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It’s possibly not the best idea John’s had, but he needs the belt. It’s been too long since it’s been around his waist, and this little bottle is the one way to make sure he can get his hands on it again. The only way! In catering, there’s no real way to know which drink to put it in to make sure Styles drinks it, so it’s probably safest to go with all of them. The bottle may be small, but so is the dosage. One drop in each of the unmarked bottles of water backstage at Smackdown. Sure, the entire roster might end up getting effected, but John won’t and that’s all that matters. He’s safe in his own private locker room, with his own private water supply. No harm can come to him there.
Just before the show, John’s getting ready for his match when Randy enters John’s private locker room, and tosses him a bottle of water. Always before a big match he’s thirsty, so without thinking, he drinks the contents down. A terrible thought dawns on him then.
“Randy, where did you get this water from?”
“Uh… Catering. Why?” Randy’s holding another empty bottle, and to John he’s looking a little off.
“Shit!” John snaps. He feels strange. He feels weird. He feels different.
“John, are you okay?” Randy takes a step forwards, and falls flat on his face. John closes his eyes, and tries desperately to not think about how it feels like he’s not himself.
“In my bag! There’s an antidote. Go get my bag, Randy.” John can feel the change, can feel everything morphing out of his shape and into another. Randy awkwardly manages to get to where John’s gear, and somehow manages to pull out the right bottle.
“This?” Randy tosses the bottle at John. It arcs through the air, and smashes on the ground. If Randy wasn’t his bro, he’d be dead.
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“Uh… Shane?” Daniel creeps into the office he and Shane are sharing for the night. Shane looks up from his phone, offering Daniel a smile.
“What’s up?”
“Umm… I think we might have a slight problem.” Daniel laughs nervously, and pushes the office door open wider. Shane gets to his feet, and comes over to where Daniel’s nervously standing, wringing his hands, and fidgeting from foot to foot. From the corridor, he can hear strange sounds, odd noises like the clatter of hooves, but that can’t be right, because there shouldn’t been any farmyard animals out there. He looks out the door, and clasps Bryan’s shoulder. His heart rate has sky rocketed, his eyes feel hot and itchy. He can barely catch his breath to gasp.
“Llamas?"