He pulled his face into view. His jaw was swelling fast, and he couldn't quite open his left eye, but he held up a shaky thumbs-up.
Aiden didn't scream. He just dropped. The camera kept rolling for three minutes—the silence of the basement only broken by the mechanical whir of the empty pitching machine. Just as the video was about to time out, Aiden’s hand appeared at the bottom of the frame, reaching for the tripod. ItsGonnaHurt.com - Aiden From Boston.mp4
The final puck was the "money shot." In the video file that would eventually be titled Aiden From Boston.mp4 , this is the part where the comments always exploded. The machine misfired slightly, the puck rising higher than the others. It clipped the bottom of Aiden’s jaw and slammed into his collarbone. The sound was like a dry branch snapping. He pulled his face into view
"Alright, we’re live," he muttered, though the video wasn’t a stream. It was a recording destined for a URL that was already becoming a legend in the darker corners of the internet: ItsGonnaHurt.com . He just dropped
The machine didn't answer; it just cycled the next round. Thwack. This one caught him in the ribs. Aiden went down to one knee, the wind knocked out of him in a violent rush. He looked at the lens, his face turning a shade of grey-white, sweat beading on his forehead. He forced himself back up, his legs shaking.
The basement air in South Boston smelled like old copper and damp concrete, but to Aiden, it smelled like an opportunity. He adjusted the ring light—a cheap thing that flickered if he breathed too hard—and checked the frame on his DSLR.