Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Oct 9, 2017 19:59:21 GMT -5
Friday 6th October 2017
Location: Underground Bunker, Unknown Part of Salisbury Plain, England
Déjà vu.
The feeling of having already experienced the present situation.
Can it be explained as happenstance of following a routine, be it past or present? Whether it is the drive to work every day or a looming sense of dread?
The endless corridors seem to lead to nothing. There is barely any light and hardly any noise, only the heavy footsteps of the being stalking the hallways like a Tyrannosaur stalking its prey. The walls are dark, covered is a mossy-like mould. The only glimmers of light that are visible reflect from moisture running slowly down the walls like melting ice at the morn’s first light. A crack in one door reveals the source of the limited illuminations.
“Bingo…”
He cautiously turns the knob of the door, which almost slips through his hand due to the damp. He uses his shoulder to knock it open. Instantly, a rush of linear smoke is sucked into the corridor. Dominic takes a short breath. His face immediately contorts, as if he had walked into the invisible glass pane of a patio door, before letting out a series of loud choking coughs. The smoke smothers his face like a rag dipped in chloroform; that same level of noxiousness coming from the smoke that has been infused with tobacco and cannabis is almost enough to knock Dominic for six. Wafting the pungent aroma from his face with one of his gargantuan hands, he steps into the room, leaving the door open to allow some of the fresher air into the room.
Not that the mouldy walls of the corridor provided much in the sense of “freshness.”
“Come on then, you useless piece of crap! Come at me, bro!”
The room itself is as poorly illuminated as the corridor. The only source of light comes from a large flat screened television. The sound of gunfire comes from the speakers placed either side of the screen. With his eyes transfixed on the action taking place in the simulation, a familiar looking individual devotes his concentration to what is happening in front of him. He does not even acknowledge Dominic’s presence, his threats seem to be made towards the screen itself. He removes his hand from the video game controller for one moment in order to pick up a bottle of Bourbon to take a swig, swilling the contents around his mouth before gulping it down with a grimace.
“Matt?” Dominic queries. It was difficult to tell the difference between him and his identical brother in the dim light. It truly is uncanny just how much he and Shawn look alike. The most significant difference are the scars. While Shawn’s scars had been born from flesh wounds in his youth, Matthew’s scars came in the form of withered and drooping skin, sagging eyes, thinning hair and general erosion of his body due to his own self neglect. Years of alcohol and drug abuse had taken its toll on him.
His history of a career criminal was well documented, even during his time as a professional wrestler. It was only thanks to his brother’s stronger skills with the management of money that he even had a penny to his name. Even the camouflaged jacket he wore had that same pungent smell. His inability to grow a full beard combined with said lack of hygiene contributes to the two large bald patches either side of his chin. He truly looks like a homeless man despite the fact that, technically, he has a home. Time truly had not been kind to him. He had once been revered as one of the greatest Tag Team wrestlers of his generation; Blade, alongside his brother Steel, known these days simply as Shawn. Now, he had converted to the life of a recluse, his name barely mentioned either in the wrestling world or amongst family and friends alike.
“Yeah, fucking take THAT, bitch!” Matt swears at the video game, his character having successfully destroyed a helicopter that had previously been pursuing and attacking the speedboat in which he was riding alongside three others who, most likely, were playing alongside him online. The only proof of this came from a blue glow from router in the far corner of the room, barely visible amongst the trash smothering the room.
“Matt!” Dominic tries to catch his attention using a more forceful tone of voice. Still, Matt ignores him. Rival speedboats and jet skis had now surrounded Matt’s vessel and were opening fire on his team. He grunts as his character takes damage out of frustation. He whines in desperation as the assault grows in intensity. His eyes float downwards towards his drink of choice, quickly finding a break to grab the bottle to take another large gulp. No sooner than he picks up the controller, his speedboat is engulfed in a devastating fireball. Time moves slowly in the digital world as one simple word appears across the screen in bold, red letters…
“WASTED!”
He is barely able to swallow all of the Bourbon in his mouth. He spits out what remains in disbelief.
“YOU MOTHER-” Matt roars with fury. He launches the controller across the room, missing Dominic’s face by mere inches. It whizzes by his ear. He could hear the short “whoosh” of air as is passes before smashing into pieces against the brickwork. Matt attempts to stand up, but instead falls forward, flat onto his face. Dominic winces. He had not taken as horrible looking bumps even inside of a PCW ring. His rage keeps him undeterred, grabbing the power cord to the games console and yanking it forcefully from its socket, causing the screen to cut to static instantly, followed by a fraction of a second of white noise. Matt pants angrily as Dominic watches the spectacle with no surprise in his eyes at all.
He had witnessed his friend’s downward spiral ever since the day he retired from wrestling. Sure, he had competed in Exhibition Matches since hanging his boots for what he thought was the final time. It was as though he was subjecting his body to this abuse as an excuse to never return to the hallowed grounds. He had always been one to look for answers at the bottom of an empty bottle, but recently, more so than ever, he had been search for more answers than he could find. His answers had been as easy to locate as his sobriety.
The word that had appeared in the video game prior to what Kyle Shane might describe as a “rage quit” seemed to not only signify his character’s death, but also Matthew’s own inebriation.
Matthew glares unwelcomingly to Dominic, blissfully unaware up until that point that Dominic was even standing there.
“Guess you‘d best take a seat,” Matt waves his arm in an almost dismissive manner as he feebly tries to pull himself back into his armchair. Even the springs in his own chair are busted. The hole where the springs used to be have now been compensated by a dozen crumpled cushions. Dominic looks around. He has two seating options. The first; a rusty deck chair that looks as though it was manufactured in the 1960’s due to its outlandish yet faded rainbow coloration combined with the rust of the metalwork. Not that he can see much of the seating material anyway. It has been almost fully obscured by a mound of litter ranging from empty potato chip packets to discarded beer bottles, yet they are somehow “neatly” contained inside of an open pizza box. Crusts can be seen protruding beneath the rest of Matthew’s debris.
The second option is the floor.
Tentatively, as if uncertain of the number of germs Matt is harvesting within his makeshift bin, Dominic lifts the pizza box with one hand. The weight of the empty bottles fall to the furthest point of the box, trapping themselves in its “hinge.” As soon as he starts to lift, the box bows. He feels the cold a soggy cardboard flex beneath his fingers. Reluctantly, he uses both hands to carefully lift the box from the seat. It is only at this point that he sees a yawning hole where one’s posterior is supposed to rest. Exasperatedly, he sets the box back down to its original position.
“I think I’ll just stand.”
“Suit yourself,” Matt replies, disinterest. Dominic moves towards a nearby wall. Even the walls look mouldy. Rather than even entertain the idea of leaning against the wall for support, he simply folds his arms and lets out a sigh.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Matthew asks half heartedly.
“Am I not allowed to come and see an old friend?” Dominic asks, feigning to be insulted.
“Don’t be coy,” Matt sneers, opening a bottle of beer with a loud hiss before offering it to Dominic. He declines with just one raised hand, which prompts Matt to guzzle the contents himself. “What? You want to tear apart our family even more?”
“I’m not here to talk about that,” Dominic replies, trying not to open old sores in spite of them being as old as Dawn herself. “Amy told me that she’s concerned about you. Every time she’s tried to call you, you’ve just hung up on her. She asked for me to check on you.” This warrant a laugh from the intoxicated Blade.
“SHE…” he slurs, “asked YOU…” he hiccups, “to check up on ME?” He contemplates how he will follow up by guzzling the remainder of the beer in the bottle before reverting back to his Bourbon. “She doesn’t give a damn about this family. If she did, she wouldn’t have let some chump like you split her whiskers.” Dominic masks the sheer disgust at this perfectly. He simply sighs, allowing the blame to fall on his intoxication.
“She hasn’t heard from you in weeks, Matt,” Dominic explains. “Irrespective of the collapse in her relationship with your brother, she is still family.”
“She’s not family.” Matt snarls. “She’s turned her back on us and made my brother, and thereby ME, look like fools.”
“She still cares about you. About both of you.” Dominic turns away for a moment, trying to maintain his composure. “And I don’t know why you’re so stubborn that you cannot be the least bit sympathetic, especially after everything she’s put up with from you over the past 25 years.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m a realist,” Dominic replies calmly, refusing to rise to Matthew’s bait. He could quite easily mirror Matt’s sentiments as a retort, but that would be much too simple. “There is a Battle Royal of sorts called The Deadly Rumble at the next event. And I’m not entering.”
“What’s the matter? Scared?”
“Hardly.” Dominic grins. “I am simply focused on what is directly in front of me. The title of Underground King is within my grasp. Why jeopardise my chances in what will be my final challenge before I claim my throne for an opportunity at a greater prize that I will undoubtedly achieve through my own merit in time?” Matthew stares at Dominic, searching for a valid retort. It doesn’t come.
It is not a difficult concept to understand. He had put the combatants in the Underground Round Robin on notice. There was no guarantee that Alexa Black would even be able to make it to Deadly Intentions, given the decimation handed to her at his hand. He could still feel his skin tingle every time he put on his clothes. Not even a week of applying ointments and soothing creams could rid him of the burning sensations across his body, such is the nature of the brutal Underground legislation.
And yet, once again, it was Crazy Boy who stood in his way. Like the smell of Matthew’s jacket that could not be eliminating through one wash alone, Dominator knew what would happen if he relented even slightly. People like Tyrone are easy to read. He has nothing to fight for but the pride that Dominator had ripped away from him on multiple occasions. For Smith, it was his opportunity for redemption, to make one extra obstacle for Dominic to overcome by forcing a tie-break. With Alexa’s body and spirit broken, High Tide would essentially be given a free pass.
Dominator grins maliciously.
What Alexa Black went through… that was nothing… NOTHING… compare to what awaits that scrawny little diehard; Tyrone.
High Tide will not get such an opportunity, for Crazy Boy will be the quarry of Dominator’s own Deadly Intentions.
“Like I said,” he confirms with a satisfied nod, “I’m a realist.”
“You’re a liar,” Matt booms. “You have a child with my brother’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Dominic’s face suddenly turns a lot more serious. “I’m surprised that you know about that, considering you’ve been living under a rock for the last four months. I don‘t suppose he‘s ”
“You think I don‘t talk to my OWN brother?” he grunts
“You couldn’t even come to your OWN Goddaughter’s Christening,” Dominic snaps.
“I’m sorry,” Matt’s apology is insincere. “I thought it was meant to be my Niece’s Christening.” Dominic suddenly pauses. “Shawn’s been more of a father that that girl that you have,” Blade sneers, stopping to take another swig of his bottle. In spite of his drunken behaviour upon arrival, he seems to have caught his second wind. It is obvious that he has been drinking in his voice, yet he is able to string his sentences together much more coherently. “You’re off gallivanting around the world, trying to make yourself relevant again, while your best friend is raising your child as if it were his own because her real father cannot spare a bit of time to see her.”
“What the hell do you know about TIME?” Dominator snarls, a nerve being struck. “You probably don’t even know what day it is!”
“What the hell do you care?” Blade snarls, supping from his bottle like an infant angrily suckling milk. “This is the first time you’ve even made an effort to see me in four months or more.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” comes Dominic’s logical reply. “Besides, there’s always the opportunity for you to actually step out into the outside world and make a visit yourself. You have legs, don’t you? Try using them.” Insulted, Matt attempts to stand up once again, but he is unable to rock himself onto his feet in his drunken stupor. “In fact, scratch that last part,” Dominic snickers to himself. “I have no sympathy for you,” he suddenly frowns. “You’ve nobody to blame for getting into this state but yourself. There are people who give a damn about you out there. Instead, you opt to immerse yourself amongst your own vices, living out a fantasy on a damn video game.” Matthew is finally able to stand up, groggily. He shuffles towards Dominic, poking a finger into his chest.
“You know what?” Matthew slurs. “I’ve listened to your shit for what feels like half a century.”
“Technically, it’s quarter of a century,” Dominic correct him under his breath so that he is not heard.
“And yet,” Matthew continues none-the-wiser, “all I keep hearing is ‘blah blah blah, I am smart, I am brilliant, I am big, blah blah blah,” he mocks in a raspy voice.
“All I’m trying to do is help you, Matt,” Dominic replies, unmoved by Matthew’s slurs. “But then again, some people can’t be helped. I know it must be a burden on you, knowing that your wife left you, your sister-in-law is suffering and that your brother treats you like an afterthought, but you cannot spend your days in mourning by hitting the bottle and smoking weed. Sometimes, you’ve got to approach things in a whole new light in order to better yourself.”
“Look at things in a new light?” Matt scoffs. “You slept with my brother’s wife behind his back.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” he attempts to diffuse this tension once again, perhaps having to resort to the news he truly did not want to give. “You were there when he first introduced himself to me.”
“Who?” Matt looks around, puzzled. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“His name is Horacio Mortimer,” Dominic replies with a smile. “And he’s taught me and a whole lot of other people just how valuable time is through The Chronological Order. And I want to offer you a chance to redeem yourself and become the man you once were by utilising your time to the full.”
“Like I give a damn about what you have to say?”
“If not me, then at least listen to Amy,” Dominic remarks. “She doesn’t have a lot of time left.”
Blade falls eerily silent. The look on his face is identical to the worriment that consumed Dominic’s face when he anticipated the bad news that Amy was about to give him on that day.
“It’s cancer, Matt…”
Dominator gets consumed by the sensation that he has experienced this before himself. Could this be Déjà Vu? Or just time repeating itself?
A tear begins to welt in Matt’s eye. He slowly places his bottle on the ground. He stands motionless as Dominic offers him comfort.
“So tell me,” Dominator says sternly to Blade, “how would you like to spend your time more wisely?”
Location: Underground Bunker, Unknown Part of Salisbury Plain, England
Déjà vu.
The feeling of having already experienced the present situation.
Can it be explained as happenstance of following a routine, be it past or present? Whether it is the drive to work every day or a looming sense of dread?
The endless corridors seem to lead to nothing. There is barely any light and hardly any noise, only the heavy footsteps of the being stalking the hallways like a Tyrannosaur stalking its prey. The walls are dark, covered is a mossy-like mould. The only glimmers of light that are visible reflect from moisture running slowly down the walls like melting ice at the morn’s first light. A crack in one door reveals the source of the limited illuminations.
“Bingo…”
He cautiously turns the knob of the door, which almost slips through his hand due to the damp. He uses his shoulder to knock it open. Instantly, a rush of linear smoke is sucked into the corridor. Dominic takes a short breath. His face immediately contorts, as if he had walked into the invisible glass pane of a patio door, before letting out a series of loud choking coughs. The smoke smothers his face like a rag dipped in chloroform; that same level of noxiousness coming from the smoke that has been infused with tobacco and cannabis is almost enough to knock Dominic for six. Wafting the pungent aroma from his face with one of his gargantuan hands, he steps into the room, leaving the door open to allow some of the fresher air into the room.
Not that the mouldy walls of the corridor provided much in the sense of “freshness.”
“Come on then, you useless piece of crap! Come at me, bro!”
The room itself is as poorly illuminated as the corridor. The only source of light comes from a large flat screened television. The sound of gunfire comes from the speakers placed either side of the screen. With his eyes transfixed on the action taking place in the simulation, a familiar looking individual devotes his concentration to what is happening in front of him. He does not even acknowledge Dominic’s presence, his threats seem to be made towards the screen itself. He removes his hand from the video game controller for one moment in order to pick up a bottle of Bourbon to take a swig, swilling the contents around his mouth before gulping it down with a grimace.
“Matt?” Dominic queries. It was difficult to tell the difference between him and his identical brother in the dim light. It truly is uncanny just how much he and Shawn look alike. The most significant difference are the scars. While Shawn’s scars had been born from flesh wounds in his youth, Matthew’s scars came in the form of withered and drooping skin, sagging eyes, thinning hair and general erosion of his body due to his own self neglect. Years of alcohol and drug abuse had taken its toll on him.
His history of a career criminal was well documented, even during his time as a professional wrestler. It was only thanks to his brother’s stronger skills with the management of money that he even had a penny to his name. Even the camouflaged jacket he wore had that same pungent smell. His inability to grow a full beard combined with said lack of hygiene contributes to the two large bald patches either side of his chin. He truly looks like a homeless man despite the fact that, technically, he has a home. Time truly had not been kind to him. He had once been revered as one of the greatest Tag Team wrestlers of his generation; Blade, alongside his brother Steel, known these days simply as Shawn. Now, he had converted to the life of a recluse, his name barely mentioned either in the wrestling world or amongst family and friends alike.
“Yeah, fucking take THAT, bitch!” Matt swears at the video game, his character having successfully destroyed a helicopter that had previously been pursuing and attacking the speedboat in which he was riding alongside three others who, most likely, were playing alongside him online. The only proof of this came from a blue glow from router in the far corner of the room, barely visible amongst the trash smothering the room.
“Matt!” Dominic tries to catch his attention using a more forceful tone of voice. Still, Matt ignores him. Rival speedboats and jet skis had now surrounded Matt’s vessel and were opening fire on his team. He grunts as his character takes damage out of frustation. He whines in desperation as the assault grows in intensity. His eyes float downwards towards his drink of choice, quickly finding a break to grab the bottle to take another large gulp. No sooner than he picks up the controller, his speedboat is engulfed in a devastating fireball. Time moves slowly in the digital world as one simple word appears across the screen in bold, red letters…
“WASTED!”
He is barely able to swallow all of the Bourbon in his mouth. He spits out what remains in disbelief.
“YOU MOTHER-” Matt roars with fury. He launches the controller across the room, missing Dominic’s face by mere inches. It whizzes by his ear. He could hear the short “whoosh” of air as is passes before smashing into pieces against the brickwork. Matt attempts to stand up, but instead falls forward, flat onto his face. Dominic winces. He had not taken as horrible looking bumps even inside of a PCW ring. His rage keeps him undeterred, grabbing the power cord to the games console and yanking it forcefully from its socket, causing the screen to cut to static instantly, followed by a fraction of a second of white noise. Matt pants angrily as Dominic watches the spectacle with no surprise in his eyes at all.
He had witnessed his friend’s downward spiral ever since the day he retired from wrestling. Sure, he had competed in Exhibition Matches since hanging his boots for what he thought was the final time. It was as though he was subjecting his body to this abuse as an excuse to never return to the hallowed grounds. He had always been one to look for answers at the bottom of an empty bottle, but recently, more so than ever, he had been search for more answers than he could find. His answers had been as easy to locate as his sobriety.
The word that had appeared in the video game prior to what Kyle Shane might describe as a “rage quit” seemed to not only signify his character’s death, but also Matthew’s own inebriation.
Matthew glares unwelcomingly to Dominic, blissfully unaware up until that point that Dominic was even standing there.
“Guess you‘d best take a seat,” Matt waves his arm in an almost dismissive manner as he feebly tries to pull himself back into his armchair. Even the springs in his own chair are busted. The hole where the springs used to be have now been compensated by a dozen crumpled cushions. Dominic looks around. He has two seating options. The first; a rusty deck chair that looks as though it was manufactured in the 1960’s due to its outlandish yet faded rainbow coloration combined with the rust of the metalwork. Not that he can see much of the seating material anyway. It has been almost fully obscured by a mound of litter ranging from empty potato chip packets to discarded beer bottles, yet they are somehow “neatly” contained inside of an open pizza box. Crusts can be seen protruding beneath the rest of Matthew’s debris.
The second option is the floor.
Tentatively, as if uncertain of the number of germs Matt is harvesting within his makeshift bin, Dominic lifts the pizza box with one hand. The weight of the empty bottles fall to the furthest point of the box, trapping themselves in its “hinge.” As soon as he starts to lift, the box bows. He feels the cold a soggy cardboard flex beneath his fingers. Reluctantly, he uses both hands to carefully lift the box from the seat. It is only at this point that he sees a yawning hole where one’s posterior is supposed to rest. Exasperatedly, he sets the box back down to its original position.
“I think I’ll just stand.”
“Suit yourself,” Matt replies, disinterest. Dominic moves towards a nearby wall. Even the walls look mouldy. Rather than even entertain the idea of leaning against the wall for support, he simply folds his arms and lets out a sigh.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Matthew asks half heartedly.
“Am I not allowed to come and see an old friend?” Dominic asks, feigning to be insulted.
“Don’t be coy,” Matt sneers, opening a bottle of beer with a loud hiss before offering it to Dominic. He declines with just one raised hand, which prompts Matt to guzzle the contents himself. “What? You want to tear apart our family even more?”
“I’m not here to talk about that,” Dominic replies, trying not to open old sores in spite of them being as old as Dawn herself. “Amy told me that she’s concerned about you. Every time she’s tried to call you, you’ve just hung up on her. She asked for me to check on you.” This warrant a laugh from the intoxicated Blade.
“SHE…” he slurs, “asked YOU…” he hiccups, “to check up on ME?” He contemplates how he will follow up by guzzling the remainder of the beer in the bottle before reverting back to his Bourbon. “She doesn’t give a damn about this family. If she did, she wouldn’t have let some chump like you split her whiskers.” Dominic masks the sheer disgust at this perfectly. He simply sighs, allowing the blame to fall on his intoxication.
“She hasn’t heard from you in weeks, Matt,” Dominic explains. “Irrespective of the collapse in her relationship with your brother, she is still family.”
“She’s not family.” Matt snarls. “She’s turned her back on us and made my brother, and thereby ME, look like fools.”
“She still cares about you. About both of you.” Dominic turns away for a moment, trying to maintain his composure. “And I don’t know why you’re so stubborn that you cannot be the least bit sympathetic, especially after everything she’s put up with from you over the past 25 years.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m a realist,” Dominic replies calmly, refusing to rise to Matthew’s bait. He could quite easily mirror Matt’s sentiments as a retort, but that would be much too simple. “There is a Battle Royal of sorts called The Deadly Rumble at the next event. And I’m not entering.”
“What’s the matter? Scared?”
“Hardly.” Dominic grins. “I am simply focused on what is directly in front of me. The title of Underground King is within my grasp. Why jeopardise my chances in what will be my final challenge before I claim my throne for an opportunity at a greater prize that I will undoubtedly achieve through my own merit in time?” Matthew stares at Dominic, searching for a valid retort. It doesn’t come.
It is not a difficult concept to understand. He had put the combatants in the Underground Round Robin on notice. There was no guarantee that Alexa Black would even be able to make it to Deadly Intentions, given the decimation handed to her at his hand. He could still feel his skin tingle every time he put on his clothes. Not even a week of applying ointments and soothing creams could rid him of the burning sensations across his body, such is the nature of the brutal Underground legislation.
And yet, once again, it was Crazy Boy who stood in his way. Like the smell of Matthew’s jacket that could not be eliminating through one wash alone, Dominator knew what would happen if he relented even slightly. People like Tyrone are easy to read. He has nothing to fight for but the pride that Dominator had ripped away from him on multiple occasions. For Smith, it was his opportunity for redemption, to make one extra obstacle for Dominic to overcome by forcing a tie-break. With Alexa’s body and spirit broken, High Tide would essentially be given a free pass.
Dominator grins maliciously.
What Alexa Black went through… that was nothing… NOTHING… compare to what awaits that scrawny little diehard; Tyrone.
High Tide will not get such an opportunity, for Crazy Boy will be the quarry of Dominator’s own Deadly Intentions.
“Like I said,” he confirms with a satisfied nod, “I’m a realist.”
“You’re a liar,” Matt booms. “You have a child with my brother’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Dominic’s face suddenly turns a lot more serious. “I’m surprised that you know about that, considering you’ve been living under a rock for the last four months. I don‘t suppose he‘s ”
“You think I don‘t talk to my OWN brother?” he grunts
“You couldn’t even come to your OWN Goddaughter’s Christening,” Dominic snaps.
“I’m sorry,” Matt’s apology is insincere. “I thought it was meant to be my Niece’s Christening.” Dominic suddenly pauses. “Shawn’s been more of a father that that girl that you have,” Blade sneers, stopping to take another swig of his bottle. In spite of his drunken behaviour upon arrival, he seems to have caught his second wind. It is obvious that he has been drinking in his voice, yet he is able to string his sentences together much more coherently. “You’re off gallivanting around the world, trying to make yourself relevant again, while your best friend is raising your child as if it were his own because her real father cannot spare a bit of time to see her.”
“What the hell do you know about TIME?” Dominator snarls, a nerve being struck. “You probably don’t even know what day it is!”
“What the hell do you care?” Blade snarls, supping from his bottle like an infant angrily suckling milk. “This is the first time you’ve even made an effort to see me in four months or more.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” comes Dominic’s logical reply. “Besides, there’s always the opportunity for you to actually step out into the outside world and make a visit yourself. You have legs, don’t you? Try using them.” Insulted, Matt attempts to stand up once again, but he is unable to rock himself onto his feet in his drunken stupor. “In fact, scratch that last part,” Dominic snickers to himself. “I have no sympathy for you,” he suddenly frowns. “You’ve nobody to blame for getting into this state but yourself. There are people who give a damn about you out there. Instead, you opt to immerse yourself amongst your own vices, living out a fantasy on a damn video game.” Matthew is finally able to stand up, groggily. He shuffles towards Dominic, poking a finger into his chest.
“You know what?” Matthew slurs. “I’ve listened to your shit for what feels like half a century.”
“Technically, it’s quarter of a century,” Dominic correct him under his breath so that he is not heard.
“And yet,” Matthew continues none-the-wiser, “all I keep hearing is ‘blah blah blah, I am smart, I am brilliant, I am big, blah blah blah,” he mocks in a raspy voice.
“All I’m trying to do is help you, Matt,” Dominic replies, unmoved by Matthew’s slurs. “But then again, some people can’t be helped. I know it must be a burden on you, knowing that your wife left you, your sister-in-law is suffering and that your brother treats you like an afterthought, but you cannot spend your days in mourning by hitting the bottle and smoking weed. Sometimes, you’ve got to approach things in a whole new light in order to better yourself.”
“Look at things in a new light?” Matt scoffs. “You slept with my brother’s wife behind his back.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” he attempts to diffuse this tension once again, perhaps having to resort to the news he truly did not want to give. “You were there when he first introduced himself to me.”
“Who?” Matt looks around, puzzled. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“His name is Horacio Mortimer,” Dominic replies with a smile. “And he’s taught me and a whole lot of other people just how valuable time is through The Chronological Order. And I want to offer you a chance to redeem yourself and become the man you once were by utilising your time to the full.”
“Like I give a damn about what you have to say?”
“If not me, then at least listen to Amy,” Dominic remarks. “She doesn’t have a lot of time left.”
Blade falls eerily silent. The look on his face is identical to the worriment that consumed Dominic’s face when he anticipated the bad news that Amy was about to give him on that day.
“It’s cancer, Matt…”
Dominator gets consumed by the sensation that he has experienced this before himself. Could this be Déjà Vu? Or just time repeating itself?
A tear begins to welt in Matt’s eye. He slowly places his bottle on the ground. He stands motionless as Dominic offers him comfort.
“So tell me,” Dominator says sternly to Blade, “how would you like to spend your time more wisely?”
