Author Notes: Hoo! How long's it been since I've written one of these? TNA'fic. Inspired by events at Sunday's 'Genesis' PPV. Chris Daniels, Samoa Joe, and AJ Styles, along with anybody else that might show up, are all © themselves and TNA Wrestling. Hopefully updated weekly, as the Joe/AJ/Daniels storyline unfolds. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Broken Angel

(Genesis.)

"We won!"

Christopher Daniels' dark eyes were alight, shining in that way they did every time he picked up a win. There could be no doubt about it, after all… he was used to winning, he relished winning… he loved winning every bit as much as he hated losing. And man… the Fallen Angel absolutely LOATHED losing. But winning… every match he won proved that he was every bit as good as he said he was. Every bit as glorious, as talented… every bit better than golden boy AJ, that's for sure.

However… Daniels' jubilation wasn't exactly shared by his tag partner.

"…it was my pin."

Samoa Joe was a big fellow. Big, agile, knowledged in enough moves and holds to make anybody scream in agony. He barely spoke. And he couldn't stand skinny little glory-hog egomaniacs who talked too much. His own dark eyes stared coldly at the man in front of him, in such a way that even made Daniels nervous. The Fallen Angel held his fists out to tap knuckles, a gesture of goodwill to the dangerous Samoan.

Joe smiled. Tapped.

And then the brutality began.

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"Oh, my…"

He had no place there. It wasn't any of his business. If anything, one would think he'd grin at seeing his long-time rival get comeuppance for his constant bragging and boasting and glory-hogging. But when he got to the mouth of the tunnel, all AJ Styles could do was look on in shock and horror.

Christopher Daniels lay in the ring, awash in his own blood. Unmoving, eyes closed. Silent. Daniels was NEVER silent. Joe stood nearby, a disturbingly emotionless expression on his face, both his peanut-butter skin and the white towel around his neck liberally splashed with the Fallen Angel's red blood. The Samoan shrugged, rolled his shoulders, and walked up the ramp, pausing only a moment to glance at the Phenomenal One before sauntering to the back.

AJ couldn't move, the southerner's brain trying desperately to jump to some logic, some conclusion. Decide what to think of all this. Part of him wanted to run to his rival's side, but something wouldn't let him. All he could do was look on as Daniels was lifted, still unconscious, onto the stretcher, wheeled past him, and taken away.

Head down, he followed after.

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"…totally uncalled for."

AJ had to be watching the tape for about the twentieth time. Kicks. Chairshots. Daniels bleeding, unable to get in a move to defend himself. Muscle Buster. Singlehandedly chasing off security. Muscle Buster on the damn chair. Joe finally having enough… looking like everything he'd just done was no sweat. Nothing at all. Walking out, past him, smeared in blood.

He had to admit it. Like Daniels or not, AJ respected his rival immensely, and was worried. Very worried. He'd won his match, of course, but for some reason… it didn't seem to register. Victories over upstart Canadians took a backseat to the horror he'd witnessed that night.

He remembered the words he'd told Shane Douglas… the code had been broken tonight. It may be quite possibly a suicidal decision, but there was nothing more he could do. Joe was going to have to be dealt with, and as champion, it was AJ's responsibility.

It would have to wait, though. He had to take care of something first.

Hopping into his car, AJ Styles heads for Orlando General.