Sheamus lay there in the silence of the room, tears threatening to spill forth. "No," he told himself. "Be calm. To live through t'is, be calm."
He began to survey his surroundings. Looking around at the tasteful décor of the room, the muted brown walls, leather sofa and large plasma TV; he realized that he was not in some dirty basement. As a matter of fact, he realized that he was probably in the house of someone who had money – plenty, by the looks of it. He noticed his bag sitting by the door with his clothes folded neatly and sitting on his boots. He realized he was wearing only his boxer briefs. He then noticed the shiny gold buckle and black leather strap of the World Heavyweight Championship title. It was folded neatly on the sofa.
Next he looked carefully at the bed he was attached to and the light brown leather restraints. He quickly decided that breaking free was not an option. He was strong but not stupid. These girls were frighteningly resourceful. The monitors that had been beside him were professional-grade. He deduced that they indeed were in the medical field and capable of drugging him again. He did not want that to happen. The fear of falling into blackness, of having no control was somehow stronger than the fear of dying. For a moment, he slipped into a very serious reality where he decided how he wanted to die should it come to that. "If I die, I want to do it looking at t'ose two so t'ey know I'm strong of heart and filled with honor," he said to the empty room.