Itsgonnahurt.com - Aiden From Boston.mp4 -

Aiden wasn’t a "stuntman" in the professional sense. He was twenty-two, worked a dead-end job at a pier, and possessed a terrifying lack of a self-preservation instinct. He leaned into the lens, his thick Boston accent cutting through the silence of the room.

What kind of should Aiden face in the next chapter of his "career" as an internet stuntman?

The setup was simple and insane. He’d rigged a heavy-duty pitching machine normally used for baseballs, but he’d modified the feeder to hold taped-up hockey pucks. He was standing twenty feet away, wearing nothing but a vintage Bruins jersey, cargo shorts, and a pair of plastic safety goggles he’d found in his dad's garage. ItsGonnaHurt.com - Aiden From Boston.mp4

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.

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 wasn’t a "stuntman" in the professional sense

"Yo, it’s Aiden from Boston. You guys voted for the 'Slapshot Roulette.' So, here we go."

The first puck blurred through the air, catching him square in the shoulder. The force spun him half-around, his skin instantly blooming into a deep, angry purple. He gasped, a jagged laugh escaping his throat. "One!" he shouted at the camera. "Is that all you got?" What kind of should Aiden face in the

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.