Chapter 3- Obstinate Angel.
(several hours after last week's Impact!)
AJ's just trying to shake the tension off. He can't seem to calm down, cool off... what WAS it about the cold Samoan that made him so angry? He's not normally like this... can't remember the last time he yelled like that, lost his temper... and now he had a match, for his title, against an unstoppable force. It shouldn't be any of his business. It shouldn't be...
...and suddenly, his cell phone rings, sending a sharp beeping tune thundering from his gym bag. Cursing softly, startled, he digs it out and answers...
"Y'ello?"
"Styles, you schmuck."
Hoofing out a sigh, AJ sinks down to the bench. Christopher Daniels, always one for a warm, polite greeting.
"What is it? Y'callin' all th'way from Cali just t' insult me?"
"You know damn well why I'm calling. What was that? You're not my mother, Styles, and you're not my girlfriend. I don't want your heroic little pansy-ass fighting my battles for me. I will NOT be a bridge to the next orgy of the free world telling AJ Styles how great and noble and wonderful and heroic he is, you understand me?"
AJ breathes in. Out.
"You know, Daniels, believe it or not, not EVERYTHING in this 'fed is about YOU."
He just catches a muted mutter of '...well, it should be.'
"Well, it's not, sorry to burst your bubble. I've made the challenge, an' I'm having this match whether you like it or not, y'dig?"
"Fine! Just don't cry to me when that big Samoan brute breaks every single bone in your body. Look what he did to me! ME! And you think YOU have a chance? Oh, please."
"You wait an' see. I can' wait t' see the look on your face when I beat him. Bye, Daniels."
"Damn you, Styles, don't you dare hang up on m-"
Grinning slightly, AJ tosses the phone back into his bag, and heads out the door.
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(Impact, Nov. 26)
The crowd's been pumping hot throughout the entire match. Why shouldn't they? Both of the young men in the ring were favorites of the Orlando faithful... AJ Styles and his friend, the less-heralded but also talented Chris Sabin. And the way the two've been going at it, well, those who didn't know them wouldn't have ever guessed that they were on good terms.
AJ is enjoying himself, though... he knew that he and Chris worked well together, and this was just the thing to take his mind off the whole deal with...
"...aw, man..."
...the big Samoan who just appeared through the tunnel, watching with a stern expression as if sizing his future opponent up.
He's still wearing the bloody towel.
Sabin manages to slip in an offense, but leans in on a flurry of punches, hissing something across the plane of combat...
"Styles, forget about Joe an' fight me, dammit. Otherwise you're playin' his game."
Nodding, AJ breathes in, focuses... and after a bit more back and forth, cinches in and hits the Styles Clash.
AJ gets the win. Joe... looks positively disgusted.
The young phenom can't help but grin at the submissionist.
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(Los Angeles, California, around the same time)
Christopher Daniels peers in from the kitchen, cup of coffee in hand, just as AJ picks up the pin. The Fallen Angel just snickers slightly, shaking his head, then lightly whacking the side of it. Stupid concussion, he really wasn't digging these sudden dizzy spells...
"Heh... not bad, kid, but it's just Sabin. Sabin isn't Joe. You're still completely doomed."
He slides back into the kitchen for some sugar, when suddenly the dizziness amps itself up to Eleven, the world lurches forward, nonexistant sound roars in his ears, and...
"...oh... shit..."
...he feels the world buck, almost, like a wild bronco, and rush up to meet him.
The last thing he hears is the faraway shatter of a coffee mug before the world goes pitch black and silent.