Horatia woke up in a brightly lit room reminiscent of an old 20th century mansion with a headache the size of the world. The left side of her face appeared swollen and bruised, a spiralling cut above the cheek, two purple welts below. Specks of dried blood conspurcated her favorite footwear. She half-expected to be naked or wearing a foreign outfit, something revealing and demeaning, yet both expectations fell to the ground.
She had a hard time looking ahead. After being exposed to the artificial displays of the underground Center for so long, it took a while for her deep amber eyes to adjust to what appeared to be raw, unfiltered sunlight, making her skin warm and fuzzy to the touch. It was a nice feeling although an impossible one. She couldn't have been taken to a place outside the Skylight Dome, could she?
She was alone in this room which, upon closer inspection, proved to be a king-sized bedroom. There were cream satin sheets on the cedar bed, three closets on the upper-left and lower-right corners, a beautiful nightstand where a first print edition of another of H. G. Wells' classics - The War of the Worlds - laid open, a mirror to the right, and a pathway that extended from behind the bed into a large balcony.
She headed there first, her steps insecure and not just because of the brightness. The concussion effects were still present even if the aching pain from before had already subsided. Leaning against the balcony, she saw a vast ocean stretching underneath and heard the faint hum of an engine.
"Is this a ship?" she thought. There were white clouds sweeping the sky, and a puff of spray in the crystalline water. It erupted into a geyser as a hunchback whale rose to the surface, shattering the magnificent illusion.
Much like cows, there were no whales left alive in her world. Horatia inched just a bit forward and peered into a small crevice to the left where the luminous beams of two projectors lined up to create the never ending depth of three-dimensional space. It was yet another hologram though far more sophisticate and accurate than anything else she had seen in her life. The balcony became less solid despite still looking like one. She followed the metallic railing with her fingers until they hit an invisible wall. The beautiful landscape of an untainted world continued to spread beyond the counterfeit horizon, and she sighed.
"Not a ship, but a prison," she muttered. Horatia looked back, questioning the validity of every aspect of her surroundings. She touched the furniture one by one. It was real. The nightstand smelled of musk. Alex had told her once that's what her pussy reminded him of on a normal day. She would have him worship it again the moment her ordeal was over.
There was a whirr and the wooden-like main door of the chamber she was in slid to the right. An orb of darkness clouded the light in the bedroom and floated towards her. The door closed behind it as she noticed she was looking at a man in a black and a silver wheelchair, his features shrouded by yet another fancy piece of technology.
"Not a prison," he said, with the same unnatural voice she had heard earlier. "Simple quarters with your comfort in mind."
"Right... Do you take every woman you've just met to simple quarters such as these?" Horatia retorted, trying to see beyond the projected veil. It was like peering into a living eclipse. The blackness undulated at steady intervals, but never phased out long enough for her to unearth the new threat before her. At one point, she saw a stitched outline of a reddish lip and a solitary ear, but nothing more.
"I prefer to keep my women disciplined although I'm aware that doesn't work for you," Mr. D remarked.
"You got that right. Nice chair. I guess besides Dick, D stands for disabled, too," she scorned.
"Always the jokester, and a proud one, too. Your family never ceases to amaze."
Horatia sat on the bed and crossed her shapely legs. She would not let his provocation slip by but first, an innuendo of her own, too.
"You continue to hide behind machines which makes me think you're one ugly son of a bitch. Am I right or am I right?"
Mr. D rolled the chair to a perpendicular angle to where she sat and pressed a button. The field of darkness receded, yet became denser. Now it was as if he was wearing a giant opaque fish bowl on his head, yet the ridiculousness of it all didn't affect his confidence.
"I take it you have guns pointed at me right now otherwise you wouldn't dare to be this close," she said.
"Your guess is correct."
Horatia's eyes prowled the walls, the floor beneath her feet and even the ceiling, unable to detect anything suspicious hiding in plain sight. It was safe to assume there were other projectors somewhere in the room though, and the facade could come undone at any moment.
"The thing is I don't like talking to shadowy figures any more than I like talking to flying butt-plugs so why don't you turn off that cloaking device you've got going on there and tell me what's this is all about?"
"Jokester, impatient and impertinent, quite the combination, I'll give you that!" He crowed.
"I'm an impressive woman."
"Yes, you are but not for the right reasons, I'm afraid."
"You're sounding a lot like old Lazendorf. I guess you Super Patriarchy puppets are all the same. By the way, how is he doing?"
"You'll be pleased to know he's recovering from what you did to him and should be back to his normal self in no time." Mr. D mocked.
"That's too bad. He was a lot more agreeable when he was under. Not to worry though. He'll be a lot easier to dominate the second time around."
"There won't be a second time for you," Mr. D said, the discordant abrasion of his voice becoming more pronounced.
"I was waiting to see when the real threats would begin. It didn't take long."
"Happy to oblige," the Super Patriarchy representative continued to mock, perhaps enjoying the banter a lot more than he should.
Horatia, on the other hand, didn't even try to suppress a yawn. D also stood for dull in her book. She jumped from the bed, and dashed towards the wheelchair to inspect her captor.
"Not another step," he commanded, an order she was quick to ignore.
"Not scared because if you wanted me dead you would have done it already. Show yourself."
"I don't take orders from a woman!"
"And I don't like it when men try to tell me what to do either," Horatia spat. She continued creeping forward yet the distance between them remained the same. An invisible barrier warped a small pocket of reality around the wheelchair. Horatia stopped, allowed for the ripples of energy to tickle her fingers and laughed. "So many gadgets, so many tricks. What kind of man needs all of this to maintain a sense of safety?"
