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Sandro smiled, a sharp, knowing grin. He took the pen, signed with a flourish, and then flipped the folder closed with a satisfying snap. The crowd roared again, the tension mounting. Mick stepped forward, holding up the folder. "It's official. At Against All Odds, it's Bobby Lashley versus Sandro Zhang for the TNA World Heavyweight Championship!"
The crowd went wild.
Sandro stood, lifting his title once again, walking around the table until he was inches from Lashley.
"You may be a machine in that ring," Sandro said. "But I built an empire. And empires don't fall overnight."
Lashley grinned. "Then I'll be your reckoning."
Before either man could escalate, Stu, Big E, Drew, and Ryback closed ranks around Sandro. A tense staredown followed, the crowd chanting "LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!"
But Mick stepped between them. "Save it for the pay per view you two!" Sandro held Lashley's stare for another second before backing away, title over his shoulder.
But as he walked backward from Lashley and Mick, Sandro turned to look at Stu. Just a flicker of eye contact, sharp, deliberate. And then, a subtle nod.
Stu, standing between Big E and Drew, cracked his knuckles and clapped both men on the shoulder. Like a silent command had been passed down, the two musclebound enforcers sprang into action.
In one explosive motion, they flipped the long signing table forward with a violent crash, sending it hurtling toward Lashley and Mick Foley.
The crowd gasped in unison.
Mike Tenay nearly choked on his own words. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Don West was wide-eyed, slapping the commentary table. "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE THEY DOING?!"
In the ring, the momentum caught both Lashley and Mick completely off guard. The heavy wood smacked into their chest and midsections, knocking them flat on their backs, groaning in pain. The atmosphere shifted from excitement to chaos in a heartbeat. Fans booed thunderously, the arena raining down jeers like a thunderstorm in hell.
Drew McIntyre didn't miss a beat. He yanked the table back up off the mat and raised it high over his head before slamming it down viciously across the backs of Lashley and Mick. The thud was sickening. He picked it up again and tossed it out of the ring like it was trash, clearing the battlefield for what came next.
Big E and Ryback pounced like hyenas, fists raining down on the fallen legends. Elbows, knees, stomps, anything to keep them down. Lashley tried to roll away, but Ryback was relentless, pinning his arm and digging his forearm into his face. Big E pounded Mick's ribs with clubbing forearms, snarling like a man possessed.
Meanwhile, Stu calmly slid out of the ring and ducked under the apron. He rummaged for a second before pulling out something that sent the fans into another wave of stunned disbelief, a sledgehammer.
Gasps turned into outright screaming as Stu climbed back into the ring and walked it over to Sandro. With a big, malicious grin on his face, Sandro took the sledgehammer like a king accepting his sword before battle.
The arena lights caught the polished steel head of the weapon, giving it a sinister gleam. He handed off his TNA World Heavyweight Championship belt to Stu, who slung hold it over with both of his hand like the good strategist and advisor he was.
Now Drew positioned himself at the bottom of the ramp, a steel chair gripped tightly in his hand like a gatekeeper from hell. He stood firm, daring anyone, referee, producer, security, locker room talent, to take one step toward the ring.
His eyes were focused, his body language unreadable. When the first brave referee tried to rush forward, Drew met him with a brutal chair shot to the chest that sent him sprawling down the ramp.
Back in the ring, the damage intensified. Mick and Lashley were dragged upright by Big E and Ryback, each man holding their victim in place like they were offerings to a god. Sandro approached them, sledgehammer in hand, his eyes flicking between Mick Foley and Bobby Lashley.
"You thought you could embarrass me?" Sandro sneered. "You thought you could challenge my reign? You think you're untouchable?"
With a brutal, calculated swing, Sandro drove the sledgehammer into Mick and Lashley's gut for couple of times taking turns on both men. Until Foley doubled over, but Big E yanked him back up, only for Sandro to deliver a big shot. The fans shrieked in horror.
Lashley who had sobered a bit tried to fight back, but Ryback kept him firmly in place. Stu circled behind Sandro and delivered a hard boot to Lashley's midsection, causing him to slump in Ryback's arms.
And then came the moment that would replay in slow motion on every wrestling recap show for weeks.
Sandro stood in front of Mick Foley — a legend in the business, hardcore icon, and beloved by fans everywhere — and lifted the sledgehammer high above his head. For a split second, everything in the arena froze. You could hear a pin drop.
Then Sandro brought it down.
Right on Mick's temple.
The blow was delivered with expert precision and theater — Mick protected perfectly, having tucked his arm and turned slightly, with Sandro perfectly controlled his strength as well — but to the crowd, it looked like death itself. The crack of steel on skull echoed through the rafters. Mick crumpled to the canvas like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The crowd was dead silent for a moment. Shock. Pure shock.
And then came the booing. Deafening, guttural, angry. Fans near the barricade threw drinks. Someone chucked a plastic chair toward the ring. Mike Tenay's voice trembled.
"Somebody stop this! That was disgusting!"
Don West was livid. "He could've killed Mick Foley! This is sick! This isn't wrestling, this is criminal act!"
Lashley, despite the punishment, thrashed against Ryback's grip, yelling in fury, trying desperately to get to Mick. His character work was flawless, his face twisted in rage and helplessness, spit flying as he roared, "LET ME GO!"
Sandro stepped back, admiring his work like an artist looking over a finished painting. He turned to Stu, who still held the TNA World Heavyweight Title, and gestured for the microphone lying nearby. Stu handed it over like a knight giving a king his crown.
Sandro brought the mic to his lips, smirking through the hate being hurled at him from every direction.
"You see that?" he said, pointing at Mick's fallen body. "That's what happens when you stand in the way of the Undisputed System."
The fans responded with more boos. One man in the front row tried to jump the barrier but was pulled back by security.
"You people think you can chant, tweet, and protest your way into getting what you want. You think you're the voice. No. We are the system. We don't play fair. We dominate."
He looked down at Lashley, still being held by Ryback.
"And you, Bobby. You're not walking into Against All Odds to win a title. You're walking into a warzone. And you're not coming back out with full body intact."
Before he could continue, the entrance theme of Dixie Carter hit like a lightning bolt. Seconds later, she emerged from the tunnel, flanked by Jeff Jarrett and half the TNA locker room, faces, heels, referees, road agents, security guards, even a couple trainers. They stormed the ramp like an army, with Dixie at the front, her face a mix of fury and disbelief.
Sandro's face changed the moment he saw them. He immediately turned toward his crew and barked, "Fall back! NOW!"
The Undisputed System scattered like shadows at dawn. Big E and Ryback let go of Lashley, slipping under the ropes with urgency. Stu dropped the belt back into Sandro's hands, and together with Drew, who was swinging his chair at the incoming wave, they jumped the barricade into the crowd.
Sandro led them, holding the title high above his head like a battle standard, smirking at the chaos they'd left behind. As fans tried to reach out or shout in his face, he didn't flinch. He embraced the heat like it fed him.
In the ring, Dixie and Jeff knelt beside Mick and Lashley, calling for medics and checking on both men. EMTs rushed out with stretchers. Mick was groggy but giving a weak thumbs up. Lashley, seething and spitting blood, sat upright, murder in his eyes.
Jeff Jarrett took a mic, his voice echoing with steel resolve.
"Sandro Zhang!" he bellowed. "You just crossed the line. You put your hands on Mick Foley who is an official of TNA Management, you assaulted Bobby Lashley, and you defiled this ring with your gang of thugs!"
Sandro turned, amused.
Jeff pointed at him from the ring.
"So here's what's gonna happen, son. At Against All Odds, you will defend your TNA World Heavyweight Championship against Bobby Lashley, but it won't be just any match."
The crowd leaned forward, sensing something massive.
Jeff continued, voice rising.
"It's going to be inside a steel cage! No more interference. No more hiding. No more Undisputed System jumping people from behind. You'll be locked in with the Destroyer and the only way to win… is by pinfall or submission!"
The fans roared in approval, finally feeling some justice.
Sandro didn't flinch. He just smirked, tilting his head and mouthing the words, "Bring it on."
With the TNA World Heavyweight title slung back over his shoulder and his crew around him, Sandro disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a scorched battlefield and a message written in violence.
The road to Against All Odds was now paved in blood and steel.
After the show ended, the crowd was still buzzing, the air in the TNA Impact Zone charged with the kind of energy you can't fake, part shock, part awe, and part furious disbelief.
Social media exploded. #SledgehammerGate was trending within minutes. Wrestling forums were melting down, fans debating whether the segment had gone too far or whether it was the most electrifying ending in years. But in the backstage corridors of the arena, far away from the cameras, pyros, and microphones, the atmosphere was dramatically different.
The storm had passed. The kayfabe curtain had dropped.
Sandro and the Undisputed System — Stu, Big E, Drew McIntyre, and Ryback — were strolling down the hallway like a bunch of guys leaving a really good party. The energy was light now, casual. Laughter bounced off the walls, handshakes were exchanged, and the tension that had soaked their bodies like sweat just minutes earlier had evaporated.
Sandro had a bottle of water in one hand, the TNA World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder, and his arm around Stu's neck as they walked. His grin had none of the sinister smugness it held in the ring; now it was just genuine, the kind of grin you wear when you know everything clicked just right.
"Man," Ryback said, chuckling, "that crowd was losing their minds. You hear that pop when we flipped the table? I thought Don West was gonna pass out."
Big E laughed so hard he nearly tripped. "Bro, I saw someone throw their nachos. Like full on airborne nacho explosion. We made people sacrifice stadium food. That's when you know it's real."
Drew, trailing behind them, just shook his head with a rare smile tugging at his lips. "And the best part? Not one mistimed cue. Flawless execution."
They reached the hallway that led to the medical room, where a couple of TNA officials stood outside, arms crossed but smiling knowingly. Sandro gave them a friendly nod, and the group stepped inside the room where Mick Foley and Bobby Lashley were being checked over by the medics.
Mick was already halfway into a story, gesturing wildly with his hands, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair matted with sweat. Bobby sat beside him on a bench, shirt off, abs glistening with rubbing alcohol as a trainer dabbed at a small bruise on his ribs.
The moment they saw Sandro and the crew, Mick and Bobby grinned like they'd just seen old friends walk through the door after a successful heist.
"Now that," Mick said, pointing at Sandro, "was a fucking segment."
Lashley slapped his thigh with a booming laugh. "Hell of a night, man. Fans are eating it up. You feeling the heat yet? Twitter's about to crown you the most hated man in wrestling yet again."
Sandro laughed, walking over to bump fists with Bobby. "That's the idea, right? You good, man?"
"Fit as ever," Lashley replied, rubbing his chest. "Ryback hits hard, but I've taken worse. Match at Against All Odds is gonna be money, man. I can feel it."
Sandro turned to Mick. "You good, legend?"
Mick leaned back on the bench and gave a mock groan. "Son, you think a good protected sledgehammer to the head's gonna rattle me? I've been set on fire, electrocuted, buried alive, and yeeted off a twenty foot cell like a crash test dummy. That shot was like getting kissed on the forehead by Tinkerbell."
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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