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With a guttural growl, Moxley smashed Foley's face into the steps. Once. Twice. Three times. Moxley then reached under the ring and pulled out a sack. The crowd knew. Thumbtacks. He dumped them in the ring like candy from a pinata. He rolled Foley back in and stalked after him. Foley stumbled to his feet. Mox grabbed him for a suplex onto the tacks—
But Foley reversed it! Belly to back suplex, Moxley went spine first into the tacks! His back arched. Screams echoed. Blood began to seep from his back into his jeans.
Foley grabbed a steel chair and waited. As Moxley got to his knees—
CRACK! Chair to the back. Another. Another. Foley was relentless as Moxley writhed.
Foley pulled out Mr. Socko from his pants. The crowd roared. He jammed it into Moxley's mouth. The Mandible Claw!
Moxley thrashed, clawed at Foley's wrist, kicked the mat, but Foley had it locked in tight.
But Moxley, having mentality of a psychotic survivor, dug deep. He bit down. HARD. Foley screamed and let go. Mox shoved him off, spat blood and cotton, and shoved Foley into the ropes. Rebound, Moxley hit the ropes too, but double clothesline!
Both men down.
The crowd clapped. Rhythmic. Growing louder.
Moxley rose first. Limping. Bleeding. He pulled Foley up. Hooked him.
He signaled for his finisher. Moxicity.
But just as he lifted Foley—
CRACK!
A steel chair to the back of Moxley's skull.
The crowd erupted in confusion then loud boos.
It was Tyler Black.
Dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, eyes cold, chair still in hand. Moxley collapsed to the canvas, limp.
Foley sat up, confused. He looked at Black, almost confused because in his eyes Moxley and Black should have been allies, they were from FCW. "What the hell?"
But before he could stand—
CRACK!
Black struck Foley too with the steel chair. Right across the forehead. Foley collapsed, Mr. Socko still hanging in his hand.
The audience who booed was stunned when they saw what just happened.
Black stood over both fallen men, face unreadable. Then he dragged Foley's limp body, placed it over Moxley.
The referee seeing this hesitated.
Black barked with the steel chair in his hand, "COUNT!"
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
The bell rang.
Boos rained down like acid.
Mick Foley was declared the winner, but he didn't move. The referee looked down at him, unsure, then at Black.
Black stood alone, chair still in hand, staring at Moxley.
Then he dropped the chair and slowly exited the ring, never looking back.
The medics then came out. The fans kept booing. Not at Foley. Not even really at the result. They booed the betrayal Black have just done to FCW. And also take advantage of the situation for his personal rivalry with Moxley, not caring for anything else.
In the ring, Jon Moxley was helped up. He shook off the doctors. Blood in his eyes. He didn't speak. He didn't scream. He just stared up the ramp where Black had disappeared. And smiled. It wasn't over. Not by long shot.
The crowd was still buzzing with disbelief. Jon Moxley standing in the ring, blood staining the canvas, as medics helped Foley onto a stretcher. Tyler Black's actions weren't just unexpected, they were a knife to the heart of FCW loyalty.
Yet as the boos faded into murmurs, the audience's energy began to shift. A new atmosphere began to take shape.
It was time for the next match.
The lights dimmed for only a second before pulsing back to life, this time tinted with a harsh crimson glow. A booming guitar riff shook the arena, and out walked Rebecca Knox, the reigning FCW Divas Champion.
She marched to the ring, her belt slung defiantly over her shoulder. No theatrics. No dancing. Just a glare that cut through the haze of blood, betrayal, and smoke from the chaos moments ago.
She was here for a fight.
And the crowd knew it. The chants started immediately, "RE-BEC-CA! RE-BEC-CA!"
Then the lights cut out completely.
A second passed.
Then another.
A primal scream of distortion echoed, followed by thunderous drums. The spotlight snapped to the stage, and there she stood.
Awesome Kong.
The TNA Knockouts Champion towered on the ramp, belt clenched in her massive hand, her eyes locked on Rebecca with the kind of focused hatred that chilled the air. She didn't strut or flex. She stomped, with every step causing an audible rumble from the ramp beneath her boots.
She entered the ring, stepped between the ropes, and stood nose to chest with Rebecca Knox. The visual contrast was stunning showing Rebecca, fiery and furious with a scrapper's frame while Kong, a colossus carved from fury and power.
The referee moved between them, almost hesitantly, and took the titles from each champion. Holding both high to the audience, the stakes were made crystal clear, title for title. Pride for pride. Dominance for dominance.
The bell rang.
Rebecca immediately lunged, throwing a stiff forearm to Kong's chest. Kong grunted but didn't budge. Rebecca threw another, this time hitting the side of Kong's jaw. Kong turned her head slightly… then exploded with a shoulder block that sent Rebecca halfway across the ring.
The fans gasped.
Rebecca rolled, popped up, and sprinted back toward Kong, only to eat a spinning backfist that cracked loud enough to echo in the cheap seats. She dropped to her knees but grinned, blood already coloring her lip from an opened cut. Kong smirked back.
This was what they both wanted.
Rebecca surged up and chopped Kong across the chest. The crowd woo'd. Kong responded with a headbutt. Rebecca stumbled, but swung back with a forearm. Kong answered with a short arm lariat that flattened the redhead to the mat.
Still, Rebecca crawled to her feet, defiantly throwing a double leg kick to Kong's knee to bring the giant down slightly. Then she bounced off the ropes and dropkicked Kong square in the face. Kong fell back, stunned.
The crowd roared.
But Kong wasn't done. She sat up fast and growled. Rebecca charged and tried to whip her into the corner, but Kong reversed, sending Rebecca crashing spine first into the turnbuckles. Kong then followed up with a splash that shook the ring.
Rebecca gasped, stumbling out of the corner. Kong grabbed her by the hair, dragged her up, and delivered a brutal vertical suplex that bounced Rebecca off the mat. Kong didn't go for the pin. Instead, she stood over her, daring her to rise.
Rebecca coughed, but her eyes never left Kong's. She wiped blood from her lip, and then, CRACK!
Kong headbutted her. Hard.
Too hard.
Rebecca's nose exploded in a spray of red.
The crowd hushed. Blood streamed from Rebecca's nostrils, dribbling down over her lips and chin. She blinked, staggered back—and smiled. A sick, wild smile.
She shook her head, spat to the side, and yelled, "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!"
Kong snarled and swung again, but Rebecca ducked and countered with a release German suplex that sent Kong halfway across the ring. It was messy. It was raw. But it worked.
Rebecca didn't let up. She charged and threw a running knee right to Kong's skull, followed by a mounted barrage of fists, elbows, and sheer fury. The ref stepped in, but Rebecca snarled, "Don't even think about it!"
The blood now smeared across her face made her look almost feral.
Kong roared, shoved her off, and launched into a series of devastating offense consist of a gutbuster. A spine shaking powerbomb. A falling slam that bent Rebecca like a crescent. Then, she grabbed Rebecca's head, Implant Buster.
The crowd groaned in collective shock.
Kong hooked the leg.
ONE. TWO. NO!
Rebecca kicked out.
The arena erupted.
Kong's eyes widened for a second, then narrowed. She dragged Rebecca by the ankle toward the corner. Slowly, methodically, she ascended the turnbuckles. The audience screamed in anticipation.
Awesome Splash.
Her body crashed down from the top rope like an avalanche.
ONE. TWO. REBECCA KICKED OUT AGAIN!
Kong sat up in disbelief. She slammed the mat. The bloodied warrior beneath her was still breathing, barely, but breathing. Rebecca pulled herself up with the ropes, her eyes glazed yet focused. Every movement hurt. Every breath was labored. But she refused to die.
Kong came in like a freight train—
And Rebecca sidestepped, using Kong's own momentum to shove her face first into the corner. As Kong stumbled back—
BEXPLODER!
The crowd exploded.
Kong rolled, stunned.
Rebecca screamed, blood pouring from her busted nose, and grabbed Kong's arm. With all her might, she dragged her up.
Hard Knox!
The ring shook. Kong was planted.
Rebecca screamed again and dove into the cover, hooking the leg deep.
ONE! TWO! THREE!
The bell rang.
The audience exploded.
The referee grabbed both belts and handed them to Rebecca, who dropped to her knees as the arena roared with respect and awe. Blood still streamed from her nose, now smeared across her cheeks and chin like war paint. She held up both titles, fists trembling from the effort.
She had done it.
She had survived the monster.
No, she had beaten the monster.
Awesome Kong rolled out of the ring, dazed and stunned but slowly nodding, showing the faintest trace of respect as she stumbled up the ramp. She may have lost the gold, but the war? That had been mutual.
In the ring, Rebecca remained kneeling, clutching both titles to her chest. The crowd chanted her name over and over, a wall of noise that pushed past the pain and blood.
"RE-BEC-CA! RE-BEC-CA!"
She slowly rose to her feet, hoisting both belts high above her head. Her chest heaved, her nose a mess, but her spirit was unbroken.
She had just gone through hell with one of the most dominant women in wrestling, and walked out the double champion.
As she stepped onto the turnbuckle, she raised both belts again, nodding at the audience. Her music played, but it almost didn't matter, the crowd's energy drowned it out.
After that, the next match was between Nick Nemeth, the FCW North American Champion, and AJ Styles for the title. Originally, it had been slated as a champion versus champion showdown, Nick Nemeth versus Christopher Daniels, the reigning TNA X Division Champion, with both titles on the line. But plans changed.
Christopher Daniels had sustained an unfortunate injury during a high risk tag team bout on TNA Impact just days before the pay per view. A torn ligament in his knee, nothing career threatening, but enough to keep him out of this war. The announcement had come suddenly, and fans were worried the match might be scrapped entirely.
But in a last minute call, TNA pushed for AJ Styles, to step into Daniels' place, not for both titles, but for a shot at the FCW North American Championship.
The fans didn't mind. If anything, the excitement spiked. Styles was a world class competitor, a name already etched in the DNA of TNA's identity. And Nick Nemeth? The cocky, chiseled golden boy of FCW who had spent months building a reputation for the cowardly and most arrogant title reign as an inaugural champion FCW had seen. It was set.
When both men came out, the energy shifted.
Nick Nemeth made his entrance first, strutting with that smug confidence, his platinum blonde hair slicked just enough to catch the light. The FCW North American Championship belt gleamed over his shoulder.
His smirk radiated pure disdain as he brushed off the jeers from the crowd. He wore his signature navy blue tights with silver accents, and a white jacket with "NEMETH" embroidered in bold block letters across the back. He was cocky. He was loud. But he could back it up.
Then came AJ Styles.
The lights dropped, and the opening riffs of his entrance theme hit like thunder. The crowd erupted. AJ stepped out in a black hooded vest, his hair buzz short, his expression serious.
There were no theatrics, no pandering. Just AJ, striding with quiet confidence and purpose. A man who had made a career proving people wrong. They stood across from each other in the ring. The referee held up the FCW North American title. The bell rang.
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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