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He stood at the top of the ramp, looking around at the sea of hate. Some fans were standing just to jeer louder. One person had a sign that read " FUCK YOU SANDRO." Another simply said "SANDRO + BIG E = PIECE OF SHIT." Sandro and Big E walked down the ramp and entered into the ring, then he let the noise swell for a good twenty seconds before bringing the mic to his lips.
"You don't get to boo me."
That first line sliced through the arena like a dagger. The fans were stunned, not by the volume, but by the weight of his words. Sandro's voice was calm. Icy. Intentional.
"You don't get to boo me. Not after everything I've done. I've fought for you. I bled for you. I won for you. And now, suddenly I'm the bad guy after beating down Kofi, Taylor, Kurt, and Sting?"
He stepped forward, pacing slowly, each word deliberate and cutting. The hardcam caught every nuance of his expression, bitter, exhausted, defiant.
Sandro looked around the arena, his voice calm, too calm, as he dropped the next bomb. "You're all a bunch of fucking hypocrites."
A tidal wave of boos erupted. Louder than before. Big E stepped forward, roaring, "SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTHS!" He shouted with so much force, that spit flew from his lips. The veins in his neck bulged with fury.
Sandro raised a hand, signaling for quiet, not that he expected it from the fans as it was for Big E who immediately went quiet. He stared down the crowd, face hardened, teeth gritted.
"No. You all shut the hell up!" He snapped. "This is MY time. Not yours. Not anymore. You've had your say for the past year. Now it's MY turn to speak!"
The fans began to settle, still booing, but now wanting to hear what he had to say.
"What? Did that hurt your feelings? Did it sting when I called you what you really are? A bunch of fucking hypocrites? Can't handle the truth? I'm not here to protect your feelings anymore. I'm here to expose you."
He pointed at the crowd.
"Since day one, day fucking one, I've done everything to make you people happy. Every time I stepped into this ring, I gave you every ounce of blood and energy I had. I took risks. I got back up when I should've stayed down for your entertainment. I opened every door I could, not just for me, but for everyone who came with me. I pushed for women's matches to main event and the creation of the FCW Divas title. I defended what was right. I gave a damn about being fair. I tried to be the hero you all claimed to want. And what did I get in return?"
He let the question hang.
"I became the FCW Florida Heavyweight champion. I beat Samoa Joe. I stood at the top. And that's when it all changed. All of you couldn't wait to tear me down. I saw your posts. I read your tweets. Suddenly, it wasn't about how hard I worked. It was about who my father was. It was about money. Nepotism. 'He bought the title.' 'He cut the line.' 'He doesn't belong here.'"
The titantron flickered to life. A montage of social media posts appeared, at first scattered, then increasingly vicious. Tweets accusing Sandro of being a fraud. FCW Official Forum comments telling him to retire. Online threads call him a disgrace.
"At first, I told myself, 'Sandro, it's just noise. You're still a rookie. Prove them wrong.' That I need to prove I deserve it. That's why I did open challenges every single week. I wanted to EARN it. I wanted to silence the doubters. I didn't want a single person to say my reign was handed to me."
He shook his head slowly.
"But the more I tried… the worse it got. 'He's not sincere.' 'He's planning something.' 'He's just a puppet on a golden string.' The harder I worked, the deeper the knife went. It didn't matter what I did. The hate kept growing."
The screen was now filled with a digital wall of hate that continue to grow. Then the camera cut to a close up of Sandro's face, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with emotion.
"I was burning myself out trying to prove I belonged, and all you did was light the fire higher. Bray Wyatt... maybe he saw it coming. Maybe he knew I was the fuse. He called it. He said it would explode. And he was right. He was fucking right."
He threw his hands up.
"So what happened? I lost. I lost the title. I lost the momentum. I lost the respect I tried so hard to build. I lost everything. I gave you my soul, and you spit it back in my face. And where were my so called friends? Kofi? Taylor? They acted like nothing was happening. Like it was just business as usual while I was being stabbed in the back by the very people I defended."
He turned toward the hardcam.
"You want to know why I attacked them? Because I saw red. Because for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be alone. And when you've got nothing left to lose… you fight."
Big E nodded slowly beside him, arms crossed. The crowd had fallen to a dull murmur.
"You wanted a Sandro without honor? Without fairness? Without rules? Well, guess what? The video where I hit Kofi and Taylor, it's the most watched and most liked video on the FCW YouTube channel."
He pointed to the titantron again. A screenshot appeared. It showed the video "Sandro and Big E's Brutal Betrayal" with millions of views and over tens of thousands of likes, comments praising the "new" Sandro, and fans suddenly claiming he had "finally grown a spine".
"Look at that. You loved it. Don't lie to yourselves. You say you want heroes, but you reward monsters. You call for justice, but celebrate violence. You don't want honor. You want chaos. And now that you've got it, now that I've given you exactly what you wanted, you're still not happy. You asked for the devil. Don't cry when he answers."
He stepped back to the center of the ring.
"If that's not hypocrisy, then what the hell is it?"
Silence fell over the crowd.
"You're not just part of the problem. You ARE the problem. You… are the poison inside FCW. Every cheer that turns into a boo. Every hero you build up just to tear down. You're the cancer. And me? I'm the cure."
Sandro continued, stepping forward again, his voice unwavering, "I will be the surgeon. I will cut out this cancerous tumor."
Sandro let that line sit, while Big E, standing behind him with arms crossed, nodded solemnly.
"If FCW has to be saved, if it has any hope left, then the only way forward is through pain. Through change. And that means I will destroy everything I once loved. Every bond. Every alliance. Every illusion. And when there's nothing left, when the ashes settle… maybe then FCW can rise again."
His eyes were glassy now. The emotion wasn't fake. It was real. Sandro got himself deep in this promo.
"I will stop at nothing. NOTHING. To make that happen. If I have to hurt every man, woman, or child who stands in my path, I will. If I have to destroy legends, friendships, or dreams, I will. If that mean being the monster you painted me as? So be it. I will burn it all down if I have to."
He pointed again at the crowd.
"Also if it means making YOU suffer the way I did? You'd better believe I'll enjoy every second of it."
He raised his arms slowly with his TNA World Heavyweight title on his right hand, almost like a messiah awaiting judgment, while Big E crossed his arms and out on the most intimidating stoic face he could, as the arena erupted into chaotic noise.
The boos were loud.
But they weren't boos of confusion or betrayal anymore.
They were pure, molten hate.
Trash was being thrown into the ring now, half finished drinks, a crumpled sign, someone's empty popcorn tub. Sandro didn't flinch and soaked in it like it was sunlight. Big E just stayed stoic and kicked a soda cup away as it hit his leg.
As all of this happened, the lights in the arena dimmed slightly, and then came the familiar, thunderous blast of Kurt Angle's entrance music.
The crowd, who had been a writhing, angry storm just moments before, throwing anything they could get their hands on into the ring, suddenly erupted into unfiltered joy. The boos dissolved like mist in sunlight, replaced by a deafening ovation. Cheers exploded so loud it felt like the roof might actually rip off the building.
Kurt Angle stepped out from the back but he wasn't alone.
Sting. Kofi Kingston. Taylor Rotunda. All four stood shoulder to shoulder at the top of the ramp, each man holding a microphone, their presence radiating purpose. The fans lost their minds at the sight of them, the crowd uniting in a roaring wave of hope, defiance, and anticipation.
Back in the ring, Sandro and Big E turned toward the ramp. The two of them, no longer smug or smiling, stood firm, serious expressions etched into their faces as they stared down their opposition.
Then, just as Kurt Angle lifted his mic, Sandro raised his hand abruptly and barked, "Cut the stupid music."
The boos came crashing back like a tidal wave.
The fans didn't want the interruption. They wanted heroes. They wanted justice. They wanted someone, anyone, to finally shut Sandro up.
But Sandro just walked toward the ropes with that sharp, cutting grin of his, eyes locked on the four men standing on the stage. "Well, well, well… what do we have here? The Fantastic Four?" he drawled sarcastically. Then, with a scoff, he added, "Or should I say… the Shittastic Four?"
Big E, looming behind him, let out a low chuckle. It wasn't loud, but it echoed through the ring like a drumbeat of disrespect. The crowd wasn't laughing. They were seething.
Sandro leaned over the ropes, one hand gesturing casually at the men standing on the ramp. "So what's the plan, huh? You four gonna lecture me? You gonna come out here and wag your fingers, tell me I'm a bad boy for what Big E and I did last week? Especially to Dusty and Steve after the beatdown we gave to you, Kurt, and you, Sting?"
He shrugged dramatically. "That ship's sailed, Shittastic. The hypocrites already did your job for you. Twitter. FCW forums. Internet threads. They've been condemning me all week. You're late to your own funeral."
Kurt finally stepped forward, the mic raised. "Sandro… naming sense ain't your strong suit, is it? Shittastic Four? Really?" The crowd laughed at that, a brief moment of levity in the tension.
He continued, voice steady and low. "We're not here to scold you. Not me and Sting, anyway. We're here for revenge."
Pop. The crowd roared at the word.
Kurt tilted his head toward Kofi and Taylor. "But maybe these two got something else to say."
Kofi stepped forward. He didn't yell. He didn't posture. He just looked at Sandro with the kind of sadness that hits harder than anger.
"Man… what happened to you?" Kofi asked, the question lingering like fog. "When we became Dragon Boom, you were all about the fight, the fun, the fans. You were honorable, man. You were positive. Now? You're just… a selfish, arrogant, hateful, self entitled bitch."
The crowd lost it at that.
A chorus of "OHHHHHHHH!"s filled the arena as Kofi's words stabbed through the air. Sandro didn't flinch. He just kept staring, his jaw twitching.
Taylor picked up where Kofi left off. "You used to be the guy who loved this place, man. You respected these fans. You said you'd die for this ring. Now look at you. You burned every bridge. And for what? Because people had opinions on the internet?"
Kofi nodded. "You wanna talk about hate? We all get hate. But you let it change you, man. Twist you. Break you. And now you're out here trying to act like it's our fault? Like it's the crowd's fault? Nah, man. This ain't you. This is some fake ass version of Sandro that thinks pain makes power."
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: FCW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: None
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion