MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 697: Chug Machine

Ring ring...

Ring ring...

"What’s wrong?"

"I’ve been trying to get ahold of Damon since last night. He said he’d call. He hasn’t."

Svetlana sat down, phone still in hand. Her mother took a seat beside her, saying nothing at first.

The house felt still. Morning light was coming through the curtains, but it didn’t do much to settle the unease.

Ashley arrived not long after. She walked in with her jaw tight, steps quick, her expression unreadable until she dropped her bag and sat across from them. She didn’t greet anyone.

Svetlana didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to. She just kept staring at her screen.

She wasn’t panicking, but it didn’t feel good either. Damon said he’d check in. Said he’d call. That was hours ago. There were no texts.

He didn’t usually go off the grid like this, especially not after promising he’d call.

She stayed quiet. Still waiting and checking. Still trying not to let her thoughts run ahead of the facts.

He was probably fine. But the silence was starting to weigh.

.

.

.

Ring ring!!

Ring!!

Ring!

The phone kept ringing.

Damon didn’t move at first. His head pulsed. His face felt sticky. Something was sitting on it.

He reached up and pulled it off, a slice of cold, greasy pizza stuck to his cheek. He blinked against the sunlight, sat up slowly, and took in the room.

It looked like a war zone.

Cups and bottles were everywhere. A table was knocked over. Pillows and couch cushions were on the floor.

One of Joey’s sneakers was hanging off the ceiling fan. Someone’s jacket was soaking in what looked like beer.

There was a sock in the microwave. A folding chair stood in the hallway, half-bent and alone.

Damon wiped his face again, trying to figure out if he felt hungover or just wrecked from the chaos.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled. The buzz of his phone kept going.

He stood up, swaying slightly, and looked around until he found it. It was lying face-down on the counter next to an empty bottle of water and a paper plate with barbecue sauce dried on it.

He picked it up.

12 Missed Calls – Svetlana

He pressed his lips together. His thumb hovered over the call icon, but he paused. He wasn’t sure what time it was.

The blinds were open, but he had no idea whether it was early morning or past noon.

The house was dead quiet except for the faint humming of something running in the kitchen.

Damon was just about to tap Svetlana’s name and call her back when his screen went black.

Battery dead.

He stared at it for a second in disbelief, then sighed. The damn thing had survived fights, rain, and drops from three floors, but it couldn’t last one chaotic night.

He looked around again. The house was still trashed. A few people were slumped over furniture or curled up in corners. Someone was asleep inside a laundry basket.

Damon ran a hand down his face.

"What the hell happened here..."

He stepped over a bag of chips spilled across the floor and turned the corner, only to bump into a guy wearing sunglasses indoors and a shirt that definitely wasn’t his.

"Great party, dude," the guy grinned, clearly still riding the wave from last night. "That was insane, man."

Damon stopped him. "Wait. Can you do me a favor?"

The guy paused, then flashed a dramatic thumbs-up. "Bro, anything for the chug machine."

Damon’s eyebrow twitched. "Chug machine... right. Look, can you tell me what happened last night?"

The guy opened his mouth, but his stomach made an awful noise. "Gonna be real with you, I need the toilet like now, but here—" He shoved his phone into Damon’s hand. "There’s some pics and vids on there. Should help you put the pieces together."

And just like that, he vanished down the hallway, holding his gut and mumbling something about tequila.

Damon looked at the phone in his hand. The screen was cracked. The lock screen was a blurry photo of someone mooning the camera. He sighed and tapped it open.

Time to figure out just how much trouble he was in.

Damon opened the gallery. The first thing staring back at him was a video, timestamped well past midnight. Over an hour long.

He sighed. "I better get comfortable then."

He sat down on the edge of a coffee table that was still somehow intact and hit play.

The video kicked off mid-chant.

"CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"

The screen shook with movement, the camera pushing through a crowd of people packed into the kitchen. Loud music played in the background, but it was drowned out by the chanting.

The crowd suddenly parted like they were presenting a king.

In the middle stood Damon himself.

Shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess, standing on a chair with a massive bottle of beer tilted to the sky. The thing looked industrial, way past regular party size.

He emptied it without stopping, beer spilling down his jaw and soaking his collar. Then he slammed the bottle down, stumbled slightly, and let out a huge belch that drew roars of approval.

Still standing tall, he threw his arms out wide and shouted in a thick, exaggerated Irish accent:

"IS THAT ALL YE’ GOT? GIVE ME ANOTHER ONE, YA COWARDS! THE BEAST ISN’T FULL YET!"

Someone off-camera shouted, "He’s gonna die!" while laughter exploded around the room.

Damon winced.

He paused the video, staring at his frozen drunk face on the screen. His eyes were glassy, his grin too wide.

He had never been drunk. Not even once. Not fully.

Until now.

He rubbed his temples and leaned back.

"Oh, hell..."

He hit play again.

The video picked up with Damon pointing at someone across the room, eyes wide and posture unsteady.

"You! Aye, you with the stupid wee hat—don’t look away now, that dance you did earlier? Looked like a goose tryna take flight in molasses!"

People laughed in the background. Damon was on a roll.

He turned, swaying slightly, and jabbed a finger at another guy who was just picking up a drink. "An’ you! I seen more fight in a soggy tissue! Tryin’ to arm wrestle me like ye had bones in them noodles!"

That guy held up his arms in surrender while laughing, then gave Damon a thumbs up.

Damon wasn’t done.

He pointed to the ceiling, dramatically, like he was addressing a stadium.

"Bring me a man with chest hair and bad intentions, not these feather-livered party mice! I’ll drink ’im under the earth and still walk home straight!"

Off-camera someone yelled, "You tried to fight a lamp!"

Damon on-screen spun around. "The lamp disrespected me!"

Laughter erupted again.

Then he raised a red plastic cup like it was a royal goblet.

"To the night! To chaos! And to the bastard who left the microwave open, I’ll find ye, and I’ll un-toast yer soul!"

Damon paused the video again and dragged a hand down his face.

There were still fifty minutes left.

Follow current novels on (f)reew𝒆bnovel