Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Feb 12, 2018 19:47:28 GMT -5
MONDAY 12th FEBRUARY 2018 - 12.47am
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
“He’s left you all alone, hasn’t he?”
“What a fool. He doesn’t realise how lucky he is to have a girl like you.”
“I don’t know what you see in him.”
Amy bolts upright in her bed. How many nights must she be disturbed in such a manner? Once again, her sleep has been disturbed by the voices she had banished to the back of her mind. Panic-stricken, she looks over to the crib. Her daughter slumbers serenely and unharmed.
“Dominic?” she rolls onto her side, placing her hand where her boyfriend should be. She feels nothing but a cold, flat and soft surface where his shoulder should be at this time of night. He’s not there. She looks at the clock. He must still be doing some last-minute training. Although not a part of his schedule, Dominic had attempted to adjust his focus to his physical obligations having reduced them in recent weeks prior to the safe return of their daughter. Concerned for her safety, she opens the middle drawer of her bedside table, rummaging beneath some small articles of clothing to withdraw a knife for her own protection.
“Don’t be scared,” the voice says to her. “I won’t hurt you. Ultimately though, HE will. You’ve been through so much already, surely you’d have thought he’d be a little more concerned about you.”
“Whose there?” she whimpers, brandishing the blade in front of her. “Show yourself.”
“He leaves you alone for days on end,” the voice defies her. The low volume and softness of his voice suggests he is whispering the words straight into her ear, yet no matter which direction she looks, she knows for a fact that the only other person occupying the same bedroom as her is currently incapable of speech. “He’s not even here now, is he?” the voice continues. “And yet, here I am, by your side, constantly.” Amy hesitates. It is so strange for her to speak to absolute nothingness? Is this a spirit contacting her from beyond the grave? Why here? Why now? Why to her?
“W-Who are you?” she relents with a stammer, visibly unnerved by what she is experiencing.
“I’ve told you before,” the voice replies. “I am your guardian angel. I want nothing but what is best for you. And frankly, for someone who has been through so much already, I can see that something needs to change in your life. At the very least, to the point where you do not attempt to end it again.” This immediately causes Amy to slide her hand over the scar she had made for herself on the day where she had indeed attempted to end it all. Her tenure in hospital and the efforts of the medical staff around her, along with the rapid instincts of Dominic and his tutor, were the only factors contributing to her even being alive to hear the words being spoken to her right now. “Frankly, you deserve better than Dominic,” the oppressor says, a slight slyness exerted from its intonations. “If not for your sake, then for your daughter’s.” Amy vigorously shakes her head, trying to shake what she can only deem as damning thoughts haunting her.
“You don’t mean Shawn? Surely you can’t mean Shawn,” Amy assumes dismissively. How could she possibly go back to a man who had caused her so much heartache, both inside and outside of their relationship. Wherever the voice was coming from, it lets out a small laugh. Not patronisingly, not even out of amusement. More than anything else, it is one of self-importance and grandeur.
“Of course not,” it answers. “All I want is to watch over you and nurture every desire you may have. If I am to be your angel, you must be willing to take my hand and fly with me.”
“Are you… the Bird Man?” Amy asks, genuine contemplation stems as a result of a long pause of silence prior to her question.
“I don’t know how I achieved such a label,” he replies with a laugh, his answer might as well be as good as a ‘yes,’ “but your nickname for me has not gone unnoticed over recent weeks. Yes, I am he.” Once again, she thrashes her head from side to side. Her forehead pulsates, the revelation apparently creating a plethora more questions than the one answer provides. “Do not panic,” he says reassuringly. “I promise, I will not hurt you. You are a beautiful person, and for the world to be exempt of such splendour would be sinful.” he says. Somehow, she is reassured. “You’d better put that knife away,” the Bird Man says to her warningly. “He’s coming.”
“No, wait, I want to know more about you,” Amy calls. “Where are you? And how can you see what I’m doing if you’re not here? Are you really an angel?”
“A guardian angel, a night watchman, call me what you like,” the Bird Man says secretively. No sooner than he finishes his sentence, the door to the bedroom swings open. Light from the corridor floods into the room, only to be instantly blocked again by the towering Dominator stepping into the doorway.
“Are you alright?” Dominic enquires, concern filling his face, set like concrete. He is careful with the tone of his voice, ensuring that he does not rouse the sleeping Dawn. “I heard voices.”
“Uhh…” Amy attempts to gather her thoughts as if to justify what had happened. “I don’t know,” is all she muster. She slumps her head back into the head of pillows as the towering figure of her lover lowers itself onto the foot of the bed. The pressure that his weight provides forces Amy to adjust her position from what had once been comfortable enough. Moving herself to a more centralised position in the bed prevents any further sense of imbalance. Dominic spends a moment to look at Amy. He stretches his muscular body over Amy, reaching with an outstretched arm to run his fingers through her hair to massage her scalp. She accepts this for but a moment, before pulling her head away quickly with the jerky reaction as if a winged insect had landed amongst her flowing locks. “I’m sorry,” she says almost insincerely. “I’m not in the mood right now.” Dominic does not misconstrue this as a misinterpretation of sexual advancements. Instead, he retracts his arm almost sadly backward to allow his hand to rest on his thigh.
“Who were you talking to?” Dominic asks, probing her for some sort of response. Amy replies with an unenthusiastic shrug, her eyes transfixed to ceiling, or the powerless light-bulb hanging from said ceiling, maybe even the light-shade. Anything that wasn’t Dominic.
“I don’t know,” she parrots her previous riposte. “I must have been dreaming,” she lies. The conversation had felt far too real for it to have stemmed through her thalamus to the cortex of her brain amidst slumber. It would appear that Dominic is suspect to this as well, given the elevation of his eyebrow. He could have sworn he had heard two voices. In spite of a solution finally being provided and her daughter being back in her loving arms, there was something about her that still felt… off.
She’d been like it for days.
Ever since she had poured unconditional gratitude in the direction of her lover on the day that Dawn had been gifted back to her, she had been eerily silent. The dark clouds of guilt still loomed over her head; that was the only logical explanation Dominic could conjure. He had chosen not to press her for any rationalisation, for similar emotions plagued him.
The primary objective of their mission had yielded the minimal outcome; recovering Dawn and returning her to her mother’s custody. But the secondary intentions of exacting vengeance on the perpetrator of such a heinous act had not been fulfilled. Somewhere, Shawn was out there. The mental pain would be with him, yet the physical variety in which Dominic excels was not. Dominic knew this. The battle may have been won, but the war was far from over.
But, as Horacio had indicated to him over the past fortnight, it would be a bridge that they would cross as they approached it further down the road. It was ‘essential to make up for lost time,’ he had said. ‘Although time is never truly lost, it simply becomes what we refer to a history,’ he had added. This had not made his original point any less valid. Their duties as parents needed to be re-established as a result of their absence from Dawn’s relatively short lifespan up to this point in time.
Unbeknownst to mother and father alike, more time had passed than they had envisioned.
That fateful Monday was one that had been etched into their minds like carvings in tree bark; the 21st of November. That was the day that Shawn initiated a plan fuelled by nothing but jealousy and evil. Almost two months later, a mere two days off this milestone in fact, his plan had been thwarted. At least for now.
The levels of Amy’s psychosis may have hindered the quality time their family needed though. And in spite of every intention that Dominic had of making life for his girlfriend as comfortable and as easy as possible, there were duties that he had to endure along this bumpy road. The Chronological Order aside, it is the upcoming Trauma that births his apprehension and aggravation above all else.
Fucking Tag Team Matches.
Though he had not made his opinions vocal, Dominator had been growing increasingly weary of being put into situations where his fate fell to the ineptitude of those he had been allocated to partner with. Indeed, the startling fact that only High Tide had actually provided any benefit to situations such as these was one that filled Dominator with even less enthusiasm about this match, given the men who he had been forced to align himself with . Even then, he then initiated his own twisted scheme to reduce The Zenith to rubble, debuting his faction of ‘Sea Men’ or whatever the fuck they want to call themselves. Even the past two weeks, the group had expanded by including Razor Blade into their ranks.
Rolls Royce have the iconic Spirit of Ecstasy mounted on the bonnets across the range of their opulent vehicles, serving as a reminder to all who watch it pass them by of the elegance and position of luxury that it is designed to exert.
The anthropomorphic cartoon mouse named ‘Mickey’ is instantly recognisable as part of Walt Disney’s grand design. He is instantly recognisable; his very image synonymous with the corporation from which he was designed to promote.
McDonalds has a clown dressed head to toe in white, red and yellow that is beloved by both children and those who used to be children that can reminisce over the good times of times long gone. Those who see a battery-powered rabbit instantly know of its association with Duracell, aside from the more twisted individuals who would associate it with something from the adult pleasure toy industry…
And speaking of dildos…
There’s Razor Blade…
The supposed new ‘mascot’ of the trio-turned-quartet of miscreants who have been trying to provoke Dominator for seemingly weeks now. Though not directly in his crosshairs on this occasion, Dominator had shared the sentiments of many of the alumni that he shares the locker room with. Razor Blade… is a pest; vermin. His existence is based on thriving upon the scraps of attention that is left for him, only to scurry away at the first hint of danger in spite of instigating it himself. Should he dare get in Dominator’s way again, he won’t just be sent packing… he’d be sent packed into a suitcase, folded up like an involuntary contortionist and shipped off to the far corners of the Earth.
Come to think of it, Dominator had done that before. At the Icey Awards. Perhaps that was the point High Tide set sail to get him back.
Wasp, High Tide and Arica Lewitt… though not the same sort of bane that Matthews himself had been in recent weeks, they had certainly become a nuisance that Dominator wished to eradicate.
On his day, High Tide can be a truly worthy opponent, but whatever he does outside of the contest bell cannot live up to the expectation of what should be achieved within it. Sure, there have been multiple sneak attacks, low blows and humiliation at the plunderer’s hand, yet if he were as good as orchestrating an attack during a sanctioned match as he is outside of it, maybe he would be Underground King. Hence, that is not the case. A typical pirate, he rushes headlong and intoxicated into battle with no concise reason or coordination to his attack, only to surprise and
Then there was Wasp, the man who ate the pin almost two weeks ago. He had truly become the annoying and unnecessary insect that shares his name. His sting, a mere irritant. Dominator was not allergic to competition, but being subjected to the constant buzz that Wasp and his associates were forming had started to become too much to bear. Wasp serves no purpose other than to annoy, much like the very nature of the stable that he is a part of it. It was time to repel him once and for all. There could be no distractions in the coming weeks, particularly with so many other PCW roster members breathing down his neck, pining for a shot at the Underground Championship.
Most recently, Arica “Trouble” Lewitt had pushed herself to her limit as she tried to the wrench said prize from The Suzerain of Time’s clutches. Naturally, she had failed. Yet, she had been hyped and praised by so many for being able to go toe-to-toe with The Zenith. Where was the logic in that? There are so many sayings that dictate that it isn’t the winning, it is the taking part. Knowing that one had tried so hard and failed was better than not having tried at all.
Whoever thought of such bollocks should have their mouths sewn shut and their fingers amputated as so there would be no means for them to communicate such nonsense to anybody else ever again. Razor Blade would be a fine candidate for this. Dominator would willingly do the honours himself.
How must she have felt after such a crushing defeat? Surely the same grief felt by both High Tide and Razor Blade when they too came up short when challenging The Underground King for his crown. Of course, the numbers game played a key factor during their assaults, such subjection was something that Dominator would return tenfold.
Perhaps this group was more of a threat than anybody first thought…
But, under these circumstances, the numbers were even. Three on Three. Razor Blade was a non-factor. His strongest shoulder tackle merely caused him to bounce off the Zenith just two weeks ago.
Hopefully, The Forces of Nature would be able to see past their rivalry, even for a portion of the night, to wash away High Tide and his cronies. Maybe, just maybe, they could emulate the destructive and ‘dominant’ traits of the Underground King to rid themselves of these foes. Their cooperation would not be questioned. For the North American Champion and the… uhh… other… guy… who has done, like, nothing really, to have their integrity challenged by a group of idiots such as these, it would be incomprehensible. They had reputations to maintain, just like The Zenith.
Johnny Matthews seems to believe that he has a score to settle with Dominator, despite the fact that every interaction between the two, physical or otherwise, had been of his own accord. The repercussions of his insolence would be felt soon enough. Surely Johnny is not so much of a simpleton to dismiss the impending vengeance that The Zenith would punish him with. Johnny, alongside with his direct superior Justin, who if he did not realise this by now must be kidding themselves,
Matthews had at least been able to swat Wasp with the Lonestar Stunner in order to obtain the victory in that contest, an outcome that Dominator himself had presented to The Forces of Nature on a silver platter. Had it not been for intervention from the illegal man, Dominator would have ended the match as the victor. Instead, as a result of said interference, he had to watch on from ringside as the referee’s hand fell to the mat for the third time, gifting Matthews with the victory. Any other man would be infuriated by such an outcome…
Yet it did not phase him.
Once all of the weak links are removed, only the strongest remain. Untainted by the shackles of incapable individuals that are not on his level, Dominator remains to live up to the reputation that a namesake would possess. When the time comes where Dominator must go into battle with Johnny Matthews or even Justin Michaels in isolation, they will soon realise that there are no chinks in his armour to exploit, no strategy that they can deploy that is efficacious enough to wear him down.
But for now, Dominator and The Forces of Nature had a common enemy to dismiss themselves of before focusing on their own conflict; at least, this was the logic that Dominator had to create for himself in order to coexist with such imbeciles. All tension between the two would need to be cast aside once that bell had been rung.
But when that bell had been rung once again… well, that was fair game.
By this point, Dominic had positioned himself away from the bed in which Amy lays and instead moves closer to Dawn’s crib, ideally located in the corner of the room positioned between a radiator at the foot of the cot and the bedroom window closest to where the baby rests her head. Resting one hand on top of the wooden bars, he looks out of the window in wonderment, gazing between the night’s sky and the freezing fauna below.
He notices something in the distance, though he refuses to make eye contact. There is something glistening from the shrubbery, something that looks far too… manufactured… to be something forged by Mother Nature herself. He slowly backs away, checking that Dawn is safely nestled amongst her blankets.
“What’s the matter?” Amy asks, startled by Dominic’s suppressed alertness.
“Wait here,” he orders. “Lock the door, don’t unlock it until I say so,” he adds as he storms out of the room, his feet clomp at the hollow staircase with every step of his descent. His exit of the residence is a lot more subtle, closing the door delicately behind him and securing the premises with a turn of the key that he had retrieved from his back pocket as he navigated himself along the corridor. He takes a bold step into the frigid darkness. The blades of grass that form the lawn glisten in the moonlight, frozen by the hard frost. Dominic remains still and silent. Only the heat emitted from his mouth as he exhales would indicate his presence. He listens intently; there is nothing out of the ordinary. Scouring the nearby vicinity for any indication of an intruder, Dominic simply stands and waits like a fox hunting for prey, waiting for the tiniest rustle in the bushes to pinpoint his target.
From nearby, the crumpling of frozen grass under foot can be heard. The Zenith immediately pivots, changing the direction in which he is facing. Huddled behind the trunk an overgrown elder tree, a silhouette as black as the night itself can be seen. Though humanoid in stature, its body appears to be covered in some sort of hair, fur or even scales. Where a nose should be, there is a protrusion that is elongated; Pinocchio-esque. Sensing detection, it immediately makes headway toward the wooden fence, vaulting over it with almost feline agility. In spite of Dominic momentarily giving chase, he slows his pace once the figure has disappeared behind the fence. He listens further. Indeed, the intruder is heading further away. Giving chase in these hours of darkness would be futile and heading out into the wilderness unprepared out of a headstrong degree of foolishness would not be logical.
Instead, Dominic looks toward where the figure had been hiding, rooting around the base of the elder tree for any clue as to who, or what, had been breaching their privacy.
He sees something faint resting atop some fallen leaves that still remain from the autumn.
A black feather.
Dominic casts his mind back to Amy’s murmurings during her induced medical state; something about an entity that had been appearing in her nightmares, something she was convinced was real. Up to this point, he did not realise the full extent of Amy’s fears. Yet, staring at this one solitary feather, he had suddenly realised that this situation was worse than he had first comprehended.
With that, he takes his cellphone out of his pocket, making his way slowly back into the house. It rings several times, more that it would take for one to simply retrieve from their person and answer. As he closes the door behind him, a voice finally answers.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Horacio booms, fatigue somewhat masking his anger. “Never mind, don‘t answer that,” he yawns, “just what is the meaning of this rude awakening? I have a strict schedule, you know.” Dominic pauses for a moment, staring at the one piece of evidence that he could find between his fingertips. He takes a deep breath. This could turn into a long conversation.
“Tell me what you know about The Bird Man.”
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
“He’s left you all alone, hasn’t he?”
“What a fool. He doesn’t realise how lucky he is to have a girl like you.”
“I don’t know what you see in him.”
Amy bolts upright in her bed. How many nights must she be disturbed in such a manner? Once again, her sleep has been disturbed by the voices she had banished to the back of her mind. Panic-stricken, she looks over to the crib. Her daughter slumbers serenely and unharmed.
“Dominic?” she rolls onto her side, placing her hand where her boyfriend should be. She feels nothing but a cold, flat and soft surface where his shoulder should be at this time of night. He’s not there. She looks at the clock. He must still be doing some last-minute training. Although not a part of his schedule, Dominic had attempted to adjust his focus to his physical obligations having reduced them in recent weeks prior to the safe return of their daughter. Concerned for her safety, she opens the middle drawer of her bedside table, rummaging beneath some small articles of clothing to withdraw a knife for her own protection.
“Don’t be scared,” the voice says to her. “I won’t hurt you. Ultimately though, HE will. You’ve been through so much already, surely you’d have thought he’d be a little more concerned about you.”
“Whose there?” she whimpers, brandishing the blade in front of her. “Show yourself.”
“He leaves you alone for days on end,” the voice defies her. The low volume and softness of his voice suggests he is whispering the words straight into her ear, yet no matter which direction she looks, she knows for a fact that the only other person occupying the same bedroom as her is currently incapable of speech. “He’s not even here now, is he?” the voice continues. “And yet, here I am, by your side, constantly.” Amy hesitates. It is so strange for her to speak to absolute nothingness? Is this a spirit contacting her from beyond the grave? Why here? Why now? Why to her?
“W-Who are you?” she relents with a stammer, visibly unnerved by what she is experiencing.
“I’ve told you before,” the voice replies. “I am your guardian angel. I want nothing but what is best for you. And frankly, for someone who has been through so much already, I can see that something needs to change in your life. At the very least, to the point where you do not attempt to end it again.” This immediately causes Amy to slide her hand over the scar she had made for herself on the day where she had indeed attempted to end it all. Her tenure in hospital and the efforts of the medical staff around her, along with the rapid instincts of Dominic and his tutor, were the only factors contributing to her even being alive to hear the words being spoken to her right now. “Frankly, you deserve better than Dominic,” the oppressor says, a slight slyness exerted from its intonations. “If not for your sake, then for your daughter’s.” Amy vigorously shakes her head, trying to shake what she can only deem as damning thoughts haunting her.
“You don’t mean Shawn? Surely you can’t mean Shawn,” Amy assumes dismissively. How could she possibly go back to a man who had caused her so much heartache, both inside and outside of their relationship. Wherever the voice was coming from, it lets out a small laugh. Not patronisingly, not even out of amusement. More than anything else, it is one of self-importance and grandeur.
“Of course not,” it answers. “All I want is to watch over you and nurture every desire you may have. If I am to be your angel, you must be willing to take my hand and fly with me.”
“Are you… the Bird Man?” Amy asks, genuine contemplation stems as a result of a long pause of silence prior to her question.
“I don’t know how I achieved such a label,” he replies with a laugh, his answer might as well be as good as a ‘yes,’ “but your nickname for me has not gone unnoticed over recent weeks. Yes, I am he.” Once again, she thrashes her head from side to side. Her forehead pulsates, the revelation apparently creating a plethora more questions than the one answer provides. “Do not panic,” he says reassuringly. “I promise, I will not hurt you. You are a beautiful person, and for the world to be exempt of such splendour would be sinful.” he says. Somehow, she is reassured. “You’d better put that knife away,” the Bird Man says to her warningly. “He’s coming.”
“No, wait, I want to know more about you,” Amy calls. “Where are you? And how can you see what I’m doing if you’re not here? Are you really an angel?”
“A guardian angel, a night watchman, call me what you like,” the Bird Man says secretively. No sooner than he finishes his sentence, the door to the bedroom swings open. Light from the corridor floods into the room, only to be instantly blocked again by the towering Dominator stepping into the doorway.
“Are you alright?” Dominic enquires, concern filling his face, set like concrete. He is careful with the tone of his voice, ensuring that he does not rouse the sleeping Dawn. “I heard voices.”
“Uhh…” Amy attempts to gather her thoughts as if to justify what had happened. “I don’t know,” is all she muster. She slumps her head back into the head of pillows as the towering figure of her lover lowers itself onto the foot of the bed. The pressure that his weight provides forces Amy to adjust her position from what had once been comfortable enough. Moving herself to a more centralised position in the bed prevents any further sense of imbalance. Dominic spends a moment to look at Amy. He stretches his muscular body over Amy, reaching with an outstretched arm to run his fingers through her hair to massage her scalp. She accepts this for but a moment, before pulling her head away quickly with the jerky reaction as if a winged insect had landed amongst her flowing locks. “I’m sorry,” she says almost insincerely. “I’m not in the mood right now.” Dominic does not misconstrue this as a misinterpretation of sexual advancements. Instead, he retracts his arm almost sadly backward to allow his hand to rest on his thigh.
“Who were you talking to?” Dominic asks, probing her for some sort of response. Amy replies with an unenthusiastic shrug, her eyes transfixed to ceiling, or the powerless light-bulb hanging from said ceiling, maybe even the light-shade. Anything that wasn’t Dominic.
“I don’t know,” she parrots her previous riposte. “I must have been dreaming,” she lies. The conversation had felt far too real for it to have stemmed through her thalamus to the cortex of her brain amidst slumber. It would appear that Dominic is suspect to this as well, given the elevation of his eyebrow. He could have sworn he had heard two voices. In spite of a solution finally being provided and her daughter being back in her loving arms, there was something about her that still felt… off.
She’d been like it for days.
Ever since she had poured unconditional gratitude in the direction of her lover on the day that Dawn had been gifted back to her, she had been eerily silent. The dark clouds of guilt still loomed over her head; that was the only logical explanation Dominic could conjure. He had chosen not to press her for any rationalisation, for similar emotions plagued him.
The primary objective of their mission had yielded the minimal outcome; recovering Dawn and returning her to her mother’s custody. But the secondary intentions of exacting vengeance on the perpetrator of such a heinous act had not been fulfilled. Somewhere, Shawn was out there. The mental pain would be with him, yet the physical variety in which Dominic excels was not. Dominic knew this. The battle may have been won, but the war was far from over.
But, as Horacio had indicated to him over the past fortnight, it would be a bridge that they would cross as they approached it further down the road. It was ‘essential to make up for lost time,’ he had said. ‘Although time is never truly lost, it simply becomes what we refer to a history,’ he had added. This had not made his original point any less valid. Their duties as parents needed to be re-established as a result of their absence from Dawn’s relatively short lifespan up to this point in time.
Unbeknownst to mother and father alike, more time had passed than they had envisioned.
That fateful Monday was one that had been etched into their minds like carvings in tree bark; the 21st of November. That was the day that Shawn initiated a plan fuelled by nothing but jealousy and evil. Almost two months later, a mere two days off this milestone in fact, his plan had been thwarted. At least for now.
The levels of Amy’s psychosis may have hindered the quality time their family needed though. And in spite of every intention that Dominic had of making life for his girlfriend as comfortable and as easy as possible, there were duties that he had to endure along this bumpy road. The Chronological Order aside, it is the upcoming Trauma that births his apprehension and aggravation above all else.
Fucking Tag Team Matches.
Though he had not made his opinions vocal, Dominator had been growing increasingly weary of being put into situations where his fate fell to the ineptitude of those he had been allocated to partner with. Indeed, the startling fact that only High Tide had actually provided any benefit to situations such as these was one that filled Dominator with even less enthusiasm about this match, given the men who he had been forced to align himself with . Even then, he then initiated his own twisted scheme to reduce The Zenith to rubble, debuting his faction of ‘Sea Men’ or whatever the fuck they want to call themselves. Even the past two weeks, the group had expanded by including Razor Blade into their ranks.
Rolls Royce have the iconic Spirit of Ecstasy mounted on the bonnets across the range of their opulent vehicles, serving as a reminder to all who watch it pass them by of the elegance and position of luxury that it is designed to exert.
The anthropomorphic cartoon mouse named ‘Mickey’ is instantly recognisable as part of Walt Disney’s grand design. He is instantly recognisable; his very image synonymous with the corporation from which he was designed to promote.
McDonalds has a clown dressed head to toe in white, red and yellow that is beloved by both children and those who used to be children that can reminisce over the good times of times long gone. Those who see a battery-powered rabbit instantly know of its association with Duracell, aside from the more twisted individuals who would associate it with something from the adult pleasure toy industry…
And speaking of dildos…
There’s Razor Blade…
The supposed new ‘mascot’ of the trio-turned-quartet of miscreants who have been trying to provoke Dominator for seemingly weeks now. Though not directly in his crosshairs on this occasion, Dominator had shared the sentiments of many of the alumni that he shares the locker room with. Razor Blade… is a pest; vermin. His existence is based on thriving upon the scraps of attention that is left for him, only to scurry away at the first hint of danger in spite of instigating it himself. Should he dare get in Dominator’s way again, he won’t just be sent packing… he’d be sent packed into a suitcase, folded up like an involuntary contortionist and shipped off to the far corners of the Earth.
Come to think of it, Dominator had done that before. At the Icey Awards. Perhaps that was the point High Tide set sail to get him back.
Wasp, High Tide and Arica Lewitt… though not the same sort of bane that Matthews himself had been in recent weeks, they had certainly become a nuisance that Dominator wished to eradicate.
On his day, High Tide can be a truly worthy opponent, but whatever he does outside of the contest bell cannot live up to the expectation of what should be achieved within it. Sure, there have been multiple sneak attacks, low blows and humiliation at the plunderer’s hand, yet if he were as good as orchestrating an attack during a sanctioned match as he is outside of it, maybe he would be Underground King. Hence, that is not the case. A typical pirate, he rushes headlong and intoxicated into battle with no concise reason or coordination to his attack, only to surprise and
Then there was Wasp, the man who ate the pin almost two weeks ago. He had truly become the annoying and unnecessary insect that shares his name. His sting, a mere irritant. Dominator was not allergic to competition, but being subjected to the constant buzz that Wasp and his associates were forming had started to become too much to bear. Wasp serves no purpose other than to annoy, much like the very nature of the stable that he is a part of it. It was time to repel him once and for all. There could be no distractions in the coming weeks, particularly with so many other PCW roster members breathing down his neck, pining for a shot at the Underground Championship.
Most recently, Arica “Trouble” Lewitt had pushed herself to her limit as she tried to the wrench said prize from The Suzerain of Time’s clutches. Naturally, she had failed. Yet, she had been hyped and praised by so many for being able to go toe-to-toe with The Zenith. Where was the logic in that? There are so many sayings that dictate that it isn’t the winning, it is the taking part. Knowing that one had tried so hard and failed was better than not having tried at all.
Whoever thought of such bollocks should have their mouths sewn shut and their fingers amputated as so there would be no means for them to communicate such nonsense to anybody else ever again. Razor Blade would be a fine candidate for this. Dominator would willingly do the honours himself.
How must she have felt after such a crushing defeat? Surely the same grief felt by both High Tide and Razor Blade when they too came up short when challenging The Underground King for his crown. Of course, the numbers game played a key factor during their assaults, such subjection was something that Dominator would return tenfold.
Perhaps this group was more of a threat than anybody first thought…
But, under these circumstances, the numbers were even. Three on Three. Razor Blade was a non-factor. His strongest shoulder tackle merely caused him to bounce off the Zenith just two weeks ago.
Hopefully, The Forces of Nature would be able to see past their rivalry, even for a portion of the night, to wash away High Tide and his cronies. Maybe, just maybe, they could emulate the destructive and ‘dominant’ traits of the Underground King to rid themselves of these foes. Their cooperation would not be questioned. For the North American Champion and the… uhh… other… guy… who has done, like, nothing really, to have their integrity challenged by a group of idiots such as these, it would be incomprehensible. They had reputations to maintain, just like The Zenith.
Johnny Matthews seems to believe that he has a score to settle with Dominator, despite the fact that every interaction between the two, physical or otherwise, had been of his own accord. The repercussions of his insolence would be felt soon enough. Surely Johnny is not so much of a simpleton to dismiss the impending vengeance that The Zenith would punish him with. Johnny, alongside with his direct superior Justin, who if he did not realise this by now must be kidding themselves,
Matthews had at least been able to swat Wasp with the Lonestar Stunner in order to obtain the victory in that contest, an outcome that Dominator himself had presented to The Forces of Nature on a silver platter. Had it not been for intervention from the illegal man, Dominator would have ended the match as the victor. Instead, as a result of said interference, he had to watch on from ringside as the referee’s hand fell to the mat for the third time, gifting Matthews with the victory. Any other man would be infuriated by such an outcome…
Yet it did not phase him.
Once all of the weak links are removed, only the strongest remain. Untainted by the shackles of incapable individuals that are not on his level, Dominator remains to live up to the reputation that a namesake would possess. When the time comes where Dominator must go into battle with Johnny Matthews or even Justin Michaels in isolation, they will soon realise that there are no chinks in his armour to exploit, no strategy that they can deploy that is efficacious enough to wear him down.
But for now, Dominator and The Forces of Nature had a common enemy to dismiss themselves of before focusing on their own conflict; at least, this was the logic that Dominator had to create for himself in order to coexist with such imbeciles. All tension between the two would need to be cast aside once that bell had been rung.
But when that bell had been rung once again… well, that was fair game.
By this point, Dominic had positioned himself away from the bed in which Amy lays and instead moves closer to Dawn’s crib, ideally located in the corner of the room positioned between a radiator at the foot of the cot and the bedroom window closest to where the baby rests her head. Resting one hand on top of the wooden bars, he looks out of the window in wonderment, gazing between the night’s sky and the freezing fauna below.
He notices something in the distance, though he refuses to make eye contact. There is something glistening from the shrubbery, something that looks far too… manufactured… to be something forged by Mother Nature herself. He slowly backs away, checking that Dawn is safely nestled amongst her blankets.
“What’s the matter?” Amy asks, startled by Dominic’s suppressed alertness.
“Wait here,” he orders. “Lock the door, don’t unlock it until I say so,” he adds as he storms out of the room, his feet clomp at the hollow staircase with every step of his descent. His exit of the residence is a lot more subtle, closing the door delicately behind him and securing the premises with a turn of the key that he had retrieved from his back pocket as he navigated himself along the corridor. He takes a bold step into the frigid darkness. The blades of grass that form the lawn glisten in the moonlight, frozen by the hard frost. Dominic remains still and silent. Only the heat emitted from his mouth as he exhales would indicate his presence. He listens intently; there is nothing out of the ordinary. Scouring the nearby vicinity for any indication of an intruder, Dominic simply stands and waits like a fox hunting for prey, waiting for the tiniest rustle in the bushes to pinpoint his target.
From nearby, the crumpling of frozen grass under foot can be heard. The Zenith immediately pivots, changing the direction in which he is facing. Huddled behind the trunk an overgrown elder tree, a silhouette as black as the night itself can be seen. Though humanoid in stature, its body appears to be covered in some sort of hair, fur or even scales. Where a nose should be, there is a protrusion that is elongated; Pinocchio-esque. Sensing detection, it immediately makes headway toward the wooden fence, vaulting over it with almost feline agility. In spite of Dominic momentarily giving chase, he slows his pace once the figure has disappeared behind the fence. He listens further. Indeed, the intruder is heading further away. Giving chase in these hours of darkness would be futile and heading out into the wilderness unprepared out of a headstrong degree of foolishness would not be logical.
Instead, Dominic looks toward where the figure had been hiding, rooting around the base of the elder tree for any clue as to who, or what, had been breaching their privacy.
He sees something faint resting atop some fallen leaves that still remain from the autumn.
A black feather.
Dominic casts his mind back to Amy’s murmurings during her induced medical state; something about an entity that had been appearing in her nightmares, something she was convinced was real. Up to this point, he did not realise the full extent of Amy’s fears. Yet, staring at this one solitary feather, he had suddenly realised that this situation was worse than he had first comprehended.
With that, he takes his cellphone out of his pocket, making his way slowly back into the house. It rings several times, more that it would take for one to simply retrieve from their person and answer. As he closes the door behind him, a voice finally answers.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Horacio booms, fatigue somewhat masking his anger. “Never mind, don‘t answer that,” he yawns, “just what is the meaning of this rude awakening? I have a strict schedule, you know.” Dominic pauses for a moment, staring at the one piece of evidence that he could find between his fingertips. He takes a deep breath. This could turn into a long conversation.
“Tell me what you know about The Bird Man.”
