Disclaimer: As always, my lovelies, I only own my original character(s). Everyone in the WWE belong to themselves.

A/N: Well, well, I must say that the main guy from the WWE in this story is quite the odd one. I've never seen a story about him, but that really doesn't surprise me. Most everyone hates his character. But I look through the character and try to pick out the characteristics of the person playing the character, and I end up with the personalities for this story. I know that you probably won't like him just because of who he plays in the WWE, but c'mon people, just give the story a chance!

Chapter One

Her thirteenth birthday had been the worst day of her life. She hadn't expected a single gift, or a cake, or even acknowledgement from her parents, but she never in her wildest imagination thought that she would be handed a small suitcase, containing clothing and toiletries, and a twenty dollar bill, only to be kicked out of her home for good.

The words of her mother, which were spoken through her thick Russian accent, still stung every time she thought of them. Her lips had been painted a blood red color, and a fat, black Russian cigarette had hung dangerously from her bottom lip. "You, girl, get out of my house. Go, now, go. You lucky. If we back in Russia, you be working the streets by now, making good money for the family. Men in Russia take any whore they find. But here, no, you ugly girl, you not pretty like you sister. Everyone want you sister. You not be wanted by American men. You of no use to us, girl. Don't come back."

As her mother had spoken, her father had just sat back in his overstuffed, ratty recliner, a half sleeping drunken stupor looming over his balding head. Her sister, a sixteen year old girl who resembled their mother greatly, snickered in the doorframe of the kitchen. Without so much as another word, Faida Mullova left her house, the shithole she grew up in, for good.

Seven years later, she wasn't doing much better. She had been living her life from scrap to scrap, dumpster diving for food, or occasionally nicking a treat from an outdoor market in the large city of Las Vegas, where she called her 'home' of sorts. That is, if you could call sleeping in the corner of a dark alleyway, praying to sleep through the night without being beaten or raped, a home.

Though, when she could get enough money from her various endeavors - whether it be stealing, or selling herself to sleazy businessmen with combovers and bad body odor, she would check herself into a hotel. She always took the towels, soap, shampoo, and toothpaste the hotel provided, and would buy herself a new toothbrush whenever she had some change to spare. She was by far the cleanest homeless girl she had ever seen.

As of late, she hadn't been staying on the streets. She had made some friends with some men in a local band - really, a no talent garage act that hoped to be the next Nirvana - and slept on the couch in the lead singer's apartment more often than not.

"Damn, Mom, if only you could see me now."

Her thoughts towards her 'family' were nothing but bitter. Her parents had kids only to employ them as hookers to bring them money. Faida had never wanted to do that. She wouldn't comply with what her parents told her to do. Looking back at her luck, she sighed. It happened anyway. Fate was an ugly game; it slapped her in the face with every street corner she rounded.

As luck would have it, her friend, who typically asked his acquaintances to call him 'Malice' (as if the name struck fear into the hearts of his fans) and his band, Icon, went out of town for a Battle of the Bands competition. Malice had left the apartment to Faida to do whatever she pleased there.

Well, the girl was happy just to have running water, electricity, and a warm bed to sleep in. It wasn't a common occurrence for the raven haired twenty-year-old to actually sleep in a bed - or a building, for that matter. Leaving her alone for that weekend meant that she had the bathtub and bed all to herself - which was good, since all she really wanted to do was sleep, anyways.

But, as she annoyingly figured out one bright morning, Malice had left her absolutely no food. She sighed, knowing she had no choice but to venture into the city and find some place to steal from. Thieving wasn't exactly her favorite thing to do, but hey, she had to eat somehow. She rummaged through the apartment until she found a plain black bag, which she slung around her shoulder, and left.

It was a fairly warm day, and the back of her neck had beads of sweat dripping down it to the collar of her shirt. Her naturally jet black hair was thick and layers of it were sticking to her neck as she walked along the familiar streets, searching for somewhere to get food. Her dark blue eyes scanned the tall buildings around her until they rested on one certain building she knew well. Shows of all kinds were held on it, and according to the marquee, a World Wrestling Entertainment event was to be held there that night. It was the perfect opportunity; large spreads of catered food were always set up at shows like that. But just how was she to distract the guards from the entrance? She stood and pondered the thought for a moment.

Luckily for her, very luckily indeed, a hoard of teenaged fans - mostly female - showed up at the gates, demanding to see their favorite wrestlers. She took the opportunity then, as the guards were forcing the fans back from the gate, to swiftly duck underneath the fenced in area closest to the arena door and enter the large building before anyone had a chance to notice. She knew that she didn't have much time now; she would have to get the food and haul ass as to not get arrested. She searched for the catering table quickly, passing an array of wrestlers and backstage workers in her pursuit.

Finally she found it, and she was completely right. It was laden with sandwich meats, cheeses, breads, vegetables, fruits…just about any finger snack she could think of. She quickly began grabbing whatever she could get her hands on, stuffing the food into her black bag. A grin spread over her pretty features as she finished putting the amount of food she wanted in the bag; she thought it was another job well done.

Until she turned around.

She ran smack into a man much taller than her, with a nicely toned body, and nearly fell backwards, until he caught her pale arms with his nicely tanned hands.

"Whoa, you okay?" He asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She nodded quickly and tried to walk off, but he still had a firm - but not too firm - grip on her wrist.

She looked up at him like a deer caught in headlights. She knew that she had been discovered.

"What are you taking all of that food for?" He asked. She looked down, not being able to get an answer out without stuttering heavily. She tried to do the only thing that came to mind - run. But unfortunately for Faida, he caught her again.

"Look, chill out…I'm not gonna turn you in or anything." He said, looking at her face. Her cheeks had turned pink with embarrassment, and the level of fear in her heart was rising. She knew that he said that…but did she believe him? No.

"It was either this or dumpster diving, okay?" She spat, looking away again. A shocked look spread over his face as he let her go, and that's when she took her chance, running off before he could catch her. He did shout after her, though, and tried to chase her down, but to no avail; she seemingly disappeared.

Mark shook his head. The girl must've been homeless; she intrigued him, though. She was very clean - shiny black hair that hung to her shoulder blades, fresh, smooth skin…she was really very beautiful.

"Come on, man, you have a match tonight," His friend Shawn said, walking up to him. He nodded, following the man. He couldn't concentrate on his match, though. He couldn't get his mind off of that girl.

It was then that he made a decision. He was going to go through with it, however rash it was. After the show that night, he was going to look for her.

His match that night had been great; the fans, of course, still didn't like his character, but he kept his winning streak alive. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair before taking a very quick shower and slipping into casual street attire - blue jeans and a white button down shirt.

"Catch you later, man." He said to Shawn, and before his friend even had a chance to ask him where he was going, Mark was gone. He loaded his rental car with his bags before taking off. It was early yet, only about 10:15. He was actually happy for once that he was just a mid-carder.

'Man, what am I doing?' He asked himself as he drove around the city, trying to figure out where she could be. He didn't even know her name…she was probably homeless…Was he crazy? Trying to track down a homeless girl in the middle of Vegas…Just because…just because…

He recalled the lost look in her sapphire colored eyes. Such sadness rested in those glowing orbs, they seemed to suck him into the very depths of her soul.

But he had no clue where to even begin searching for her! He figured that he would just travel the city trying to track down this girl, this mysterious girl who Mark was very intent on meeting properly.

After an hour, though, his hopes were slowing dissolving. He looked at his surroundings, and swore that he had been up the same street at least three times; he was in the middle of the slums of Vegas. He shook his head sadly and began to turn back, ready to call it a night, when a dim, glowing light in the distance caught his eye. Squinting, he saw them to be lights from a police car. He stopped his car and got out, following the light around the corner.

She was there!

Mark drew in a deep, almost hopeful breath. He watched as she argued with a police officer, who was attempting to slap cuffs on her.

"Officer, honestly, I didn't steal anything today!" She cried as he jerked her arms roughly behind her back. Mark narrowed his eyes slightly; someone else must have seen her taking the food and called the police on her. Quickly, the tall man walked to the police officer.

"Officer, there's been a misunderstanding." Mark said. "I gave her the food today at the arena. She didn't steal anything."

The officer, who was horribly overweight, stared him down intently with watery, pale blue eyes.

"What's your name, boy?" He asked.

"Mark Magnus, sir, I'm a wrestler for the WWE."

"How come I've never heard of you, then?"

"My ring name is Muhammad Hassan."