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: Jeez, it's been a LONG time since I've updated this, so I'll keep these notes short and sweet. This next chapter is gonna be bit of a plot developer, so I've introduced some more characters, more concepts and a bit more of everything really. I really hate to include parts where there is little action going on, but I do promise you that the next two chapters after this one will have plenty more violence, and there is a nasty fight scene at the end of this one.

Oh, and I must tell you now that I only use the real names of the characters if it's either (a) Their wrestling name or (b) Unavoidable. In one instance in this chapter, I had to in order not to look like an idiot. Ok, enjoy. (And before you quote me on that, Coach Calloway is the sole exception to that rule!)


- - - - -

TIMELINE: September, Day 5 of the Autumn Term. 10.20 AM, 8 minutes until the end of Period 2.

"And I'm afraid that's the situation we're presented with, Mark."

Coach Calloway shifted uncomfortably in the chair he was sitting on, absorbing the words silently. To the speaker, it would have appeared that he was accepting what was being said, but he knew Calloway had more chance of giving up his tobacco chewing habit then he would of accepting the situation at hand. His thoughts were all but confirmed as Calloway spat the filthwad at the wastepaper basket by the desk, missing it and making a dirty black mark on the side of the finely polished desk. The speaker quickly hid his thoughts of digust as Calloway rose from his chair, placing both his hands on the desk and bringing his face only centimetres from the speaker.

"Dammit man, you should know by now that I don't DO that lovey-dovey crap!"

"But the pupils respect you! Everyone does!"

"I don't care! There are some things in life you do NOT ask from certain people, and you don't ask ME to do any kinda positive mental attitude bullshit!"

The speaker sighed, averting his eyes from the glare of Calloway. He didn't accept defeat all too graciously, but there was no way he could win when the Coach was this agitated. He had to adopt a different strategy. And this he did, for as soon as Calloway sat back down, the speaker redirected his eyes towards that of Calloway, almost forcing him to stare right back at him. Now the speaker had his attention.

"Ok Mark, let's go over this again. The pupils have lost one of their most vital links to their supposed rebellion in Steve Austin. With his disappearence, there is no more direct leader of the masses. In addition to that, Stacy Kiebler, one of the more disruptive girls, is no longer a problem, thanks mainly to my two little angels." The speaker leant back in his chair, a small yet almost sickly smile beginning to spread across his face. Calloway raised an eyebrow in inquisition, before rolling his eyes to the back of his head, seemingly unimpressed. The speaker continued;

"What we would really need now is a new approach. It would work wonders in convincing the pupils that we all want the same thing. And Mark, you're the only Coach in the school that can command that authority-"

"Listen up Boss," Calloway suddenly interrupted "Obviously you've got your head stuck somewhere between trying to act humble and trying to be discrete about who you drill at night, but I told you - I ain't no daddy figure. I'm didn't get my respect by spewing out lectures on how to get along wit' your brothas, I got my respect cause I act like the big dog of the yard. Now if Steve had a problem with that, to hell with him. But I got a way we can get what we want by keepin with what we got. Ya wanna hear me out this time?"

Calloway leaned back, absorbing nothing but silence this time. The speaker appeared to almost open his mouth, but no words came out. The seconds ticked away in the room, as both men continued to stare at each other, neither backing down yet neither offering suggestions. The moment was broken with a loud knocking on the door, followed by it opening. The person who walked in appeared to both please Calloway and anger the speaker.

"Y-y-y-you wanted to s-s-see me, M-m-m-mister-"

"No, he didn't," Calloway suddenly stood up from his seat, before the speaker could utter anything, and walked over to the newcomer, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I did. Ya see boy, I got nothing but good things in mind for you, as long as Mr McMahon is willing to hear me out."

- - - - -

TIMELINE: 10.28 am. End of Period 2.

"And those who haven't finished that work on suplexes will get themselves a first class ticket for an ass kicking..."

With the sounding of the bell though, the words from the Coach in charge fell into the meaningless void known as forgetfullness. The threat had been heard before so many times before by almost all the students in the 12th grade it hardly meant anything anymore. Instead, word was abuzz about something new, something near-revolutionary in it's own right. This certain something was a particular something that hadn't been attempted since the days of a Canadian legend that the current year of revolutionaries could only dream of imitating, but with it had brought it's own addition that made the system that much more unpleasant.

And sure enough, the walkout of Steve Austin was about to have some serious reprocussions.

"Sheesh," was all that Chris Benoit had to say on the matter. "And with the way you treat girls, I thought you had mental problems." Chris Jericho, for whatever reason, didn't reply. With any other person, this might have been easily brushed away, but for a loudmouth like Jericho, it was obvious that something was up. Benoit knew that it couldn't have been the confession of yesterday that was bothering Chris - he'd given it up within a minute of being trapped in the Crossface, and it was a simple case of "Chris meets Trish, Trish likes Chris, Chris dumps Trish because she's a dirty, filthy, bottom feeding trashbag ho." Well ok, there was obviously more to it but that was enough for Chris B to know.

Coming back to the matter at hand, Jericho was still his suprisingly silent self, head bowed down and looking at the floor. He never even responded to Benoits question, never even noticed the existence of those around him, never even reacted to the football that bounced off the corridor and smacked him right on the side of his face. True, it knocked him off balance and sent him sprawling to the floor, but he didn't holler out his usual abusive language at the perpetrator. He never even glanced at his direction when the insult blared from the handler of the ball.

"Sorry short-ass, didn't see ya there!"

Benoit however, did just that. Standing in front of the two of them were three of the top students of the twelfth year. Though the trio would have been considered a bit lacking in the cerebral environment, that wasn't what was needed to become the top of Wrestle 'Cademy. The unwritten code of the school specified that those who would be successful needed to pass the "MBT" test. Muscles, Balls and Testosterone, that is, and there was no doubt that Brock Lesnar, Terry "Rhyno" Gerin and Hunter Hearst Helmsley passed that test with flying colours.

Benoit looked at the threesome with a look of pure disgust. Since Austin's walkout, these three had assumed authority in the student ranks, and being the pride and joy of many a Coach in the school, had threatened, beat-up and ripped into any and all threats to the Facism authority. And the Canadian Chrises were their next target. Jericho was still slumped against the wall, not even bothering to get up, so Benoit assumed for the worst as the three approached him.

"Hey, Mr Roboto," Brock sniggered, "Ain't you heard the announcement yet?"

"Why don't you suprise me?" Benoit replied, not knowing exactly how to insult Lesnar back. Speaking to people was never his strong point, so Chris never bothered saying anything more than he had to.

"Martial Law's been declared round the school," Triple H answered, with his upper-class arrogance adding an even darker tone to his murderous voice. "Anybody not outside during breaktime or lunch gets a first class ticket to the Murderball frontlines. We're real happy you and the Coaches' bitch there would be the first victims for us."

Benoit suddenly felt something freeze inside him. Murderball was just as it sounded. The only rule in the game was to get a football from your end of the pitch to the enemies. With no penalties, no fouls and no restrictions on what could happen, it got real ugly, real quick. Triple H, Rhyno and Lesnar were the top three students of the game, each one being just as vicious as the next. During their games, they'd snapped more limbs together than when Coach Calloway himself and his brother had once dominated over the sport, in his heyday at the school.

"Hey! You guys know the rules!" Another voice came from behind them down the hallway. "You're now all in for Murderball period 5, so get the heck outta here before it gets worse!" Kurt Angle yelled, storming up to them with what could almost be a fire in his eyes. His 'hair' had now vanished from his skull, and this in turn brought laughter to the mouths of the Murderball Mob. Kurt continued his pace, strangely unfazed. This went unheeded by Triple H, who now began to address Angle.

"Shut up chrome-dome, go drink some milk!"
No response.
"Hey cueball, you're needed on the pool table!" Lesnar jeered.
No response. He still moved closer.
A snarling noise came from Rhyno, followed by some almost indistinguisable comment on shiny bowling balls.
No response.
"Don't worry Kurt, Stephanie's in the hands of a real man now!"
Then it happened.

Triple H's world suddenly turned upside down before his very eyes. Kurt had finally reached him, and before he could even blink he was grappled around the waist and thrown, in a belly to belly suplex, straight into one of the many lockers down the hallway. His back slammed into the metal contraption with the typically loud and dull sounding thud of metal clanging against skin, a thud that was soon drowned out by his screams of agony.
Rhyno was the next to fight, charging right at Kurt with the intent to tackle him head on. The school monitor saw it coming though, and in one swift movement had sidestepped the charging behemoth and thrown him right into the marble wall, shoulder first. There was a loud "SNAP!" as Rhyno's whole arm fell limply to his side, but the beastly teenager still managed to pull himself to his feet. He remained snarling at Angle, who wasn't even flinching from what he had just done. Helmsley's cries of pain were still echoing along the hallway, and Lesnar hadn't moved an inch. He cracked his knuckles and continued to stare at Kurt, before finally speaking.

"Heh...glad you've finally grown some balls. Shame you picked the wrong targets, cause now I think the Coach'll want YOU on the grounds as well."

Kurt suddenly began to stiffen as he saw just what Brock was talking about. Walking towards him was Coach Calloway, and he obviously wasn't happy. Upon the Coaches passing of him, Rhyno immediately snapped his shoulder back into position with another loud "SNAP!", this one producing a small growl of displeasure from the bulky student. Calloway stormed right up to Angle, clenching his fists for some more meat to practice on...but to the slight surprise of Lesnar, suddenly retracted. Instead, he drew out a long, meditating sigh, put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and walked off with him, muttering what appeared to be some discontented advice on "picking the correct type of food to chew on".

Brock looked around him, towards his original targets, but only the walls of the school stared him back. In between all of the commotion, Benoit must have managed to drag Jericho away from the excitement and outside into the concrete clamour that was the playground, Brock assumed. He looked towards Rhyno, who in turn was looking at the still-moaning Helmsley, layed out and still desperately trying to ease the pain on his back. Although Rhyno himself was silent, his gaze all but shouted out "What the hell are you whining about?" Brock was about to tell Rhyno to pick Hunter up, when another sound pierced his ears.

The distinct sound of flesh slapping against flesh, followed instantly in turn by the sound of a girl's startled cry, which was uniformally followed by the distant argument of two men. Leaving Rhyno to ponder over Triple H, Brock positioned himself against the wall, inching towards the snivelling of the girl and her approaching footsteps in such a manner so that she wouldn't even see who had grabbed her from behind. She wouldn't have time to run away, fight back, or even resist his charms, his superiority, his greatness. Brock smirked to himself as the argument between Benoit and Jericho faded away and the footsteps drew ever closer, and he readied himself to grab Trish, visualising already his success as she found out why they called him the Next Big Thing.

And besides, it was time someone other than Hunter acted as if he had a banana in his pocket.


END OF CHAPTER 4


Wow, it's been on an off for the past two and a bit months to try and wrap that up. And let me tell you now, that ending was not what I'd originally planned! But at the same time, it might provide something else for me to work with, in addition to what I'd already planned. Anyhew, I'm not sure when the next chapter for this story will be, with me already a good way into my next college year (which by the way is infinitely better than the school system I was stuck with for 6 damn years!) so, don't get all that hopeful for a quick update. But I will keep trying with this, so don't give up either.
In whatever case, I'll see you guys next when I'm finished on Chapter 5.