Post by Jay Omega on Aug 16, 2014 9:01:34 GMT -5
Supporting himself with a crutch on his left side, The Omega Man wore his usual get-up; consisting of camouflage cargo pants, and a black hockey jersey with neon green accents. The straw poking through the lid of the paper cup he held in his right hand facilitated drinking, without removing his mask. As the two approached the vehicle, Ajira Miyamoto turned to Omega with a plaintive expression.
"Okay, you've got your coffee." Ajira said, "Now will you tell me why we had to come to Halifax to get it? Niagara Falls is a lot closer to the venue."
"We like the seagulls." Was Omega's response.
"Seagulls? Ajira asked incredulously, "You can find seagulls pretty much everywhere, Jay!"
"Mayhap. But this is the only place to find Steven."
"Osbourne? Why would he be in Canada? And what does he have to do with anything?"
The Omega Man turned a quizzical look at Ajira, and pulled a chocolate-dipped donut from his pocket. Not out of a bag, or wrapped in anything, just straight out of his pocket, with pieces of lint and hairs stuck fast in the rapidly-melting fondant. Omega ripped off a piece, and tossed it casually to the side. Almost before the baked pastry hit the ground, a large gull swooped down, and strutted toward the discarded morsel without a care for the proximity of the two humans. As the bird bent its neck to snap up the offered treat, The Omega Man pointed his finger at it.
"No, Steven. Steven Sea-Gull." He said, emphasizing the word gull. Ajira grunted in exasperation, and shook his head. The Asian man opened his mouth to respond, but Omega cut him off with an upraised hand that dropped the crutch out from under his arm, and swiveled his head to the right.
"Shh! Omega Sense, tingling!" He cried, in an over-dramatic voice, "Hearken, heathen! What foul beast doth invade this realm?"
"I'm not sure what you said, but I bet it was stupid." Ajira said.
"Well, being of sound mind will do that to ya. Poor sap." Omega replied. He switched the coffee from his right hand to his left, then pulled a small, pentagonal, wooden totem embossed with a stylized skull from his right pocket. "We've got something important to handle, so you're gonna have to look after the shell for a while, savvy?"
"The... what?" Ajira asked in obvious confusion.
Rather than respond, The Omega Man clapped himself in the forehead with the totem, and fell limply to the ground; spilling hot coffee on himself, and the pavement.~
"I make no promises."
"Fine, then you can just stand there. You don't need to move to listen."
"Fool."
"Of course you have. It's the logo of a long-running juggernaut in the entertainment industry."
"Oh, cool! So we're in Pantheon now?"
"Dude! I don't want to kill you!"
"I do."
"Don't interrupt me. You both want out. I don't want to let you out, but I can't deny that both of you were... effective. Even if you both earned me some enemies--"
"Nuh-uh! The Omega Man got you dozens AND DOZENS of fans!"
"You kicked Easton in the face! I wasn't looking to make friends with him, but the guy just might have given us a hand when Douglas showed up!"
"Are you worried that perhaps one of us will make an appearance, and cost you some petty victory? Your profession holds little interest for me, James; I only take part to satisfy my thirst for anguish. And I only stop because you keep me shackled."
"I don't feel like doing jail time for murder, thank you very much. I'm too pretty for prison. And I've got a bone to pick with you, as well. What the hell were you thinking, laying out Douglas like that? Do you have any idea how dangerous a psychopath like that can be once he's fixated on something?"
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, daddy-o. This hep cat don't want to ride the train to corpseville either. Me an' Glo-Worm ain't gonna just let you waltz in like you're Shiva, and jack up the place."
"Arrogant fool. You cannot stop the inevitable."
"Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm pretty sure I can delay it until the Gatekeeper moves on to another plane."
"And this room is indeed a product of your thoughts."
"-- But it's not YOUR dream. I've tried to tell you this before, dude, but you seem to have forgotten everything we shared all those years ago. Maybe you should cut back on the chiba; might help your neural net transfer info at a higher bit-rate."
"You can trust me to destroy everything you hold dear, and end your world in a cleansing pillar of flame."
"Case in point. And you, Omega Man--"
"Please, call me Sir Randolph Cristoph Pissed Off Drezblonga the Twelfth."
"No. But I think you're more likely to be convinced not to do anything too stupid. You seem to enjoy the cheers of the crowd more than I ever did--"
"The vocal approval of the Omegalomaniacs is my ambrosia. And an aphrodisiac. And a great substitute for white noise when I'm trying to take a nap."
"--So I'll just remind you that I need to stay alive, and whole, in order for you to stay in the spotlight."
"Roger Wilco. Oscar Mike. Timmy Jimmy. Timmy Timmay. Tim-Timmay, Jimmy JIMMAY!"
"And on that note, I think I need to wake up, and have a drink."
"You've won nothing."
"Please. We both know you'll never earn his trust. Which means you're stuck in the Dreamscape, whereas I just have to be a little more careful when I go joyriding."
"It doesn't surprise me that you've forgotten already. I don't need his trust; I have the combined influence of the Unholy Trinity at my disposal. I've already proven that I can seize control; I have no need for it to be given."
"Yes you do. You said yourself that your control was imperfect; he kept you shackled even while you walked the corporeal world. You NEED him to willingly release you, and that's not going to happen, so long as you keep up your impressive level of dicketry."
"Destroy you? Why would I want to do that? You're waaay too much fun. Besides, despite what you've been led to bolieve, you ARE a part of him. If I destroy you, I break him. And I still have needs and uses for the Core."
"I care nothing for your needs. Be gone, fool; your presence is tiresome."
"That's cool. I've got some pretty important stuff to take care of, anyway."
~In the backseat of his Aston Martin Vantage Volante, Jay Omega awoke, and removed the mask he wore. He sat up, and leaned forward over the center console to tap Ajira on the shoulder.
"Where we headin'?" He asked his friend.
"To a hotel." Ajira replied, not taking his eyes off the road, "I'm glad you're you again; I don't like dealing with either of your other selves."
Omega shook his head at his temporary chauffeur's misunderstanding.
"I'm always me," He tried to explain, "The Hardcore Maniac and The Omega Man are just different mindsets, nothing more."
Of course, he couldn't know just how wrong he was; like most denizens of this world, he couldn't fathom the infinite complexities of the different layers of reality that made up existence. Despite all the subtle signs and hidden clues, he was just as unaware of the impending disaster as the rest of the world.
His eyes fell on the camera buckled securely in the passenger seat, and the thought struck him that he knew very little about most of his opponents in his upcoming match. He was no fool, he knew he could overcome nearly any odds with enough preparation, but overconfidence had always been his greatest weakness.
"Hey, take a left on Argyle; I want to make a stop at the Grand Parade."~
*Our scene fades in on Jay Omega, wearing camouflage cargo pants and a white muscle shirt, sitting on a wide flight of concrete steps. The backdrop consists of a small white church rising from a hill behind him, the road leading to the structure lined with cars on either side. A nameless restaurant sits on the corner over his right shoulder, the left side of the screen, and a large red brick and glass building dominates the opposite side. Jay leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, then tilts his head to his left.*
Jay: Hey there, folks. Looking forward to seeing me back in action this week? I know I am. And what an opportunity this Sunday presents, eh? I thought it fitting to speak my mind here; near a monument to Canadian war heroes, and steps away from the Halifax Sports Hall of Fame. I like the implications of placing myself between them, since I consider myself to be a great warrior of Canadian heritage, and will soon find my way into more than one Hall of Fame. But that's much further into the future than I'd like to address at this moment. Today, I'd like to talk about my upcoming match, and my opponents. This may get a little personal, people, so consider yourselves warned.
*Jay leans back against the stairs, and supports himself with an elbow, while he stretches his left leg out in front of him.*
Jay: First, I'd like to start with addressing another composite competitor; someone who shares the knowledge of what it's like to be a prisoner within your own body. Ana, I feel for you, I really do. I know what it's like to have no control over the actions you perform; carrying out someone else's will, without the power to influence your own decisions. It can be a frightening experience, but at least you have someone who loves you to help you through it. I feel terrible that you'll have to suffer the aches and bruises of battles you only technically take part in. I get the sense that you're a better person than to seek revenge, but if ever you decide you'd like a pound of flesh from They Who Shall Not Be Named, let me know; I've got the resources to find them in whatever rat-infested hole they slunk off to, and it would give me great pleasure to see justice done. I'd rather have a million Adam Youngs walking around, than even one of... them.
*Omega raises his left index finger, and waves it back and forth.*
Jay: But having said that, I have to ask you to relay a message for me, since it's not going to be "you" that steps into the ring, it's the Mech. A literal wrestling machine, albeit one with a mostly organic body, the Mech and I share some similarities as well. A dark being of malice, concerned only with destruction, buried in the back of someone else's mind; it sounds a lot like my own mental passenger, the Hardcore Maniac. I don't know if the Mech ever tries to take control outside the ring, though. That has the potential for some horror movie shit, right there. Like The Terminator crossed with Idle Hands, and a dash of Halloween thrown in for good measure. Regardless, whatever its mindset, the Mech still has a body of flesh and blood, and bleeds as easily as anyone else. And sadly for Ana, that's exactly what's going to happen. But I'll do you a solid, Ana; I'll make sure to eliminate Jones right quick, too, so at least the two of you will be able to console each other.
Ajira(offscreen): Wait a second... Are you hyping the New Blood Battle Royal?
*Jay crinkles his brow.*
Jay: Uh, yeah. Of course I am.
Ajira(offscreen): I figured. The question is, why?
*Omega's faces screws up in confusion, and he looks at Ajira blankly.*
Jay: Because I'm going to win it, and it's only fair to explain to the other participants why they don't stack up against yours truly.
*A moment of silence passes.*
Ajira(offscreen): You do know you're not in the Battle Royal, right?
*Jay throws back his head and laughs for a few seconds, then wipes an imaginary tear from his eye.*
Jay: Ah, you're funny. Now, from Ana, I move on to her boy toy, the Black Dragon, Alex Jones. Jonesy, you've got the skills to go far, I'll grant you that. You've had some pretty good success so far, from what I've seen, but I'm here to tell you right now, that ends Sunday night. A dragon's scales make for good armour, but there's always a soft spot, if one can find it. I know your soft spot isn't going to be Ana, or the Mech; both of them can take care of themselves. No, the chink in your armour is your ego, and that is something I definitely know how to exploit.
Ajira(offscreen): No, seriously, Jay, you're not in the Battle Royal; you've got a tag team match, and you're teaming up with Michael Easton again.
*Jay's face becomes neutral, and he blinks twice.*
Jay: That wasn't a typo?
Ajira(offscreen): Nope.
Jay: Son of a bitch! Well, who the hell are we up against, then?
Ajira(offscreen): Um, the Diaz brothers, I think.
Jay: The who?
Ajira(offscreen): I'm honestly not sure. I think they might be enhancement talent.
*Omega sits bolt upright, an offended expression on his face.*
Jay: For real? What in the name of Ninkasi was Lerch thinking?!? What could possibly have possessed him to pit two of the fastest rising new additions to the roster against a pair of prelim bums? Sure, Lerch is a drunk, but so were Reid and Hodgson, and they still made good business decisions. For the most part. But this? Shit, why not just give me the week off again? Like, is Lerch worried I might not be at a hundred percent, yet? 'Cause I can assure the WCF Galaxy that I'm in as close to top form as I ever am. Most guys would probably thank the boss for handing them an easy win, but not me. No, not by a long shot. I didn't sign my contract with the intention of breezing through a bunch of no-talent hacks; I came to the WCF looking for challenges! And teaming me with Easton again?
*Jay shakes his head in obvious disbelief.*
Jay: I mean, I get it. Lerch is clearly a drunken troll, but he has to know that a singles match between Easton and I would have brought in waaay more ratings than another tag match! I can say without a hint of arrogance that either one of us could wipe the mat with both Diazes at the same time; this is just terrible booking! It's a fucking travesty! Highway Dionysus-damned robbery! Fuck this! No kid gloves for these two; the only talent they'll be able to enhance when I'm done with them, is the surgical skills at the local hospital!
Ajira(offscreen, sarcastically): Uh-oh, look out, he's pulling out the big clichés.
Jay: Eat a pair of docking dicks. You know damn well I should be in that Battle Royal. This is twice now I've been screwed out of the main event!
*Omega searches through his pockets, then the cargo pockets, and even his back pockets. When his hands come up empty, his face darkens, and an angry edge creeps into his voice.*
Jay: Ajira, I'm only going to ask this once, and I hope for your sake that you give me the right answer. Where. Is. My. Pot?
Ajira(offscreen): The Omega Man threw it at some crabs, trying to save a seagull.
*Jay is on his feet in an instant; the corner of his right eye twitches violently. He opens his mouth, but closes it again as he fumbles to catch something small and black tossed to him from off camera. He looks down at his ever-present cigarette case with an expression of relief.*
Ajira(offscreen): Lucky for you, I grabbed it.
*Omega pulls a joint from the case, and lights up, then shakes his head at Ajira.*
Jay: You mean lucky for you. I'd have kicked your ass if you left it there.
Ajira(offscreen, indignantly): What?!? Why me? I didn't throw it!
*Jay puts on a condescending expression.*
Jay: Well, I can't very well beat the shit out of myself, now can I? And I'm not about to just let someone else do it, either. Unlike the Diaz brothers, I don't get paid to lay down; I get paid to kick ass and take names. And right now, there are only two names that concern me; Zombie McMorris, and Michael Easton. I'm guaranteed to get my hands on McMorris at Revenge, and come Hell or high water, I will eventually pick up a win over Michael Easton.
*Jay puffs on his joint, and coughs slightly as he exhales. The breeze takes the cloud of smoke in its grasp, and pulls it up the stairs to where pedestrians go about their business. Most ignore the skunky scent of marijuana, though a few turn interested eyes in Omega's direction.*
Jay: I'd like to say more about these Diaz brothers, I really would. But what would be the point? What would be accomplished by talking down to people who might as well ask Adam Young if they can join the Big Time Jerkoffs? At least then Young would have a tag partner who stuck around for more than a single match.
Ajira(offscreen): Bullshit. You just don't want to admit you don't know anything about the Diaz brothers.
Jay: Not true. I know everything I need to about the Diaz duo. Which is that they're about to have their asses carved off, roasted, then handed back to them by the most entertaining man in the industry, and the only undefeated man in the WCF.
*Jay takes another hit, then gestures at the camera with the doobie.*
Jay: Believe it or not, I actually have seen some of their older promotional work. One that comes to mind is "Man Tits Waylon", and I honestly wish it had been any other piece of their work I just referenced. But sadly, the one that sticks out most, is the one in which they paid someone to dress up like Waylon Cash, then paid a pair of black dudes to rape him. And it wasn't, like, a skit, or anything; these guys actually paid some unscrupulous, ghetto-ass motherfuckers to shove a baseball bat up some poor guy's Hershey highway. For no better reason than because they could. These two don't take anything seriously, not even themselves, so why the hell should I do them the courtesy of treating them like anything more than a joke?
*Omega puffs again, then shakes his head with a sour expression.*
Jay: And not a particularly funny one, either. Hell, I'd much rather go back to trash-talking the people in the Battle Royal; I may not be in it, for some inconceivable reason, but I'm still a better wrestler than pretty much all the participants.
*Jay snaps his fingers, and puts on an expression that translates to "eureka".*
Jay: No shit! Lerch is smarter than I thought! He didn't put Easton or myself into the Battle Royal because he knew it would come down to the two of us, and he wants to save such an epic battle for a momentous occasion, like the three hundredth episode of Slam! Heh heh heh. And here I thought he was just a dumb drunk, blindly booking matches by throwing darts at a whiteboard. Well played, boss. Well played. Throw Easton and I into a tag match, build up some more friction between us, then sit back and watch the ratings explode when he finally pits us against one another without any third wheels. This wrestling promotion isn't at the top of the food chain for nothing, I guess. And soon enough, I'll be the face of the company. Still have a few asses to put the boots to, though, so I guess I'd best get on it. Catch y'all on the flip side, people.
*Omega makes the traditional "cut" motion with his hand, and the scene fades to black.*