Surprisingly, my first WWE fic isn't about Edge! Teh horror! D8 No, but we got my second favorite, and current obssession, theeeee Uuuunnnnderrrrtakerrrrrr! And to help fuel my mind, I've got the Undertaker's theme repeating in my headphones. Heheh, funeral marches made sexy... XP

You should all know, coming into this, that this is an AU fic, so this isn't in the wrestling world. Secondly, I'm also making this a spin-off of Taker's storyline, so I'm following it in places and in other places, I'm improvising. I'm doing research on Taker, Kane, Paul Bearer, the Ministry, their histories, as well as possible adversaries and allies to Taker.

Lastly, as with all my stories, this story has a pairing of UndertakerxOC (who, believe it or not, doesn't even have a name yet! But I'm working on it. XD) Oh, and my Undertaker is a mix of the current Undertaker with the former Undertaker, the one who wore the purple tie and gloves. I've been watching the Tombstone: History of the Undertaker DVDs and realized I liked Taker's personality more when he first came out, and his outfit a little more, but I couldn't stand his hair and how poofy and frizzy it was... Meh, we'll see. ;)

For some reason, I envision the theme of this fanfic to be "I Only Want to Be With You" a cover by Volbeat. Go check it out. Volbeat turned the soft, melodic, Dusty Springfield song to an awesome metallic rock love song.

Now that I've completely bored you all, let's get to the story, shall we? First, a disclaimer. I do not own WWE or it's characters. I only own my character, Roxanne "Roxy" Da Silva. Ok, let's get on with this. XD

For Whom The Bell Tolls

Chapter 1

I desperately missed the arid desert air blowing through the open windows of my truck; no, I take that back, I missed my truck and air in general, the freedom to come and go as I pleased. My limbs were pinned tightly together by rope, blood, sweat and dirt saturating the dry, thirsty thread from chaffing my wrists and ankles. I choked back heavy sobs around the cloth gagging me, my face caked with dry, sweat and tears, my voice, cracked from my dry throat, mere squeaks of fear in the still heat of the night. Then everything went dark and I whimpered, terror and claustrophobia settling into my aching, anxious body. Then came the ching, thunk, thud of the nails keeping the lid of my makeshift coffin closed and the muffled voices of my tormentors laughter haunting me were my only companions.

"You brought this on yourself, sweetheart!" one called down and I heard his spit land somewhere above me.

I closed my eyes to the darkness, just listening, my nostrils sucking in air loudly in the confined space around me. My time was limited now; still, my mind fought hard to figure a way out.

But there was no way out. I knew this, knew that I would die now. I'd offended the wrong people to defend my own honor, though what honor did someone like me have left, anyway? And look where it got me: sitting at the bottom of a six foot deep hole in the ground, ready to be buried alive.

I squealed hysterically when I heard the shifting, pitter-patter of rocks and dirt as it slammed and skittered over the lid of my prison. Slowly, the air grew denser and more precious around me. How long did I have now? "Have a good nap, Roxy," one man's Scottish brogue broke through the haze of my mind. I slammed my bound hands on the lid and thrashed, all the while their mirth fading further and further away the more the dirt piled up, a wall between me and life. I was as good as dead to the world now.

I didn't know how long I lay there, sucking in and holding each breath as though it were my last. At one point I must have lost consciousness, because the next this I knew, there was a heavy, metallic thunk on the lid of the wooden box that made me jolt to awareness. My heart hammered painfully in my chest as I realized I was still here, still trapped, buried alive in the middle of nowhere.

Then came another thunk, and a shuffle of dirt, and then another, and another, and then I felt myself being hauled up and dropped down, dragged across the ground. I was too exhausted to speak, to make any sound whatsoever aside from the few painful whimpers I could muster.

The top of my prison was ripped off, and before I could see who it was, the box was tilted on its side, depositing me onto my side into a pile of dirt and grass. I writhed uselessly while my eyes adjusted to the faint light of the stars overhead, having been left for dead in a tomb of eternal darkness.

Who had saved me? Was it an onlooker who'd chosen to wait until those people were gone before they acted? Or was it actually my captors, come back to torture me more before I died?

In the distance, I heard a bell tolling, the metallic clang echoing off into the night. From somewhere around me, I heard a gravelly voice utter, darkly, "Ask not for whom the bells toll..." Frightened, I lifted myself onto my hands and knees and shuffled about to look around, but there was no one here in this tiny graveyard but myself. I was utterly alone in the dark of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

But I was alive.

How's that for a start? Who is Roxanne Da Silva and why was she left to die in a graveyard? And who saved her? Hmmm. So many questions! Heh, please review and I'll get the next chapter out sooner.