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Tales From The Insanity Universe: The unWatched Men Saga Chapter XII - Traci Meets The Greater Power
By Mike Johns
Mar 24, 2010 - 4:03 PM

When Our Story Began... (Chapter One)

Inside The Asylum (Chapter Two)

Assault At Traci's House (Chapter Three)

Anderson's Warning (Chapter Four)

No Case For Joe (Chapter Five)

Steve's Betrayal (Chapter Six)

Joe In Exile, Daffney In Belleview (Chapter Seven)

Hardy's Choice (Chapter Eight)

Daniels Confronts A.J. (Chapter Nine)

The Secret Identity of Dr. Donaldson(Chapter Ten)

When We Last Left Our Hero... (Chapter Eleven)

 

Chapter 12: Traci Meets The Greater Power

There has never been anything like it.   Just over a day ago, six men and two women were brought into One Police Plaza in New York City, processed, and thrown into a holding cell, awaiting arraignment.   The TNA 8, as they have been dubbed by the news media, had just the day before started a riot inside Belleview Hospital’s Mental Health Ward, helping two patients escape in the process.   One of the patients, Daffney Unger, had been recaptured just outside the hospital, while the more dangerous of the two, the man best known as ‘Suicide’, was, as of this very moment, making his way down to Orlando behind the wheel of an orange 1969 Dodge Charger.   The story, which was now headline news on every major network and newspaper in the country, was a rather unbelievable one, to say the least.   Not only had the eight been able to infiltrate the hospital, making their way all the way to the ward, but they had, for the most part, been successful in their operation.   They were, at least momentarily, able to release two of their fellow performers, who they claimed had been wrongfully committed.   But, despite everything, here they were, at the mercy of the American Legal System, and even in the face of overwhelming evidence against them, they stood unified and defiant against their captors.

The noise was deafening.   All efforts to silence their shouts and chanting had failed, and no amount of coercion seemed to end the continuing, infuriating rebellion going on in that single holding cell.   Outside the holding area, looking through a thick layer of plate glass, stood Sgt. John Munch and Detective Fin Tutuola, members of the NYPD’s Special Victims Unit, watching the amazing scene unfold.

“Man, I didn’t think I’d ever see anything like this,” Tutuola said to his longtime partner.

“The rage of the oppressed.   You were bound to see it sometime,” Munch explained.

“Oppressed?   Looks more like a bunch of suburban white kids with too much time on their hands,” Tutuola replied.   “Why the hell isn’t anybody shutting this down?”

“They tried,” Munch said.   “Did just about everything, legally, we can do to shut them up.”

“What’s the deal, anyway?   Bunch of kids break into a mental hospital, and then what?” Tutuola asked.

“It’s the system, Fin.   People getting locked in institutions because they wear the wrong clothes, or listen to the wrong music.   It’s the New America, Fin.   Anyone disagrees with you, they call you crazy, make up a bunch of stories about you talking to yourself, and bam, right into the asylum, never to be heard from again.   It’s a conspiracy, Fin.   I’ve been telling you this for years now,” Munch continued.

“Hold up,” Tutuola said.   “A bunch of small-time pro wrestlers sneak into a mental ward, break out two patients, one of which recently tried to kill Hulk Hogan, and you’re on their side?   Man, you’re really losing it, you know?”   Frustrated, the detective walks away.

“See, that’s exactly how it starts, Fin,” Munch said, following Tutuola.   “Soon, everyone will start saying I’m crazy.”

As the two SVU Detectives leave, another officer walks in, along with Eric Bischoff, the Executive Vice President of TNA, and Dr. Steven Richards, it’s newly appointed Head of Talent Relations.

“We can’t release them just yet.   They still need to be arraigned, then there’ll be a bail hearing, and, considering the ruckus they’ve been making lately, I’m betting you that bail is going to be set awfully high,” the officer said.

“I bet,” Bischoff sighed, obviously angry given the situation.

“We’re hoping maybe you two can calm them down, get them to see the situation they’re in, so maybe, we can finally get this situation handled,” the officer continued.   “The sooner we can shut them up, the sooner we can get them in court, and the sooner, hopefully, we can get them out of here.”

“You really think they’re going to make bail?” Stevie asked.  

“At this rate, I doubt it,” the officer said.   “Either way, once we get them in court, they leave here, which is about all we care about at the moment.”

Looking in at the chaos that is the holding cell containing the so-called ‘TNA 8’, Bischoff said, “That’s perfectly understandable, officer.   If we can be a help in any way…”

“Look,” the officer said, “We don’t care what you do, just go in there and shut them up, okay?”   He then opened the gate, allowing Bischoff and Richards into the holding cell area.   As the gate opened, a loud chant of ‘ATTICA!   ATTICA!’ filled the room.   “Damned kids.   Don’t know the first thing about Attica…”

Bischoff walked up to the holding cell, shouting, “Enough, enough, enough!”

The room, for the first time in ages, fell silent.   As each of the supposed ‘TNA 8’ looked out and saw both Bischoff and Richards, they knew something big was in store.  

“Now that I seem to have your attention, maybe one of you can explain to me just what the hell any of you were thinking last night!” Bischoff screamed.   “Breaking in to one of the biggest, most respected mental hospitals in the country, starting a riot… how do you think that makes TNA look, huh?   How do you think that makes the people who sign your paychecks look to the general public?   For eight years, you people have been working to make TNA a player in the wrestling world, and in ONE NIGHT… with a little stunt like this, you’ve just washed away eight years of hard work!”

“What the hell would you know about hard work and TNA?” Chris Sabin shouted back.   “You haven’t even been in TNA for a month yet, and you want to come in here, and lecture US about what’s good for TNA and what isn’t?   Just because you breeze into an executive position overnight doesn’t mean you have the slightest clue what TNA is about!”

“YEAH!!!” the others shouted in agreement.

“Who the hell are you to tell us how a successful wrestling company is run, anyway?” Sabin continued.   “Aren’t you the guy who ran WCW into the ground in the late 90’s?   Weren’t you the guy who spent half a million dollars on a KISS concert that drew less than million viewers, then paid Gene Simmons even more to license a KISS wrestler you never used?   Aren’t you the guy who paid Dennis Rodman more for a single appearance that he didn’t even bother to show up for than the combined contracts of Eddie Guerrero, Chris Jericho, Rey Mysterio, and the Big Show?   Aren’t you the guy that, when things got rough in the locker room at WCW, decided to make Kevin Nash a booker?   Jesus Christ, for all we know, you’re the guy who told Vince Russo it was a good idea to put the WCW Title on David Arquette!   What the hell do you know about running a wrestling promotion, other than giving lazy a$$holes guaranteed money to sit on their ass while the workhorses who entertained the people for two and a half of your three hour shows, busting their ass to make sure those people who paid their hard-earned money to see the Hogans and the Nashes and the Stings didn’t get up halfway through the show and walk out because they got bored, got sh*t?   Nothing!   That’s why, for the last ten years, you were either being humiliated on RAW, or producing some bullsh*t reality TV show nobody watched!”

“Oh, really?” Bischoff smirked.   “That’s interesting, because, while you say I was the guy who sank WCW like the Titanic, I’m also credited as the guy who made WCW into the powerhouse it was.   Chris… Sabin, is it?   Oh, hell, it’s not like I’m going to remember your name anyway… if you remember, it was me who told Ted Turner he needed to sign Hogan, and Macho Man, and Nash, and Hall.   It was also me who fired the first shot of the Monday Night Wars by producing Nitro.   Then, there was this little thing, maybe you remember it, it was only the biggest angle in wrestling history, this little thing called the N.W.O., which I masterminded and led as WCW dominated all things television for the next few years.   Heck, if it wasn’t for Stone Cold Steve Austin gaining so much steam, it’s possible that WCW, not WWE, would be the only promotion standing right now.”

“Yeah,” Raven added.   “And I bet you think if Time Warner didn’t merge with AOL, WCW would still be in business, too.”

“Realistically, yeah, it would,” Bischoff said.   “As long as Turner Broadcasting was under Ted’s control, wrestling would always be a part of his programming.   His words, not mine.”

“So, all you really have to defend yourself here is, once upon a time, you stumbled into a hot angle, and if, hypothetically speaking, there was no Austin, and Turner never merged with AOL, maybe, just maybe, WCW would still be in business,” Alex Shelley summed up.   “Did I miss anything?”

“Well, since you all seem to think I’m just an albatross hanging on TNA’s neck,” Bischoff began, “then maybe you can explain to me just how much money and media attention any of you have drawn lately?   Or, hell, maybe you can tell me just who, outside of the marks on the internet, even knows who the hell half of you are?   I mean, I’m looking into this holding cell right now, and, I swear, I don’t think I recognize a single one of you, except for maybe Raven, and the only reason I know him is because he used to work for me in WCW!   Oh, by the way, how did that whole ‘walking out on WCW’ thing work out for you?   I can see Vince just had so much faith in you, didn’t he?”

“You have a point, Bischoff, or are you just here to bore me?” Raven asked.

“My point is, for all you and your Indy-riffic selves have done to make TNA a household name among nerds who haven’t seen a real-life boob since their mom stopped breastfeeding them, not one of you, not a single one of you, have drawn so much as one DIME for this company,” Bischoff lectured.   “Oooh, wow, the X Division, they’re so cool… give me a break!   You guys couldn’t sell out a flea market if the proceeds were all being donated to Haiti!   And the knockouts?   Hideous man-beasts like Kong and Hamada, and horsefaced losers like Sarita and… whatever the hell your name is…”

“It’s ODB, bitch!   Bang!” ODB shouted, slapping her breasts.

“Yeah, remind me to have DDP sue you over that, too,” Bischoff said, condescendingly.   “And, you, whatever the hell you’re supposed to be.   Do you even work for TNA?”

“There’s a special place in Hell waiting for you, Bischoff, believe me.   One day, when I get out of here, and I find you face to face, I’m going to make you pay for what you did to Daffney,” MsChif growled.   “And when I’m finished, not even your mother will recognize your remains!”   MsChif then roared at Bischoff like a feral beast, intimidating her prey.

“Yeah,” Bischoff scoffed.   “And that’s why you’re still in the Indies, young lady.   In fact, as of right now, you might as well all consider yourselves unemployed.   How’s that work for you?”

“Wait a minute,” Stevie said to Eric.   “You’re going to fire the entire X Division?”

“No,” Eric answered.   “You are.   You are, after all, the Head of Talent Relations.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Stevie said.   “You want me to get rid of a third of the roster in one fell swoop?   For what?”

“Stevie,” Eric began, “do you know where we are? Do you even know why we’re here?   They’re criminals!   Every single last one of them!   Now, do what I brought you up here to do, and fire them!”

“Wait a minute,” Stevie said.   “You want me to fire the entire X Division because, in your own words, they’re criminals, right?”

“Yeah,” Eric answered.   “So what’s the problem?”

“Yet, you have no problem signing Jeff Hardy, a guy who was recently arrested and arraigned on drug trafficking charges, to a contract,” Stevie pointed out.

“Is there a point to this, Richards?” Eric asked, impatiently.

“Yeah,” Stevie said, defiantly.   “This is ridiculous!   You can’t just fire the entire X Division just because they got arrested, yet hire on an alleged drug dealer whose about to go on trial!”

“Says who?” Bischoff asked.

“Says the law,” Stevie retorted.   “If I do this, you open yourself to a boatload of lawsuits, and believe me, I know Raven’s lawyer.   He tried to sue Vince McMahon over the whole ‘independent contractor’ thing in WWE, and he came this close to winning the whole damn thing!   If you think a guy who can make Vince McMahon sweat isn’t above suing TNA into oblivion, Eric, you’re wrong.   And, quite frankly, I’m not going to put myself in the middle of this and be legally liable for something I know is wrong!”

“Richards, if you don’t fire these people, then I will,” Eric threatened.   “And you’ll be right there with them on the unemployment line!   So, I’m going to say this one more time.   Fire them, or you can kiss your job goodbye.”

Stevie took a moment to think, and as he did, he looked up and saw Raven, shrugging, “What you going to do, Stevie?”

Stevie looked down and sighed, “Something I should have done a long time ago.”   Stevie turned away from Bischoff and took a few steps, then sprang back and superkicked Bischoff right in the face, to the cheers and approval of everyone in the holding cell.   Looking down, Stevie stared at Bischoff, out cold on the jail room floor, then looked up and saw Raven, smiling with approval.

“It’s about time, Stevie,” Raven said.

“Look, Raven…” Stevie began.

“Don’t,” Raven said.   “You just go and do what you know you ought to, before I tell MsChif who really put Daffney in Belleview.”

“WHAT?!” MsChif roared, rushing over to Raven and Stevie.

Raven raised an eyebrow to Stevie, and Stevie took this as his cue to leave.   If he was going to truly redeem himself this day, there was one more thing he needed to make right.   And while he understood that she may never fully forgive him for what he did to her, he knew that he couldn’t leave Daffney in Belleview any longer.

“Nothing,” Raven said to MsChif.  

Meanwhile, in Orlando, Matt Morgan and Hernandez were leading Traci Brooks down a long hallway.   After nearly a week on the road, Traci, now in the hands of Hogan’s Regime, was mere inches away from Hogan’s office, about to face the Hulkster’s wrath.   She was sure of it.   After having taken Cheerleader Melissa’s advice, Traci had gone into hiding, making it all the way to Vienna, Ohio, where she had taken a bartending job.   Unfortunately, one of the regulars, a writer for a major wrestling website who’d rather not mention his name here for fear of being beaten to death by Matt Morgan, had given her up to the Hogan Regime.   As she came closer to what was sure to be her impending doom, all she could think about was her husband, Frankie, who had recently escaped from Belleview and, according to all known reports, was making his way to Orlando.  While she realized the likelihood was next to impossible, she also couldn’t help but think, any moment now, Frankie would break through the hallway and rescue her.   It was perhaps this thought alone that kept her moving forward, into impending doom.   Even if she was to go down, she would go down with her head held high, looking Hogan in the eye.

Then, for some reason, they passed up Hogan’s office entirely.

“Wait,” Traci said.   “I thought I was here to see Hogan.”

“Hogan?” Matt Morgan said.   “You’re not here to see Hogan.”

As they continued down the hall, walking towards a set of large, double doors, Traci grew even more and more nervous.

“Why am I here, then?   If Hogan isn’t…?” Traci began.

“You’ll see,” Morgan answered.   “Don’t worry.   We’re almost there.”

Don’t worry… yeah.   Traci had played out every possibility of what she was in store for in her head, and not a single one of them included passing by Hulk Hogan’s office and being escorted into a room she had never even seen before in the Impact Zone.   Not helping matters was the fact that, this whole time, she had been told nothing more than not to worry, they just needed to talk. Talk about what?   Ever since her husband disappeared shortly after their wedding, Traci has been nothing but confused over this whole situation.   Nothing had made sense.   Frankie.   The Nasty Boys.   Now Morgan and Hernandez.   She was a central focus of a situation she had no comprehension of, and she was sick of it.

“Everything will make sense, soon,” Morgan said, as if he had read Traci’s mind.   Stopping in front of the double set of doors, Morgan said, “We’re here.”

Traci looked up at Morgan as he motioned to her to go inside.   She hesitated for a moment, but, realizing she had little choice, she took a deep breath, and entered the mysterious new room.   As the door shut automatically behind her, the room went dark.   She had no idea where she was, and now, could not even find her way out.

Seconds later, a series of television monitors switch on in succession, revealing an entire wall, filled with televisions, each tuned to a different channel, all flickering at once.   In the middle of the room sat a desk and a chair, whose back was facing Traci.   She walked up to the desk slowly, looking around at the various TVs playing around her.

Suddenly, a voice called to Traci, a sweet southern tone… “Traci?”

Nervously, Traci answered, “Yes?”

“Have a seat,” the voice commanded.  

Traci took a seat in a chair that seemed to just appear beside her, like magic.   Then, the chair behind the deck spun around and a small spotlight revealed the face of the President of TNA Wrestling, Dixie Carter.

“I’d like to talk to you about the future.   Your future, here, in TNA Wrestling,” Dixie began.

 

 

 

Only One More To Go!  Check back for Chapter Thirteen!

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