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 once again! For those who've provided feedback to my last story, thanks. Now, for a good part of this chapter, it steps quite a way away from the events described in "Enter the Cynic". My intention is to take a brief step out of the environment described in that chapter to focus on something different, although it does in the end refer back to the original topic. I will probably write quite a few chapters in this manner, so the focus doesn't fall entirely on the shoulders of one specific person.
Another thing I didn't mention in my last chapter is that all the teachers here are referred to as 'Coaches'. I did this because, in this system, very little is taught that doesn't relate to wrestling in some way, hence the generic term 'teacher' might sound deceiving. I hope that 'Coach' helps shed light on that fact.

Anyway, on with the story!

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In the world of a dictatorship, roles are assigned, or so says the immortal unwritten code. There are those who weild power, and those who surrender to it. In the world of Wrestle 'Cademy, power stemmed not only from the Coaches, but from the students both respected and envied by their peers. In the case of the girls locker room - a universal term in regards to the twelfth grade females of the year who hung about the toiletries of the school - the role of power stemmed from the one known as "Tha Be-yatch". Tha Be-yatch was always magnetically good looking, universally poisonous, and with a wit as sharp as a knitting needle, which would stab right into your eye at a moment's notice.

Even though Tha Be-yatch would without question be hated by her peers, and wished bad hair days forever, with the prestigious title came a sincere marvelling from all that surrounded her, a marvelling at her delicious audacity and deceptively merry way with her character assassinations. Being Tha Be-yatch shouldn't have qualified as being a bad person. Yes, with the title came the task of gossiping obsessively about other people, talking about them, sneering at them, tearing them apart, but it was all done in it's own community spirited way.
Tha Be-yatch was a person meant to be insatiably interested in those around them, even if it was in the same way a tiger is insatiably interested in antelopes. After all, to kill your prey, you'd have to hunt it, get to know it's habits, something which a true misanthropist would never bother to do. Which meant that, deep down inside, Tha Be-yatch was really a gifted anthropist and a true person-person.

Twisted logic be it may, it was the logic that Stacy Kiebler went by, having inherited the role of "Tha Be-yatch" that year, and, up until now, she'd settled into her role suprisingly well. For the first two periods of the day, she'd already began to weave her web of destruction, and to her, she'd picked the perfect fly to fall into the net. Unfortunately, it appeared that fly had forgot to read the rule book, and actually thought, of all ridiculous things, that Stacy actually meant to push the big red button that said "Search and Destroy" when she scribbled on the boys toilets "Molly's fine, just get in line".

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10.34 AM - Morning Break. 16 minutes until Lesson 3.

"Molly! You're overreacting! She didn't mean anything bad by-" Trish Stratus began, but soon found herself being shoved into the wall, barely avoiding an impalement on the coat hangers. Already, the fight that had began in the toilets was escalating into what could only be described as a 'slobberknocker'. What was especially bad about that was that 'slobberknocker' was a term used only for the worst types of No Holds Barred fights in the school. Trish knew there was only one thing she could do.

As her friend leapt onto Stacy, screaming something unintelligable and rather unrepeatable, while pummelling away at her all the while, Trish pushed herself through the forming crowd, desperate to find the people who could settle this dispute. She knew it was obeying the system. She knew that it was in the unwritten code not to do so. She knew it would have serious reprocussions. She knew that if Molly found out that she squealed to the coaches, it may end their friendship for the rest of their days. But she had to do it. She knew what Molly was capable of, and she had to stop her doing something she may have regretted. That's what friends were for, after all.

"Get up! Get up, you filthy whore!" Molly's voice had died down from the high pitched screech she was at when the fight first began, but the anger on her voice had far from subsided. Stepping back to observe her handiwork, she denied herself the pleasure, opting instead for twice the amount as she cracked her boot right into Stacy's ribs. The satisfying sensation when the leather collided with the bone underneath the flesh, added to the pain-filled groan which came from Stacy was enough to tell Molly that something had snapped inside. She wasn't finished though, far from it.
Lifting Stacy up by the hair, she slammed her head into the back of one of the lockers, emmiting a loud metallic thud from the stainless steel contraptions. Molly's knee dug into Stacy's abdomen, almost ordering her to bend over, but the sharp pull Molly held on Stacy's blond locks prevented her from doing so. In compensation, she screamed for all she was worth, but only a whimper came out of her mouth.

Molly looked into Stacy's tear-filled eyes, immediately dismissing it as another lie she cooked up. The only thing real about the whole ordeal was the bruises that had been punched onto her face, not to mention on the other parts of her body. Molly observed the once proud, cocky, mocking and self-indulgent face of Tha Be-yatch, now reduced to a snivelling, weeping and panicked expression, almost like that of a little girl, oblivious to the mistakes of the past until she found out about their reprocussions.

With a sardonic grin, Molly pratically split her knuckle to the bone as it crashed into Stacy's nose. As her blood flew across the hallway, finding it's mark on both the lockers and the floor, all of the punishments of the system had left Molly's mind. She didn't care about anything. Her reputation was ruined. No one would ever talk to her again, so she might as well destroy the one who would talk about her the most.

Stacy was drifting. Her legs were drifting. Her chest was heaving. Her mind was in a haze. This wasn't happening. It was a bad dream, she kept telling herself. In a few minutes, her mommy would wake her up, and she'd slip right back into her daily routine, and by the time she got to school, she'd be ready to assume her role as "Tha Be-yatch". She'd have the privalege of being the number 1 gossip about Wrestle 'Cademy, the number 1 rebel girl of the system, the sole leader of the girls locker room against the dictatorship that tried to crush their thoughts.

Her gaze floated from the blood stained floor to that of Molly, the girl who had attacked her just moments ago, over some stupid message she'd written to establish her anarchic authority. She could only watch as Molly tore towards her, readying her arm for something...something to cause more pain. Pain...was this what being Tha Be-yatch really about? No, this was a dream. Only a-

The watching crowd cringed as Stacy thudded on the floor, more blood splurting from her once-pretty face. Molly's clothesline was fierce, but Stacy fell on her side, which though it prevented her cracking her head open against the stone floor of the school, it only furthur aggrevated the pain on her ribs. Molly though, was in trouble of her own. In her blind rush to knock the hell out of Stacy, she forgot that only a few feet behind where Stacy was were the steps that led up to the girls toilets. Molly found that she couldn't stop her momentum, and a split second later she was stepping into midair.
Desperately, she angled her foot to try and anticipate the next step, but only ended up twisting it in a direction that it shouldn't have gone in. Molly's pain was cancelled out by her fear as she realised she was going to fall headfirst down the flight of steps. She tried to get her arms in front, but only found her hands in front of her face. Thud, snap, thud. The sounds echoed throughout her head as the pain enveloped her, slowing time to a crawl...

"We all hate the system, but it's what we work by. The coaches are the authority, they assign the monitors, like Kurt Angle, to do the dirty work they can't solve with their fists. It's a pretty tough system yea, but what can you do?" As the situation was relayed back to Jericho from his friend, he was strangely lost for words. In the past two lessons, Jericho had been reprimanded twice for staring out of the window and not answering a question quickly enough, respectively. This was fine enough, but the punishment had been a punch to the face and a kick to the kidneys. The Coach in charge had then thrown him - quite literally - out of the classroom until he had learned to "adjust to the system". Jericho had spent the first 10 minutes of break whining about the unfairness of the system to his long time friend, Chris Benoit.

Long time was certainly a bit of an understatement. For just about all of their lives, the two Chrises had known each other and had been near inseparable, thanks in large to their undeniable bond of wrestling. Even through the boom and busts of the actual buisness itself, Jericho and Benoit watched and performed the art which a passion and fetish that few could match. Indeed, a lot of the time they had wrestled each other, although both would differ on their stories about who the better one was. What Jericho liked about Benoit was his undeniable honesty and toughness at the same time. Benoit was strong enough to take mental abuse, but if he had a real problem with you, he'd take you aside and say it in such a way you couldn't help but feel guilty about it, rather than just lighting the cannons for the battle royal.

Benoit had departed just over a year ago from Canada, hoping to learn more about wrestling in the "land of opportunity", and had ended up in Wrestle 'Cademy after someone had scooped up his resume and liked what they saw. How they got it remained a mystery to Chris himself, but he'd handled himself well enough in the school, as he was explaining to his friend right now.
"Yea, I know what goes around here, but I don't openly defy it. Few people can. Steve Austin - you probably saw him earlier - gets away with taking the piss outta the monitors because he's a favourite of Coach Calloway."
"Calloway?"
"Yea, big guy. Near seven foot tall, never wears shirts, always a vest, along with a bandana-"
"Hey!" Jericho suddenly spurted out, "He's the jackass who tried to kill me earlier!"
"Yea, pretty much. He'd have to blame someone for starting something with Angle. Guess he took one look at you and decided to make you his whipping-boy." Benoit snickered, playfully nudging Jericho in the ribs. He didn't reply, so Benoit came to the conclusion that he wanted to hear him talk more.
"But not even Austin has the guts to publicly stand up to the Coaches. Even if he did, there's too many in number and he'd just be taken down. The thing is, here at Wrestle 'Cademy, they won't expell you, they'll just publicly and privately kick the crap outta ya in every way possible, just like they did to Ed..."

Benoit's voice faded out on him as he realised that Jericho hadn't acutally been paying attention to him at all. What he had been focused on was the crowd that had gathered around the steps leading up to the girls toilets. Already, they could hear the goofy Playground Monitor, who for some reason had been called off his duties so he could work inside, yelling "Move along! Nothing to see here!" Even from where the two Chrises stood, they could make out that Kurt Angle sounded pretty spooked from what WAS there to see. They walked up to the crowd, getting there in time to see two stretchers speeding down the hallway. The masses shifted to follow them, in the confusion sending Jericho and Benoit, who were walking towards them, flying to the floor. By the time the two Chrises had recovered, Kurt was successfully blocking their pathway.

"I thought I told you guys to move along!"
"What happened here, Kirk Angel?" Jericho sneered. His earlier clash with Coach Calloway had obviously NOT taught him to have any respect for the monitor.
"That's Kurt Angle, you dummy! And nothing happened here!"
"Except it looks like somebody took a pretty nasty spill on these steps," Benoit observed rather monotonously.
"Hey! There's absolutely no proof that a fight occured in the girls toilets, now move along!"
"He didn't say anything about that, assclown!" Jericho sneered again, in triumph. "What?" He then chorused, as Kurt began to speak.
"Hey, you cut it now, you jerk, or I'll get the Boss on you, and you don't wanna mess with him!"
Benoit tuned out the rest of the argument between the two, as something else caught his ear. It was almost like...sobbing...

At the foot of the staircase, Trish looked around her, at the blood of her friend Molly. She had arrived on the scene too late, and Molly's temperment couldn't hold itself any longer. She had arrived just in time to see Molly fall unconscious in front of her feet, gashed and bruised over her body from the fall down the stairway. Stacy was even worse off; a broken nose and a cracked rib were the worse of her troubles, not to mention her numerous bruises and blood loss. Trish's vision soon began to blur, as her head lowered into her lap and she began weeping out louder. This was what the system did. The compacting nature, the perfection of order, the elimination of ideas, that's what caused Stacy to write that message. She didn't hate Molly, she just delivering a plain and simple message to the system - "Kiss my ass".

But it was Molly who got the message.

The system didn't stop her hatred either, it encouraged it. Her older cousin, Coach Holly, had often told her not to "take any shit" from anybody, just to "punk them right out" if they ever "crossed her path". He provoked Molly to take a swing rather than to solve it rationally. As Trish's tears fell freely onto her skirt, she just wished for it all to end. For everything, Molly's corruption of thought, Stacy's rebellion, but all the things she could think of all pointed back to one problem - the system itself.

Benoit turned to the steps as he saw Trish crying her heart out in front of him. His instinct told him right away to help her, although he didn't actually know who she was. He never really talked to the girls, in actual fact, he was rather scared of them, but he couldn't just leave her there to cry. It wasn't the right thing to do. But as he attempted to kneel down, something grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up again. It was Jericho. Angle had presumably finished lecturing him about the ways of the system, and had set off in the direction of where the stretchers had gone.
"Come on man, it's almost time for lessons again."
"Bu-"
"Don't worry, we've got some free periods. Let's go watch some of the cruiserweights in action. This way to the wrestling halls, right?"
"Chris, can't you see-"
"I said, let's GO!" Jericho snarled, with a definate hatred in his voice, yanking Benoit down the hallway. Benoit blinked in astonishment. He was sure he'd never heard his friend this angry before, but even though his mind was torn, his body was complient to Jericho's every word. But Benoit couldn't help but wonder at the girls astonishment on his face as she turned to look at them as they walked down the hallway. Why did she cover her mouth like that? He was sure he never seen her before...was Chris not telling him something? Or was he just being paranoid....


END OF CHAPTER 2


Whew, I told you guys there would be some violence in here, didn't I? Heh, ok, maybe it was a BIT too gratituous, but I needed the fight scene to help advance the plot (no, it wasn't there for the sole purpose of Trish seeing Jericho and Benoit). You'll see what I mean when I get onto the later chapters...anyway, reviews are always appreciated and stay tuned for the next chapter, featuring the first in ring action of the story! (Cheap pop from the wrestling fans) Heh...