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And out they came. Stu Bennett. Big E. Drew McIntyre. Ryback. All four were dressed in sleek black suits, ties loosened just enough to drip attitude. Each man carried himself like a predator. No wasted motion. No smiles. No playing to the crowd. All with seriousness in their face.
This wasn't about love.
This was about power.
They stood at the top of the ramp, the sea of boos crashing around them. Sandro stayed in the back. Tonight was their moment.
Stu held the mic.
He raised it slowly, the building growing quieter in anticipation of what the former mastermind and strategist of the Empire was about to say.
"Well, well, well," he began, his British accent slicing through the noise. "A touching scene, truly. Two legends and two crybaby in the ring, bleeding heart and all, trying to appeal to a man who's outgrown all of you."
He smirked.
"You say our leader Sandro's lost his way. I say he finally found it. You say he's surrounded by goons or in other words the four of us. I say, he's built a system. One you can't beat, and certainly one you can't break."
He stepped forward slightly.
"Kofi and Taylor, you two talk about friendship, about honor, about loyalty? Please. Where was all that when Sandro was bleeding for this company and getting nothing but scraps from these so called fans? Where were you when he needed someone to support him going through the dark times he was feeling? The two of you weren't there, you just leech off him as you enjoy your popularity all thanks to him."
He motioned to the men beside him.
"These men, especially Big E who was there? We believed. And now we stand as the most dangerous faction FCW has ever seen. Not because we're thugs. But because we're smarter. Stronger. And far, far more unified than you."
The crowd roared with boos, but they couldn't drown out his voice.
"Kurt. Sting. Kofi. Taylor," he said, drawing out each name. "You've got history, sure. But history doesn't win wars. Strategy does. Power does. And systematic execution does. One by one, we will dismantle you. Piece by piece."
He stared directly at Kofi now.
"And you, Kofi… thinking you'll beat the madness out of our leader? You're welcome to try. But when you wake up from the wreckage, you'll realize the truth, the old Sandro isn't coming back. Because the man he used to be was never strong enough to rule and he has realized that."
The fans continued to boo even after Stu finished speaking, their jeers echoing through the arena like a storm refusing to settle. The venom from the crowd was tangible but Stu and his men didn't flinch. They thrived in it. Bathed in the hate. Fed off it like wolves in the snow, sensing the weakness in the air.
Then, Kurt Angle took a step forward inside the ring, raising a mic with that trademark scowl carved into his face. He looked up the ramp, eyes sharp and steady. The building leaned in.
"Well," Kurt began, voice rough, heavy with experience and disdain, "looks like Sandro has let his bitches off the leash and it's supposed to scare us."
The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and gasps, the tension snapping like a taut wire. The jab was direct, barbed, and deliberate.
"You come out here in your little suits, talk all this big talk… but I don't see any of you backing it up. You want to act like you're above everyone? Like you're smarter? Stronger? Fine. Prove it. Right here. Right now. Why don't the four of you back up what you said… by taking on the four of us face to face?"
The fans exploded, a roar of approval washing over the arena like a tidal wave. Chants of "Let's go Kurt!" and "Fight! Fight! Fight!" broke out in every direction. Ten eyes on stage stared down into the ring. The challenge was laid bare. Clear. Raw. Unmistakable.
Stu slowly lifted his mic again, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes stayed cold.
"Kurt," he said, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher, "you're making the biggest mistake of your career. You really want this? You and your rag tag group of nostalgia and sentiment… versus us? Don't you see the difference? In strength. In intelligence. In unity."
He motioned to the men flanking him, Big E cracking his knuckles, Drew McIntyre standing tall and still, Ryback breathing like a caged animal on the edge of eruption.
"This is a family. This is a system. And we don't lose to emotion."
Then, his eyes narrowed. The smirk vanished.
"But you're so eager to fight? So confident? Why don't you four come up here and show us what you're made of?"
Back in the ring, the atmosphere tensed like a pulled trigger. Kofi looked at the others, his face unreadable, then gave a little shrug as if to say, Why not? Taylor nodded with a fire burning behind his eyes. Sting cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders like a warrior about to step into battle one more time. And Kurt? He just nodded. Calm. Cold. Ready.
Together, all four exited the ring.
The fans went ballistic.
The cheers threatened to tear the roof off as Kurt, Sting, Taylor, and Kofi marched up the ramp with purpose, not running, not hesitating. Just four individuals with a shared cause, walking into a storm they had every intention of surviving. The camera zoomed in on their faces, focused, burning with intensity, with no fear in sight.
On the stage, Stu let out a breath and turned to the others.
"Take 'em down."
Suits hit the ground like shed skin. Jackets tossed, ties yanked loose, shirts unbuttoned just enough to let their fists breathe.
Then, chaos erupted.
The two teams collided with a violence that wasn't manufactured. There was no delay, no holding back. This wasn't a wrestling match, it was a fight.
Fists flew. Kicks landed. The sound of bodies slamming into steel echoed across the arena.
Kurt took on Drew, the two bulls locking horns in a slugfest. Drew's strikes were brutal and deliberate, but Kurt's wrestling instincts countered with takedowns and suplexes.
Sting paired off with Ryback, an odd pairing on paper, but Sting's grit and experience gave him the upper hand early. He ducked under Ryback's wild swings, landing precise punches to the ribs, peppering the bigger man with shots to keep him off balance.
Taylor went after Big E with a fury that surprised even him. His strikes were fast, fluid, and technical, mixing grapples with powerful kicks. For a moment, Big E found himself on the defensive, but his power began to shift the tide.
Kofi and Stu found each other in the center, a war of words turning physical. The speed of Kofi versus the cunning of Stu, Kofi landed a dropkick that sent Stu back a step, but Stu rolled through, rose fast, and fired back with a stiff knee to the gut.
The fans were on their feet, screaming, filming, shouting. The war was happening before them, not in a ring, not with a bell, but raw and unsanctioned on the entrance ramp like a street brawl let loose in a steel arena.
At first, Kurt's team had the upper hand.
Kofi landed Trouble in Paradise on Stu which sent him reeling. Sting locked Ryback in the Scorpion Deathlock for a second before Big E blindsided him. Taylor had Big E staggered with a DDT on the steel ramp. Drew was caught in an ankle lock from Kurt that had him howling in pain.
But the Undisputed System adapted.
Stu barked orders even as he staggered, pointing and shouting, directing traffic like a general in the middle of the carnage.
And that's when the tide shifted.
Big E caught Taylor mid run and lifted him high before slamming him onto the ramp with a thunderous spinebuster. He screamed in pain as his body convulsed from the impact.
Ryback broke free and charged Sting with a devastating Meat Hook Clothesline that spun the legend mid air before he collapsed.
Drew, dragging his injured leg, shoved Kurt into the LED wall and rained down punches before hoisting him up for a Future Shock DDT right onto the steel.
And then the most brutal moment of all.
Taylor, already barely moving, tried to get back to his feet, only for Big E and Ryback to hoist him together.
Stu stepped in close, giving the nod.
They launched him.
A monstrous POWERBOMB from the stage to the floor below.
The screams from the fans were collective. Horrified. Taylor hit the floor like a ragdoll, his limbs crumpling unnaturally as he didn't move. The medics were already running, sliding past equipment and staff just to get to her.
Producers. Referees. Trainers. They all poured out.
Kurt, Sting, and Kofi, each battered and broken, tried to crawl toward Taylor, but Big E and Drew held them at bay like wolves circling the wounded. Ryback stood tall, chest heaving, eyes wild. Stu called them off.
"Enough."
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
He picked up the mic again, brushing the sweat from his forehead, his suit coat hanging from one arm like a cape from a fallen king.
He looked around at the wreckage.
Kurt was down and groaning. Sting is barely able to rise. Kofi crawled toward Taylor, whose condition remained unknown. The fans had gone from cheering to silent shock.
And Stu stood in the middle of it all.
"This—" he said, gesturing to the wreckage, "—is what happens when you stand against us. This is what happens when you fight the Undisputed System."
He stepped toward the edge of the stage, staring down at the carnage.
"Consider this your warning, FCW. TNA. Wherever you come from, whatever legend you think you are. If you stand in the path of Sandro and the Undisputed System, you will fall. Doesn't matter how famous you are. Doesn't matter how loud the crowd screams your name."
He crouched slightly, eyes locked on the broken figures before him.
"Because we don't care about legends. We don't care about nostalgia. We care about victory. And we don't play fair, we play smart. One by one, piece by piece… you will all be dismantled and overhauled."
He stood tall again.
"We are the architects of this new era. The System is not coming."
He looked into the hard camera now.
"The System is here."
Then he dropped the mic.
It hit the steel with a flat clank that echoed like a final note.
The camera panned over the stage, trainers checking on Taylor, EMTs securing him on a stretcher with a neck brace, Kurt clutching his ribs, Sting holding his neck, Kofi with blood on his lip, refusing to look away as Taylor was wheeled off.
Meanwhile, the Undisputed System stood tall. Backlit by the arena lights, like warlords surveying the ruins of a city they just razed.
After that brutal show of dominance by the Undisputed System, something changed, not just in the arena, but in the very way fans began to talk about them. This wasn't just some opportunistic group under Sandro'r leadership, no longer some faction that put their first impression by capitalizing on well timed ambush.
They watched as a group of four men didn't just win, they adapted, calculated, and executed. They overwhelmed a team led by Olympic gold medalist Kurt Angle and flanked by the legendary Sting, the ever resilient Kofi Kingston, and the rising star Taylor.
Fans began to see the Undisputed System not as Sandro's bodyguards, but as disciples of his ideology, warriors who bought into the vision and had now baptized themselves in blood and steel.
What stood out the most, perhaps even more than the savagery, was the structure. The rhythm of the fight. As the cameras replayed the brawl, more and more people noticed the subtleties.
Stu Berrett, often in the shadows compared to the louder personalities, was the one calling the shots mid chaos. Barking commands like a battlefield general. Pointing, shouting, orchestrating with calculated fury.
And when the moment came to do even more damage, to permanently maim or destroy, he was also the one who told them to stop.
That restraint, that control… it unsettled people. Because it meant there was a line. And any group with the power to draw a line like that also had the power to erase it whenever they chose.
Backstage, the mood couldn't have been more different from the tension in the arena.
Sandro stood with arms crossed in catering, still in his dress shirt and slacks, tie loosened, watching a monitor replay the chaos from ten minutes earlier. When the four men walked back through the curtain, sweaty, breathing heavy, but not a single one of them needing assistance, Sandro smiled at them.
He walked over and clapped each of them on the shoulder. "That," he said, nodding approvingly, "was a great performance guys. Brutal. Precise. You all made a big impact out there. Showcasing what Undisputed System is."
Big E grinned, still catching his breath. Drew just gave a nod. Ryback paced a bit, still half charged from the fight, like he hadn't fully powered down. And Stu? He just smirked. Then, at this time, Kurt Angle emerged from the hallway leading to medical. A slight limp in his gait. Behind him were Sting, bruised but upright, and Kofi with his lower lip split and a towel around his neck.
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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