Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Nov 18, 2019 19:12:22 GMT -5
Monday 18th November 2019 - 11.14am
Location: Residence of Horacio Mortimer, Totton, Southampton, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
“What is all this stuff?” Dolores asks with a hint of awe.
“You don’t recognise it?” Horacio replies without turning his head to acknowledge Dolores’ arrival. “For the most part, this is what we were able to purloin from your father’s base of operations. Despite some external damage, the interiors were, for the most part, salvageable.” The limitations of Horacio’s knowledge appears to know no bounds. The full width of the basement’s back wall is consumed by what can only be described as a supercomputer.
Horacio continues to depress various keys and buttons rapidly. Strands of code in white text affront a piercingly blue background appear on the screen with every impression upon the keyboard. Dolores gazes upon the monolithic device. The aforementioned impairments to the metalwork are somewhat visible, though measures have been taken to restore and repair the more seriously damaged sections, some of which have been completely replaced by materials sourced elsewhere.
“You ransacked the place!?” Dolores gasps.
“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here,” Horacio’s voice becomes a little more whinier than usual. “Your father had nefarious uses for this technology. The Chronological Order are claiming it for a much more benevolent purpose.”
“If by benevolent you mean selfish, then absolutely!” Dolores retorts with disgust. “Just the sight of that monstrosity in here gives me some bad vibes.” Horacio strikes one of the keys of the console much more forcefully than he had done previously.
“Don’t be so absurd!” Horacio spins one hundred and eighty degrees in his swivelling chair to look Dolores in the eye. Through the reflections of the transparent clock covers, Horacio is able to see that he has successfully initiated a reboot, though he does his best not to deviate from the eye contact he is attempting to maintain with Dolores.
“He used that machine to hurt a lot of people,” Dolores protests. “You can’t blame me for feeling even a little unnerved by seeing it in our own home. Seeing what he did to you with it…” Dolores quickly cuts herself off; such a memory too painful for her to continue to entertain. As her head begins to droop solemnly, Horacio stands up. Delicately, he clasps both her shoulders with his hands, smiling almost defiantly towards the sorrow welling up inside of his partner.
“We’re all still here, are we not?” Horacio encouragingly murmurs to her.
“Except for Dominic,” Dolores sighs, backing away slightly. “And my father,” she adds with heightened grief. She jerks herself away from Horacio, swiping the air in frustration. “Why do I even care what happened to him?” she stifles a tear. “He played me like a pawn. I can never forgive him for what he’s done. So why!? Why do I miss him so much?” With her back now facing Horacio, she feels safe enough to allow the tear that had pooled in her eye to streak down the side of her face, yet it does not further her ability to comprehend the idiosyncrasies her emotions towards her mutinous and treacherous father.
Though hardly his strong suit, Horacio makes a second attempt to beckon his sense of compassion. He approached Dolores slowly, ensuring not to be too over exertive in his attempts to appease her.
“You lack the closure that you need,” Horacio recognises. “In truth, another reason I wanted to restore your father’s computer was to potentially use it to provide us with further information as to what he may have been plotting after his plan had been initiated; any contingency plans, fail-safes and the like. We both know that Denzel is not completely stupid.” Dolores suddenly shoots him a glare so venomous that it could even turn a Gorgon into stone. Horacio quickly recoils. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very empathetic of me.”
“You think!?” comes a snappy burst of sarcasm born of Dolores’ frustrations.
“What I’m saying is that Denzel would have a myriad of intelligence on this machine,” he resumes with elucidating his logic. “Anything that we can find on here would be of great benefit to us, even as a means of tracking your father down.” It is only at this point that Dolores’ mood begin to shift into a more positive light. Horacio’s encouraging words only fuels this. “If finding out what happened to your father will make you happy, then I will make it happen.”
“I wish I could remember,” Dolores exhales softly, “what happened that day.”
“I’d rather not,” Horacio admits. “Not that I can recall anything. It seems like that was the day that everything changed. Dominic has grown even more distant than before. It is almost like he is hiding from us at times.”
“And what about Dominic?” Dolores says. “Do you really think that he’s hiding.”
“He is a very complex individual,” Horacio states his belief. “We can travel to Hangtown any time we like. I think it is in our best interest to stay away. At least until we know precisely what is going on, that is. He has still been adhering to the schedule that Pure Class Wrestling provides him,” Horacio takes a brief second to check the time on a random clock out of the assortment mounted on the walls. “Though, more recently, I have met with him at the venues as opposed to accompanying him on trans-Atlantic flights. Even then, we rarely communicate even when in each other’s company. He opts to remain silent.”
“Doesn’t that irritate you?” Dolores frowns, indicating that if she were filling Horacio’s shoes, she would rightfully feel as such.
“Without question,” Horacio replies quickly, but pauses momentarily before resuming to let out a contented smile. “But somehow, I can tell that, in his own butterfingered way, he is acting in a way that he thinks will benefit The Chronological Order. I have tried on so many occasions to make him see the world in the same way that I do; to think how I would think. But I cannot force that upon him. It would only make him more rebellious.” A small chuckle escapes from him. “It’s funny,” he continues, “by being apart, it’s almost like I’ve never felt so close to him.”
Should The Zenith happen to grace them with his presence, he would undoubtedly able to endorse Horacio’s claims. His professionalism and passion towards his craft is something that Horacio cannot help but admire, even if it is somewhat detrimental to the progress he would like to make with The Chronological Order. Dominic is their front man; the one at the forefront amidst the general public. His success brings about recognition, even if it is only passive towards Horacio’s own product. The more eyes focused on The Zenith, the more interest there is towards The Order.
And once again, all eyes are directed towards The Temporal King as he endeavours to topple Brenna Gordon. Now, to some, this contest could be seen as inconsequential. Only the blind or the stupid could possess such a mindset. Anybody who has the balls (or the female equivalent) to stand up to Dominator will suffer the same fate as oh so many; that of being crushed beneath his foot like a common cockroach.
Brenna’s most recent return has been more significantly eventful than her last. The PCW faithful are not quick to forget the last time that Brenna walked in and walked straight back out as if she were failing to navigate a revolving door. At the very least, her attempts to overthrow David Hunter and his Pandæmonium cohorts compensate her past transgressions, at least in the eyes of The Zenith. Hell, anybody who wants to do his work for him gets at least a glimmer of respect. Of course, the potential for Brenna’s motives to be birthed from a desire to become North American Champion is a notion that The Zenith will not tolerate.
From what little conversation they had shared, Horacio at least knew this; he had been ‘umming’ and ‘aahing’ as to whether or not he should redirect his focus back to David Hunter and Pandæmonium in order to give them what they deserve. Their comeuppance had yet to be realised. Relinquishing David Hunter of the North American Championship, the belt that he stole from The Zenith, would be the perfect medicine. Conversely though, The Zenith has an opportunity at the World Championship at his beg and call. Acting so compulsively is dangerous to even contemplate. But like they say; the greater the risk, the greater the reward.
A defeat for Brenna Gordon would put her back in her place. After all, toppling The Zenith is no easy feat in itself. Only three people have managed it thus far in the two and a half years that Dominator has been a part of PCW’s employ. Surely, if The Zenith defeats Brenna Gordon, he should reconsider his placement within Collision Course, substituting himself in Brenna’s place to reclaim the championship that he did not deserve to lose.
Pandæmonium will undoubtedly be watching this contest with baited breath. The likelihood of their unwelcome involvement threatens to play a factor; a scenario that Dominator, and perhaps Brenna also, will take into consideration. No matter how mutual an enemy they share, The Zenith will not let that contribute to anything that could be deemed as mercy.
No matter what is written in the pages of history, Phinehas Grimm will only be able to pardon the destruction exhibited by The Temporal King come Trauma 262. By the time that The Zenith is through with Ms. Gordon, Brenna is going to have to change her name to Barbara.
She will be left paralysed. By a man with a rictus grin on his face.
Horacio turns his attention back to the computer, pulling up various files and documents onto the screen. Several applications begin to open. One in particular pops up that catches Horacio’s eye.
“What the hell is this?” Horacio ponders aloud. What is revealed are the schematics for an unusual looking container. “It looks like the blueprints for some sort of cryogenic come hydrotherapeutic chamber.”
“Come again?” Dolores huffs, barely able to understand what Horacio means.
“Your father has created a device that appears to restore one’s injuries through the use of nutrient-enhanced water and freezing it,” Horacio explains. “To put it simply, he seems to have a prototype for a machine that prolongs one’s life. It might explain how he was able to recover from his own horrific injuries when my grandfather blew up the house whilst he was still inside.”
“That’s… incredible!” Dolores admits.
“Obviously, it is not without it’s faults or it’s drawbacks,” Horacio continues. “There is only a certain amount that this process is able to restore. Plus, the lack of bodily movement will cause a decrease in strength in the majority of muscles and, for that matter, organs. The fact your father managed to survive this long is nothing short of a technological miracle.”
By this point, Dolores has taken an equal amount of interest in what Horacio is looking at. No longer intimidated by the machine, instead encapsulated by what it displays, The Dealer Of Fate takes her lover’s side. Horacio loads more and more screens that describes Denzel’s device in even greater detail. After a few seconds, another file loads. This particular file shows a graphical drawing that plots out a specific area of land. The title of the file instantly raises a red flag.
“That’s the grounds of Salisbury Crematorium,” Dolores states. “What’s that red blot right in the middle?” She asks, indicating a rectangular block that is outlined and cross-hatched a bold shade of red. Horacio can only flicker a concerned, if not angered growl.
“That is the exact spot where Amy is buried.”
