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! Sorry about the lack of updates...well I've been busy with life! In any case though, I am absolutely loving the reviews I'm getting from you guys. It's nice to know my work is appreciated. Anyway, for the basic lack of things I have to write in this here note section, let me just say right now that I am defying the laws of reality slightly in this chapter (shock gasp!)
In reality, Eddie Guerrero is the uncle of Chavo Guerrero Jr, but in this story Eddie is his elder brother. I have a very good reason behind this, being that...well...it wouldn't be as good if it weren't such a close relationship. Ok, that sounds crap on screen, but really, it wouldn't.
Oh, and any mis-spellings when the Undertaker (or Coach Calloway, if you will) is speaking are deliberate, so as to show off his slight Texan-esque accent. Any mis-spellings in Spanish are evidence of my total lack of knowledge about the language. :)

Ok, on with the story!

- - - - -

10.51 AM - 2 minutes into Lesson 3. 48 more remaining.

"This, mah boys, is called the squared circle," Coach Calloway addressed the class standing before him. His unnaturally broad smirk was rather offputting for those who were forced to look at him, and it was that which made Chris Jericho thank God that he had nothing to do with the cruiserweight classes and was safely watching the lecture from the very back seat of the stands. He continued to listen to Calloway drag on,
"You little pussycats should be proud of yourselves for even making it to the cruiserweight year. To stand inside this circle is an honour, a privilage, a cherishment that is not handed down lightly. You think for one second that being in the ring is a right of yours," His tone now grinded into a vicious snarl that perfectly matched his now changed facial expression, "Then you can get just bend over right now and get your ass kicked outta here."

The Coach then sneered, his eyes darting from pupil to pupil, looking for someone to stare back at him, to test his authority, to try and disrespect him. The class all bowed their heads, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and as a result his knuckles went without their regular morning workout. Stupid freakin' dick-suckers, Calloway thought to himself. "Alright then boys, time to see if you can actually try and fly. Kidman, Tajiri, you two are up first. 10 minute time limit, pinfalls, submissions, count outs and all that shit. Go with what works and remember - you mess up and I'll mess you up. Everyone else, CLEAR OUTTA MY YARD!"
Within a few seconds, the entire ring was clear, save the two participating and Coach Calloway, who took on the form of the referee of the match. The class obediently sat down on the front row of the stands, observing both Kidman and Tajiri circle each other with a fierce transfixtion, as if their minds were writing down invisible detailed notes in the backs of their heads.

The cruiserweights, as they were labelled, could be described by an almost proverb-esque expression - "Light of body and of mind." A good 3 years younger than the seniors that Jericho and Benoit could have called themselves, they were the perfect example of the right-wing brainwash that the system aimed for in all of their students. Almost all of the 10 or so who made up the group were model pupils, oblivious to anything but their studies, accepting the cruel punishments exhibited by the coaches was just a way of being motivated into working harder, to achieve their goal, their dream, their desire of making it in the world of wrestling, of defying the odds to become a star, to prove all who say it's chasing the impossible wrong. That was what the cruiserweights dreamed of, and the system took that dream and injected a dosage of their corruption into it, to which they were none the wiser.

Nor did that injection stop them from flying, as Billy Kidman leapt to the third rope and propelled off it, back the way he came, into a spinning heel kick, aiming for his opponent's neck. Tajiri was a vicious competitor, and Kidman knew his aerial offensive was the only way he could avoid the effect's of Tajiri's fancy footwork. But with reflexes that only a feline could match, Tajiri caught the incoming foot and in one smooth motion twisted it 90 degrees to his left, letting go and watching with delight as he saw Kidman fly across the ring, the momentum from his heel kick only being added to that which Tajiri threw him with. Kidman, completely disorientated, found himself collapsing in a heap in the ropes. He couldn't tell where he was, who he was, nor what wa-

CRACK!!

The echo throughout the arena even managed to stun Coach Calloway, if only for a second. He never expected that a little Japanese kid could dropkick someone that viciously, especially not so directly to the face. As Kidman sprawled outside of the ring, bloodied and out cold from the impact, Calloway watched as the little freak looked over to him, presumably wanting some sort of approval for his actions. Admitively, the coach had been impressed with what he'd done, and seeing Kidman was laid out, he obliged with a semi-grin, to which the freak jumped up and down with in glee. Sheesh, give 'em a inch and they'll take a frickin' mile, Calloway thought again to himself as he started the obligatory 10 count, skipping a few numbers along the way. This was an indication to the class that he intented to give a speech on how breaking someone's nose was a perfect example of taking the initiative in the squared circle. And sure enough, he did.

"Well class, I hope your eyes were open during that, cause you just saw a perfect example of initiative right there. If ya cain't pin em, knock em out cold. And what other perfect way to do that then..."

The rest of Coach Calloway's speech fell on deaf ears. Well, for Chavo Guerrero Jr, that was certainly the case. He had enough problems of his own to deal with, the first of which was attempting a good display in his bout - when Kidman woke up, he was gonna wish he'd kept asleep. Chavo's second problem was seated in the middle row of the stands, watching him with an almost hate-filled expression in his eyes, that showed few traces of any means of love behind them. If they were the eyes of a coach, it wouldn't have mattered. They were all like that. But what made Chavo cringe was the fact those eyes belonged to his very own brother, Eddie Guerrero.
From the stands, Eddie watched his younger brother, almost disgusted at what he was doing. Why the hell was he looking at him? Why wasn't he paying attention? If he kept it up, he'd get crushed into pieces like that stupid wooden horse he dragged around when he was younger. Eddie continued his stare, feeling slightly relieved when Chavo finally released his gaze and turned back to Calloway, who was now droning about how to put more impact behind the moves that they'd use in their matches. Why did his brother always seem to drift off into his own dream world? Why was it always Eddie's job to bring him back to reality? Why couldn't Chavo just stand on his own two feet? Eddie hated having to look after his younger brother, especially so because Chavo never listened to him, always shudders if he approached and never wanted to have anything to do with him. Besides, Eddie had enough problems of his own...but...

The bell rang, signifying the beginning of the match between Chavo and another cruiserweight, Shane "Hurricane" Helms, and also signifying the end of Eddie's thought train. Now his focus was upon everything his little brother did. This was the Guerrero legacy, and it was now time for Chavo to make his mark. And it better be a damn good one, Eddie shouted in his mind.

"Cruiserweights..." Jericho was once again talking to himself, "You put them at the start of the show and they'll end up stealing the damn thing. No room in this world for straight up wrestlers any more - ya gotta come with the lucha libre crap on your resume as well. Pah! And what's Coach Callo-gay teachin a bunch of tequilla swillin - OOF!" Chris suddenly felt the air leave his system as the other Chris elbowed him in the ribs. Jericho was left wheezing in his own private world once again, as Benoit continued to focus on the action occuring in the squared circle, tension sudsiding from him as he saw Eddie Guerrero turn back to face the ring as well. The last thing that he needed to be in was the middle of a fight between a loudmouthed Canadian and a short-tempered Mexican. But another one of Jericho's murmured comments soon brought back a burst of anxiety from him that kept his mind from becoming completely calm.

"Jeez...sometimes...just like...bitch Stratus..."

In the ring, Chavo easily out-maneuveured another one of Hurricane's over-agressive clotheslines, sliding underneath his legs and sweeping them from under him. Chavo followed with an elbow drop but Helms quickly rolled to the side before it connected. Both cruisers were on their feet in a flash, and Chavo swung his left in a roundhouse a flash later, only for it to be caught by Helms. Before Chavo could raise his other foot for the enziguri counter, Hurricane spun him round for a backdrop. Chavo flipped through the move and with cat-like reflexes landed on his feet. Helms turned round just in time to see Chavo's legs lock round his neck before his world was flipped around in circles. Chavo quickly made the cover, but Hurricane still had the presence of mind to lift his shoulder before the three.

"Damn!" Eddie cursed silenty from the stands, but the next words his tongue formed echoed through the arena. "Chavo! Uso los joder cuerdas!"

The Latin linguo sent no message to Helms or Calloway, yet it struck a deep chord in Chavo. His brother always liked doing it, he said it never hurt anybody to cheat to win, said that was what made every Guerrero proud. But why didn't it seem right. An image suddenly struck through Chavo like lightning. Choking...when he hadn't done it before...younger...after the match...choking...used the very objects...Eddie...choking...WHAM!!

Chavo snapped back to reality as his head thudded of the canvas, to the laughter of someone loud in the stands. His view tilted to the side, into the shocked faces of the cruiserweights outside of the ring. He was lifted up again.. into more choking, but....it was Helms? Chavo's eyes almost burst out of their heads when he realised what happened and a new fire exploded inside of him as he flailed wildly, trying something, anything to get at the prick who just trampled on the Guerrero legacy, but it was all for naught as he suddenly felt his back and neck bend over, before Hurricane suddenly flipped round and drove his elbow right into Chavo's throat, dropping him flat out on the canvas. Helms, having successfully hit the "Eye of the Hurricane", dropped for the cover, and the obligatory three count never even clicked in Chavo's head.

Coach Calloway was, to say the least, rather shocked. For possibly the first time ever, a cruiserweight had successfully managed to chokeslam his opponent. Needless to say, he felt rather angered that there was so much disorder in his lesson. That blonded haired bisexual in the stands had the nerve to laugh in HIS lesson, and that freakish Guererro was screaming Spanish at the top of his voice, which in turn made the cruiserweights chatter with excitement at each other. This wasn't what the system had in mind. This wasn't a tolerable situation. Calloway, looking around for targets, grabbed Hurricane right by the throat and lifted him high into the air. The excitement from the cruiserweights turned into a collective gasp as Helms was brought crashing down with a sickening thud on the concrete floor outside of the ring. Calloway was ready to spit venom, as he exploded out of the ring with a vengeance. On his way up the stands, he sent Eddie Guerrero flying down them with one swipe of his fist. Chris Benoit looked towards the demonic visage tearing a swath up to him and his still-laughing collegue, and shut his eyes in anguish.

The Undertaker had found his latest sacrifices.

- - - - -

3.35 PM - 5 minutes past the end of the school day. 6 hours and 25 minutes until curfew.

"Ok, ok, ok! I admit it. I'm still a jackass, true! I still get into trouble, true! And you also take a lot of it as well, true!" Jericho was trying his hardest to keep himself from going into his normal yell, which would have only made Benoit that more angry. Chris squealed in his head as he dodged another fist trying to make a mark on his face. It wouldn't have helped to add another bruise on it. "But you have to admit that over half the crap that happened to us today was not my fault!" He pressed against a wall as the silent alarms exploded in his head. Benoit's fist was thrown out again, but Jericho dodged to the side as it hit the neglected marble rock, following with the standard yell of pain from the fist's owner. Jericho took the split second to make a run for it, only to suddenly find himself being tackled from behind and falling face first on the floor. He knew what was coming next and the only way he could counter was by using the one tool he had that caused that very pain.

Benoit clamped down on his favourite submission move. He had yet to call it a name, but he was thinking something along the lines of "The Benoit Bender". But seeing as it was a crossface, a move which bent only the neck and not the back, it might not have made sense to some of the more uneducated who would think bending submissions have to attack the back. But, the alternative name - the "Chris Crossface" - sounded kinda stupid. But however painful the submission was, it would not stop his obnoxious friend from trying to talk his way out of the situation. And as Chris J. continued to struggle and scream in the crossface, Chris B. smiled to himself as he clinched a little bit harder on the hold. An idea had now formed in his head and he would be a fool not to find out that little bit extra about his friends other relationships...


- - - - -

10.01 PM - 1 minute past curfew. 59 minutes left until lights out.

The door creaked slightly as Chavo crept in, trying his best to blend into the shadows. The lights were already out, which relieved Chavo to an extent. Hopefully that meant that his elder brother had decided to sleep as well. Maybe if he could just sneak past him, in the morning he wouldn't be so angry. As quiet as a mouse, Chavo crept across to his bed, which was nothing more than a sheet across the floor. Eddie had long since claimed the bunk for himself and his...stash. Chavo had almost made it to the corner when something caught his eye. Glimmering in the light of the moon, Chavo's eyes widened at the sight of the five-dollar note, but unfortunately for him his hand was louder than his feet. No sooner had he grabbed at the note when his elder brother sprung out of the darkness, wrapping a hand around his throat and pinning him to the wall.

"Hey kiddo, what the hell do ya think yer playin' at, heh?" Eddie sneered laciviously, rolling his tongue across his lips.

"W-w-w-well I was just g-g-getting ..." Chavo stammered.

"So where have you been all day, heh kid? Cowering in your own self-pity?" The arrogant tone of Eddie's voice was certainly confusing to Chavo, but it didn't quell his fear.

"N-n-no, I was just uh, I got lost... and I couldn't find my way b-"

"Don't lie to me kid!" Eddie's lacivious tone began to boil into a more recognisable anger.

"Please, Eddie, I--"

"Call me Sir, you chico mierda!" He growled back, throwing Chavo roughly into a wall of the room. The little squeal was all but cancelled out by the loud bang of flesh against brick. "I shouda left you back in the gutter, esse! You ain't nothing but a disgrace to the Guerrero legacy!"

Chavo suddenly felt a wave of anger flow though him, exterminating his pain. "Hey, who's the one smoking weed, Eddie?! Being in the gutter would be better than losing everything I loved over some God damn legacy!" He yelled.

Eddie suddenly went pale. His eyes darkened, and a split second later he was at Chavo's side, trembling all the while, as if barely able to restrain himself. "Go to sleep, Chavo." He hissed coldly.

Chavo knew if he said another word his brother would snap. He had hit his only soft spot. He could tell because Eddie was calling him by his name, usually it was just "kiddo" or "esse". Chavo shrunk back into his corner and shivered under his thin cover. Chavo's mind drifted, trying desperately to blank out his hunger and pain. Such thoughts...of better times, when
he had three square meals a day, slept in a warm bed, and had two parents and a brother to love him...

Eddie watched his younger brother speed back to his corner, most definately silenced for the rest of the night. He turned away, wiping a tear from his eye, towards the balcony. Grabbing a half-empty bottle of liquor from somewhere in his bunk, he walked out to balcony, breathing in the night sky air, taking a moment to witness what would have been a beautiful night on the beach with his...his...no. This wasn't the beach, Eddie told himself. This was Wrestle 'Cademy, the place where he had to re-build his legacy, the Guerrero legacy, and Chavo had to as well. He couldn't fail, not now. He'd already done that...done that too many....too many...

Eddie screamed out a howl of pain, throwing the glass bottle straight to the ground, letting it shatter into a million pieces before his feet, as he slumped down into an uncontrollable passion of tears. "Lenina!" He cried to the night sky, "Lenina, please come back to me, I can't take this anymore! Oh please, just one glimpse, God, I'm begging you, don't divide me any longer from the woman I love!" Eddie tried desperately to hold his tears, only to find them flowing down his face faster. His cries continued, "I need her, please God, sweet Jesus la Mesias, I can't go on without my love! I can't live in this world without my soul!"

"Shut up over there!" was the only response Eddie got back that night.


END OF CHAPTER 3


Phew, that was more disturbing than I expected it to be. And all in one day! Sometimes I write too detailed for my own good, heh. Anyway, more violence in Chapter 4 is pretty much guarenteed, and please gimme feedback to this and tell me if you liked the idea of changing the time period several times over the chapter, or if you just liked the whole thing in general! :) But in all seriousness, if you have criticisms to make, please be constructive about it (tell me what you think was bad and why) and please don't flame me over my probably very bad Spanish linguo.
In any case, I'll see y'all when I'm done with Chapter 4.