No Copyright intended. I do not own WWE or its characters.

Chapter 1

He walked down the halls of the building, his eyes locked in front of him, but also keeping them lowered towards the tan tiled floor, awaiting for the signal to go through the curtain and face the millions of fans awaiting in the arena. His wrestling boots hit the ground with a thud every time he walked this way, but he wanted his boots to keep him unnoticed. His long hair fluttered past his shoulders and hit the sides of his face when he turned the corner, easily wiping it away, keeping a confident look on his face. He shuddered at the fact of the crowd even when he was delighted by them. He loved seeing the smiles on everybody's faces, but some not as much. Some wont smile, but only give him looks of disgust. He hadn't forgotten that night in Miami, when one-third of the crowd cheered him on and no one else cheered, only disgust. Shawn didn't understand it at all. Not one time had a full audience reaction had been made except for when, well, he won the championship. That was three weeks ago, and he loved the audiences' reactions so much that night he had to stay in the ring and embrace the moment. Embrace the reality that seemed more like a dream than what was.

He looked over his shoulder, and saw the title. It wasn't a dream. It was his dream. He had wanted to be someone in the industry, but it turned out to be harder than he expected. He had a passion for his career as a wrestler, but it didn't seem to give back what he was putting out. He was trained by the best, fought the best trainees, and even got to win a championship on the best night of the wrestling business industry. But it was still hard for him. He still had to face his own insecurities.

He smiled when he saw a couple of girls in the corner, then lowered his head when their eyes met his gaze. He looked at the floor, and thought he could hear whispers fade past him as he walked away from the girls. They weren't really of any importance to him. He wasn't really feeling like talking tonight. Not talking at all, for that matter.

As another turn came into view, Shawn immediately stopped walking and looked at the title again. He smiled, the title pushed into the palm of his hands, knowing he gave it his all and it was worth it. He felt proud of what he had become. What he was, and how he could become stronger. He wanted to keep the title, its golden appearance stinging his eyes that he had to blink a few times to see straight again. It felt cold in his hands, and its weight was lighter than what was expected of a priceless treasure.

He knew he felt safe in this part of the world. By himself. Knowing what he has done right for once without the intent of hurting himself to an almost month off. He didn't want any time off, he loved the business so much. He remembered his parents, how they called that night, and they said how proud they were of him, knowing he had finally followed his dream.

He was caught up in the appearance of his thoughts that it hit him hard across his back. He felt the coldness of the ground as he tried to regain his footing and trying to push up with his arms, but the impact of the fall was so hard he had to stay there to collect his breath. He coughed, then tried to sit up...only to be pushed back down, his forearm gripped, followed by a pulsing pain that left him screaming. The title was in front of him, his forehead almost touching the slick black sides.

"Well, if it isn't the Heartbreak Kid."

Shawn managed to look up, but his forearm was gripped tighter behind his back as his face was almost crushed against the floor. He had to scream again to ease the pain. He felt his lower back begin to burn.

"Still favoring my championship? Huh? Answer me!"

Shawn heard the voice and, through his gritted teeth, said, "Y-Y-Yes...B-Bret."

The pain decreased as Bret let Shawn's forearm hit the floor, Shawn groaning from the impact and from all the pressure of the hold. Bret chuckled when he saw how pitiful Shawn looked, lying on the floor stomach-first, his breathing deep, and his arms and legs dangling like they were limp.

"You're pathetic," Bret Sneered, then hit his boot into Shawn's stomach, causing him to yell. "Let me tell you something: that title will be mine again, and when I meet you in that ring again, I'm going to hurt you so bad the audience is going to think that the 'entertainment' is too good to be true."

Shawn winced from the pain, his body crawling towards the wall, trying to grab it to pull himself up. He felt his head getting pulled back, his hair aching at the roots, the pain from his lower body and forearms aching at every step Shawn made so Bret could see his eyes lock with his.

"Just remember," Bret said, his grin as evil as it was. "I'm coming for you, you ugly, selfish coward."

Then, Shawn felt the floor again, this time leaving him breathless as the cold floor touched his skin. Shawn coughed, and couldn't stop. He heard footsteps fading away from his ears, and it was a signal that Bret had left. Shawn collected his thoughts for a second, getting up onto his knees, and finally caught his breath, trying to get away from all that had just happened. Not to remember it. He saw the title in the corner of the hall, and, quickly, picked it up with his hands. He looked at it, the appearance still the same as it ever was. Shawn closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't want no one to see his true self, but, truth was, he already had shown it. He wouldn't talk around anyone in that locker room. He didn't want to.

Opening his eyes, he decided to get up. No use of making a scene.

He touched his stomach, burning from the pain, and got his legs straightened. He managed to use the wall for support, then, he finally made it to his feet, the title still hanging limp in his hands. Shawn looked in the direction Bret had gone, and knew that he was headed towards the locker room. Shawn collected himself, able to hold his own as he began to walk down the same path, trying to clear away the bad memories of what just happened. It seemed to work, but it snuck back upon him when he was trying to think of something else, such as the match tonight.

Shawn passed the corner, to were he saw a man with a golden coat on and a grin that shocked the appearance of the room. Shawn tried to look down, but didn't get a chance to when he was slapped on the back by the man, his grin overpowering the pain Shawn had already had to face. Shawn winced, stopping in his tracks as he almost lost his balance. He managed to regain it in time to see the man in front of him.

"Hey, Shawn, good luck tonight," Million-Dollar Man Ted Dibiase said, grinning. "Your gonna need it when you get beat up by the Hart Foundation. By the way, how's Razor and Diesel?"

"Okay," Shawn said, his eyes locked on the floor, trying not to meet the gaze of the other man. "Their all okay."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I got something for you."

Shawn shuddered to think of what the Million-Dollar Man had in store. Fake cash, if it was anyone's guess. He looked down at Ted's outstretched hand, which consisted of a couple of one-hundred dollar bills.

"I know that's fake." Shawn whispered.

"What?"

"I said it's fake. I don't want your money."

"Okay, I get it. You think since your the champion you've got everything. Well, I'm okay with that. I know what it's like to be champion."

"I don't-Look, I appreciate your money, but, no. I don't need it and I'm sorry."

Then, Shawn walked off, his head already hurting from Bret's attack. Now, it was only getting worse from the way Ted's smile and golden coat were looking as it they were polished before the show. Even his back was hurting from the way Ted slapped him.

Ted's smile faded. He had fooled many superstars, but not Shawn.

"Freak." He whispered.

Shawn's gaze at the end of the hall gave him a chance to collect himself, but couldn't help but remember the week before, when the Million-Dollar Man slapped him across his face for no reason. Shawn shuddered, the impact of the slap already coming back to him. He was in so much pain he didn't want to find out why Million-Dollar Man slapped him. Maybe it was a champion to superstar thing.

Now, Shawn had no where else to go but forward. He was looking for something to do, and realized he could easily go talk to Diesel. But, then again, he was too busy preparing for his match. He remembered now that he had left his bag on the floor of Diesel's locker room. He decided to head in that direction. After all, it was a few doors down.

Shawn's aching body lead him to rub the back of his neck while his eyes were locked on the floor, not wanting to look up and see who could have been at the end of the hall waiting. He knew it was best this way.

It was quiet from all the thoughts in Shawn's head that he crashed into another wall, and onto the floor. This time, Shawn landed on his back, the impact harder than ever before. He groaned when he felt the burning sensation crawl up his back and he knew from the way it hurt that he had to put ice on it.

He looked up, and saw a figure blinded by the light from the ceiling. He sighed when he tried to sit up and, without warning, was gripped by his arm, gently, and was quickly on his feet. Shawn kept looking at the ground as he clutched the title, waiting for a slap or hit. Instead, the gentle grip loosened on Shawn's arm.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there. Are you okay?"

Shawn looked up as the figure kept looking at him, able to make sense that the figure could have been younger than he was. Shawn looked back down as soon as he saw his eyes, nodding in agreement to himself being okay, but couldn't help but think if he had seen this wrestler before. He decided to look up again, and the other man smiled.

"You don't talk much?"

Shawn shook his head, his eyes on the floor again. The other man was wearing blue jeans and a green t-shirt that looked as if it had been worn to a gym. He pulled back a string of his hair and decided to adjust the title onto his shoulder, his palms sweating.

"Ah...your the one who won the championship."

Shawn closed his eyes, waiting for one hit. One slap on the back. One slap even to his face. No one could understand how he even became champion.

"That's nice. Someday, I want to become champion. I'm proud for you and keep up the good work."

Those words made Shawn look up, his eyes almost wide, the figure's face three inches from his, and he quickly saw that the man standing before him wasn't a wrestler he hadn't seen before.

"Well...uh...I gotta get going. My match is up next and I don't want to make a bad first impression."

Shawn nodded in agreement. He felt the same way when he first came into the wrestling industry.

"Well...maybe I'll see you soon."

And, with that, the man walked away. Shawn collected his thoughts when he looked up and turned to see the back of the man's head, flowing with long blond hair, his hands dug into his pockets. Shawn gave a little smile.

"Thanks." He whispered.

Shawn turned his gaze back to the locker room area, walking down the half-dark hallway in order to get where he was going. He looked at the room numbers from the corner of his eye, able to make out each number from its small form on the doorway. At least he had good eye sight. He paused in the center of the hall, where he quickly found Diesel's room and, walking to the doorway, he thought he heard laughs, then whispers. Shawn turned, two superstars happened to be on the other side of the hall. Shawn turned his gaze back to the door and, sighing, his hand on the door handle, he went inside.

The room wasn't all that big, but big enough for a wrestler to work out or prepare for the match. The walls were painted in golden brown, while the floor was a shade of white carpet. Shawn saw his bag in the near corner, and quickly walked towards it.

He dropped onto his knees and quickly opened the bag, seeing the many clothes and attires, but, for some reason, they weren't his. Shawn adjusted the title on his shoulder, but decided to let it fall to the ground next to him. Shawn wasn't in the best of moods, and now he surely didn't want anything more to happen.

He turned around, and his thoughts of being hurt were already before his eyes.

His things: the attires of red and white and black, the hairbrush, the toothpaste, toothbrush, headbands, and his normal street clothes, where scattered over the locker room floor. Shawn gasped and quickly raced over to his things, getting off his knees for the moment, then, he was back on them the next when he tried to pick up his things while looking for the bag. Shawn spotted it hanging on a coat hanger on the wall, and he grabbed it, yanking hard to where the hanger broke off. He now felt anger, more anger emerging when he saw his attires all jumbled together, the chains all tangled and not in place as they should have been. He saw a white object on top of the attires, and stretched his hand to grab it.

With the object in hand, Shawn realized it was a piece of paper. Shawn saw its blank appearance as his blue eyes looked all over it, then he turned it over.

There, in big blue ink, the word spoke out: "Loser."

Shawn had seen it all, but hearing it was the worst. He heard a chuckle from behind him and, turning his head, he saw Bret standing in the doorway with his two teammates chuckling behind him, their hands trying to cover their mouths.

"Do you see me laughing?!" Shawn yelled, the paper clutched in his bare hands.

"Oh...little Shawn is starting to get upset. Please, spare me your anger. I've got more business to attend to than waste my time with a loser like you, little H-B-K Loser!"

Bret laughed as he walked away from the door, his teammates doing the same, their chuckles and laughs louder than what it should have been like.

Shawn growled under his breath and, out of all the anger inside him, clutched the paper and ripped it in half, then ripped it again and again until nothing but little shreds of paper was all over his lap and the floor. He buried his face in his hands and felt tears coming close to the brink of his eyes.

He also felt the tears on his face. How they managed to get there was still a mystery.