Fallout (6/29)

Catch the reactions to all the happenings at the latest DVD Taping with FGA Fallout.

[We're backstage, the biggest supershow of FGA's year has just passed, and the fans are still a-buzzing as they're heading back to their cars. Inside, the mood is the same. The boys (and girls) in the back are still talking about the Night's Co-Main Events.

One man however is seen sitting in the corner, a towel over his head, still dressed in his ring gear. His knee brace has fallen down to his ankle.

Every now and again, a random backstage hand will walk by and pat him on the shoulder, even offering a few words of encouragement like: "Tough one, Bond. You'll get him next time!" or... "Super close Bondo, could've gone either way."

But none of that matters to him.

He just sits there, soaking in his loss. His eyes are deep with thought, contemplating everything that's gone on all night. Another triumphant night by Q. Another triumphant night for the Murder.

That's not how it's supposed to be. He knows this. The Good Guys are supposed to win. It isn't fair. Life is fucking unfair.

He looks up slowly, the towel falling back to his neck. He clinches his jaw, the muscles on either side flexing. Softly, he mutters to himself.]

"What do I have to do? When is it going to be my time? What the hell do I have to do? I've tried playing by the rules. I've tried being the nice guy... I'm tired of being the 'close, but not close enough' guy. It's not right. It's not right. It's just not right... Something's gotta give."

[He rolls his bottom jaw and licks at his bottom lip. Bond rolls his eyes to one side, and slowly exhales. He nods his head in agreement...]

"Something's gotta give..."
[He wipes his face with both hands before pulling the towel from his neck and throwing it over his shoulder. He picks up his back and slowly makes his way toward the bathroom. The scene fades in to him lowering his head as he makes his way towards the showerroom.]

XXXXXXX

Fade in: Johnny Blayze, backstage at the Meadowlands Sports Complex. His face is all bruised and caked with dry blood but the "Cheshire Cat" style smirk shows he is not bothered by either.

Blayze: So how does it feel, Alexia? You so eloquently said on Twitter, "Bloody, Bruised, but Unbroken" but I can tell that's a lie.

A lie to hide the truth from yourself and your one hundred and seventy-seven followers.

Because Alexia, you can wipe away the blood…you can apply ice to lower the swelling…hell, you can cover up your bruises like every battered women out there.

But the truth will lie within. You know it as much as I do. The emotional scarring can never go away. It will haunt you like it haunts me.

And soon enough, it will consume your nightmares and your day dreams to the point that you won't have much of a choice.

You WILL give in to the pain.

You WILL become whole again.

You WILL join me in the darkness.

Dramatic pause

Or you will die from the madness.

And fade.

XXXXXXX

[We fade in to a backstage shot of the Meadowlands Expo Center, shortly after All-Star Showdown II, in what appears to be the FGA makeshift medical center for injury care. Jason Marx is sitting in a steel chair, still in his ring gear, with a towel draped over his head, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Tiffany Lawrence Michaels nervously circles him, like an annoying gnat. In front of them lies the unconscious body of Chris Tryon, who looks to have had his entire head mummified with bandages. The upper portion of his bandaged head is stained red from the blood that poured from his forehead earlier tonight. The only portion of his head, not bandaged is small holes for his eyes and his nose.]

Tiffany: This is your fault, Jason!

Marx: I fail to see any logic in that statement. So tell me, how is any of this my fault?

Tiffany: You should have been there when all of this happened. You should have seen it... Harter, Drake, Pooler... They all pounced on him, 3-on-1.

Marx: Really... When you found me earlier you said it was just Harter.

Tiffany: Whatever! You still should've been there!

MMMMMMmmmmmMMMMMM

[The two arguing member of the Suspects look over as Tryon seems to have come to. He's trying to say something, but it's muffled out by the bandages.]

Tiffany: Why did they bandage his mouth? Most of the blood was coming from his forehead.

Marx: I asked them too do it. I figured it was the only way to keep him from shooting his mouth off at somebody before we get out of here.

MMMMMMmmmmmMMMMM

Tiffany: He's trying to say something. It's probably important!

Marx: I rather doubt that...

[Tiffany walks over and unwraps the bandages covering his mouth.]

Tiffany: It's okay...I'm here. What is it?

Tryon: *weakly* I need a new iPad...

[Fade out.]