330. Wade & Drew Singles Match
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Big E and Ryback stood like titans, flexing, snarling. And then the Undisputed System exited the ring, leaving behind chaos and broken bodies. The cameras followed them up the ramp, Sandro raising Alexa's hand like she'd just won a championship herself. In a way, she possibly had as with Undisputed System it is only a matter of time.
After Big E and Ryback's dominant tag team win, one that felt less like a wrestling match and more like a warning shot to every other team in the division, the crowd was still buzzing.
The image of their brute strength, the raw impact of every slam and clothesline, still lingered like smoke in the air. But as the ring crew quickly swept away the debris of destruction on the mat, the lights dimmed for the next match.
The screen above the entrance ramp flickered to life, displaying the crest of the Undisputed System, ominous, golden, and bold, followed by the chilling sound of Wade Barrett's theme. The fans erupted into boos the moment Barrett stepped through the curtain.
Clad in a long black coat with the Undisputed System's insignia across his back, Wade walked out like a man who had already won. No Sandro tonight. No Alexa. No Drew. No backup.
Just Wade Barrett, calm and composed, carrying the Undisputed System's flag into battle on his own terms. His face was unreadable, except for the smug, condescending tilt of his head as he scanned the crowd with utter disdain.
Then came Titus O'Neil.
His theme hit like a thunderclap, and the crowd rose to their feet with a mix of cheers and hopeful anticipation. Titus stormed out from the back, a man on a mission, pumping his fists and barking with his signature energy. There was no one in his corner either, no backup to even the odds. Just raw muscle, pure adrenaline, and heart.
The bell rang.
They circled each other, a test of presence before a test of power. Wade moved like a chess master, one calculated step at a time. Titus, in contrast, was coiled like a spring, ready to pounce.
They locked up.
The first exchange was pure strength. Titus powered Wade back into the corner with sheer brute force. The ref stepped in to break it up, and Wade used the moment to drive a thumb into Titus's eye just out of view.
The crowd booed, and Wade backed off innocently, flashing that irritating British smirk. That was the game he played. Not just moves. Moments. Manipulations.
Titus shook off the sting and charged with a clothesline that sent Wade reeling over the ropes. The audience roared as Wade hit the floor, cursing under his breath.
Titus followed, tossing Wade into the barricade, then into the ring apron, then into the steel steps. The ref barked at him to bring it back inside, but the crowd didn't mind. They loved seeing Wade punished.
Back inside the ring, Titus hit a massive scoop slam that shook the canvas. He followed up with a leg drop, then another, then roared to the crowd with arms wide open.
Momentum was in his favor. He dragged Wade up and hoisted him into a delayed vertical suplex, holding him for a full ten seconds before crashing him down.
Cover. One... Two... Wade kicked out.
But then the match shifted.
Wade caught Titus's leg on a big boot attempt and delivered a vicious Dragon Screw, wrenching Titus's knee at a violent angle. That was the opening Wade needed. Like a shark that smelled blood, he went after the leg relentlessly. Kicks.
Stomps. A targeted elbow drop to the inside of the knee. A single leg Boston Crab. A grounded dragon screw. Every move was slow, methodical, and cold. The kind of punishment that broke careers, not just matches.
Titus howled in pain but refused to tap.
Every time he reached for the ropes, Wade pulled him back. Every time he tried to power out, Wade transitioned into something nastier. And then came the taunts, Wade crouching next to him, whispering something venomous only Titus could hear. Something that made Titus roar back to life.
Titus fought to his feet, limping heavily. Wade threw a forearm. Titus ate it and threw a right hook that sent Wade staggering. Another punch. Then a clothesline. Then another.
Titus bounced off the ropes, limping badly, and hit a shoulder tackle that sent Wade flying. He screamed, adrenaline kicking in. Pain pushed aside for pride.
He dragged Wade up, set him for the Clash of the Titus, his finisher which was a Sitout Spinebuster, and lifted him high.
But Wade slipped out at the last second.
In a fluid, almost serpentine motion, Wade landed behind him, spun him around, and drove his elbow straight into Titus's jaw.
Bull Hammer.
The crowd gasped. Titus collapsed to one knee, but Wade didn't cover him. No. That wasn't the Undisputed System way.
Wade stood above his fallen opponent, hands on his hips, smirking. He waited. Watched. Let Titus groggily rise to his feet, using the ropes for support. The crowd shouted at him to stay down, but Titus didn't hear it. Or maybe he did, maybe he just refused to listen.
He turned.
BULL HAMMER.
The second one hit even harder, the sickening thud of elbow meeting jaw echoing across the arena.
Wade dropped to his knees and finally covered him.
One.
Two.
Three.
The bell rang, but the fans didn't cheer. They booed. Loud and long.
"Here is your winner… WADE BARRETTTTT!"
Wade stood slowly, brushing his hands off like he'd just taken out the trash. His smirk widened. He raised both arms high, soaking in the jeers like a king basking in the outrage of the peasants. The announcer declared him the winner, but he didn't need the confirmation. He knew.
This wasn't just a win. This was a message.
The Florida Heavyweight Championship division just got put on notice.
As Wade left the ring, his victory felt like another calculated move in a long term strategy. Another piece on the board shifted by the Undisputed System. First Big E and Ryback. Now Barrett. Domination wasn't coming, it was already here.
The lights dimmed again. The tension in the building shifted. This was it.
Main event time.
The crowd buzzed with boos and cheers as Nick Nemeth's entendre music blasted through the speakers. Nemeth stepped through the curtain, arms outstretched, hair slicked, a determined look etched across his face.
The former FCW North American Champion was back in the spotlight, and tonight, it was personal. This wasn't just about another title opportunity. This was about pride. About reclaiming what he once held.
He slapped a few hands, rolled into the ring, and pointed to the title graphic in a banner above. He was ready.
Then… Drew McIntyre's music hit.
It was as if a storm rolled into the arena. The Undisputed System's Scottish brute walked out with slow, heavy steps, each one reverberating through the floor. His long coat flowed behind him, and his eyes were locked on the ring like a hunter stalking his prey.
He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He just walked and the fans booed louder with every step.
This was his proving ground. This was the match that would decide who stood next in line for the FCW North American Championship and the Undisputed System wasn't about to let that opportunity slip away. Not at this moment when they just announced their ambition to take all gold.
The bell rang, and for a split second, the entire arena held its breath. It wasn't just about the number one contender spot for the FCW North American Championship anymore. This was about statement.
This was about pride. This was about the Undisputed System proving they could not just dominate, but conquer, and about Nick Nemeth refusing to become just another stepping stone in their golden warpath.
Drew McIntyre stepped forward like a man possessed. Towering, intense, all cold fury and raw power. Nemeth didn't back away, not showing hisbusal cowardice. He bounced on the balls of his feet, light, coiled, fast. They locked eyes and neither blinked. The crowd was split, half cheering, half booing, but everyone was watching.
They locked up in the center of the ring with a heavy slap of muscle and tension. Drew shoved Nemeth back with ease, showing the raw power that had made him feared across every division he'd ever entered. Nemeth rolled backward from the impact, landed on his feet, and smirked as he wiped his jaw. He nodded.
"Alright, then. Let's go."
They locked up again, and this time Nemeth ducked under, slipped around behind Drew, and threw a quick dropkick to the back of his knee. Drew stumbled, but didn't fall. Nemeth followed up with another dropkick, then a third, springing off the second rope this time for added velocity.
Drew went down to one knee, but as Nemeth ran in for a neckbreaker, Drew popped up and caught him mid move, deadlifted him like a sack of grain, and tossed him over his shoulder with a thunderous belly-to-belly suplex that shook the ring.
"OHHHHHHH!" the crowd gasped.
Drew stalked over, grabbed Nemeth by the hair, and drilled a stiff elbow into his neck, then another. He dragged Nemeth up, walked him to the corner, and chopped his chest so hard it echoed across the building like a gunshot.
Nemeth staggered forward, chest instantly red. Drew hoisted him up and dropped him across the top turnbuckle throat first, then pulled him down into a punishing backbreaker.
He didn't go for the pin. Not yet. He wanted to break Nemeth down.
He began methodically punishing him, gut punches in the corner, a brutal running lariat, and then a snap suplex that transitioned right into a grounded headlock, squeezing the oxygen from Nemeth's lungs.
The crowd tried to rally behind Nemeth.
"LET'S GO NICK! CLAP CLAP! CLAP CLAP! CLAP CLAP!"
Nemeth twisted, elbowed, shifted his weight, fighting out of the hold. He threw a few desperate punches to Drew's gut, then springboarded off the ropes, flying DDT! He spiked Drew's head into the mat and both men collapsed in exhaustion.
The referee started counting.
1…
2…
3…
Both men stirred.
Nemeth crawled to the ropes, using them to pull himself up. Drew sat up, snarling, eyes blazing.
They met in the middle again. Drew swung.
Nemeth ducked.
Superkick, no! Drew caught the leg.
Clothesline, ducked again! Nemeth rebounded off the ropes and hit a jumping forearm that rocked Drew. He ran again, another forearm! Drew staggered.
Nemeth jumped up onto the middle rope, springboard tornado DDT! He nailed it!
Cover!
One!
Two!
Kickout!
Nemeth slapped the mat in frustration, but didn't waste time. He climbed the top rope. The crowd rose with him.
"HE'S GONNA FLY!"
Nemeth leapt and elbow drop! Right across Drew's chest!
He rolled to his feet, fired up now, screaming to the crowd.
"COME ONNNNNNN!"
He waited for Drew to stand.
Drew slowly rose.
ZIG ZAG!
He got all of it!
The crowd exploded.
Nemeth hooked the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
NO! DREW KICKED OUT AT ONE!
The crowd lost it. Boos. Screams. Shock. Pure disbelief.
Nemeth sat up, eyes wide, hands on his head. He mouthed, "Are you kidding me?!" to the referee, who held up one finger.
Drew McIntyre lay on his back, breathing heavy, but his eyes… his eyes were open, burning. And as Nemeth slammed both hands on the mat in frustration and then stood up, trying to find that last ounce of strength, Drew…
KIPPED UP.
The crowd gasped in awe.
Nemeth turned and saw Drew charging toward him.
CLAYMORE KICK!
The impact was brutal, Nemeth's head snapping back from the sheer force. He collapsed in a heap. Drew didn't waste a second.
He dropped down.
Hooked the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rang, but the arena was already half on its feet from the Claymore. The official pointed to Drew's hand, and the announcer declared:
"Here is your winner… and the number one contender for the FCW North American Championship… DREWWWW MCINTYRE!"
Boos reigned down from the pro-Nemeth crowd, but Drew stood tall, chest heaving, face unshaken. The Undisputed System had added another name to the list of contenders.
Drew stared into the hard camera, eyes locked in. No smile. No celebration.
Just cold focus. He mouthed the words, "We're taking everything." And then he left the ring. Nemeth stirred, groggy, crawling toward the ropes, clutching his jaw and muttering to himself. He had given everything, but tonight, even perfection wasn't enough to stop the machine that was Drew McIntyre.
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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