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Sandro stood at the top of the ramp, the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship resting on his left shoulder, a microphone clutched in his right hand. His face was a mask of conflict, torn between restraint and the urge to act. The fans roared at his presence, their cheers reverberating through the arena, but Sandro remained still for a few moments, breathing deeply, clearly wrestling with himself.
Finally, with a sharp nod, he signaled for his music to cut off. The sudden silence that followed only heightened the anticipation.
Sandro lifted the microphone to his lips.
"I told myself… I told myself I wouldn't come out here," he began, his voice measured but tinged with frustration. "I told myself that the match was over. That the referee's decision was final. That I should stay backstage and let this night continue."
He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he started moving down the ramp.
"But as I watched what happened out here… as I saw what went down… I couldn't do it. I couldn't just sit back and let that be the end of it. Not like that."
The crowd popped, sensing that something big was coming. Nick Nemeth, still standing inside the ring, scoffed and rolled his eyes, playing up his arrogance despite the clear uncertainty creeping onto his face. The referee, meanwhile, stood frozen, looking between Sandro and Nick with the same forced confusion he had been trained to show.
Sandro climbed the steel steps, his movements slow but purposeful. He stepped into the ring, locking eyes with the referee. The tension in the arena was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Nick, playing his role perfectly, crossed his arms and smirked. "What the hell do you want, Sandro?" he sneered, his voice dripping with faux confidence. "You here to congratulate me? Maybe give me a title shot for that FCW Florida Heavyweight title, huh? Because let's be real, I am the only guy who's won a match tonight. That's because I'm the best in this world baby!"
The fans booed as Nick's voice was picked up by the microphone on Sandri's hand, but Sandro didn't even glance in Nick's direction. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on the referee, his jaw tightening.
"The result of this match…" Sandro finally said, his tone deadly serious, "was disgusting."
A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd.
Nick's smirk faltered.
Sandro took a step closer to the referee, who subtly braced himself. "I watched you give the win to Nick Nemeth," Sandro continued, his voice rising slightly. "I watched you raise his hand, call it official, stamp his name into the second round of the most important tournament in FCW's recent history."
Another pause. Another exhale. Like Sandro was trying to calm himself down.
"But what I also saw was Nick blatantly hitting Taylor with a low blow ehic should have caused a disqualification. But I saw you get knocked down at the exact moment he cheated. I saw this match get decided by deception and a rigged system."
The crowd was firmly behind him now, chanting, "Restart the match! Restart the match!"
Nick quickly stepped in between Sandro and the referee, shaking his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a damn second," he barked, pointing a finger at Sandro. "What exactly are you saying here? Are you saying I didn't win this match? You saying that I cheated?"
He let out a mock laugh, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous! The ref made the count! The decision is final! You don't get to come out here and change history just because your little buddy couldn't get the job done!"
Taylor, still recovering in the corner, slowly pulled himself up with the ropes, his breathing heavy. He locked eyes with Sandro, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He hadn't expected any of this.
But Sandro wasn't finished.
He turned back to the referee, his voice firm. "I want you to revoke your decision and restart the match."
The entire arena exploded.
Nick's eyes went wide in shock. Taylor's head snapped up in disbelief. Even the referee, despite knowing the script, widened his eyes for dramatic effect, as if genuinely stunned.
The commentary team was in an uproar.
"Wait, WHAT?! WHAT DID I JUST HEAR?!"
"Sandro is ordering the referee to restart the match! But can he do that?! Can he just demand—"
"Well, he is the FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion! He holds a lot of influence, but I don't know if even he has the power to overturn a referee's decision!"
Nick was the first to react in character, throwing his hands up. "You've gotta be kidding me!" he yelled, practically foaming at the mouth. "This match is over! I won! The decision was final! You can't just come out here and—"
The referee, still playing his part, hesitated before shaking his head. "I… I can't do that," he said, his voice low but firm. "The match is over. The decision stands."
Sandro didn't react right away. Instead, he let out another slow breath, running a hand through his jet black hair. He nodded once as if accepting it.
Then, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit. And pulled out a stack of crisp dollar bills. The arena collectively gasped.
Nick's jaw dropped. Taylor's eyes widened. The referee, still in character, blinked in feigned confusion.
The fans lost their minds.
"Wait, wait, what the hell is this?!"
"Oh my God, is Sandro trying to bribe the referee?!"
"What is happening right now?! Why would Sandro do that?!"
Sandro slowly, methodically, counted out a few hundred dollar bills, rolling them between his fingers before holding them out to the referee.
Nick was furious. "Oh, this is BULLSH—"
Sandro didn't even acknowledge him.
"Let's try this again," he said smoothly, eyes locked onto the referee's. His voice was low, calm, but undeniably commanding. "Revoke the decision. Restart the match."
The referee hesitated again, his face twisting in exaggerated uncertainty. The fans were eating it up.
Nick stormed forward. "Hey, HEY! You can't just—"
Sandro turned sharply, finally acknowledging him. His expression was unreadable.
"I'm sorry, Nick," Sandro said, his tone polite. "Do you have a problem with my business dealings?"
Nick looked like he was about to explode. "YES, I HAVE A—"
Sandro turned back to the referee, completely dismissing Nick. "What's it gonna be?"
The referee looked down at the money, then up at Sandro. His eyes darted to Nick. Then to Taylor. Then to the raucous crowd.
And finally…
He took the money.
And waved his arms signaling to the ring announcer and the bell ringer that he decided to restart the match.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS MATCH HAS BEEN RESTARTED!"
The roof nearly came off the arena after the ring announcer announced what happened.
Nick lost his mind, screaming in protest. Taylor, still reeling from the events, snapped back to reality, his hands gripping the ropes in disbelief. The bell rang again.
Sandro took a step back, smiling ever so slightly. The match was back on. And Nick Nemeth had nowhere to run.
Sandro then gets out of the ring and stays in Taylor's corner, wanting to watch the whole match from there and keep an eye on any dirty moves that Nick might make.
His expression remains neutral, but his posture speaks volumes, arms crossed, stance firm, the FCW Florida Heavyweight Championship still resting on his left shoulder. His presence alone is enough to keep Nick wary.
Inside the ring, Nick is visibly stunned by the turn of events. He paces back and forth, running a hand through his blond hair, before turning to the referee with exaggerated outrage. His voice echoes through the arena as he protests.
"What the hell was that?! You can't just take my win away!" he yells, his frustration palpable. "I had this match in the bag! This is a disgrace! I should be moving on to the next round, not standing here getting screwed over!"
His complaints, though loud and theatrical, are carefully controlled. Beneath his anger, there's a flicker of something else, realization. He hadn't been expecting this twist.
He had assumed his victory was final, but now, thanks to Sandro's interference, everything had changed. He sneaks a glance at the referee, his face briefly shifting from his heel persona to genuine curiosity.
Taylor, meanwhile, is equally thrown off. He looks around, wide eyed, trying to process what just happened. This wasn't something he had anticipated. As a face, he knows he has to play the part of the honorable competitor. He steps forward, holding up a hand.
"Wait, wait, this, this isn't right," he tells the referee, shaking his head. "You already made the decision. I lost. I don't want a match restart like this."
Despite his words, there's an undercurrent of curiosity in his tone. He's just as confused as Nick. He glances at Sandro, who remains outside the ring, watching everything unfold without saying a word.
The referee nods, acting as if he's addressing their concerns, but in reality, he's using this moment to subtly inform them of what's happening. Under his breath, just low enough so only they can hear, he mutters, "Finish stays the same. This was to set up Sandro's new persona."
Both wrestlers process the information. It clicks for them now. This wasn't just a random segment, this was an angle. A way to add heat to Nick's heel character and at the same time Sandro introduces his new persona subtly. They exchange the slightest of nods to signal their understanding before shifting back into their roles.
Nick's expression hardens, his frustration morphing back into arrogance. He steps up to Taylor with a smirk. "You know what, Taylor?" he sneers. "You're right. This isn't fair."
Then, without warning, he throws a cheap shot, a stiff forearm straight to Taylor's jaw.
The crowd erupts in boos as Taylor stumbles back, caught off guard. The referee calls for the bell, officially restarting the match.
Nick immediately goes on the attack, stomping Taylor down into the corner, his frustration manifesting in aggressive offense. The referee steps in to break it up, forcing Nick to back off, but the damage is already done, Taylor is shaken.
Nick seizes control early on, grounding Taylor with a series of headlocks and calculated strikes. Every time Taylor tries to build momentum, Nick cuts him off with a dirty tactic, a rake to the eyes, a handful of tights, using the ropes for leverage. He plays the heel to perfection, taunting the crowd after every cheap shot.
At ringside, Sandro remains still, his face unreadable as he watches the match unfold. He doesn't interfere. He doesn't react. He's just watching, observing Nick's every move.
Taylor finally finds an opening after countering a suplex attempt, slipping behind Nick and rolling him up for a quick two count.
It's enough to shift the momentum, Taylor springs to his feet, ducking a clothesline and firing off a series of rapid strikes that send Nick reeling. He hits the ropes and comes back with a flying forearm, dropping Nick to the mat. The crowd comes alive as Taylor starts building his comeback.
He lifts Nick onto his shoulders, looking for his finisher, but Nick wriggles free, raking Taylor's eyes behind the referee's back before nailing a swinging neckbreaker. He goes for the pin, one, two, but Taylor kicks out!
Nick slams his fists on the mat in frustration, barking at the referee. "That was three! That was THREE!"
The referee shakes his head, holding up two fingers.
Nick sneers, pulling Taylor up by the hair. He taunts him, slapping him across the face. "C'mon, Taylor! You wanna be a big deal, huh? You wanna be a champion one day? Pathetic!"
That slap ignites something in Taylor. He explodes with a burst of offense, catching Nick off guard with a running knee to the face, followed by a snap DDT. He scrambles for the cover, one, two, NO! Nick barely gets the shoulder up.
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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