned. Every bit of it.
"Ladies and gentlemen, accompanied to the ring by his bodyguard Big E, he is the reigning and defending FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion... Sandro Zhang!"
Big E walked with a slow, deliberate pace. Sandro matched him stride for stride, cool as ice. At ringside, Big E stood by the steel steps like a sentinel as Sandro rolled into the ring and unstrapped his title, raising it high in the center of the ring.
The referee checked both men, signaled to the timekeeper, and the bell rang.
DING! DING! DING!
Wes and Sandro circled each other slowly, the crowd already amped. They locked up in a collar-and-elbow tie, but Sandro immediately transitioned into a side headlock.
Wes pushed him off, but Sandro hit a quick shoulder block, dropping him. Sandro ran the ropes, Wes ducked down, leapfrogged, and caught Sandro with a sharp dropkick on the rebound. The champ rolled out to regroup, holding his jaw.
Big E stayed calm. Hands on hips. Watching.
Sandro climbed back in, shaking it off. They locked up again, this time Sandro kneed Wes in the gut and clubbed him across the back with a forearm.
He grabbed Wes's arm and pulled him into a short arm clothesline, then again. On the third attempt, Wes ducked it and rolled him up, two count!
The crowd popped at the near fall.
Sandro scrambled up but walked right into an armdrag. Wes held the arm down, keeping Sandro grounded. It was smart wrestling. Slow the pace, wear him down. But Sandro wasn't having it for long. He fought up, hit a back elbow, and spun Wes into a swinging neckbreaker.
Cover! one, two, kickout!
Sandro got to his feet, pacing slowly now. Calculating.
He backed into the corner and waited. Wes stood up groggily and Sandro exploded out of the corner with a running European uppercut, sending Wes stumbling into the ropes. He whipped him across the ring and caught him with a high knee on the rebound.
"Let's go!" Sandro shouted, slapping his chest. The crowd responded with a mixed reaction, some loving the intensity, others booing the cocky energy. He didn't care.
He dragged Wes up, hooked his arms, and lifted for a double underhook suplex, slammed him down hard. Instead of going for the cover, he pointed up to the top rope.
Big E raised an eyebrow from ringside. The crowd buzzed.
Sandro climbed.
The fans thought that it shouldn't be the end of the match yet. And from the looks of it, Sandro wasn't telling that he will do his insurer, but this was something new.
He stood tall, balanced perfectly, as Wes began to stagger to his feet. Sandro leapt, caught Wes in a cutter from the top rope!
"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"
The crowd chanted.
"That's new!" the commentator yelled. "That's new from Sandro! He calls that the Top System Cutter! What a maneuver!"
But Sandro didn't cover. Not yet. He wanted to send a message.
He looked toward Big E, who gave him a nod.
Sandro slowly dragged Wes up, positioned him near the ropes. He climbed the turnbuckle again, this time with clear intent. The crowd stood as he rose to the top rope, faced forward, taunting Wes to get up, and then leapt—
DOWNFALL DDT!
He planted Wes Brisco head first into the mat. The crowd gasped.
"That's the Downfall DDT! That's it!"
Sandro crawled into the cover.
One! Two! THREE!
DING DING DING!
The crowd popped again, a mix of cheers and gasps, impressed at the innovation and dominance.
Sandro rolled off, exhausted but triumphant. The referee handed him the FCW Florida Heavyweight title, and he raised it high while still kneeling. Big E climbed into the ring, slow and steady. His face was stoic as always, but there was the faintest smile, an earned smile.
Sandro stood up and turned to Big E, and the two bumped fists.
The crowd gave them their flowers, solid applause, some cheers, some small amount of boos, but no one could deny it. The champ just leveled up.
But then—everything changed.
The lights dimmed. The screen flickered.
Sandro's music cut off.
A grainy static noise filled the arena, and then, a familiar TNA entrance graphic hit the screen, music blared through the speaker, and the fans erupted in a mix of boos and shocked cheers. That theme… that music… the one fans knew and hated—
The Main Event Mafia.
The camera panned across the arena. Fans stood, stunned.
And then—
Kurt Angle stepped onto the stage.
TNA World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder. Dead serious expression. Behind him came the rest, Scott Steiner and Booker T, the TNA World Tag Team Champions, title gold gleaming on their waists.
Kevin Nash, slow and menacing, with the TNA Legends Championship casually resting on his shoulder.
Sting, stoic in his long coat and face paint, arms crossed.
And bringing up the rear, was their newest member just joined almost a month ago, Samoa Joe.
The same Samoa Joe who had once terrorized FCW as it's FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion.
The same Joe who Sandro had beaten and mocked, by taking the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship from him, and defeating Joe not once but twice.
The crowd exploded in a mix of boos and "HOLY SHIT" chants.
Big E instinctively stepped in front of Sandro, positioning himself as a wall.
Sandro, still breathing heavy from the match, hold his title to his shoulder and motioned for a mic to a ringside crew who gave it to him.
"You want to make this official now, Kurt? After our bosses told us to stay put?" Sandro said, voice crackling with adrenaline. "I see you brought your little Mafia group with you, Kurt. That's cute."
Kurt hearing that just smirked.
Booker T took a step forward and raised a mic of his own.
"You think you funny, sucka? You think you a big deal now? We ain't here to laugh, boy, we here to conquer."
Kevin Nash leaned toward the camera, with a microphone smirking. "That title you're holding? That's cute. But it's a stepping stone. You're in the deep end now."
Samoa Joe stepped forward, his voice calm but threatening. "You should've never used Kurt's move, Sandro. That's disrespectful especially since you are doing to for retaliation. You poked the bear. Now the whole damn forest is burning."
Kurt finally lifted his mic, still cool and collected.
"You wanted my attention, kid?" he said. "Congratulations. You've got it after what you have done last week. Before I might have slight interest but most so much, and now, you're going to learn what it means to challenge a real world champion."
He lifted the TNA World Heavyweight title above his head.
The FCW crowd thundered.
Sandro leaned over the ropes, eyes locked with Kurt's.
"Bring it, Kurt. I'm not afraid of you legends, veterans, who have oaved the way for us, the youngsters, in this industry. Except you Joe, I see you have lost your balls." he said causing the fans to cheers while the Main Event Mafia simmering.
Sandro then continued his words, brushing off the simmering fury of the Main Event Mafia with a cool, sarcastic calmness that only seemed to agitate them more.
"You come to my home turf," Sandro said, gesturing to the ring and the FCW arena. "Yeah, I know, Joe wrestled here before. Hell, he was the top dog for a while, until I put him down and took this title from his shoulders."
He tapped the faceplate of the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship proudly slung over his shoulder. "But let me make one thing crystal clear, I don't care how many world titles you've held, how many years you've been in this business, or how many classic matches your fans like to throw around on the internet. Right here, in FCW, I am the guy. And you old boys just walked into my yard."
The crowd ate it up, some chanting "Sandro! Sandro!" while others jeered, fully aware of the storm this young champion was summoning.
"Now, I could walk down there and slap every last one of you back into retirement," Sandro went on, his voice rising, the fire building in his chest.
"I've got Big E with me, and honestly, that's already more than enough. But hey, lucky for you, I'm holding back. Why? Because management told us to stand down. Told us not to make this physical until the Forbidden Door match card gets announced this week."
He smirked, stepping back and casually resting on the ropes like a man without a single care in the world. The arrogance wasn't just for show, it was a shield, a weapon.
But not everyone appreciated the theatrics. Scott Steiner's jaw clenched. Samoa Joe rolled his neck like a predator ready to pounce.
Both men took a step forward, breaking formation, their intentions as clear as day. They were ready to storm the ring. But before they could take another stride, Kurt Angle lifted a hand, halting them like a strict father reigning in his sons. The Godfather of the Main Event Mafia stepped to the front and raised the mic to his mouth once 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