It is morning in Orlando. Inside the Impact Zone, at Universal Studios, the production crew is hard at work, preparing for the next set of television tapings, set to take place later that day, despite the reports that a murderous lunatic, recently escaped from a mental institution, was supposedly on his way to that very location. Why the tapings were still going forward, despite that news, no one knew. Even Hulk Hogan, the man supposedly in charge of all things TNA, was bewildered by the announcement that the tapings were going forward. He couldn’t understand why Dixie Carter would go forward with the event, knowing that, by doing so, she was placing innocent lives… hell, she was placing his life in mortal danger. As Hogan got out of his limo, he marched into the Impact Zone, and made his way towards the mysterious new office at the end of the hall, an office which had been built specifically for the President of TNA Wrestling, the only person in TNA with authority greater than Hogan’s, Dixie Carter.

Very little was known about this new office Dixie had commissioned. Since the announcement that Hogan had signed with TNA, work began on a mysterious new office, which Dixie claimed to have designed herself. An outside crew had built it, hired by Dixie herself, and, as far as anyone knew, only one other person under TNA’s umbrella had even seen the inside of this room outside of Dixie herself – the Icon, Sting. Whatever reason it was that Sting had been privy to this, only Dixie and Sting know for sure.

Hogan understood, from the day he first met Dixie Carter, that she was different from other promoters. While some may be inclined to hollering, screaming, and bullying talent, Dixie’s powers of persuasion and manipulation were unlike anything Hogan had ever seen. Dixie, as if through some enchantment, could take the most hostile of people and situations, and seemingly diffuse them within seconds, hardly saying a word. She managed to sit Vince Russo in the same room with Hogan and Bischoff, and by the end, they were not only compatible and willing to work together, they were almost friends. A man Hogan believed he could never trust in the wrestling business was now an ally, all because of one meeting with Dixie. At first, she had come off as somewhat naïve, nearly clueless about the wrestling business and how it worked. She had come to Hogan claiming that she was looking for a partner, someone who knew wrestling, to teach her the business. And, in turn, being the politician he is, Hogan came to TNA, believing he could manipulate the kind and gentle Dixie any way he saw fit. But, as time went on, and he began to understand her true power, he began to wonder exactly which one of them was truly the puppet.

As he approached the door, he saw a silhouette pass by from the corner of his eye. He looked over to catch the sight of a man running into the TNA locker room. Hogan, not knowing who it was, allowed his curiosity to bait him, and he walked over the locker room, and poked his head inside.

“Is anybody here?” the Hulkster called out into the locker room.

There was no answer. As Hogan was about to leave, he saw the figure dash across the room.

“All right, who is it?” Hogan asked, slowly coming into the locker room. “I know somebody’s in here. You better tell me who the hell you are before I get security in here, brother!”

Hogan took a few more steps inside, then heard a loud clanging sound, like a locker door being slammed shut.

“Oh, I see,” Hogan said. “This is a little game you wanna play, huh, brother? Try to intimidate the Hulkster?”

Suicide watched as he saw Hulk Hogan slowly walk past him, paranoid, even afraid. Underneath the mask he called his face, Suicide smiled, delighting in the sight of the Mighty Manipulator, the so-called Immortal One, dripping with fear. Suicide, no longer wanting to wait, pounded his fist on a nearby locker to get Hogan’s attention. Hogan looked over to the source of the sound, and Suicide stepped out from behind the line of lockers, ready to face the evil he had so fiercely hunted these past few days.

“You,” Hogan growled, standing face to face with the man who tried to kill him not so long ago. “I knew you’d show up sooner or later. Come to finish the job you started in January?” Hogan then pointed to the wire-shaped bruise on his neck, where Suicide had wrapped the cord that nearly killed him.

“Where’s Traci?” Suicide asked.

“Traci?” Hogan taunted. “You mean the brunette with the big cans? Yeah, she’s here. What’s it to you? She your girlfriend or something?”

“Wife,” Suicide said, stepping towards Hogan. “You sent Nasty Boys to attack her! Get back at me!”

“Whoa, hold it, brother,” Hogan said, backing away from the crazed Suicide. “I had nothing to do with that! You got to talk to Eric about that one, brother. The Nasty Boys are on his dime, not mine.”

“Liar!” Suicide said, lunging at the Hulkster. As he grabbed Hogan by the throat, he pressed on the bruise left by his prior attack. “Bischoff. Nasty Boys. Anderson. Kendrick. Morgan. Your boys. Your policies. You did this! All of this!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother!” Hogan gasped. “I’m just here to help TNA pop a better rating. That’s it. The whole thing with the talent, that’s Eric’s department. You need to talk to him.”

“LIAR!!!!” Suicide screamed, intending to end Hogan’s life right then and there. “January 4. You come in. Kill AJ Styles. Distract my friends. Attack my wife… MY WIFE!!! And you… pathetic old man. You deny, blame Bischoff, your boy, your pawn, for your plan!”

“It’s not like that, brother,” Hulk said, backing off, pleading with the maniac standing before him. “I had nothing to do with AJ. Or your wife. I don’t work that way, brother! Never have.”

“Lies,” Suicide growled. “All lies!”

At that moment, a voice familiar to Suicide spoke out from behind the Dark Savior, saying, “No. He’s right. It wasn’t him.” Suicide turned around, and in the doorway of the locker room stood Christopher Daniels.

“No,” Suicide said, denying the truth. “Not possible. AJ was…”

“AJ was the best of us,” Daniels said, finishing Suicide’s though. “Not anymore. He’s gone, Frankie. He’s really gone.”

Suicide turned back to Hogan and growled, “You!”

“No, Frankie, listen to me!” Daniels shouted, trying to reason with his friend. “I know it’s hard to believe, but, Hogan’s telling you the truth. He had nothing to do with AJ. He didn’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” Suicide asked, turning furiously back to Daniels.

“All Hogan did was show up. This thing with AJ, it’s been going on for a while now, and it’s a lot bigger than just Hogan. It’s everything. Angle, Sting, the Main Event Mafia, Flair, Hogan… even you. It’s all a conspiracy, Frankie. You were right, all along. You just looked at the wrong source,” Daniels explained. “After I saw AJ in Vegas, I decided to do little detective work. See, Ric Flair, he’s been footing the bill for all these hotel rooms, limos, private jets, even a new wardrobe for AJ, and, all this time, like you, I just assumed it was Hogan who was paying for all of this. It’s not.” Daniels held out a copy of a hotel bill and handed it to Suicide. As Suicide read it, Daniels said, “It’s all being charged to a D. Salinas.” Suicide looked up to his friend in shock.

“Dixie Carter,” Suicide said. “Salinas. Married name. Should have known. All makes sense now. Dixie signs Hogan. Gets Flair to distract AJ. Meanwhile, Hogan and Bischoff start a war in TNA, distract everyone else, even me. But why? What purpose? Doesn’t make sense. And Traci… why Traci?”

“Frankie, listen to me,” Daniels said, trying to calm Suicide down. “Joe and Taylor are on their way here. When they show up, we can all confront her together, okay? Please, Frankie. Things are insane enough as it is. I just need you to calm down, and…”

“Dixie Carter has my wife,” Suicide said. “And you want me to calm down?”

“Yes,” Daniels said, seriously.

“I’m sorry,” Suicide said, marching towards the doorway where Daniels stood. “Can’t be done. Get out of my way.”

As he stood in front of the doorway, blocking Suicide’s path, Daniels replied, “I can’t do that, Frankie. Not this time. If we do this, we have to do this together.”

Suicide stood eye to eye with Daniels and growled, “Out of my way, Daniels.”

“Frankie, I can’t let you do this. Not like this,” Daniels said, hoping his friend would not force a fight.

“Not your choice,” Suicide said, punching Daniels in the gut. Suicide then grabbed Daniels and threw him overhead with the Suicide Solution before making a mad dash down to the large, double doors at the end of the hall.

Kicking open the door, Suicide screamed, “DIXIE!!!!” There was no answer. Only darkness. Wary, Suicide entered the strange new room, only to see the doors close behind him. Suddenly, a wall of television monitors flickered on, one by one, each showing a different image, related to TNA wrestling. On some, news reports about the recent riot at Belleview, started by Raven and members of the X Division. On others, talk show pundits, discussing the recent events within TNA and its affect on younger fans. On others still, TMZ, following around Hogan, asking him about the recent attempt on his life, and about his future in wrestling. There was AJ Styles on the red carpet with what seemed like a train of young, hot blondes. Mugshots of the Motor City Machine Guns being flashed on Fuse TV, along with promotional material for their band, The High Crusade. And on every major news network you could imagine, an image of Dixie Carter, being interviewed by the likes of Larry King, Katie Couric, and Matt Lauer. The whole world, you could imagine, from seeing this room, was buzzing about TNA Wrestling.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Dixie asked, sitting behind a large desk in the middle of the room.

Suicide, not knowing what to think, simply looked around in amazement as this monument to mass media coverage played all around him.

“What is this?” Suicide asked.

“This? This is... my way of looking at the world, the way the world looks at us, I suppose,” Dixie mused. “Here,” Dixie said, pointing to a chair placed in front of her desk. “Have a seat.” As he sat down, Suicide could not help but be amazed and bewildered by the environment he was now in.

“Now, I know you have many questions, Frankie,” Dixie began. “And, before we being, I want you to know, your wife is fine. See?” Dixie pointed to a screen, showing Traci Brooks relaxing in a hot tub. “I figured, after these trying weeks, she could use a relaxing day at the spa. I hope you don’t mind.”

Bewildered, Suicide took off his mask, revealing his true face, and stared in shock as he saw his wife, comfortable and content.

“You’re lying to me,” Suicide said. “That’s a tape. It’s got to be…”

Dixie pressed a button on her intercom and said, “Traci?”

Traci, on the screen, replied, “Hello?”

“Yes, Traci,” Dixie continued. “I have someone here who’d like to say hello. Frankie?”

Suicide, not knowing what else to do, simply said, “Traci?”

“Oh my God,” Traci gasped, looking up towards the camera. “Frankie?”

“It’s me,” Suicide answered.

“Oh my God! Frankie!” Traci shouted, excited to hear her husband’s voice.

“Traci,” Dixie said, “your husband and I need to have a little talk, but, I promise, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll send him right over to you, all right?”

“Thank you,” Traci said, just before the camera feed cut off.

“What’s going on here?” Suicide asked Dixie.

“Well, Frankie,” Dixie began, “to answer that question, I first need to explain to you how we got here. You see, in 2002, Jeff Jarrett came to me, desperate for money, looking to keep his fledgling new wrestling company alive after having lost his original investor. And, I’ll admit, at the time, I hardly knew anything about wrestling at all. I promoted concerts, mostly. But, I have to say, there was something interesting about this… TNA… that Jeff had created, something unique, something special, something that I just had to be a part of. So, against the advice of just about everyone I had ever known, I invested in TNA, and, in the process, became President of TNA. At the time, though, my position was mostly ceremonial. I was a mere figurehead, a ‘money mark’, I believe you call them. Anyway, I had invested in TNA, and watched for years as TNA plodded along, making mistake after mistake after mistake, going further and further into debt as Jeff Jarrett ran TNA further and further into the ground. It was in about his fourth year as NWA Champion when I finally stepped in, and brought along Sting to purge TNA of the man we had both believed was holding TNA back. And, as you know, we succeeded, but not quite in the way we would have liked. You see, Jeff’s wife was dying of cancer, and so, he simply left, leaving TNA without a leader. That’s where Kurt Angle came in. Kurt had come from WWE, burnt out, ready to quit wrestling altogether, but, after we talked a little, I was able to convince him to come here, to TNA, to help me build this company into a force to be reckoned with, and, for nearly two years, it worked. TNA grew to greater prominence, going to prime time on Thursday nights, gaining the confidence of Spike TV. But, because I naive, perhaps, even foolish enough to believe that Jeff, having lost his wife to cancer, would simply fade away, I never expected that Jeff would one day return to challenge me. But he did, and the fans, who had forgotten his years of hogging the spotlight for himself, rallied behind him, cheering as he targeted Kurt Angle. That’s when I formed the Main Event Mafia, and started an all-out war with Jeff, both on and off-screen. I, along with Sting, Kurt, Kevin Nash, Booker T, and Scott Steiner, ran roughshod over TNA until, one day, we finally found a way to get rid of Jarrett once and for all. I had learned, through mutual contacts, that Jeff had begun an affair with Kurt’s ex-wife. So, I pay off a low level employee to blow the whole story to Bubba The Love Sponge, and the rest, as they say, is history. Jeff leaves TNA, humiliated, and I, finally, am able to strip away all remnants of Jarrett’s control and legacy here in TNA. Basically, I kicked him to the curb, and assumed full control over TNA. The ‘money mark’ became Captain of the Ship, and, with my first act as Captain, I sought to do the one thing I had always believed would put TNA over the top…”

“You signed Hogan,” Suicide finished.

“Of course,” Dixie smiled. “And now that you understand how we got here, I can now answer your question – Why? And the answer is simple, really. In fact, it’s so simple, I’m amazed you haven’t already figured it out. After all, it’s only the same thing I’ve been doing in TNA since 2005, first, with Sting, then Kurt Angle, then the Main Event Mafia, and now, Hogan. You see, Frankie, what makes the wrestling business work, above all else, is conflict. Conflict in the ring, and conflict… elsewhere. Every successful wrestling company is built on conflict. WWE built itself on the conflict between Vince McMahon and Steve Austin, while WCW built itself on a conflict between themselves and the N.W.O. To paraphrase Eric Bischoff, Conflict creates Cash, and, by bringing in Hogan, I knew that I would be creating instant conflict. We’re both aware of Hogan’s reputation. Backstage politician. Master manipulator. The man who negotiated creative control into his contract with WCW, then proceeded to use every ounce of his power to crush everyone beneath him. I knew what I was getting, and boy has he delivered. All I had to do was give him an inch of power, and look what he’s done? He’s gotten rid of the six-sided ring. He’s fired nearly half the roster! Kurt Angle loses a match with a stipulation that said he couldn’t get another title shot for a year, and, BAM, the next day, Hulk’s putting Kurt in another title match. And all the while, you, AJ, Daniels, Samoa Joe, Dr. Stevie, the Amazing Red, even Taylor Wilde, have all been scattering around, looking over your shoulders, wondering when you too will lose your spot. Not one of you truly trusts the other. If you had, perhaps you would have listened to Daniels, and waited for Joe and Taylor before you came here to see me.”

“You did all of this, created all of this conflict within TNA, for what purpose?” Suicide asked.

“War,” Dixie said. Just then, every television monitor in the room switched from media images of TNA Wrestling, to media images of World Wrestling Entertainment. “For years now, people have underestimated the capital gains of wars, choosing to look more at the human cost, but what they fail to realize is that sometimes, the human cost is well worth the sacrifice for the greater good.

“Greater good?” Suicide asked.

“Vince McMahon sought to create a utopia when he bought WCW and merged it with his company,” Dixie said, “but all he made was a broken dystopia of wasted talent and boring television. He took a once mighty, thriving industry, and turned it into a mockery of itself within two years, all because he and he alone wanted to own the professional wrestling industry. Because of his greed, his selfishness, pro wrestling is on the brink of death, barely gasping through each passing day as the mockery of modern media. What I do here with TNA, I do to save this industry, to save it from the stranglehold of WWE. For without someone to stand as a counterpoint to Vince McMahon, wrestling will die.”

“And you chose to do this by forcing TNA into its own Civil War?” Suicide asked, confused.

“Only the strong survive, Suicide. You understand that,” Dixie explained. “In order to fight WWE, TNA needs to be stronger. We need more media presence, more stars, which can only be created by more conflict. As long as wrestlers are at each others’ throats, as long as no one truly trusts or respects one another, TNA will survive. And, one day, when the fat is finally cut away, and the cream of TNA rises to the top, we will dominate this industry, and save professional wrestling from utter desolation.”

“So, you would gladly throw everyone who helped build TNA under a bus, give the spotlight to a selfish madman, and force TNA into chaos… because you want to save the wrestling industry?” Suicide asked, incredulously, not being able to believe a word of what he was hearing. “Are you insane?”

“You know,” Dixie smiled, “Hulk Hogan said the exact same thing when I first told him my plans. Doesn’t stop him from cashing those paychecks, though, does it?”

“People need to be told,” Suicide said, standing up. “Daniels, Joe, Taylor, they need to know exactly…”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dixie asked.

“You’re not going to get away with this, Dixie,” Suicide said, putting his mask back on.

“Do I look like a comic book villain to you, Suicide?” Dixie said, gruffly. “You don’t really think I’d let you bust in here, tell you my whole plan, then let you walk out of here without having an ace up my sleeve, or did you forget about your wife, who, at this very moment, is in a room I have complete control of.” Suicide looked back and saw Dixie, holding a remote control in her hand. Behind her, on one of the monitors, was Traci, relaxing in Dixie’s hot tub. “Now, you’re going to sit down, shut up, and I’m going to tell you exactly what you can do to make sure no one outside of this room ever finds out what I’ve just told you.”

Suicide faced the hardest choice of his life, to stand on his beliefs, and risk hurting the woman he loved, or, to compromise. Sit down, shut up, and let Dixie tell him what to do.

“You’re bluffing,” Suicide said. “That remote doesn’t do anything, does it? Just changes the channel on all these TVs, right?”

“You sure you want to risk that, Frankie?” Dixie smiled, knowing she had Suicide right where she wanted him. No matter how strong his convictions were, surely, he wouldn’t risk Traci’s life over it. Would he?

Suicide looked Dixie in the eye, and made his choice.

Minutes later, Suicide walks out of Dixie’s office, where he is met by Christopher Daniels.

“You waited out here this whole time?” Suicide asked, wondering why Daniels didn’t follow him in.

“Couldn’t. Door was locked,” Daniels said. “Then there were those fifteen minutes or so I spent unconscious in the locker room because of you. Care to explain…”

“You know why,” Suicide answered.

“Is Traci…?” Daniels asked.

“She’s fine,” Suicide said. “You need to go now.”

“Why? What happened? You didn’t…! Did you?” Daniels said, thinking the worst.

“No,” Suicide said, pointing ahead. Daniels turned, and he saw the Icon, Sting, in full face-paint, approaching, wielding his trademark bat.

“What’s going on, Frankie?” Daniels asked, concerned.

“It doesn’t involve you,” Suicide said. “Trust me.”

“Frankie…” Daniels said.

“Don’t let them break you, Daniels,” Suicide said. “You’re the only one left they can trust.”

“Who?” Daniels asked.

“The fans,” Suicide said. “Now go. This isn’t about you.”

“Frankie, I’m not going to just leave you here!” Daniels pleaded.

“Not your choice,” Suicide said, pulling off his mask. “Go.”

Daniels realized that, whatever this was about, whatever was about to happen, he would no longer be able to help his friend.

“I’m sorry,” Daniels said, turning his back on Frankie Kazarian one last time before walking away.

As Daniels made his way down the hall, away from the scene that was about to take place, Sting approaches Suicide, staring at the former X Division champion almost sympathetically, as if he understood the weight of what Frankie Kazarian had chose to do.

“Well,” Suicide said to Sting, “what are you waiting for?”

Sting lifted his bat hesitantly.

“Do it,” Suicide said. “DO IT!!!”

With a heavy heart, Sting swung, knocking the air out of Suicide, dropping him to his knees. As his body hit the ground, Daniels looked back at the scene his friend had asked him to walk away from, and watched as Sting beat Suicide repeatedly with his signature bat. Daniels screamed, even tried running back to the scene, but it was too late. The damage had been done. With a few swift, mighty blows, Suicide had been taken down, punished for his insurrection.

As Sting walked past Daniels, Chris asked him, “Why?”

Sting did not reply. He simply kept walking, leaving Daniels with more questions than answers.

*********

A few days later, at a nearby hospital, Traci Brooks was sitting in the lobby, waiting to hear word from one of the doctors about her husband’s condition. Between his injuries and his alleged mental disease, he was obviously not being allowed visitors at the moment, but Traci was hopeful that maybe soon, she would be allowed to see her husband again, if only for a moment.

Soon, she was joined by Christopher Daniels, Taylor Wilde, and Samoa Joe, each concerned about Kazarian’s health. Daniels, who had witnessed the beating, was especially concerned. Now that Frankie had been found, no one knew exactly what fate would befall him. Obviously, for the time being, he would receive medical care here, but, from there, no one knew where he would go next. Back to Belleview? Prision? No one was quite sure. As Daniels, Taylor, and Joe approached Traci, not a single one of them knew what to say, or where to begin.

“Hey,” Taylor said. Traci looked up to see her friends, each with a look of concern on their faces. She smiled, albeit momentarily, as the consistent tragedies of the past month were enough to haunt her nightmares for years to come.

“He’s… I…” Traci stammered, trying to figure out where to start, or what to even say. “Dixie Carter, she said not to worry. She was going to make sure he got the best possible care. As for everything with Hogan… I don’t know. If he wants to press charges, or, even if he does, if Frankie’s… I don’t understand any of this. I want to, but nothing makes sense. Dixie, she said the whole thing with the Nasty Boys, it was a mistake. They were just supposed to drop off a letter telling me to come to Orlando, that Dixie wanted to talk about Frankie, and whether or not I should even come back to TNA until he gets better. But… why’d they break into my house? Why’d they beat up Matt Hardy? Why did they say they had a release for Taylor, too?”

No one really had an answer.

“Why did Sting do this? Why did Frankie let Sting do this?” Traci looked at Chris and asked him, “Why did you walk away? Because he asked you to?” Frustrated, Traci simply sank her face into her hands, trying not to cry.

“Traci, I…” Taylor began.

“Shut up,” Traci said, angrily cutting Taylor off. “All this time, I thought you guys were my friends. I thought you cared about Frankie, but this whole thing with Hogan, getting Frankie all caught up in it…”

“Traci, he came to us…” Daniels insisted.

“Stop it!” Traci shouted. “Just stop it! All this time, he needed help. He needed friends, and instead, you had him chasing some paranoid delusion that Hulk Hogan was trying to kill him! You know what? She was right about you. All three of you!”

“Traci, you have to listen to me, Dixie…” Daniels began.

“Don’t,” Traci said, frustrated. “Don’t even bother. You want to help me, Chris? Stay the hell away from me. And Frankie. All of you.” Traci then got up and walked away, leaving Joe, Taylor, and Daniels alone, more confused than ever.

“We’ve lost her,” Joe said.

“It really is just us now, isn’t it?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t know,” Daniels said. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is our fault.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you, Chris?” Joe asked Daniels.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Joe,” Daniels answered. “Or even if there’s anything to believe in. All I know is, before he told me to walk away, he said… ‘Don’t let them break you, Daniels. You’re the only one left they can trust.’”

“Who?” Joe asked.

“The fans,” Daniels answered. “The fans.”