While Greg had been excited when the game gave him back his mangled eye, the last thing he had expected was his coach's notorious 'protein' shake would once again desecrate what was left of his tastebuds.
Greg gagged slightly as he forced the potion down, his jaw tightening with each swallow. The second it hit his stomach, the familiar revulsion twisted through him.
He stood still for a long moment, bottle still in hand, eyes distant.
Of course it tasted like that.
Back during his rookie days, the Coach had taken pride in breaking them down and building them back up. Morning runs before dawn. Sled pushes until your legs gave out. Sandbag carries through the rain. Passing out wasn't a risk. It was a guarantee.
But none of that compared to the sludge.
