The Art of Battling Giants: #1 Meet Fear Head On
Jan 4, 2018 20:06:37 GMT -5
A Ghost in the Wind, Derek Cosmos, and 1 more like this
Post by Stace Matthews on Jan 4, 2018 20:06:37 GMT -5
Given intravenously, Midazolam begins to induce sleepiness immediately. Johnny Matthews injects his Versed directly into his thigh, it takes ten, maybe fifteen, minutes longer, but his anxiety is soon somewhat manageable. The fact that it also affects the ability to create memories for six hours, he would give either testicle for five milligrams right now.
He had no desire to remember any of this.
“Open your eyes,” his brother-in-law instigated, “we fly all of the time.”
Globe-trotting, to jet-set around the world, that was the plan for Notorious in this New Year. Matthews saw Notorious living it up in any of Michaels’ Havoc-1 jets or helicopters, when first discussing this grand scheme. Instead, somewhere over Europe in a perfectly operational airplane, the duo prepared to jump out with no hesitation.
Matthews grinds his teeth, clamping his eyelids as tightly as possible. “Yeah,” he forces through a locked jaw, “never once planned to jump the fuck out.”
Forget the fact that these two would be teaming in their first PCW match of 2018, something beyond their control. Sure, they could choose not to show, but that was a Vivacious move. ‘But, fuck this.’ Matthews would rather return to old antics or take a permanent residence on the tag team roster than consider the idea of tandem skydiving.
“Bist du ein Champion?”
“Yes,” Michaels answers David, the charter owner, “I am Pure Class Wrestling’s North American Champion.”
Matthews could see the situation playing out in his head. Michaels had spent a good sum on his flight suit. Each shoulder had a clear covering, buttoned down tight on his chest and back to display the Pure Class Wrestling gold and leather straps. Why not his waist? Matthews remembered that, even with the IAWF and TRUE championships, Michaels took pride in displaying them on his shoulder and had never worn any of them as belts.
“Ah, und dieser gürtel,” David laughs, “sein?”
With his eyes smashed shut, he couldn't see that the joke is on him, but Matthews chuckles anyway; likely, tickled by the thought of his Notorious ally in a girdle. Tickled turned disgusted, as he shook the thought from his head, who thinks like that?
“No,” Michaels laughs, “we stole this one…”
They sure had. It was fluid and that was their plan. With all of the excitement around the main event, they intended to go with the routine, sneak down, make the heist and disappear. By competing or in some other role, their involvement in championship matches, their timing is perfect.
His heart pounded in his head, not more than an hour prior he had suffered three Harvests before his loss to Grimm. He watched his partner win the North American Championship and then Matthews executed the plan with a duffel bag in hand.
He walked down the ramp with other ring grips and engineers prior to the entrances and knelt in the timekeeper's corner. He watched the grandeur as the challenger entered, then the champion and then, Referee Buckland held the title high for all to see. Matthews stood up, took a few steps forward, pulled the bag wide open and caught the title belt. Fast, simple, done and he was gone.
Unrecognized.
Unnoticed.
“...Ernst?” In shock and disbelief.
“Yeah,” Michaels confirms, “figured if anyone could show the World title the world…”
Matthews reluctantly opens his right eye, glaring as he barks at Michaels, “What a view it will have.”
With that, the owner slid the charter plane’s cargo door open. Soaring over turquoise waters and snow-capped peaks at mind-boggling speeds awaited. From fourteen-thousand feet, the PCW World title belt would cut through the Alps, flying over Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau before deploying the parachute.
Some would find that fucking terrifying while for others, it's an eye-opening view.
“You have got to be fucking kidding,” Matthews argued as David urged him to strap up with Michaels. “What if the damned thing fails?”
“You, um, smash into the, uh, mountain,” David laughs wholeheartedly, breaking his already broken English.
Michaels laughs under his breath. Unlike his partner, his confidence has had him amped since they started planning this trip. He knew that, if he could get Matthews to work with him, the upcoming triple tag team match would be in the bag.
Trusting Michaels, a minor lump.
Trusting that everything would work out, a Goliath floodwall.
“Jetzt!”
With lightning quickness, Michaels left his Notorious counterpart no choice today. All of the sudden, harnessed together, they plummeted to the Earth.
Here’s to 2018!
He had no desire to remember any of this.
“Open your eyes,” his brother-in-law instigated, “we fly all of the time.”
Globe-trotting, to jet-set around the world, that was the plan for Notorious in this New Year. Matthews saw Notorious living it up in any of Michaels’ Havoc-1 jets or helicopters, when first discussing this grand scheme. Instead, somewhere over Europe in a perfectly operational airplane, the duo prepared to jump out with no hesitation.
Matthews grinds his teeth, clamping his eyelids as tightly as possible. “Yeah,” he forces through a locked jaw, “never once planned to jump the fuck out.”
Forget the fact that these two would be teaming in their first PCW match of 2018, something beyond their control. Sure, they could choose not to show, but that was a Vivacious move. ‘But, fuck this.’ Matthews would rather return to old antics or take a permanent residence on the tag team roster than consider the idea of tandem skydiving.
“Bist du ein Champion?”
“Yes,” Michaels answers David, the charter owner, “I am Pure Class Wrestling’s North American Champion.”
Matthews could see the situation playing out in his head. Michaels had spent a good sum on his flight suit. Each shoulder had a clear covering, buttoned down tight on his chest and back to display the Pure Class Wrestling gold and leather straps. Why not his waist? Matthews remembered that, even with the IAWF and TRUE championships, Michaels took pride in displaying them on his shoulder and had never worn any of them as belts.
“Ah, und dieser gürtel,” David laughs, “sein?”
With his eyes smashed shut, he couldn't see that the joke is on him, but Matthews chuckles anyway; likely, tickled by the thought of his Notorious ally in a girdle. Tickled turned disgusted, as he shook the thought from his head, who thinks like that?
“No,” Michaels laughs, “we stole this one…”
They sure had. It was fluid and that was their plan. With all of the excitement around the main event, they intended to go with the routine, sneak down, make the heist and disappear. By competing or in some other role, their involvement in championship matches, their timing is perfect.
His heart pounded in his head, not more than an hour prior he had suffered three Harvests before his loss to Grimm. He watched his partner win the North American Championship and then Matthews executed the plan with a duffel bag in hand.
He walked down the ramp with other ring grips and engineers prior to the entrances and knelt in the timekeeper's corner. He watched the grandeur as the challenger entered, then the champion and then, Referee Buckland held the title high for all to see. Matthews stood up, took a few steps forward, pulled the bag wide open and caught the title belt. Fast, simple, done and he was gone.
Unrecognized.
Unnoticed.
“...Ernst?” In shock and disbelief.
“Yeah,” Michaels confirms, “figured if anyone could show the World title the world…”
Matthews reluctantly opens his right eye, glaring as he barks at Michaels, “What a view it will have.”
With that, the owner slid the charter plane’s cargo door open. Soaring over turquoise waters and snow-capped peaks at mind-boggling speeds awaited. From fourteen-thousand feet, the PCW World title belt would cut through the Alps, flying over Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau before deploying the parachute.
Some would find that fucking terrifying while for others, it's an eye-opening view.
“You have got to be fucking kidding,” Matthews argued as David urged him to strap up with Michaels. “What if the damned thing fails?”
“You, um, smash into the, uh, mountain,” David laughs wholeheartedly, breaking his already broken English.
Michaels laughs under his breath. Unlike his partner, his confidence has had him amped since they started planning this trip. He knew that, if he could get Matthews to work with him, the upcoming triple tag team match would be in the bag.
Trusting Michaels, a minor lump.
Trusting that everything would work out, a Goliath floodwall.
“Jetzt!”
With lightning quickness, Michaels left his Notorious counterpart no choice today. All of the sudden, harnessed together, they plummeted to the Earth.
Here’s to 2018!