WWE: HIGH SCHOOL FACISM

Disclaimer: I do not own World Wrestling Entertainment Inc or any of the wrestlers that appear in this story.

Authors Notes: Hello, Fanfiction readers! I hate long intro's, so I'll skip straight to the meat. This is my first real fanfic project, and it's based on the fictious adventures, tortures and experiences of various WWE superstars who all attend the same high school. Although I am experimenting with a number of different themes here, this will NOT be one of those lovey-dovey school fics you may have read from other fanfic writers. (As a result, this may be borderlining PG-13 territory.)
In the later chapters in particular, this will be a pretty dark and nasty environment, complete with violence, cynical views, abuse and other disturbing issues. Love may play a part in this engoing story, but happy endings are definately not guarenteed. This isn't gonna be a pretty ride.

Also, as I have little knowledge of the American school system, what I am using here is basically a hash of what I learnt from my secondary school here in England and a bit of my own imagination with reference to dormitories, roomies etc.

Big thanks to Benjamin Kyte and our mates from the punk rock band KGN for supplying both the title for this fanfic (it's a song they wrote) and the lyrics for the song, which I borrowed / modified for usage in Jericho's speech at the end.

These author's notes will appear on every chapter I write on Fanfiction.net, and each one will contain some information you will need to know but isn't written said in the actual chapter itself (for example, if I were to say that two characters who aren't related by blood are brothers in my fic, and it isn't explained in the chapter, I would say in in the author's notes).
For this chapter, you can presume that if ages are not mentioned, that all characters are in their twelfth year at school, which means they are all twelfth graders (or whatever you call them in America, we call them the Lower Sixth-formers), and as it's the beginning of term, they are all 16 (with their 17th's to come in the year).

Enough with the banter, let's begin our story...

- - - - -

TIMELINE: September, the 1st day of the Autumn Term. 8.40 AM, 20 minutes before school officially begins.

The long shadows clawed desperately away from the overshadowing, neglected buildings that made up the high school referred to by its students as "Wrestle 'Cademy". Fuelled by the relentless glare of the early morning sunlight, the shadows only served to make the forboding structures look that much larger and intimidating. But to him though, all it did was make him angry.

He stepped through the back gates of the school and into what could be described as the "playground". In reality, it was a large patch of concrete with lines drawn on it, presumably to act as the boundaries for those who still enjoyed playing games which involved tennis balls. What made it even more bland and lifeless was the fact that several of the afformentioned buildings were strategically placed around the area so that the windows would shatter if a ball was so much as kicked above head height. Looking around and driving a hand through his blond, flaxen hair, he saw one of the pupils from the younger years had already committed such a sin. He smirked to himself, the thought of the youngster being handed a detention slip slightly quelling his bad temperment.

He turned away, observing the scenes around him. Whatever life this school appeared to lack, the pupils themselves tried to make up for it. He saw several groups of younger kids playing soccer, touch football and baseball (albeit with tennis balls) while some others sat on the steps leading into the buildings, exchanging notebooks, food or kisses. Yet more pupils chatted amongst each other, in the shadowed areas next to buidings, or shared cigarettes with some sort of affection attached. Indeed, for those who were thinking, it wasn't always between opposite members of the sexes that all of the afformentioned occured. Resting against a railing worn down from the years of being leant on, he watched them all with disgust.

"I can't deal with this shit," Chris Jericho grumbled to himself. "I'm forced to move to the snot-nose district of Grenwich, transfered to a school which has 'dictatorship' written all over it's system and I haven't seen anyone my age yet. This sucks." While all of what Chris said may have been subjected to his cynical nature and view on life, it was for the main part true.

Canadian by origin, Chris had never really appreciated the qualities of his home country until now. While he liked the fresh air, outdoors and easy-going life, he took most of it for granted. Throughout his life he thought he was always being used or abused, which would explain his irrational hatred of girls, or having the piss taken out of him behind his back, which earned him few close friends. Chris was one of those people who could just act "cool" and gain respect for it, but no-one would get close to him, knowing that behind the cocky bravado was an insecure, paranoid and rather savage being.
But to Chris himself, it was all jealousy. Yes, they didn't get close to him because he was superior to them. Strong, agile and fast, he had dominated over his competition from earlier schools. Anyone who had a problem with him would have their legs swept out from under them in seconds, and before they realised what happened, they'd be screaming. Screaming from the pain being forced onto the small of their backs, screaming as their legs were pulled from their sockets, screaming as they begged to be released from the most devestating submission hold in history, the Lion Ta-

"Hey, you! What the heck are you doing over there?"

Chris promptly woke out of his daydream as he looked around to see where the shout originated from. Who would dare shout so loud in his presence? Would they even dare to shout at HIM? He watched as he realised that he indeed was the recipent of the shout, and observed another boy, about his height and age of 16, walk up to him. Chris looked over the newcomer and immediately began to snicker to himself.

"Don't you know we're not supposed to lean on this railing anymore?" the boy stated, rather than asking. Chris said nothing, only raising his snicker into a soft laugh as he observed the speaker in his full gracefulness, or lack of. He was wearing a yellow satchel over his red, white and blue rendition of a scene of fireworks that covered his entire T-shirt. The satchel seemed to shout out the words "PLAYGROUND MONITOR" through the icky blackness of the lettering. But what really made him stand out was not his glaring satchel, the ridiculously patrioticly coloured shorts he was wearing, nor even the goofy expression on his face that was supposed to resemble a tough guy look.
What made him stand out was the way he styled his hair. It had been combed with a such a perfection that it looked like the spitting image of a toupee. Combined with the ear-muff type devices, he had a defining artifical look about the hair on his head that only made Chris increase his soft laughter in volume. The guy was a clear example of a 'dorkius-maximus'.

"Hey buster, I don't know what you're laughing at, but you'd better quit it right now cause you're in big trouble!" Kurt Angle yelled. What was wrong with this guy? Didn't he know that old railing could collapse and cause him to seriously injure himself? And why was he laughing? The job of being a Playground Monitor was one that was treated with respect, by both the coaches and pupils alike. That meant that there's only one thing he could possibly be laughing at...

"It's my medals, aren't they? Are you laughing at my medals?"

The complete inaccuracy of the response provoked Jericho into a burst of hysterics, which naturally fuelled Kurt's anger. "How DARE you laugh at my medals! I got these from my dad just after I survived my 20 hour birth!" The railing suddenly lurched with another violent stroke of laughter from Chris, causing him to fall on his ass. Kurt blinked, about to verify his earlier premenition with "I told you so!" but he soon found his words being drowned out by the continualy mocking, hysterical laughter emulating from Chris Jericho's mouth. It was then that Kurt realised that a crowd was beginning to develop around the two of them, and it was his responsibility as Playground Monitor to ensure that pupils did not find themselves attracted to the wrong source of attention. After all, even if this was a heavily wrestling oriented school, they had their educations to worry about.

"Ok people, move along! Nothing to see here!" Kurt began in his usual tone, but in an unusual turn, it appeared like the crowd was actually paying attention not to him, but the hysterical idiot who was on the floor just behind him. Why were they looking at such a subversive? Didn't they realise that it would damage their fountain of knowledge to pay attention to such ignoramuses?

"Hey, who's the new guy?"
"I dunno, what's he laughing at?"
"People-" Kurt tried again, but the crowd continued to speak. This wasn't good.
"Dude, you suppose he's laughing at Kurt?"
"Now I can assure you all that-"
"What?"
"I said-"
"WHAT?"
"Now don't start-"
"WHAT?" "WHAT?" "WHAT?" Not this again, Kurt groaned to himself. Of all things, not this!
"All of you, cut it out right now!"
"Dude, you can totally chalk up another one for the hair!"
"Well it ain't no damn suprise is it, that sum-bitch's got more grease on that crap then-"
"I said CUT IT!"
"What? You take that piece of shit off and there ain't nuttin to cut, chrome dome! What?"
"CUT IT OUT!"
"WHAT?!" Now the whole crowd was chanting it! Kurt couldn't believe this. First some guy laughed at his medals and now Steve Austin was causing trouble again. Why was he such a rebel to authority? Couldn't he understand it's benefits and rewards? And why did he have to encourage such normally great people to go along with him, like Christian and-

"Edge-ster, your prank worked great!"

The silent alarms suddenly exploded in Edge's head, who until then, had been silently enjoying Kurt's oblivion until that point. But now, he was busted. Great job, Christian. It wasn't Kurt he was afraid of, but rather the corporate body of coaches who appointed him as Playground Monitor. Even though he'd shaved Kurt's head in the summer, there was no doubt the dork would snitch to them, and they'd find a way to make him pay. Those coaches who banded together seemed to clearly identify with rules of Fa-

The thought was instantly banished from his mind as he saw Kurt push through the crowd to face him. The blind rage on Kurt's face was enough to tell Edge what he was planning, and he dove to the side, easily avoiding Angle's attempt to tackle him to the ground. Edge then took off running, a wide grin on his face as he ran off around the playground, Kurt's swearless insults echoing around as the Playground Monitor desperately tried to grab at him. Edge knew that he would later be pulverised in more than one way by the school system, but for now he could enjoy his fun. It would be a long while before he got any more.

The crowd around Jericho soon turned their attention away from him to watch the chase scene between both Edge and Angle, leaving himself to get over his fit of laughing. Soon enough, he had pulled himself to his feet and was thinking about announcing his glorious presence to the crowd, who all appeared to be of his age, when suddenly they all appeared to look at him and disperse, running off in every single direction. Chris was just beginning to wonder what had caused this before a thick, booming voice sounded off just behind him.

"You new around here, boy?"

Chris turned around, finger pointed in the air ready to shout a torrent of abuse at whoever the hell called him that insulting, degrading word. He turned around to look at a facefull of chest hair, and soon realised that the speaker was a good foot taller than he was. Jericho looked up, staring into the face of a well built man in his middle 30s. His face almost sneered with a dark evil that could barely manifest itself, and his short haircut seemed definately inappropriate in comparison. Chris now found that he was staring in awe at the man, who on closer inspection, had a bandana around his head and the name "Sara" tattooed on his neck.

The speaker smirked. He could tell he had the boy's attention, and now it was time for an impact. In an instant, he wrapped his right hand round Chris' throat, pinning him against the wall while at the same time suspending him two inches above the ground. "I'll take that as a yes, so you'd better listen up good. Round here, we demand that respect be laid down to all those in authority. What that means is you don't go pointin' fingers at the coaches round this school, nor do you make our monitors the laughing stock o' the crowd. Get that through your vampy little head and maybe you'll survive today with only a few bruises on that pretty little face. Catch my drift, boy?"

Chris could only make a choked squeal as he found the world around him fading away.

"Good." The big man let go of the hold, letting Jericho drop unceremoniously to the ground. He collapsed on his ass for the second time that day, only watching as the 'Coach' walked away from him. As soon as he was out of earshot, Chris realised just how small and alone he really was in this new world. He might have been well-liked in Winnipeg, but absolutely no-one gave a crap about that here. Here in Grenwich, it was evidently a whole different kettle of fish. From what that 'Coach', had told him while at the same time almost killing him, Chris might have guessed that it wasn't shining personality that wins the game - it's being the big dog. But instead, Chris began murmuring to himself for the second time that morning. Watching him, you may have thought he was mad, but Chris only trusted a select few when he had to be totally honest, and one of those few was himself.

"Jesus Christ, I thought I was just in for a dictatorship, but THIS?! I laugh at a toupee and almost get myself killed for it! This is getting way over my head...is this a school where conforming is in vogue, and being me isn't allowed? Where the free mind is trampled and we're taught to hate? It's almost like having the brain selected over the thought, a pointless bureaucracy. Thi....This is just nothing but....but....High School..."

"Facism." Another voice ended Chris' sentence for him. The voice was rasp and low, fairly unredeeming in terms of quality, but it had something in it that brought a genunine smile to Chris' face for the first time that day. If you couldn't see it, it was clearly audible in what he said next.

"You...son of a...bitch!"


END OF CHAPTER 1


Well, lemme tell ya, that was a real pain to write up. Reviews are appreciated, but please don't spam my mailbox.

BTW, in case you didn't know, "vamp" is being used here in the slang term that stands for a bisexual.

That's it for now! Stay tuned for the next chapter "Being Da Be-yatch"...