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"That… was incredible," the first commentator breathed. "An absolute classic. But in the end, the veterans still know how to get it done." Sandro sat slumped in the corner, back against the bottom rope, his chest heaving. Big E crawled over to him, checking on his partner. The fans gave a respectful applause for Sandro and Big E's efforts, even if they'd been brash, even if they'd pushed the line, they'd made a statement.
But then… something shifted.
Sandro leaned in toward Big E and whispered something to him. The camera couldn't pick it up, but Big E's eyes narrowed. He nodded.
And then all hell broke loose.
Without warning, Big E charged forward, slamming into Sting, Kurt, and even the referee with a massive running body block that sent all three men flying like bowling pins hit by a bowling ball, scattered across the ground.
"WHAT THE HELL?! BIG E JUST TOOK EVERYONE OUT!" the first commentator screamed.
The cheers turned instantly to boos. Loud ones. Confused ones. Angry ones.
Big E pounced on Sting, raining down fists as the legend tried to shield himself. Then he turned to Kurt, who was trying to get up, and stomped him down again.
And Sandro, still selling the submission pain, climbed to his feet slowly. Gingerly. A wince here, a stagger there. But as soon as he was up, the pain vanished. His smirk returned.
He joined Big E in the assault.
The two laid into Kurt and Sting, hammering them with stomps, fists, and elbow drops. Sandro even told Big E to pulled the referee up by the collar, and then he goes to the top rope and dropped the referee with a Downfall DDT for good measure.
"Come on! This is disgusting! The match is over! You lost, take your L and move on!" the second commentator yelled.
The booing reached a fever pitch. Fans in the front row were flipping them off. One kid was crying, being comforted by his father.
Sandro walked over to the ropes, barking at the timekeeper. The TNA World Heavyweight Championship was handed to him, and he slung it over his shoulder as if nothing had happened.
Then Kofi Kingston's music hit!
The crowd popped hard, and the roof nearly came off.
Out ran Kofi at full speed, not alone, Taylor Rotunda was right behind him. The two sprinted down the ramp, the fans roaring in approval.
"YES! Kofi and Taylor! They're not letting this slide!" the first commentator screamed.
Sandro and Big E saw them coming and bailed, sliding out of the ring just before the cavalry arrived.
Kofi slid into the ring and immediately checked on Sting and Kurt. Taylor stood guard, glaring daggers at Sandro and Big E on the outside.
Sandro dusted himself off, one hand holding his title, the other raised in mock surrender. Big E stood beside him, grinning like nothing was wrong.
The fans let them have it, boos rained down from every corner of the arena.
Inside the ring, Kurt was on one knee, holding his ribs. Sting was sitting up, dazed. Kofi and Taylor hovered around them, protective. Kofi pointed at Sandro and shouted something, but the camera didn't catch it. Whatever it was, it had bite.
Sandro didn't flinch.
He adjusted the strap on his title and raised it high above his head.
Big E clapped mockingly.
Then, slowly, the two men backed up the ramp, smug and unapologetic.
"This is what we're dealing with now?" the second commentator said bitterly. "Sore losers who don't care about respect or the rules? This is disgraceful."
"And yet… look at Sandro," the first commentator added, "He's still standing. Still champion. Still playing the game his way."
Kofi and Taylor glared at the two from inside the ring, still checking on Kurt and Sting. The crowd chanted "You suck!" as Sandro and Big E reached the top of the stage, turned one last time, and held their fists in the air.
As the two men raised their fists in the air, smug and defiant, the chaos behind them only grew. Referees, officials, and several members of the medical team rushed from the backstage area, brushing past Sandro and Big E in a hurry to reach the fallen.
The scene in the ring was ugly, Kurt Angle clutched his ribs, still grimacing in pain, while Sting leaned on one elbow, dazed and trying to piece together what just happened. The referee who had been on the receiving end of the Downfall DDT lay motionless, only beginning to stir as medical staff gently turned him onto his side and began assessing him.
In the ring, Kofi Kingston was still pacing like a lion, protective and pissed. Taylor Rotunda hovered beside him, jaw clenched, arms folded, shooting glares at Sandro and Big E.
Both looked ready to charge again as Kurt and Sting was being checked upon, but the swarm of officials created a human wall, corralling everyone to keep the situation from escalating further.
Then the crowd exploded, a thunderous roar of both anticipation and righteous fury.
Out came Dusty Rhodes and Steve Keirn.
And they were not smiling.
The cameras cut to a close up of Dusty's face, beet red with anger, and Steve's expression was no less intense, a mix of betrayal, disbelief, and boiling rage.
As they stormed past the curtain and marched down the ramp, their body language was enough to command attention. No theme music, no microphones, just raw, unfiltered fury.
They didn't wait to get to the ring. Right there on the ramp, just feet from Sandro and Big E, they let loose.
"You think this is the way to make a name for yourself?" Dusty thundered, his voice caught on camera loud and clear. "Attacking legends? Putting your hands on officials? You think you're bigger than the business?"
"Do you have any damn idea what you've done?" Steve barked, pointing a furious finger at Big E. "This ain't heat, this is disgrace. You embarrassed everybody tonight."
The fans cheered the verbal beatdown, but Sandro and Big E didn't flinch. Sandro's face twisted into a slight frown, like a child being scolded for sneaking cookies, more annoyed than remorseful. Big E looked off into the distance, stoic, unmoved.
Dusty wasn't done. "You're both fined for what you two had done. Ten thousand dollars, each. You're damn lucky I don't suspend you too."
That was the final straw.
Without a single word of warning, Sandro suddenly lunged forward and headbutted Dusty Rhodes right between the eyes.
The audience gasped so loud it became a collective scream. A shockwave rolled through the arena.
Before anyone could react, Big E threw a massive right hook that connected clean with Steve Keirn's jaw, dropping him like a sack of bricks.
Dusty went down too, crumbling onto his side, his cowboy hat tumbling away.
The boos erupted like a volcano. Some fans in the front row stood in stunned silence, hands over their mouths. Others were screaming curses, middle fingers raised high.
One teenager ripped up a Sandro sign and threw the pieces at the barricade, ending his support for heel Sandro, as he had attacked Dusty. A mother was covering her child's eyes. This wasn't just wrestling heat anymore. This felt real.
Officials and referees jumped into action. Some knelt beside Dusty and Steve, checking their vitals, while others turned on Sandro and Big E, shouting and pointing, trying to force them to the back. "GET OUT OF HERE!" one ref bellowed, shoving at Big E's chest. "NOW!"
Sandro raised both hands in mock surrender, an arrogant smirk crawling back onto his face. His body language dripped with mockery. Big E remained impassive, but a fire flickered behind his eyes, the fire of a man who had crossed a line and didn't regret it.
They backed up slowly, step by step, dragging the heat with them like a burning storm cloud. As they reached the top of the ramp, the camera stayed locked on them.
Sandro slung the TNA World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder like it was nothing more than a stolen trophy, then raised his middle finger toward the ring, unapologetic.
Back in the ring area, Kofi and Taylor had exited to check on Dusty and Steve, brushing past security and dropping to their knees. Kofi and Taylor's face said it all, they were devastated. They looked at Sandro like the two of them didn't even recognize who he was anymore.
The show then cut to black.
But the story was only just beginning.
Within minutes, #Sandro and #BigE were trending worldwide on Twitter. Clips of the headbutt and the punch circulated at lightning speed. Fans were outraged, heartbroken, confused, but most of all, they were talking.
One post read, "Sandro and Big E just assaulted Dusty Rhodes and Steve Keirn LIVE! This man went from a heel everyone despise to public enemy #1 in matter of seconds."
Another read, "This was a very sick move from Sandro and Big E. I've been a Sandro fan since he debuted for the first time. I don't even know what to say right now. I support them even in their heel turn. But this was a low blow to me."
Even wrestlers weighed in, both in face and heel kayfabe.
@MickFoley: "Dusty mentored all of us. Seeing that clip of Sandro made me physically sick. Hope Dusty's okay."
@CodyRhodes: "I dare @SandroZhang to try that to my face. Me and my brother will teach him a lesson."
@CMPunk: "Great Move @SandroZhang! Can't stand that old fat man running his mouth, keep up the great work!"
@MiketheMiz: "Bravo! Even though we haven't know each other, what you did was spectacular @SandroZhang!"
Wrestling podcasts scrambled to schedule emergency episodes. Online threads ballooned with speculation. And in Stamford, Connecticut, at WWE Headquarters, Stephanie McMahon and Triple H were already watching the footage in a glass walled conference room.
Stephanie sat forward, arms crossed. "That kid has nuclear heat."
Triple H nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. "He's money. Natural heat like that? We haven't seen it since maybe Lawler, Shawn, or Jericho at the peak of their heel tenure. This is next level."
They were impressed. The video was being dissected from every angle, Sandro's timing, his body language, Big E's cold execution. It wasn't a sloppy outburst. It was intentional, plotted, calculated.
"This," Triple H said, eyes fixed on the paused footage of Sandro holding the title and sneering at the fans, "is our next top heel of the new generation."
They agreed. A call up was inevitable and maybe they couldn't hold it back for much longer. Not just because of the moment but because Sandro had proven he could carry a story, command attention, and control an audience with ease.
A week passed in a blur.
Sandro didn't show up at the TNA Impact Zone that Thursday. No match was scheduled for him, and the locker room was already buzzing with stories and whispers. Some wrestlers acted furious kayfabely, calling what he did a line crossing disgrace. Others, quietly, were in awe.
Big E kept a low profile, declining interviews.
Meanwhile, fans wondered what would happen next. FCW Official Twitter account and the FCW Official Forum Admin had gone quiet, offering only a statement saying that Dusty and Steve were "recovering and being monitored" and that disciplinary actions were "being reviewed internally." No one knew what was coming.
Until the following week, when Sandro's music the Cult of Personality hit at the opening of the show. The crowd, already restless, exploded in boos.
He walked out slowly, of course alongside his bodyguard, Big E. But their entendre was with no flash. Just Sandro in his usual ring attire, the TNA World Heavyweight Title slung over his left shoulder like a war prize with his right hand holding a microphone, and Big E with a stoic face.
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.
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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