Backstage – After Jaxon Cross vs. Ken Shamrock
Jaxon Cross sat alone in the locker room, wrapping his knuckles in fresh tape. His body ached, his ribs throbbed, and his neck still felt the effects of Shamrock's German suplex. But none of that mattered.
He had won.
He could still hear the crowd outside, still feel the energy of Raw pulsing through the arena. This was his second match in WWF, and already, he had taken down two respected names.
But the battle wasn't over.
The locker room door swung open. Bruce Prichard stepped inside, looking nervous. That meant only one thing.
"Vince wants to see you."
Jaxon smirked, finishing his wrist tape. "Of course he does."
---
Vince McMahon's Office – The Trap is Set
Vince McMahon leaned back in his chair, hands folded, his face unreadable. But Jaxon knew the game. Vince wasn't happy. The plan had been for Shamrock to humble him. Instead, Jaxon walked out victorious.
"You had a hell of a match tonight, Jaxon," Vince finally said. "Really. You proved you can hang."
Jaxon crossed his arms. "That why I'm here? To get a pat on the back?"
Vince chuckled. "No. You're here because we need to keep that momentum going. You see, you've been making quite a few enemies backstage."
Jaxon smirked. "Good."
Vince's eyes darkened. "That's the wrong answer, kid."
He leaned forward. "You're not bigger than this business, Jaxon. You don't just walk in here, win a couple of matches, and suddenly become the toughest guy in the company. You need to be tested. You need to be… broken in."
Jaxon said nothing. He had been in this exact situation before. Promoters always played the same hand. They saw something dangerous, something they couldn't control—so they tried to put it down.
"Next week on Raw," Vince continued, smirking, "you'll be in a handicap match. Against…"
He let the moment hang in the air.
"The Acolytes."
Jaxon chuckled. Bradshaw and Faarooq. Two of the toughest men in the business. They didn't do catchphrases, they didn't do flashy moves. They just beat people up.
"You think that's gonna scare me?" Jaxon asked.
Vince smiled. "I don't need you to be scared. I just need you to survive."
---
Monday Night Raw – Jaxon Cross vs. The Acolytes (Handicap Match)
Jaxon stood in the ring, rolling his shoulders, waiting.
Then—the Acolytes' music hit.
Bradshaw and Faarooq marched down the ramp, no nonsense, no theatrics. They weren't here to wrestle. They were here to teach a lesson.
The bell rang.
Jaxon didn't wait.
He charged forward, smashing into Faarooq with a stiff elbow strike before turning to level Bradshaw with a forearm! The big Texan staggered, but Faarooq tackled Jaxon from behind, driving him into the turnbuckle.
The beatdown began.
Faarooq and Bradshaw took turns hammering Jaxon with clubbing blows. The referee tried to enforce the rules, but there were none. Vince had made sure of that.
Faarooq hoisted Jaxon up—spinebuster! The mat shook.
Bradshaw followed up—a brutal elbow drop to the back of the head.
Jaxon gritted his teeth. His body screamed for relief, but he wasn't here to break.
He was here to fight.
Faarooq dragged him up—Jaxon headbutted him!
The crowd gasped.
Jaxon followed up with a snap DDT on Bradshaw! The big man's head bounced off the mat.
But before Jaxon could capitalize—Faarooq nailed him with a lariat to the back of the head!
Jaxon collapsed.
The Acolytes weren't trying to win. They were trying to hurt him.
Bradshaw pulled Jaxon up, whispering, "You shoulda kept your mouth shut, kid."
Then—CLOTHESLINE FROM HELL.
The impact sounded like a shotgun blast.
Jaxon hit the mat. Hard.
Bradshaw placed a boot on Jaxon's chest.
1… 2… 3.
---
The Aftermath – A Statement Made
The match was over. But the beating wasn't.
Bradshaw and Faarooq kept stomping Jaxon's ribs, his back, his skull.
The fans booed.
Then—the lights flickered.
The arena darkened for a split second. Not long. Just enough to confuse everyone.
Then—Jaxon sat up.
The crowd popped.
Bradshaw and Faarooq froze.
Jaxon Cross, blood trickling from his lip, his body broken, his ribs screaming—grinned.
He wiped the blood from his mouth, then beckoned them forward.
"Come on."
Bradshaw looked at Faarooq. "What the hell…?"
Faarooq shook his head. "Stay down, dumbass."
Jaxon pulled himself up using the ropes. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes…
His eyes were wild.
He took a step forward.
The Acolytes hesitated.
Jaxon smirked. "Thought so."
Then he dropped to a knee.
Not in weakness.
In defiance.
The message was clear:
You can knock me down, but you can't break me.
The Acolytes left the ring, shaking their heads.
The camera zoomed in on Jaxon's bloodied face. He looked straight into the lens.
"McMahon… you're gonna have to do better than that."
Cut to black.