It is a quiet night in Orlando, Florida.   Stevie Richards, who had recently been promoted to Head of Talent Relations by Eric Bischoff, was desperately trying to catch up on some well-needed sleep.   Since taking on the position, Stevie has been running nearly 24/7, taking meetings with staff and talent, negotiating contracts, and doing whatever other duties Bischoff needed him to accomplish at a given time.   While the position afforded Stevie many new opportunities to help build and refine TNA, he was also running near ragged trying to keep up with Bischoff and Hogan’s break-neck pace.   For every one thing Stevie was able to accomplish, six more came in its place, and, after a while, all the meetings, all the negotiations, all the paperwork… it was just exhausting.   The last thing Stevie needed at this hour was a Public Relations Nightmare.

Leave it to Raven to ruin a perfectly good night of sleep.

Stevie’s phone rang.   He looked up at his alarm clock, seeing that it was barely 1AM.   He rolled over, hoping the ringing phone was a hallucination, brought on by a lack of sleep.   Unfortunately, as the phone rang again, Stevie realized this was no illusion.   Stevie, barely able to focus his eyes, got up and looked at the Caller ID.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stevie sighed as he read the words ‘Bischoff, Eric’ on the Caller ID.   He picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

“Turn on the news,” Eric barked.   “You’re not going to believe the sh*t that’s going down right now!”

“The news?   Okay, hold on,” Stevie mumbled, searching for his remote control.   Once found, he turns on the TV in his bedroom and turns it to the nearest 24-hour News Network.

… the riot started several hours ago, here in Belleview Hospital’s Mental Health Ward.   A group of professional wrestlers, it’s being reported, impersonated doctors and staff in an attempt to infiltrate the ward’s High Security Wing, releasing two patients, Daffney Unger and Frank Kazarian, in the process.   Kazarian, as you know, was the man allegedly behind the recent attempt on the life of wrestler, Hulk Hogan, and had been held here pending a full psychiatric examination to see if he was able to stand trial.   The gang, seen here, have now all been captured.   Their ringleader, Scott Levy, known as the wrestler, Raven, along with fellow wrestlers Jay Lethal, Chris Sabin, Alex Shelley, Allen ‘Consequences’ Creed, Rachel Donaldson, known as MsChif, Jessica Kressa, known as ‘One Dirty Bitch’, and Jon Figueroa, known as ‘The Amazing Red’, are all being held at One Police Plaza.   Meanwhile, Daffney Unger, one of the patients who escaped during the riot, has already been recaptured and brought back to Belleview, while Frank Kazarian remains at large.   Police ask that if you see Frank Kazarian that you do not approach him or attempt to intervene as he is considered highly dangerous.   If you see this man or know of his whereabouts, you are encouraged to call 911 immediately…

“Oh, sh*t,” Stevie said, soberly.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Bischoff barked.   “Meet me at the airport in an hour.   You and me have some business to take care of.”

The next day, somewhere in the middle of Death Valley, Samoa Joe lie, looking into the sky.   As night became day, the scorching sun began its brutal, unfeeling beatdown on what remained of Samoa Joe.   He had long since exhausted his water supply, and, as he lie there, dehydrated, staring up into the sky, Joe began to see visions and hear the voices of the men who haunted his nightmares.

“So, this is how it ends, eh, Joe?” CM Punk asked.   “Baked to death in the desert.   Well, hey, at least you went out like a man.”

“Man?” Desmond Wolfe chimed in.   “I don’t see a man here, do you, Samoan Joe?   I only see what’s left of a pathetic loser, a wanker who wasn’t worth the spit God used to create him!”

“Come on, guys,” Kurt Angle added.   “You’re being too hard on the guy.   After all, when you keep losing, week after week, month after month, to the best the world has to offer, at some point, you just realize that it’s not worth it anymore.   Right Joe?”

“Jesus Christ, man,” Punk began.   “What happened to you?   You used to be such a bad-ass!   And now what?   You decide to go all emo, come out to Death Valley, and now, you’re minutes away from death, and for what?   Nobody’s going to care, Joe.   When you’re gone, the business, it’ll just move on without you, like you were never even there at all.”

“He’s right, Joe,” Kurt Angle agreed.   “You’re not even a blip on the radar, anymore.   I’ve already proven that I’m better than you.   So has CM Punk.   What are you now, a two-time world champion?”

“Three,” Punk answered.

“Three?   Not bad.   I mean, it’s no Olympic Gold Medal, but, hell, it’s still better than Joe,” Angle said to Punk.

“You know, Samoan Joe, I don’t even know why you bothered to go into wrestling at all, really.   Sure, you had a good run in Ring of Honor, but you just didn’t have what it took to make it in the big time now, did you?” Desmond Wolfe added.

Suddenly, another vision walked into Joe’s line of sight, the man who beat Joe for the ROH Title, Austin Aries.

“Wow, how the mighty Joe has fallen,” Aries began.   “And here I am, now the only TWO time ROH World Champion, and you, the man who thought he was destined for bigger and better things, the man who thought he was primed for the Big Time, is sitting here, letting himself become buzzard food.   What the hell, man?   I always thought you lived and died by the Warrior’s Code.   But I guess I was wrong.”

“We all were wrong, Joe,” Punk agreed.   “See, the difference between us, and you…”

“Other than the fact that we’re just plain better than you,” Desmond injected.

“… is that, when things got rough, we didn’t give up.   Hell, Austin was in TNA.   He thought he was going to be a big time wrestler.   And, what a shock, it didn’t quite work out for him.   And look now, on the rebound, the only two-time ROH Champion,” Punk said.

“Hell, my wife left me for Jeff Jarrett!   You don’t see me wandering the desert, looking for meaning, do you?” Kurt Angle added.   “Hell no!   I just continued to do what I did best, kick your sorry ass from one end of TNA to the other!”

“You know, now that I think of it, there really isn’t one good reason at all for Samoan Joe here to keep on living, is there?” Wolfe asked the others.

“Sure there is,” Aries said.   “Joe here just isn’t man enough to do it.”

In that moment, Aries, Punk, Angle, and Wolfe all seemed to fade away, replaced with the vision of one man, holding a silver briefcase in one hand, and an old school microphone in the other, standing directly over Joe.  

“And now that you’re almost dead, Keiko,” the man began, “I can go and cash in MY Feast of Fired Title Shot, and become your new TNA Heavyweight Champion of the World… MISTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR…. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDERSON!!!!”   The figure then leaned down, looking Joe face to face, and said, “…Anderson!”

At that moment, a shadow blocked out the sun, and a voice called out, “Joe!”   The vision of Mr. Anderson faded, replaced with one resembling an angel… with a halter top and sunglasses.   Exhausted and dehydrated, Joe tried to speak, but the most he could manage was a murmur that barely resembled sound.

“Joe, listen to me,” the voice said to him.   “It’s Taylor.   Whatever you think you’re seeing, whoever you’ve been talking to… they’re not real.”

Joe blinked, and as his eyes reopened, he saw Taylor Wilde sitting over him, trying to move him.

“Come on, Joe,” she pleaded.   “I can’t lift you all by myself.”   As she struggled to life Joe, she knew he was simply too heavy to move.   She grabbed a sheet from out of a bag she carried with her, and used it to cover herself and Joe in a meager attempt to protect themselves from the blazing sun.   She then held Joe up and tried to give him water from a canteen.   It would be the last thing Joe would remember for several hours.

Hours later, Joe awoke, finding himself in the backseat of Taylor Wilde’s rental car, speeding along the California Highway.   She was talking to Chris Daniels over the phone using a hands-free device.

“Yeah, I found him.   He was practically half dead when I found him.   He kept saying stuff about CM Punk and Austin Aries.   You don’t think they have anything to do with this, do you?” Taylor asked.

“I highly doubt it,” Daniels said over the speaker.   “Joe’s been having some doubts about himself, lately, though.   Kept telling me about these nightmares he was having, where CM Punk keeps interrupting him during an interview on Oprah or something.”

“That’s weird,” Taylor replied.

“All I know is, ever since the TV Tapings, Anderson’s been walking around with a Feast or Fired case, claiming he has a World Title shot.   I’m thinking Joe wanted to cash it in or something, and somehow, he ended up losing it,” Daniels explained.  

“Wait, this whole thing was about some title shot?” Taylor asked.

“It’s bigger than that,” Daniels continued.   “Joe wasn’t booked for the TV Tapings or the Pay-Per-View, either.   Maybe Hogan fired him.   I don’t know.   Hopefully, when Joe wakes up, he can tell us what’s going on.”

“I hope so,” Taylor sighed.   “So… how are you holding up?   I mean, I know this whole thing with AJ’s got to be…”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think, right now,” Daniels said.   “I figured AJ was being bought off by Hogan.   I mean, I’ve seen the place where he grew up.   I don’t blame him for being swayed by some nice suits and a limo every now and then, but the guy I saw in Vegas… that wasn’t the AJ Styles I knew.”

Just then, Joe looked up and asked, “Taylor?”

“Joe?   You’re awake!” Taylor shouted, surprised.   “Chris, Joe’s awake!”

There was no response.

“Chris?” Taylor asked.   “Chris?   Are you still there?”   Taylor looked down at her phone and saw that the call had been dropped.   “Damn!”   She hit the redial button, but soon, she realized that she had no bars, no reception.   She had driven out of cell phone range.   “Damn it!”

“Where am I?” Joe asked, looking around at the unfamiliar setting.

“I’m not exactly sure.   We’re heading back towards LA,” Taylor answered, looking at the GPS device on her rental car’s dashboard.   “That’s about all I know for sure, right now.”

“How’d… how did I get here?” Joe asked.

“Well, after I got a little water in you, you managed to get up long enough for me to be able to help you into the car, here.   You were pretty out of it, though.   How long were you out there, anyway?” Taylor said.

“Don’t know.   What’s today?” Joe asked.

“Monday,” Taylor answered.

“Wow,” Joe said.   “It’s been a week?”

“You’re lucky I found you.   Another few hours out there, you could have died!   What the hell were you thinking, doing something like this, Joe?” Taylor asked.  

“You wouldn’t understand,” Joe sighed, watching the desert highway speeding by outside the window.   “I just needed some time alone.”

“Why?   What’s going on, Joe?” Taylor asked.   “Everyone’s been worried sick about you!”

“I just needed some time to myself, to figure out if any of this is even worth it anymore,” Joe answered.

“What do you mean, ‘if any of this is worth it’?   What are you talking about?” Taylor continued.

“Wrestling.   All of this, really,” Joe began, “You know, once upon a time, I was the most feared man in wrestling.   People would see me and start chanting ‘Joe is going to kill you’, and they actually believed it.   People really thought that, when they came and saw Samoa Joe, they were going to see someone get slaughtered in the ring.   But, then… then, there was Kurt Angle, and everything I had done, everyone I had beat, every title I held, none of it mattered anymore.   One guy, Taylor.   One guy came in and ruined everything for me.   One way or another, whether it was getting his wife to screw with my head, or getting Kevin Nash to turn on me at Bound For Glory, or having Taz talk me into the Main Event Mafia just so I wouldn’t be a threat to him anymore, everything he did, he did just to ruin me.   And all the while, TNA Management sat back and let it all happen.   Why?   Because I wasn’t a ‘name brand guy’.   Meanwhile, Kurt, he got all the shots, all the opportunities, all the titles, all the money.   He got everything he ever wanted.   He even got Jeff Jarrett tossed out of TNA when he found out Jeff and Karen hooked up!   And now, he has his buddy Hulk Hogan in here, making sure that, no matter what, he gets to stay in the exact same spotlight he’s been in since the day Dixie signed him.   And what does that leave me?   Nothing.   Why?   Because I don’t matter.   Nothing I do matters.   As long as guys like Angle and Hogan are in TNA, what’s the point of me even showing up?   Some WWE castoff is just going to waltz in and take everything away from us, anyway, so why bother?   Hulk Hogan wants to destroy TNA?   Fine.   I say, let him.   Maybe then, when it’s finally over, we can go home and have a normal life again.”

As Joe said all of this, Taylor pulled off the road and stopped the car.   She then takes a series of deep breaths.

“What’s going on?   Why’d you stop?” Joe asked.

“Get out of the car, Joe,” Taylor said, quietly.

“What?” Joe said, not having heard what Taylor had said.

“I said, ‘get out of the car, Joe’,” she repeated.

“Get out?” Joe asked, not knowing what to make of all of this.

“Get out!” Taylor shouted, slamming her hands against the steering wheel.   “Get out!   Get out!   GET OUT!!!”

“Taylor, what’s gotten into you?” Joe asked.

Taylor then takes off her seatbelt, gets out of the car, and opens the back door.   Joe, not knowing what else to do, gets out of the car as Taylor closes the door behind him.   As he turns around towards Taylor, she just pushes him off, walking past him.

“What the hell is going on here, Taylor?   What’s wrong?” Joe asked.

Taylor turns back to him, and the look on her face could tell the whole story.   Somewhere between hopelessness and rage, Taylor stared at Joe, and began by saying, “Everything.   Everything’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, everything?” Joe asked.

“AJ, Hogan, Suicide… even you… it’s all wrong,” Taylor began.   “Do you know where I was before I came out here, looking for you?   I was in a goddamned hospital room, watching Matt Hardy fight for his life after being nearly beat to death by the Nasty Boys!   And why?   Because some damned egomaniac with a bad tan and horrible theme music decided that Traci and I weren’t worth having around anymore!   And ever since then, I’ve had Ken Anderson threaten to beat up my mom, and phone calls out the ass from people in TNA, wondering who was going to be next.   If, maybe I knew what Hogan was up to, and why all of this was happening.   But, guess what, Joe?   I don’t know.   I don’t know a goddamned thing!   All I know is, everything I’ve worked for in my life up to this point, it’s gone.   Hulk Hogan, for whatever reason, has decided that he wants to keep me around to serve as an example of what happens to those who get in his way.   Why?   Once again, I don’t know.   The only one of us who seems to have any idea, any clue of what’s really going on here has been locked inside an insane asylum for weeks, now!   Meanwhile, here you are, the big bad Joe, crying in the desert, feeling sorry for yourself!   Everything we know, everything we’ve worked for in TNA is being ripped apart faster than you can blink, and all you can think about is your spot!   I swear, you’re starting to sound just like AJ!   How long is it going to be before you sell out all your principals, all your beliefs, just to be considered a ‘name brand guy’, as you call it?   Hell, we saw you do it before with the Main Event Mafia!   Is that what we have to look forward to, Joe?   Is that what I just spent the last three days combing the desert to find?   A selfish, egotistical crybaby who’s willing to kill himself just because things aren’t going his way?   If that’s the case, I give up!   All this time, I thought, if anyone could help us right now, it’s Joe.   I mean, who else is there?   Daniels and me, we’re the only ones that seem to get it.   Everybody else, Hogan’s got going one way or the other.   If he isn’t outright firing you, he’s got you looking over your shoulder, wondering when your replacement’s going to take over!   All everybody cares about right now is their spot, and no one is looking at the bigger picture!   No one is looking at how all of this politicking and backbiting is affecting the fans.   You remember the fans, don’t you, Joe?   The people who gave you a reason to believe in yourself in the first place?   The people who supported you every time Kurt Angle screwed you over?   The people who’ve made it possible for people like us to even be noticed in this business? And what do they have to look forward to, now that Hogan’s running TNA like his own, personal playground?   Backstage bullying being played out on TV?   Montreal: The Sequel?   Endless segments featuring over-the-hill performers people stopped paying to see decades ago?   And here you are, the mighty Samoa Joe, taking his ball and walking off into Death Valley when the fans need him the most, just because some a$$hole took his spot!   I thought you were a warrior, Joe.   That’s what you keep calling yourself, anyway.   But what kind of warrior ditches family and friends, and all of the people who’ve supported and loved him through the years?   Is that how you want to be remembered, as the guy who couldn’t take the heat, the guy who took his ball and ran away when people needed him the most?   Fine.   Go!   Go wander off into the desert and die like a bitch, because the last thing TNA needs right now is yet another crybaby whining about his spot!”

As Taylor finished, she dropped to her knees, and began crying.   In this moment, the weight of everything she had been forced to deal with in the past month crashed upon her like a tidal wave.   The string of releases, the beating Matt Hardy had taken, the threats from Mr. Anderson, AJ’s betrayal, the emotional weight of knowing there was virtually nothing she could do to help Traci, or Frankie, or Daffney, and now, this here with Joe.   Taylor could no longer keep herself together.   Everything she knew, everything she had worked for, everything she had invested herself into, was dying.   Anderson was right.   Hogan had intended to make her suffer, and he was doing so by forcing her to sit back and watch as everything she had helped build and everyone she cared about crumbled before her.

Joe looked down at the desert floor beneath him, taking in each and every word Taylor threw at him.   As the words sank into his mind, Joe began to realize just how he had been acting lately, and felt deeply ashamed.   As he realized the truth about himself, he looked up and saw Taylor falling apart on the side of the desert road.   As bad as things in his career may have been these past few years, it was nothing compared to the devastation TNA had seen in the past few weeks.   He finally realized what it is he needed to do to make things right, but, first, he needed to help Taylor get past all of this.   He went over to her, and kneeled down beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder as she looked to the ground, crying.

“I had no idea it was like this,” Joe said to her, not knowing where to begin.   “I’m sorry, Taylor.   You’re absolutely right.   I’ve been so worried about my spot that I haven’t been looking at the bigger picture.”

Taylor looked over to Joe, and hugged him, crying, “I can’t take this anymore, Joe.   I can’t do it.   I’m not strong enough to do this by myself.”

“You don’t have to, Taylor,” Joe said, comforting her.   “You’re not alone, anymore.”

As the scene played out on the California desert highway, a news report played over the radio of Taylor’s rental car.  

…Police are on the lookout for Frank Kazarian, still at large after escaping from a mental hospital during a riot last night.   He is approximately 6 feet tall, with long black hair, weighing about 215 pounds, and is expected to be wearing either a white hospital uniform, or a red bodysuit with a skull mask.   He was last seen driving an orange 1969 Dodge Charger, possibly headed towards Orlando, Florida.   We are also told that he only responds to the name ‘Suicide’, the name of a popular professional wrestler featured on Spike TV’s ‘TNA Impact’ television program.   Police say that he is considered extremely dangerous, and advise that if you see him, to call 911 immediately, and not to attempt to approach him in anyway.   I repeat, Frank Kazarian, also known as ‘Suicide’, is considered extremely dangerous…

Meanwhile, on an interstate highway somewhere outside of Washington, DC, the aforementioned Mr. Kazarian is driving along in a stolen 1969 Dodge Charger.   On the radio, he too hears the report on the Belleview Riot.   As the reporter finishes her report, Suicide hears the chorus of Gretchen Wilson’s ‘Redneck Woman’ playing from a cell phone sitting in the passenger seat of this 1969 Dodge Charger.   Curious, he picks up the phone, and answers.  

On the other end of the line, a drunken, irate woman screams, “Hey, you son of a bitch!   What the hell do you think you’re doing, stealing my car like that?”   In the background, Suicide can hear what he assumes are policemen, ordering her to hang up the phone.   “Get your damn hands off of me, pig!   You want a criminal?   I got one, right here.   The son of a bitch who stole my Charger!”   Screaming back into the phone, she says, “Yeah, that’s right!   I know who you are, and if you think for one second you’re going to car-jack me and get away with it… I said ‘Get your damn hands off of me!’   You want to arrest someone?   Arrest the son of a bitch who stole my motherf*cking car!   Hey!   I said let go of me!   This is police brutality!   I want all your badge numbers!   Somebody call Johnny Cochran!”   With that, the call disconnected.   It seems that ODB had used her one phone call to call her own cell phone to scream at the man who had stolen her Charger.

Moments later, the ringtone went off again.   Suicide picked up the phone and was about to toss it out the window, but then saw the Caller ID – Chris Daniels.   Suicide answered.

“Hello?”

“Frankie?” Daniels said.   “Is that you?”

“You’re not going to talk me out of this, Chris,” Suicide growled to his friend.   “Hogan has Traci.”

“What?” Daniels shouted.

“He has Traci,” Suicide repeated.   “I’m going to Orlando.   I’m going to end this, once and for all, and there’s nothing you, the police, or even God himself is going to do to stop me.   Not this time.”

“Frankie, you don’t understand!   This is bigger than Hogan,” Daniels pleaded.

“Doesn’t matter,” Suicide said.   “Hogan’s the threat.   Hogan must be eliminated.”

“Frankie, just calm down, okay?   Let’s talk about this.   If you just bust in there with no plan, thinking you can just go and kill Hulk Hogan… I mean, they know you’re coming.   Everyone does.   It’s all over the news, Frankie!   Everyone on earth is out looking for you right now!” Daniels explained.

“Doesn’t matter,” Suicide said, bluntly.   “Traci needs me.”

“Frankie, stop and think about what you’re doing for just one second!” Daniels pleaded.

“Goodbye, Daniels,” Suicide said.

“Don’t hang up!   Frankie…” Daniels shouted as Suicide tossed ODB’s cell phone out the window.   As he saw the remnants of the phone as it shattered along the Jersey Highway, Suicide once again realized something he, in his heart, already knew.   That he, and he alone, would be the only one with enough conviction to do what needed done, and that no one, not even those he would call friends, would ever understand.

Only Two More To Go!  Check back for Chapter Twelve!

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