Chrono Trigger - Part VI (TIME SKIP)

[Dominator / Mortimer]

OOC: Please note that Chrono Trigger - Part V has yet to be posted (hence the Time Skip featured in the title)

Monday 22nd October 2019 - 11.50am
Location: Hangtown, Kentucky

“Wakey-wakey! Rise and shine.”

Dominic’s eyes defy such manufactured daybreak. The only indication of disturbance comes from a slightly heightened exhalation of breath through his nostrils. The natural expansion of his chest as he inhales is the only form of movement that he displays. Even that is minimal. In truth, without opening his eyes he has no real way of knowing where he is, save for the familiarity in the texture of the surface beneath him; a soft, putty-like sensation that has been warmed by his own body heat despite every other part of his body not in contact with the ground feeling bitterly cold.

There are no sounds to hear. If there are, Dominic has succeeded in ignoring them. At least up to now.

“Another day in paradise awaits us! What are you waiting for, Dom-Dom? Come on! Get up.”

Except that one.

“Do you mind?” Dominic abruptly mutters with a hint of disgust.

“You were asleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep, idiot! I’m meditating. There’s a significant difference.” comes Dominic’s unenthused retort.

“Oh yes. Meditation recharges the mind. Sleep recharges the body. Well, I can’t really say that I know the difference, since I don’t have one.”

“A body or a mind?” Dominic sardonically responds with an amused curl of his lip. “And if you’re still intent on renting space in here, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. There’s no room at the inn, so why don‘t you just leave me be?”

“Oh, Dom-Dom! I’m crushed! Here I was, thinking that we would get along famously. I get the distinct impression that you don’t want me around.”

“You’re not exactly the salt of the earth.”

“But I know you won’t just let me calcify. I am just one of the many skeletons that you don’t want to see walk out of your closet.”

“You say that as though my life is full of regrets.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Another sharp exhalation of breath follows. A nerve had been struck. In a social climate where one is expected to maintain good mental health amidst so much pessimism and oppression, it is difficult to imagine anyone who doesn’t suffer at one point or another. From those who tow the poverty line, having to stretch every pound, dollar or euro to their limit just to ensure food is put on their table, to the wealthier end of the spectrum who must endure a torrent of jealousy, secluding themselves in isolation. Money doesn’t strictly buy happiness. If that is the case, then why is that what the majority of people pursue? It is a paradox that is created by the amount of time people spend worrying about their day to day lives; as inescapable as a black hole.

“You know, there was a part of me that never wanted to step foot in this hellhole ever again. But thanks to you, I realise that Hangtown still has so much to offer me. Sorry. To offer us.”

“I have my own business to attend to in Hangtown. Whatever sick plot you’ve got going on, keep me out of it.”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible, Dom-Dom. Just another consequence of your frankly frightening deficiencies when it comes to decision-making.”

“You hear that?” a different voice can heard distantly. Dominic is thankful that there is something to distract him from whoever is talking in such close proximity to him that it could literally be inside of his own head. Dominic keeps his eyes closed and ears open, trying to listen for any sort of indication that might assist in locating the oncoming intruders. He can hear twigs snap and leaves rustle beneath their feet. Two sets traverse the terrain with intermittent strides of each other, giving away their numbers. One set seems significantly closer than the other, the nearest one homing in on Dominic’s hideaway.

“Over here!” the owner of a separate voice calls out, waving his hand in the air to signal the second half of the search party. Dominic easily recognises it to belong to Matthew Metallinos; one quarter of The Watchmen that had been reformed by Dolores after Horacio’s initial disbandment. If Matthew is here, then no doubt that Marcus Marx is not far behind. “Found him!” Matthew proclaims.

At his feet, a solid lump of muscle and bare flesh has curled itself into a foetal ball; his knees pulled high into his chest, buried under a thin blanket of freshly fallen leaves. Such a position is often a testament to one’s despair and sense of hopelessness, yet The Zenith does not to appear to exhibit such emotional distress. Though balled like a hedgehog, he is still seated reasonably upright. His muscles are clenched firmly. Though his eyes are closed, his still displays a stern look. His breathing is rhythmic; deep and in time.

So deep is The Zenith’s meditation, he is utterly unruffled by his comrades’ presence. Either that, or he is hiding his suspicions extremely well. Nevertheless, it is enough to instil concern within both Matthew and Marx alike.

“I’m assuming you’re not here on vacation?” Dominic remarks sarcastically.

“Nice to see you too,” Matthew states in a similar manner that The Zenith himself would normally adopt.

“Like we get time to go on vacation.” Marx chuckles, earning a slight grin from The Zenith.

“Make sure you write everything down, Marx,” Matthew reminds his fellow Watchman.

“What is this? Some sort of interview?” Dominic grunts. “Couldn’t you have sent Shane Dodge? Or is Razor Blade still chewing his ear off with his incoherent nonsense?”

“Neither of us are tied to a Bloodline,” Matthew explains, electing to dismiss the shots fired towards his future opponent, “so we are not likely to remember anything that transpires between now and our departure. We thought that by writing down what we experience, we have something to refer to when we return home.”

“It was my idea,” Marx proudly boasts. “After all, the last time we came here, we brought a camcorder, but we found that the tape was wiped by the time we’d left Hangtown.” Dominic didn’t have the heart to inform them of the futility of such an endeavour. He didn’t quite understand how, but Hangtown has a way of keeping it’s secrets. Tapes would be wiped. Memories would be erased. Text would become smeared and illegible. That is, of course, unless Hangtown trusts you enough with the information you have learned from it.

“Unbelievable,” comes an exasperated murmur that unwittingly escapes from The Zenith. Only now does he open his eyes. He recalls the location where he had lost himself within; one of the countless nooks and/or crannies in Hangtown’s infinitely spanning woodland. More specifically, a hollow trunk of a tree that somehow maintains it’s vertical rigidity, uncompromised in it’s structural integrity even with the decay caused by gnawing critters and boring insects. So uncharacteristically gargantuan is the circumference of the old oak’s trunk that it borders that of one that had set records, perhaps even breaking it. It is almost as though the hole in the tree acts as the doorway to a completely different world; The Zenith acting as it’s sentinel.

“What are the two of you even doing here?” Dominic says, remaining seated with his arms still coiled around the fronts of his legs, looking up towards Matthew and Marx.

“First and foremost, we wanted to check that you’re alright,” Matthew states. “Nobody has seen hide nor hair of you in weeks. Not even Phinehas and Ruth.” That was an insight that held no logical evidence. Whether or not Dominic had been in contact with The Dillingers or not was not something that Matthew and Marx would readily know. It was not as though Horacio or Dolores had visited Hangtown either. A hunch alone is not justifiable proof.

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine!” Dominic snappily responds.

He is anything but.

“Even still, we wanted to check,” Marx resumes where Matthew has fallen silent, taken aback by the bluntness of Dominic’s outburst, sensing subliminal deception. “Can you really blame us? We haven’t heard anything from you at all since… y’know…” Marx’ discomfort in raising such a subject is warranted. It forces a decision that must be made. He need to phrase this matter as delicately as he can. “Y’know…” he mutters awkwardly, “the whole ‘Denzel incident’ that took place.”

“I am fine!” The Zenith repeats with his sternness as brusque as it had been previously.

“Lair, liar, pants on fire!”

Dominic quickly jerks his head to one side, shaking the irritant. Matthew and Marx also appear to show elements of confusion. That voice, the one that Dominic thinks to be only in his head, surely couldn’t be speaking so audibly that The Watchmen could also hear it.

“To be honest, your welfare is only one part of our mission,” Matthew continues nevertheless, brushing aside the discouragement born of Dominic’s curt behaviour. “We returned to Horacio’s residency. Both he and Dolores were both in pretty bad shape. When we realised you hadn’t come back with them, we expected the worst.”

“What happened to them?” Dominic says monotonously, not a shred of concern in his voice.

“That’s what we were going to ask you,” Matthew’s voice grows suspicious. Indeed, The Zenith is conducting himself in such a way that he may have had a motive in their critical conditions. “We know that Horacio confronted Denzel and was subsequently captured. Dolores assigned the two of us, along with some other members of The Chronological Order, to disarm the EMP bombs that he had placed across the globe.”

“Must have been quite the feat in getting the synchrony correct,” Dominic remarks with a slight grunt. With that, Matthew pulls one of his sleeves up to his elbow to reveal the wristwatch that he is wearing. He shows the face to The Zenith with a triumphant smirk.

“Synchronised watches,” Matthew states. “The Order gifts all of it’s members with a watch that is set to the exact same time as the most accurate atomic clock in the world. Not a single second is gained or lost. It even comes with details of exact timeframes as to when the batteries should be changed.” Drawn to the one he adopts on his own wrist, Dominic stares at the time. It reads that is a mere seven minutes until the twelfth hour.

It has told this exact time every second of every day for months. Since August. In fact is was the day that Denzel…

“I see,” Dominic subtly covers his watch with his opposite hand, smothering the telling lie.

“I digress though,” Matthew gets back on track with regaling his tale, “we deactivated the majority of all of the EMPs bar one,” he slowly lowers his head solemnly. “The one that Dolores was supposedly going for.”

“And you definitely can’t blame her watch being out of synch,” Marx adds. “She is the one who issued out all of the watches.”

“It begs the question, what were you doing during it all?” Matthew stares directly into the face of Dominic, trying to get a good read of any telling signs that Dominic might be hiding something.

“I had my own business to attend to,” he replies, leaning forward as if preparing himself to stand. At the last moment, he opts not to, peering over his shoulder towards the innards of the tree trunk to ensure he does not inadvertently catch his bare skin on a piece of exposed bark.

“Is that right?” Matthew grimaces, running his mouth down the length of his face as he begins to pace agitatedly. “You know, The Watchmen were primarily formed to ensure your success. Yes, Horacio would often ask us to gather information as to your whereabouts and your movements, but it was always with your best interests at heart.”

“Please!” Dominic guffaws. “Horacio is one of the most selfish people I’ve ever known. I’m the power play that is available to him any time he needs to make it. All that man has ever done is try to keep me sweet so that I don’t stray away from him.”

“But you have strayed,” Matthew snaps in retaliation. “You’re spending more and more time here in Hangtown with The Dillingers. Lest we not forget, Phinehas has done nowhere near as much for you as Horacio has. You’d be nothing if it weren’t for him. For all of us.

“If you honestly believe that, Horacio has you whipped like an even bigger bitch than I ever imagined,” Dominic chuckles.

“After everything we’ve done for you, all we needed was for you to help us one time. One time, Dominic!” Matthew rages. “But you weren’t there. What have you been doing instead? Sitting in the middle of nowhere pretending to meditate? As if a man like you would ever find inner peace.”

“I’ve been trying to find out the truth behind my family’s heritage,” Dominic snarls. “I am an Aurelian. And I am proud of that. My ties to The Black Hand and The Chronological Order are in my blood. Both of them. In equal measures. Whether I choose to operate from Horacio’s squalid little house or right here in Hangtown is my prerogative. You of all people should know how important this is to me. We’ve been friends since school. Have you been living under a fucking rock? Oh, that’s right. You live in that crappy little underground bunker in the middle of Salisbury Plain that has been crumbling in on itself for the last twenty years.”

“I think that’s enough, Dominic,” Marx attempts to interject.

“At least Shawn, your brother, had the sense to leave me the fuck alone when I told him I never wanted to see him again.” Dominic’s voice has increased in volume to the point that he is practically screaming. The weight off his chest makes him breathless. Matthew looks back at Dominic in stunned disbelief. Marx’ attempt of acting as mediator has been completely in vain.

“Come on,” Matthew gestures to Marx. “We’re leaving.”

“I mean, did you want me to write all of that down, or…” Marx asks. The venomous glare he receives from Matthew suggests otherwise. As Matthew walks away without another word, Marx looks solemnly back towards Dominic, who is now staring at him.

“You should probably know that Dolores has been virtually inconsolable these past few weeks,” Marx quickly says to Dominic. “She’s genuinely concerned about you, as we all are. Dolores is technically a part of your family after all. I know what it’s like to lose a member of your family before you even had a proper chance to get to know them.” Dominic glares at Marx. Of course, this man is Amy’s brother. They had only just reunited prior to her untimely death; a burden that The Zenith carries with him to this day. Marx realises he has struck a chord. “Here,” he says, fumbling with the button securing the cuff of his arm tightly around his wrist. Upon unfastening it, he rolls the cuff back and unclips his own watch before holding it out to Dominic. “Take it,” he encourages.

“I don’t need your watch, Marx,” Dominic rejects such a selfless act.

“I can see that yours is broken,” Marx states. Dominic refuses to let a sheepish look appear on his face, turning away instead. “Just remember that you don’t have to suffer alone. We’re here if and when you need us.” As he sets the watch down on the ground not two feet away from where The Temporal King is situated, Marx lets out a grin that Dominic catches out of the corner of his eye. Unwittingly, he returns the smile.

“Marx!” Matthew shouts impatiently. Apologetically, Marx nods towards Matthew and then performs an identical motion towards Dominic prior to taking his leave. Dominic tries to peel back the layers of what Marx had expressed to him. He’d seen that it was broken. But what? The literal watch? Or his will? His heart? His desire?[/i]

And no matter how much it pained him to admit it, Marx was right on so many levels. Not just with what had happened with Amy, not even with what happened with Denzel for that matter. No. Perhaps that largest shadow that had been cast came with the loss of the North American Title to David Hunter. It had hit him hard; like a metric ton of proverbial bricks. So much so, that The Zenith could not even bring himself to compete in this year’s Deadly Rumble. Even the new North American Champion’s patronising taunts had not been enough to get The Zenith’s goat. As much as he wants to wring that wanker’s neck into dust, for some reason, there is a lack of appeal. Call it depression. Call it realisation. Call it whatever the fuck you want to call it.

He needed time. Time to rethink. Time to regroup. Time to rebuild.

And yet, for all of his faults and flaws, Razor Blade has managed to shock the world by dethroning a nigh-upon unstoppable Sicko to become Underground King. Granted, he had lost it in the very next encounter, but what he had not lost was the ability to boast. And this was not even the first time that Razor Blade had manage to produce such an upset. For as much disrespect that gets thrown his way, The Big Dog always comes out fighting, even if his bark more often than not is worse than his bite.

To be humbled by somebody of such a low calibre is professional nightmare fuel. If Dominator were to lose to Razor Blade, he might as well hang up his boots and find a job in accounting. And for all of the negative feelings and second guessing that The Temporal King has subjected himself to in recent weeks, he outright refuses to let this be the way it all ends.

He must constantly remind himself; he was the winner of The Icemann Invitational Tournament. He has a guaranteed shot at the World Title at his beg and call. And now, with Phinehas coming up short against Stormm, a man that The Zenith has bested on multiple occasions in recent meetings, this could be his perfect incentive to ascend to a throne that he rightfully deserves.

But right now, it isn’t the right time. And in the meantime, he is a ship without a captain. He is directionless.

A victory over Razor Blade only serves as a reminder that he has not yet hit the lowest of lows. In order to restore some sort of confidence, some sort of honour, he must aspire towards something even bigger…

Slowly, Dominic elevates himself onto his feet, picking up the wristwatch bestowed to him by Marx. The Watchmen have disappeared deep into the forest. The fog has started to roll in. As Dominic stares at the watch, he cannot help but sense a pair of prying eyes watching over his shoulder as if they belong to the old oak itself.

“That’s the only gold you’ll be seeing for while.”

“At least I still have opportunities waiting for me,” Dominic mutters in response. “That’s more than what I can say about you.”

“Unfortunately for you, I won’t be so easily swayed.” the voice reiterates. “I‘m a wound that time itself will be unable to heal. I will continue to chip away at you until you are more of a broken mess than you already are. I will nag you like your own self-doubt and haunt you like your most painful memories.”

There is an ominous pause.

“Speaking of which…”

Immediately, Dominic drops to his knees with a pain stricken expression on his face. His body twitches as if he is being electrocuted. He holds his head; the part of his body experiencing the fiercest burning sensation.

“Let‘s see. What do you have buried back here? “Oooh! This looks interesting.”

“Stop! Don’t even think about it,” Dominic threateningly cautions.

“My, my! She’s a real looker, this one! So much negativity! It’s enough to drive even the most sane man down the path of total lunacy! Aren’t you going to introduce me to her?”

“Stay out of it!” Dominic warns, squinting his eyes in an effort to suppress his nightmare.

“Amy Trenton-Metallinos? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear!”