Post by Wentworth Updegraff Jr. on Jul 24, 2016 13:17:31 GMT -6
Wentworth:HE WHAT?!
Wentworth throws his glass against the wall, shattering it and sending scotch splattering all over the wall paper. As the liquid begins to run down the wall, a jumpy looking servant rushes to begin cleaning it off. Another sweeps up the shards of glass. Wentworth is too busy with the phone pressed to his ear to notice.
Wentworth:What in sweet fuck do you MEAN he LEFT?! … Where did he go?!...When is he coming back?!...So you’re going to sit there and tell me that nobody knows where the hell Jay Omega is?!...I swear to Christ, if somebody doesn’t find him, I am going to shit a brick and beat every last one of his little buddies to death with it. That chicken shit, ass ramming fuck stick… Yeah, I’m sorry, I just don’t like having to hear these things from YOU of all people… OK, I love you too Grandma.
Wentworth slams his phone down on the table, before a third servant runs into the room carrying fresh drink. He hands it to Wentworth, who takes a sip of it, before angrily chucking IT against the wall as well. Another explosion of glass and scotch, and Wentworth is out the door. He runs down the giant front steps of Updegraff Manor, and throws himself into the back of the waiting limo.
Wentworth:Updegraff Industries. Fast.
He closes the divider between him and the driver without even waiting for a response. He dials a number and presses his phone to the side of his head once more. A few rings before the voice of Melanie Harper’s new secretary comes over the line.
Anthony:Updegraff Industries, Melanie Harper’s office. Anthony speaking.
Wentworth:It’s Wentworth Updegraff. Let me speak to Melanie please. It’s of the utmost importance.
Anthony:Good to hear from you Mr. Updegraff, I will-
Wentworth:First of all, no it’s not. Don’t ever lie to me again. Second of all, when I say I wish to speak to Ms. Harper, I don’t need you to talk after that. I just need you to hit the transfer button. Please do that now, and I swear to Christ if you say so much as “o.k.” I will rip your colon out through your right ear, and jam it back in through your left.
There is silence on the line for a few moments, before the voice of Melanie Harper greets him.
Harper:You have to stop verbally abusing Anthony. It makes him cry.
Wentworth:He’s soft. He could use some more abuse. You bang him yet?
Harper:Excuse me?! I don’t think that’s any of your business, sir!
Wentworth:That’s a yes. Nothing to be ashamed of. Would have been a pity if you didn’t. He’s gorgeous. I would have taken a run at him if you didn’t.
Harper:Well feel free, he remains unsullied. You two might actually make a cute couple. Anyway, do you mind if I ask why you called?
Wentworth:I’m on my way to you. I wanted to check up on the progress of project forklift, and maybe discuss a few other things.
Harper:What other things?
Wentworth:Can’t discuss them over the phone. I’ll see you when I get there.
Wentworth hangs up before getting a response. He sits for a moment, pondering his next move, before pulling up the camera function on his phone. He fixes a few stray hairs, before hitting the record button.
Wentworth:So the coward finally ran. He knew he couldn’t put off fighting me any longer, so he took off. I always knew he was a frightened little poser, and now we know it for sure. Instead of standing and facing me like a man, he files a restraining order and runs, like a little bitch, that’s fine for now, but what he has to understand is that there’s no hiding from me. He can run to every corner of the earth, and he won’t find a place that I can’t get to. I’m not some newbie, Omega. I destroy worlds. There is nothing my family does better than hunting down those who oppose us, and you’ve been on that list for way too long. Understand, somehow, some way, I will find you, and I will destroy you, just like I’m going to do with my opponent this week, the Vicar of Verbosity, Julian Mercury.
Wentworth leans back against the leather seat, crossing his legs in front of him with a wry grin.
Wentworth:I have to ask, Julian, where did you learn your rhetorical skills? I mean it, you are a master of talking forever and saying absolutely nothing. You could be one hell of a politician if you ever drop this delusion about being a wrestler. The fact is you just don’t have it. I might be a drunk, washed up college wrestler, but I know talent when I see it, and when I look at you, I see a future Pizza Hut manager. You can talk all you want, which is apparently a shit ton, but none of it is going to do anything for you. It honestly amazes me how, week after week, people underestimate me. I’m a two time TV champ, and all anyone can say is “What a drunk douchebag. I’m gonna beat him up real good like, hyuck.” sorry, that’s just what most of you sound like to me… anyway, you spit all that nonsense, and then you get your ass kicked. It’s going to happen again this week, mark my words.
Wentworth stares out the window at a stoplight, watching a parent in a mini-van trying to get a screaming child to be quiet.
Wentworth:It sort of reminds me of you, Julian. It also reminds me of my favorite Shakespeare quote. “Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” That’s you in a nutshell. You spout off a bunch of random, smart sounding words, and pretend to be deep and interesting. The truth is you’re nothing. You have nothing to say because there’s nothing to you. You’re a cliche of a caricature, and it’s embarrassing to have you step into my ring week in and week out. That’s why I plan to put an end to it.
The limo pulls to a stop in front of the giant skyscraper with Wentworth’s last name at the top. He smiles up at the sign, before turning back to the camera.
Wentworth:You might think this should be an easy win, because I’m distracted with Omega. Don’t make that mistake. See, this whole Omega situation has me flaming pissed, and every ounce of that anger is coming out when that bell rings on Sunday. If you’re stupid enough to be standing in front of me when that happens, you don’t get to say I didn’t warn you. It’s going to be ugly, Julian. I’m quite angry about this whole situation, and you don’t want to make an Updegraff angry. Something inside of us just… snaps.
Upon the last word, his wide eyes shoot up to the camera, and a sadistic smile spreads across his lips. He stares in silence a moment too long for comfort.
Wentworth:You want to tell ME I don’t belong in this business? This IS my business, you Mr. Robot wannabe talking mother fucker. I eat sleep and breathe wrestling. While you’re busy talking like an idiot seventeen year old in a Guy Fawkes mask, I’m thinking about the business. Wrestling is who I am, and who I will always be. Not realizing that will be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. When you face me, you need to understand the monster you’ll be sitting across the ring from. I’m a collegiate mega star, a two time television champion, and a future world champion. I AM the future of this business, and there’s no way an uppity, verbose, windbag like you is going to give me some so called reality check. In fact, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to use you to send a message to Jay Omega. I’m going to rip you limb from limb to show him what will happen if he ever grows a set and shows his face around her again. I’m going to turn you into a walking monument to me cruelty, so everyone knows that you NEVER cross an Updegraff.
Wentworth opens his door, and steps out into the sunlight, quickly making his way into the lobby of Updegraff Industries. All around, modern fixtures of glass and stainless steel decorate the building. Secretaries sit behind desk after desk, answering calls. Wentworth gives the camera second to take it all in, before turning it back on his own smiling face.
Wentworth:You see this, Julian? This is all mine. I make a difference in this world. While you’re coming up with your next deep sounding cliche, I’m making decisions that affect the entire world. That’s what I mean when I say you’re nothing. You can try to mean something in that ring with me, but at the end of the day you came from nothing and you’ll return to nothing. You want to act like you don’t care about titles. Let’s pretend that’s true for a second. Why are you here? Why are you here, clogging up MY sport, when you don’t care about titles? It makes absolutely no sense. You want to know what I think? I think you do care. I think you care a lot, but you know you’ll never have one, so you hide behind this prep school nihilist veneer, pretending you don’t, just like you pretended you didn’t care when the cool kids ignored you in high school. You want to try and teach me some lesson? Go ahead. Think you’re stepping into the ring with some drunk, bimbo of a playboy. It’ll make it all that much easier to take you out of the game for good.
Wentworth makes his way to a set of gold elevators, and steps inside, letting the door close. He doesn’t hit a button at first. Instead just taking a moment to take a deep breath.
Wentworth:There is nothing more exquisite in all the world than having an elevator to yourself.
He presses a button, and goes back to his speech.
Wentworth:If you understand nothing else, understand this, Sunday is not going to be a good day for you. You’re going to remember it for the rest of your life though, of that I can assure you. You will never forget the day you came face to face with lazy, drunken, millionaire playboy Wentworth Updegraff Jr., because I am going to show you just how wrong your assumptions are. Let’s hope, thanks to your example, that you’ll be the last person to make this mistake. Let us hope against hope that nobody ever steps into the ring with me again thinking they’re getting some sort of push over. If it keeps happening, I’m just gonna have to keep stomping bitches out. Enjoy the rest of your week, Julian. Come Sunday, you learn a harsh lesson.
Wentworth steps out of the elevator, taking a moment to start the video’s upload, before making his way down the hall. He passes by a few doors before turning and stepping into Melanie Harper’s new office. What he sees causes his jaw to hit his chest. Her new office is already as organized as her old one, with her alphabetized binders filling the shelf on the far wall, and her files all pristinely put away. The petite red head spins around in her office chair, putting on a smile for her newly interested boss.
Harper:Mr. Updegraff. Nice to see you again.
Wentworth:I’m going to tell you what I told Anthony, don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid enough to believe you mean that. How is project forklift going?
Her smile disappears.
Harper:Well… we seem to have hit a bit of a snag I hadn’t accounted for.
Wentworth:What kind of snag?
Harper:It’s the weaponry. Most of it is fine, but when we try to fire the larger guns, the suit over-corrects for the kickback and falls forward.
Wentworth:May I see it?
Melanie’s eyes go wide, and she suddenly becomes flustered, jumping up from her chair and putting away the folder she was looking at.
Harper:Uh, yeah, sure… why not, right? Follow me.
She hurries down the hall back toward the elevator, and rushes them inside, hitting the button for the third sub basement.
Harper:I’ve been working day and night trying to fix this sir, I promise. It’s just-
Wentworth:Ms. Harper, relax. I trust you, or I wouldn’t have put you on this project. Besides, you still have a week. I only wanted to check in. You have nothing to worry about.
This seems to relax the frantic woman, as they descend beneath the building. The doors open, revealing what looks to be a wide open laboratory. Engineers in white coats move back and forth, creating a sense of chaos, that suddenly stops when they look up and see Wentworth standing in front of them.
Wentworth:Go back to working. Just making a routine visit.
The employees tentatively obey, as Melanie guides him through the melee, into a closed off room in the back. Wentworth steps into what looks like a giant shooting range. On one end sits a target, on the other, a man sized mech suit that looks almost like a walking tank. Wentworth approaches it slowly, a look of wonder in his eyes.
Melanie:Sir, meet the prototype for the Alpha 1, Updegraff Industries mech suit. We call it Al.
Wentworth:That’s cute… Al.
Suddenly the lights in the mech suit come on, and a robotic voice comes from inside of it.
Al:Alpha one mech suit activated. Hello… Wentworth Updegraff Jr.
Wentworth:Holyshittalkingrobot!
Harper:That’s just the voice activation interface. It’s set to only react to the vocal patterns of you and the staff meant to test it.
Wentworth walks around the suit, marveling at Melanie’s creation.
Wentworth:You mind if I give it a try.
Melanie:Well… um...I mean it’s still got a lot of issues.
Wentworth:I think I can handle it. I was quite the shot when I was younger.
He slips under the chest plate, and raises himself into the armor, his head popping up above the protective green metal. He slides his arms into those of the suit, and moves the thing back and forth. The only sound that comes form it is a light mechanical whirring as the body twists.
Wentworth:This is super smooth. It’s like it’s moving as soon as I even think about making the motion. My god.
Harper:The controls are almost exactly where we want them. The stability is the only issue.
Wentworth:Well let’s give it a shot. How do I get the firepower on this baby up and running?
Harper:All of it is voice activated.
Wentworth:Alright Al, let’s try out some light caliber rounds.
Wentworth pulls a trigger in the robot’s arm, firing off a few shots that hit the target down the way with startling accuracy.
Wentworth:Well that didn’t seem too bad.
Harper:Try the shotgun.
Wentworth:Shotgun? Nice. Al, load up the shotgun.
Al:Shotgun ready.
Wentworth pulls the trigger again. A loud explosion rings out, and this time the suit rocks back slightly, before over-correcting, and falling forward. It slams to the ground, knocking the wind out of Wentworth.
Wentworth:Oh god. No. No that’s not fun at all, get me out of here.
Melanie yells for a couple of large men to pick up the suit, allowing Wentworth to slip out of it. He has a seat against the wall, letting the breath come back to him.
Harper:You alright, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah, yeah I’m fine. That sucked though.
Harper:Yeah, that’s what we’re trying to fix. It will be done within the week though. That’s a promise I can make.
Wentworth rises to his feet, attempting to restore some of his dignity. He brushes himself off, and makes his way toward the door.
Wentworth:That’s not the only reason I came here. I was hoping we could discuss what you have in development down here as far as surveillance.
Harper:Surveillance, sir? Who exactly are you trying to hunt down?
Wentworth:Just an old friend.
Wentworth throws his glass against the wall, shattering it and sending scotch splattering all over the wall paper. As the liquid begins to run down the wall, a jumpy looking servant rushes to begin cleaning it off. Another sweeps up the shards of glass. Wentworth is too busy with the phone pressed to his ear to notice.
Wentworth:What in sweet fuck do you MEAN he LEFT?! … Where did he go?!...When is he coming back?!...So you’re going to sit there and tell me that nobody knows where the hell Jay Omega is?!...I swear to Christ, if somebody doesn’t find him, I am going to shit a brick and beat every last one of his little buddies to death with it. That chicken shit, ass ramming fuck stick… Yeah, I’m sorry, I just don’t like having to hear these things from YOU of all people… OK, I love you too Grandma.
Wentworth slams his phone down on the table, before a third servant runs into the room carrying fresh drink. He hands it to Wentworth, who takes a sip of it, before angrily chucking IT against the wall as well. Another explosion of glass and scotch, and Wentworth is out the door. He runs down the giant front steps of Updegraff Manor, and throws himself into the back of the waiting limo.
Wentworth:Updegraff Industries. Fast.
He closes the divider between him and the driver without even waiting for a response. He dials a number and presses his phone to the side of his head once more. A few rings before the voice of Melanie Harper’s new secretary comes over the line.
Anthony:Updegraff Industries, Melanie Harper’s office. Anthony speaking.
Wentworth:It’s Wentworth Updegraff. Let me speak to Melanie please. It’s of the utmost importance.
Anthony:Good to hear from you Mr. Updegraff, I will-
Wentworth:First of all, no it’s not. Don’t ever lie to me again. Second of all, when I say I wish to speak to Ms. Harper, I don’t need you to talk after that. I just need you to hit the transfer button. Please do that now, and I swear to Christ if you say so much as “o.k.” I will rip your colon out through your right ear, and jam it back in through your left.
There is silence on the line for a few moments, before the voice of Melanie Harper greets him.
Harper:You have to stop verbally abusing Anthony. It makes him cry.
Wentworth:He’s soft. He could use some more abuse. You bang him yet?
Harper:Excuse me?! I don’t think that’s any of your business, sir!
Wentworth:That’s a yes. Nothing to be ashamed of. Would have been a pity if you didn’t. He’s gorgeous. I would have taken a run at him if you didn’t.
Harper:Well feel free, he remains unsullied. You two might actually make a cute couple. Anyway, do you mind if I ask why you called?
Wentworth:I’m on my way to you. I wanted to check up on the progress of project forklift, and maybe discuss a few other things.
Harper:What other things?
Wentworth:Can’t discuss them over the phone. I’ll see you when I get there.
Wentworth hangs up before getting a response. He sits for a moment, pondering his next move, before pulling up the camera function on his phone. He fixes a few stray hairs, before hitting the record button.
Wentworth:So the coward finally ran. He knew he couldn’t put off fighting me any longer, so he took off. I always knew he was a frightened little poser, and now we know it for sure. Instead of standing and facing me like a man, he files a restraining order and runs, like a little bitch, that’s fine for now, but what he has to understand is that there’s no hiding from me. He can run to every corner of the earth, and he won’t find a place that I can’t get to. I’m not some newbie, Omega. I destroy worlds. There is nothing my family does better than hunting down those who oppose us, and you’ve been on that list for way too long. Understand, somehow, some way, I will find you, and I will destroy you, just like I’m going to do with my opponent this week, the Vicar of Verbosity, Julian Mercury.
Wentworth leans back against the leather seat, crossing his legs in front of him with a wry grin.
Wentworth:I have to ask, Julian, where did you learn your rhetorical skills? I mean it, you are a master of talking forever and saying absolutely nothing. You could be one hell of a politician if you ever drop this delusion about being a wrestler. The fact is you just don’t have it. I might be a drunk, washed up college wrestler, but I know talent when I see it, and when I look at you, I see a future Pizza Hut manager. You can talk all you want, which is apparently a shit ton, but none of it is going to do anything for you. It honestly amazes me how, week after week, people underestimate me. I’m a two time TV champ, and all anyone can say is “What a drunk douchebag. I’m gonna beat him up real good like, hyuck.” sorry, that’s just what most of you sound like to me… anyway, you spit all that nonsense, and then you get your ass kicked. It’s going to happen again this week, mark my words.
Wentworth stares out the window at a stoplight, watching a parent in a mini-van trying to get a screaming child to be quiet.
Wentworth:It sort of reminds me of you, Julian. It also reminds me of my favorite Shakespeare quote. “Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” That’s you in a nutshell. You spout off a bunch of random, smart sounding words, and pretend to be deep and interesting. The truth is you’re nothing. You have nothing to say because there’s nothing to you. You’re a cliche of a caricature, and it’s embarrassing to have you step into my ring week in and week out. That’s why I plan to put an end to it.
The limo pulls to a stop in front of the giant skyscraper with Wentworth’s last name at the top. He smiles up at the sign, before turning back to the camera.
Wentworth:You might think this should be an easy win, because I’m distracted with Omega. Don’t make that mistake. See, this whole Omega situation has me flaming pissed, and every ounce of that anger is coming out when that bell rings on Sunday. If you’re stupid enough to be standing in front of me when that happens, you don’t get to say I didn’t warn you. It’s going to be ugly, Julian. I’m quite angry about this whole situation, and you don’t want to make an Updegraff angry. Something inside of us just… snaps.
Upon the last word, his wide eyes shoot up to the camera, and a sadistic smile spreads across his lips. He stares in silence a moment too long for comfort.
Wentworth:You want to tell ME I don’t belong in this business? This IS my business, you Mr. Robot wannabe talking mother fucker. I eat sleep and breathe wrestling. While you’re busy talking like an idiot seventeen year old in a Guy Fawkes mask, I’m thinking about the business. Wrestling is who I am, and who I will always be. Not realizing that will be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. When you face me, you need to understand the monster you’ll be sitting across the ring from. I’m a collegiate mega star, a two time television champion, and a future world champion. I AM the future of this business, and there’s no way an uppity, verbose, windbag like you is going to give me some so called reality check. In fact, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to use you to send a message to Jay Omega. I’m going to rip you limb from limb to show him what will happen if he ever grows a set and shows his face around her again. I’m going to turn you into a walking monument to me cruelty, so everyone knows that you NEVER cross an Updegraff.
Wentworth opens his door, and steps out into the sunlight, quickly making his way into the lobby of Updegraff Industries. All around, modern fixtures of glass and stainless steel decorate the building. Secretaries sit behind desk after desk, answering calls. Wentworth gives the camera second to take it all in, before turning it back on his own smiling face.
Wentworth:You see this, Julian? This is all mine. I make a difference in this world. While you’re coming up with your next deep sounding cliche, I’m making decisions that affect the entire world. That’s what I mean when I say you’re nothing. You can try to mean something in that ring with me, but at the end of the day you came from nothing and you’ll return to nothing. You want to act like you don’t care about titles. Let’s pretend that’s true for a second. Why are you here? Why are you here, clogging up MY sport, when you don’t care about titles? It makes absolutely no sense. You want to know what I think? I think you do care. I think you care a lot, but you know you’ll never have one, so you hide behind this prep school nihilist veneer, pretending you don’t, just like you pretended you didn’t care when the cool kids ignored you in high school. You want to try and teach me some lesson? Go ahead. Think you’re stepping into the ring with some drunk, bimbo of a playboy. It’ll make it all that much easier to take you out of the game for good.
Wentworth makes his way to a set of gold elevators, and steps inside, letting the door close. He doesn’t hit a button at first. Instead just taking a moment to take a deep breath.
Wentworth:There is nothing more exquisite in all the world than having an elevator to yourself.
He presses a button, and goes back to his speech.
Wentworth:If you understand nothing else, understand this, Sunday is not going to be a good day for you. You’re going to remember it for the rest of your life though, of that I can assure you. You will never forget the day you came face to face with lazy, drunken, millionaire playboy Wentworth Updegraff Jr., because I am going to show you just how wrong your assumptions are. Let’s hope, thanks to your example, that you’ll be the last person to make this mistake. Let us hope against hope that nobody ever steps into the ring with me again thinking they’re getting some sort of push over. If it keeps happening, I’m just gonna have to keep stomping bitches out. Enjoy the rest of your week, Julian. Come Sunday, you learn a harsh lesson.
Wentworth steps out of the elevator, taking a moment to start the video’s upload, before making his way down the hall. He passes by a few doors before turning and stepping into Melanie Harper’s new office. What he sees causes his jaw to hit his chest. Her new office is already as organized as her old one, with her alphabetized binders filling the shelf on the far wall, and her files all pristinely put away. The petite red head spins around in her office chair, putting on a smile for her newly interested boss.
Harper:Mr. Updegraff. Nice to see you again.
Wentworth:I’m going to tell you what I told Anthony, don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid enough to believe you mean that. How is project forklift going?
Her smile disappears.
Harper:Well… we seem to have hit a bit of a snag I hadn’t accounted for.
Wentworth:What kind of snag?
Harper:It’s the weaponry. Most of it is fine, but when we try to fire the larger guns, the suit over-corrects for the kickback and falls forward.
Wentworth:May I see it?
Melanie’s eyes go wide, and she suddenly becomes flustered, jumping up from her chair and putting away the folder she was looking at.
Harper:Uh, yeah, sure… why not, right? Follow me.
She hurries down the hall back toward the elevator, and rushes them inside, hitting the button for the third sub basement.
Harper:I’ve been working day and night trying to fix this sir, I promise. It’s just-
Wentworth:Ms. Harper, relax. I trust you, or I wouldn’t have put you on this project. Besides, you still have a week. I only wanted to check in. You have nothing to worry about.
This seems to relax the frantic woman, as they descend beneath the building. The doors open, revealing what looks to be a wide open laboratory. Engineers in white coats move back and forth, creating a sense of chaos, that suddenly stops when they look up and see Wentworth standing in front of them.
Wentworth:Go back to working. Just making a routine visit.
The employees tentatively obey, as Melanie guides him through the melee, into a closed off room in the back. Wentworth steps into what looks like a giant shooting range. On one end sits a target, on the other, a man sized mech suit that looks almost like a walking tank. Wentworth approaches it slowly, a look of wonder in his eyes.
Melanie:Sir, meet the prototype for the Alpha 1, Updegraff Industries mech suit. We call it Al.
Wentworth:That’s cute… Al.
Suddenly the lights in the mech suit come on, and a robotic voice comes from inside of it.
Al:Alpha one mech suit activated. Hello… Wentworth Updegraff Jr.
Wentworth:Holyshittalkingrobot!
Harper:That’s just the voice activation interface. It’s set to only react to the vocal patterns of you and the staff meant to test it.
Wentworth walks around the suit, marveling at Melanie’s creation.
Wentworth:You mind if I give it a try.
Melanie:Well… um...I mean it’s still got a lot of issues.
Wentworth:I think I can handle it. I was quite the shot when I was younger.
He slips under the chest plate, and raises himself into the armor, his head popping up above the protective green metal. He slides his arms into those of the suit, and moves the thing back and forth. The only sound that comes form it is a light mechanical whirring as the body twists.
Wentworth:This is super smooth. It’s like it’s moving as soon as I even think about making the motion. My god.
Harper:The controls are almost exactly where we want them. The stability is the only issue.
Wentworth:Well let’s give it a shot. How do I get the firepower on this baby up and running?
Harper:All of it is voice activated.
Wentworth:Alright Al, let’s try out some light caliber rounds.
Wentworth pulls a trigger in the robot’s arm, firing off a few shots that hit the target down the way with startling accuracy.
Wentworth:Well that didn’t seem too bad.
Harper:Try the shotgun.
Wentworth:Shotgun? Nice. Al, load up the shotgun.
Al:Shotgun ready.
Wentworth pulls the trigger again. A loud explosion rings out, and this time the suit rocks back slightly, before over-correcting, and falling forward. It slams to the ground, knocking the wind out of Wentworth.
Wentworth:Oh god. No. No that’s not fun at all, get me out of here.
Melanie yells for a couple of large men to pick up the suit, allowing Wentworth to slip out of it. He has a seat against the wall, letting the breath come back to him.
Harper:You alright, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah, yeah I’m fine. That sucked though.
Harper:Yeah, that’s what we’re trying to fix. It will be done within the week though. That’s a promise I can make.
Wentworth rises to his feet, attempting to restore some of his dignity. He brushes himself off, and makes his way toward the door.
Wentworth:That’s not the only reason I came here. I was hoping we could discuss what you have in development down here as far as surveillance.
Harper:Surveillance, sir? Who exactly are you trying to hunt down?
Wentworth:Just an old friend.
