"When beneath domes, do as the Yorkies do." Apocryphal York proverb ♫ Drakkhen (SNES) - Air Area (Night) ♫ The remaining hero and heroine of the unfolding story had been sprinting through the forest, somehow avoiding each gnarled root, low branch and patch of troublesome under-brush to both catch their breath among the gore-splattered ruins of the camp-site they'd been evicted from at the start of the movie to herald in the bloody second act in. Looking over their shoulder, the hero could see the glowing red eyes of the monster in the dark - the branches and leaves being pushed apart as the horned beast's low, haggard breathing got ever closer to the audience's range of perception while their vision was caught by the camera to continue the pursuit with a vengeance. Those watching this spectacle unfold on-screen were located beneath a hemispherical dome, approximately a hundred metres in radius and built to protect against the dark and bitter nights of York, the Grey Sector of Albion. Beneath this controlled habitat was a two-storey villa that had the pleasure of watching the snow drifts melt against the transparent helenium just outside the windows, and keeping its grass green all year-round. This was the property of professional wrestler and cultural export of York: Geoffrey Magnussen, funded by his proceeds and fame in the ring. The villa was an L-shaped building with a sun-shade stretching across a concealed swimming pool, the exterior walls decorated in an un-York stucco that looked more at home somewhere warm like Pendragon or Iwerddon. Stepping inside, the interior walls were painted with a darker shade of eggshell, broken up by ribbed sandstone columns and equal portions of terracotta tiles and plush carpeting on the floors while the ceilings were a stark white - separated by fluted skirting boards. All lit with warm coloured light that banished any of York's winter bitterness once you were through the threshold. The lounge room in particular was Geoff's favourite place to be on such a cold night, kicking back with this monster movie. This time, the film on was by a local director muscling into the same market as the great creature-featurers like Gerald Ewings from sunny Sargasso or Dame Magda Penberthy of far-off Acala. And York was a city steeped in interacting with the creatures of the Weald, and with it a plethora of stories that ran the gamut of triumphant, enlightening, cautionary, and gruesome. Tonight, Geoff laid out on the couch in a light t-shirt and tracksuit with fuzzy slippers and thick socks, sprawled lazily in a rare moment of genuine downtime away from the ring or its trouble. And rarer still, with a guest unconnected to the business draped across them named Cass. They met at the bar just down the road - and Cass never pushed for an autograph, leading to the two kicking off a round of casual conversation - eventually leading to an offer to return to the villa. The cold outside and the fact that Cass lived in a capsule out by the space-port had brought out Geoff's protective side - the eight feet of length and four feet of headroom a bottom-of-the-barrel capsule offered was dreadful conditions he endured once in his developmental stages, and didn't wish such conditions on even his worst enemies. With a disposable income and an open mind, Geoffrey saw no harm in offering Cass a warmer place for an evening - having someone to interact with outside the context of the business (of wrestling) was a bonus. Geoff had seen this particular film ("The Burgeonwood Wendigo" by Gutwrench Productions, PA 263) a few times already, but something about its rough-hewn production and gutsiness against the well-connected Ewings and the supernaturally-empowered Penberthy productions kept him coming back. "Oh-oh," Geoff pointed at the screen and sat up as the final two heroes had no choice but to confront the monster, "I love this bit." He indicated, voice husky with a with a naturally high register that betrayed their physique a little - big men usually sported equally large voices.