Third-Rate Villain

"Gaaah!"

Opening his eyes, Chase was greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. 

He jolted upright in bed, his hand pressed tightly to his bruised throat as if hoping to muffle the gasp that had already escaped his lips. 

His thumb felt the erratic pulsing of nerves in the side of his neck.

He kept his hands in place until his heart finally calmed down a little, or at least that's what he told himself.

Disgusted by the way the damp fabric clung to his sweat-soaked skin, Chase peeled the sheet from his chest. As soon as his feet touched the cold, hard, marble ground, an image popped up in his mind.

The infirmary bed crackled under his shifting weight as he stood up.

"Th-That bastard…."

Recalling the events of the Triple Threat match, a shiver ran across Chase's spine. Until today, he had no idea he was this powerless.