Post by Jay Omega on Aug 23, 2014 17:07:29 GMT -5
~It had been a long time since Jay Omega had been to this part of Toronto. More than half his life, to be exact; nearly seventeen years. It had been a simpler time, with less responsibilities, and conversely, far more stress. He stared wistfully down the old, unremarkable lane, though it might as well have been named Memory, for all the experiences the dingy alley brought back to mind. He was just a few feet away from the place he'd had his first drink of liquor. And only a few feet more from the place he'd vomited that liquor back up a few hours later. His gaze fell on a grimy, unused fire door in a small alcove, and he recalled his first kiss. Who knows how much further that might have gone, if not for the untimely interruption of Toronto's "finest".
So many first time events had happened in this dank, nearly forgotten corner of the city he'd been born in. His parents would be spinning in their graves, if they had them, to see a man of his breeding and affluence standing in such a dirty place, fondly remembering time spent with the dregs of society; most of their activities being illegal. A ghost of a smile came to his lips as he remembered his old friend, a crusty street punk who went by the nickname of BattMan, offering him his first toke off a veritable cannon. A snippet of a fist fight between Lankly and Roast Beef that ended with both men laughing and hugging. Waking up next to Pockitt Foxx with an empty forty ounce bottle of rye between them, neither of them sure what, if anything, had happened.
A hint of sadness stole some of his smile away from him. He didn't know what he'd hoped to find here. Would he really want his old friends to still be doing the same old shit? What was his plan, if he had indeed found them here?
Oh, hey guys, remember me? The scrawny fuckin' twerp you took in after I ran away from that shit hole foster home, back in Ninety-Five? Well it turns out I'm a fuckin' billionaire pro wrestler slash business investor now, even got my own little island nation. How you doin'? Oh, smoking the rock again, gotcha. So, you guys rob anyone interesting lately, or just the usual elderly couples? Oh, you're back to convenience stores again, good for you; movin' up in the fuckin' world.
Had he come here looking to help? To rub it in? Or would he prefer that they had grown up, and moved on; overcome their adversities, and made something of themselves? Well, perhaps that was a bit of an unreasonable expectation for BattMan, or Lankly; neither of them was likely to ever "fit in" with society. Roast Beef could fit in anywhere, it was what had made him so useful to the crew. That young man had been able to scan a crowd, and point out marks with ease; as if they glowed to his eye. Pockitt, though... she hadn't deserved this life. Granted, it was a better choice than the one she'd run from, but it was still far worse than any thirteen year old girl should ever have to deal with.
He turned from the narrow laneway, walked a few feet to the mouth of the larger alley, then turned and walked the last few feet down a side street, coming out onto a more trafficked one. He'd no sooner left the side street, than he was nearly bowled over by a diminutive jogging woman in form-fitting lycra pants and a loose, light blue hoodie; her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and hidden under a Blue Jays ball cap. She rebounded off his chest, then put on an angry expression as she started to ream him out.
"Watch where the fuck you're going, asshole! Think you own the goddamn street or something?" She said, raising her gaze up to meet his, and straightening her cap, which had been knocked askew. Upon seeing the face of the man she was looking at, her chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise. "Holy shit! Yo-you're Jay Omega! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
His reassuring smile froze on his lips as she spoke. It was impossible; the odds were astronomical. But the hair was the right colour, if longer, and missing the purple streak, the face was about right, if more lined, and missing most of the piercings, the voice so easily recognizable, if a little breathy, and missing the occasional drunken slur. But it was the eyes that gave it away. He'd never forget those eyes. They'd haunted him for close to twenty years.
"Pockitt?" He asked in a quiet voice, not believing it himself. She flinched at the name, as if struck, and took a step back; visibly paling before his eyes.
"I-- Wha-- How do..?" She tried to sputter several questions at once, none of them making it past a few syllables. How could a sports celebrity know a name she hadn't used in more than a decade? Confusion, excitement, and hysteria began to build in her eyes; she was likely on the verge of freaking out. His mind cast about for some way to calm her, something to say that would spark her memory, just as her eyes had sparked his. Omega said the first thing that came to mind, slipping into a perfect imitation of former U.S. Vice-President Bob Dole.
"Bob Dole knows what it feels like to have mayonnaise in his ass." Was all he said.
Confusion overtook excitement and hysteria, then comprehension dawned, and her jaw dropped, eyes widening to their limit.
"Bookie!?" She practically screeched; half disbelieving question, half excited statement.
He smiled wide, and held out his arms; looking to embrace this familiar face from his past. He was not expecting the right hook that found his jaw, or the left one in his ribs. Honed reflexes kicked in, and he caught her second right before it connected, then blocked the swing from her left, and turned his hips to protect his groin from the rising knee strike she tried to bring to bear.
"God damn you! What the fuck?!?" She choked out through the tears that suddenly rolled down her cheeks, "You just fuck off and leave me to rot, and now you come back? Fuck you! I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you!"
He pulled her in, and put his arms around her shoulders. She resisted for a moment, then collapsed against him; wrapping her arms around his torso in a crushing grip for such a small woman, and sobbing into his chest. Unheeded, her cap fell to the ground as she buried her face against him, and he unconsciously began to stroke her hair. Jay was at a serious loss here; he had no idea what had set her off like this, but it was clearly his fault in her eyes. He took her by the shoulders, and held her at arm's length; concern painting his face as he looked down into her eyes.
"Pockitt... what the fuck?" Was all he could articulate. She shook her head at him, tears still flowing from her eyes. Her face contorted into a mask of pain and confusion.
"I... I can't. I can't talk to you right now. I just... here," She dug a small, duct tape wallet from the pocket of her sweatshirt, opened it up, and handed him a business card. "I have to go to work. Call me tomorrow, maybe we can talk then. Maybe."
She shook her head again as he took the card, more in disbelief than anything else, and jogged off; leaving him staring after her in confusion. It was only after her lithe form had disappeared around a corner down the block, casting one last glance his way, that he looked down at the card in his hand.
"Youth crisis counselor?" He said quietly to himself, "Why am I not surprised?"~
~The next day, the two old friends, if that's what they were, sat in opposing cream upholstered chairs in the penthouse suite of the SoHo Metropolitan hotel. Pockitt's eyes continuously swept back and forth across the room, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the place. It showed in the subdued tone of her voice; the unconscious way she huddled in on herself. An old habit of trying to make herself small, and unnoticeable.
The news of what had happened to the people who had taken him in, had taught him so much about "real" life... it was almost too much to take in at one time. BattMan, shot dead fourteen years ago when he tried to rob a wannabe gangbanger. Lankly running off out West somewhere, just as rumours began circulating about his preference for... younger women. Roast Beef had straight up vanished in Montreal one night. He often wandered off alone, and always came back in a week or two, no more than a month, and often with some grand tale of adventure with new friends. No one had seen nor heard from him since before BattMan had died.
"You still haven't told me how any of this is my fault, Pockitt." Jay began, and was interrupted by a furious deluge.
"Would you stop fucking calling me that? Pockitt's been dead for ten years! Pockitt died with a needle in her leg, five years after you left me alone!" There it was. Abandonment. "How is it your fault? How is it not! You were always the smart one; the voice of reason! You were always right when you said a score was gonna go bad, and some of the dumbest shit worked because of your plans! You always stuck up for me when I said an idea was stupid! But then one little problem, and you fuck off to China--"
"Japan."
"Whatever! None of this shit would've happened if you hadn't..."
"If I hadn't left you alone with a bunch of drunken criminals." Omega finished sadly. "Dammit, Pock- Heather, I'm sorry. I really am. I figured you were, y'know, safe. BattMan always called you his little sister."
She shuddered at the familial reference; cold disgust sweeping across her eyes. Jay felt a fool, and nearly retched at the implication. Of course that wouldn't stop someone like BattMan. While most people required legal and willing, BattMan, apparently, only required one. He wasn't too picky about which, either, and would forego both if drunk or high enough.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't! And with no Bookie to look out for me, shit got real bad, real fast. BattMan did eight months for that store job you fucked up, and Lankly didn't need to be asked twice to look after a poor little fifteen year old girl."
That wasn't fair. She'd learned the same lessons he had, and she'd taken great pains to inform him over the two years they'd "lived together" that she didn't need or want his constant protection. Of course, it turned out that she had indeed needed it, and most of all when he wasn't there to give it.
Anger began to well up in the back of Omega's mind, like hot water pooling at the base of his skull. Anger at himself, at the situation, at a dead man. An echoing pulse throbbed in response, and a dull, rushing roar crept into his ears from a great distance.
No! Not now! Fuck you both! Jay thought to himselves. He felt his left eye twitch, not the muscles around it, but the eyeball itself, and the world seemed to .::shift::. just slightly. Suddenly, everything seemed super-saturated; as if he'd previously been looking at a sepia-toned world, and only now saw true colour. Sitting on Heather's shoulder, head buried against the flesh of her neck, was the ugliest creature Omega had never seen. He watched in horrified fascination as its translucent throat pulsed, drawing a steady stream of some greenish-yellow fluid out of Heather, and into the... Too many eyes. What the hell is that-- ...thing. The pulsing slowed and stopped as Heather's expression changed from hurt and angry, to worried and confused. No longer feeding, the thing looked up at him with more than a dozen mismatched eyes and hissed at him.
"Jimmy?" She began, concern having replaced the anger in her tone, "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
He shook his head mutely; there was no way he could explain. It wasn't a ghost, since there was no way the creature had ever been alive. As well as invisible, the thing was intangible, apparently, as Heather absently reached up, and scratched her neck at the exact spot the creature had been biting her with its ringed mouth of needle-like teeth. Her hand passed right through the little monster's head, and he took a moment to decide whether or not this was just some vivid hallucination.
Get the Mask! A voice shouted in the depths of his mind. His voice, but not his voice. You can't do anything about this! You don't know what a Sankellian harvester bug is capable of! GET! THE! MASK!
Jay slowly stood up, and backed away from Heather, keeping his eyes locked on the insect-like... This isn't happening. What the throbbing fuck is this-- ...thing on her shoulder. Fear crept into Heather's brown eyes; fear of him he quickly discerned, since she apparently couldn't see or feel the... Too many legs. Nope. Can't deal with this-- ...whatever. Sankellian harvester bug. They gather emotions to feed to their overlord. I can stop it, but you have to put the Mask on!
"Um, Heather, this is going to sound pretty weird, but I need you to trust me, okay?" He tried to explain, as he inched his way toward the hockey bag sitting on the matching couch. Seven of the eyes, the ones with eyelids, narrowed at him; the three reptilian pupils becoming slits. "This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you I forgot to take my meds today, and you calm down. Except I don't take any medication. I probably should, but I don't trust doctors after what happened in Japan. Anyway, I'm going to put a mask on now, and I might start acting a little... weird. Probably just kind of silly, but if I threaten you in any way, I want you to say 'requiescat, onomatopoeia, two-one-eight'. You got that?"
The fear grew in her eyes, comingled with confusion, but she nodded. She'd always had more courage than sense. A wise person would have fled the room. He would have had to chase after her, which would have made for a lovely scene; a masked lunatic running after a small, frightened woman through a luxury hotel. But, thank all the merciful deities, she still seemed to trust him.
Jay kicked off his shoes as he tore open the hockey bag; he didn't know why, but it felt right. The... Nonononononono ...thing scuttled down Heather's torso to her lap, then raised its head and let out an ululating cry; like a timber wolf howling with a ukulele clenched in its mouth. Six more of the... Whatthefuck?! Whatthefuckingfuck!? ...monsters(there was really no other word for them) appeared in the room with a wet tearing sound as Omega pulled out his leather face mask, and a pair of camouflage cargo pants. He dropped the mask and unbuckled his belt as he felt the world lurch. Or maybe that was just his stomach. His jeans fell to the floor, and he kicked them away; realizing why he'd shucked his shoes as he gripped the waist of the cargo pants, and jumped into them, his feet clearing the leg holes a fraction of a second before they touched the carpet again.
The seven... Will you hurry the krek up? ...harvester bugs scuttled forward, then two of them jumped on the backs of two others, and they merged; growing in size, and changing shape. Heather watched him from across the room, her fear fading to become a clinical interest. She wondered if perhaps Jay were going through some form of withdrawal, or perhaps he had taken something before their meeting, and it was only now taking effect. She had a bottle of Mace and a roll of quarters in her purse, just in case, and the police on speed dial.
"Dragonzord." Jay whispered to himself, as he pulled the mask over his face. Two of the remaining three beasties wriggled their way up on top of the larger ones, and merged in as well, just as Omega whipped a black hockey jersey out of the bag, and threw it on over his head. Transformation sequence complete. The Omega Man reached into the bulging cargo pocket on his right leg, and pulled out a pentagonal wooden totem. He hefted it in his hand, just as the two shifting masses of horror slammed together, crushing the final harvester bug between them. The grotesque monstrosity stood up straight, roughly a man's height, then sprouted five arms.
"Hi, pretty lady." The Omega Man said to Heather, who frowned at the slight change in his voice. "Bye, pretty lady." He said, and clapped the totem to his forehead.
Heather gasped as she watched him slump bonelessly to the ground.~
"Halo rounds."
"Neutrino rounds."
"Nova rounds."
"Kaige rounds."
~Heather froze as a hand snapped up to catch her wrist in a tight grip. Blue eyes shot open to regard her coldly, and the fear she'd suppressed suddenly spiked. She pulled free and scrambled back as the Hardcore Maniac, Jay Omega rose to his feet, and rolled his neck. He stretched his arms as though awakening from a refreshing nap, then tilted his head as he studied her. The Maniac's eyes rolled back for a moment, then a chilling, but unseen, smile came to his lips as he focused on Heather once more.
"Little Pockitt Foxx has become a full-grown vixen, has she?" He said, and stretched out a hand as he took a slow step forward; as though approaching a timid dog. "Aw, what's the matter, little lady? You're not scared of good old Bookie, are you? I'm not going to hurt you, much."^
Heather fought through her welling panic; she'd made it through similar situations before. The Mace in her purse was too far away, but few men could shake off a nutshot, if he came close enough. A voice sliced through her thoughts like a razor, and meaningless words tumbled from her lips.
"R-requiescat, um, onomatopoeia, uh, two-one-eight!" She stuttered out, and her eyes widened as Omega shuddered, and fell to one knee.
"Aw, hell." He managed to force out, before he slumped forward on his face.
Heather quickly reached over and tore the mask off his face, then flung it away.~
.::Behind him, the stairs leading down beckoned. He had an idea of what awaited him up the stairway to his left, but felt no urge to head that way. He didn't have the slightest idea what lay beyond the vortex to his right, but the overwhelming sense of dread roiling down from that direction told him he didn't want to learn. A purple filament of energy coursed up the stairs behind him, and connected with his forehead. Worry. Fear. Confusion. Hopelessness. They weren't his emotions, but he felt them acutely.::.
~With a gasp of intaken breath, Jay Omega awoke, and found himself staring at the caramel swirled beige carpet of his hotel suite. He raised his head, and quickly scanned the room. Everything looked normal, including the petrified woman who stared at him with saucer-like eyes a few feet away.
Jay pushed himself back to his knees, then raised both hands as Heather shakily brandished a small bottle of Mace. He'd never had an episode like this before, wasn't sure how to try explaining it to someone who didn't know what he'd been through. One thought kept repeating in his head, and he gave it voice.
"Are you okay?" Omega asked, his voice laden with concern, "Heather? Did he-- Did I... Are you okay?"
She nodded in response, then threw a quick glance at the mask laying in the middle of the sitting room. He followed her gaze, and blew out a sigh, thankful she had been smart enough to remove it once he had been immobilized.
With the easy part over, Jay pushed himself to his feet, retook his chair, then motioned for Heather to do the same. Once she settled in, Mace gripped tightly in her dainty hands, Omega steeled himself for the hard part.
"I guess I owe you an explanation."~
~The Toronto skyline glittered at Jay; standing alone on the rooftop terrace a few hours later. He didn't know what he'd been expecting; of course Heather hadn't believed him. How could she? Multiple personalities, alternate dimensions, a semi-psychotic, self-proclaimed, intergalactic, extra-planar superhero taking up residence in his mind. He didn't fully understand, or believe it himself.
Should have just told her I was crazy. A side effect from all those chairs and crowbars over the years.
It would have been the truth, for the most part. He really couldn't be sure that the whole thing wasn't a product of misfiring synapses. He'd spent time in more than one psychiatric facility; had been injected with more than one unknown chemical cocktail. So much of his life after leaving for Japan that first time was a dark blur. For all he really knew, he was strapped to a bed somewhere in Setagaya-ku, waiting for his next dose of happy-juice. Part of him wanted that to be the truth. What qualified him, a mentally scarred street urchin turned pro wrestler, to combat such existential horrors as what he'd seen today?
You're no more qualified than I am, bucko, Came one of the voices in his head, answering the question he hadn't asked. But you noticed them. And they noticed you back. That could have had disastrous consequences if I hadn't stepped in. It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it.
Do what? Jay asked himself, but received no response. Typical; The Omega Man was rarely forthcoming with information. Especially if that information pertained to what went on when The Omega Man held the metaphorical reins.
He would get no answers tonight, he knew, so he turned his thoughts to Sunday; to Michael Easton, and his chance to reinstate his reputation, his claim to fame. He knew there was a good possibility that he'd never prove himself the best in the world; there was always someone younger, stronger, or more skilled. But at the very least, he could damn well end his career with the knowledge that he'd defeated every challenger placed before him.
That reputation had almost been tarnished, once. Ajira Miyamoto had reminded him of a forgotten tag team match against Devon Mayhem and Carnage. Eldor wouldn't have been happy to learn of his forgetfulness; his erstwhile tag partner had been the one who picked up the pinfall. Over Carnage, to be fair, but the records showed a win in his column, and a loss in Mayhem's, which was good enough for Omega.
There were no corporate politics protecting Easton, no zealous suits trying to shield an investment. And this time, there would be no third parties. No tag partners, no interference, hopefully. Just two men, battling to determine who was the greater competitor.
And on that note...
Jay pulled his TAG Hueur Meridiist from one pocket, and his black cigarette case from the other. He didn't know whether or not Heather would have recognized the thing, but considering who it had come from, he hadn't been about to tempt fate. As a result, it had been several hours since he'd had a puff. A joint found its way to his mouth, and he swapped the case for his gold Zippo before he tapped Ajira's name on his contact list.
"Hey, you wanna grab the camera, meet me on the terrace? ... Yeah, I'm cool. ... Nah, I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm crazy; I don't think I'm likely to see her again. ... Yeah, it sucks. She was a huge part of my life during that fucked up period just before I met Carol. ... No, I don't want to talk about it! ... Because I'm not a panty-waisted homo, Mom. ... Will you just grab the camera and get up here? ... All right, I'm sorry. ... Goodbye."~
*Our scene fades in Jay Omega, garbed in the attire usually worn by The Omega Man; camouflage cargo pants, and a black hockey jersey with neon green accents, including the Greek letter omega on the chest. The lack of a black, leather face mask wasn't indicative of anything; his alternate identities having proven previously that they can assert some limited control without it. The burning joint dangling from his half-grinning mouth, on the other hand, was a vice neither of the others indulged in.^ His backdrop consists of the nighttime skyline of Toronto, the city of his birth, with the CN Tower rising into the darkness over his right shoulder. Jay takes a haul from his spliff, exhales into the night breeze, and begins to speak.*
Jay: I'm getting a sense of deja vu doing this; seems like only yesterday I was shooting a promo from a rooftop terrace in Japan, and now here I am doing it again, in Toronto. History repeats itself, as the saying goes, and some things always circle back in on themselves. Usually our mistakes. Yes, those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past, are doomed to repeat them; another appropriate adage. And one I intend to take to heart. History will reflect the fact that Michael Easton and I have stepped into the ring at opposing ends twice before. Each of those times, Mikey was the one who walked away with the win. Each of those times, it was another competitor in the match that Mikey pinned. And now, he and I are set to square off again.
*Omega takes a few puffs from the joint, holds the hit for a moment, then exhales with a slight cough.*
Jay: There is a chance, as there always is, that history will give us a threepeat, and end the match with Mikey's hand held high in victory. After all, the man's almost as good at what he does as I am. There is a chance, as there always is, that despite my best efforts, I will falter and fail. But I'm not a man who deals in chance; I make my own luck. I can't claim, anymore, to be able to accurately predict the words and thoughts of my opponent this week; Mikey's proven himself to be less predictable than I had originally thought. I can't even be certain he'll say anything directly to me; actions do speak louder than words, after all. On the other hand, you've got me; a man who is adept at both talking the talk, and walking the walk.
*Jay hauls on the doobie, flicks the ash over the railing, then exhales twin streams of smoke through his nostrils.*
Jay: A fact that Mikey knows all too well, having been both my opponent, and my tag partner, on more than one occasion. But here's something Mikey may not know; this fight isn't personal. At least, not to me; I won't pretend to know how he feels about it. Now, people can be forgiven for thinking I view it personally, what with superkicking Mikey after that tag match against Pierce and Hyena, but that was just sending a message. I was letting Mikey know that the third time's the charm, and that the third time we faced off against each other, this charming bastard would be the one walking away with a "W" by his name.
*Omega points at himself with a thumb as he says this last, then takes another puff from his joint.*
Jay: Now, I know you're a scrapper, Mikey. You know how to handle yourself in a fight; when to duck, when to weave, when to strike. But so far, you've had the advantage of not being my sole focus in the ring. First there was Pierce, whose timing couldn't have been better to make me fall into the very trap I warned him not to; always watch your back. Then there was that forgettable tag team match, wherein you teamed with that clown-faced juggalette, Isaiah Chavis, while I was stuck with the dead weight of Maddog Diamond. That match was over almost before it began; I didn't even have enough time to pick myself up off the floor before the bell was ringing to signal Diamond's defeat. And mine, unfortunately.
*Jay shakes his head in disbelief, hits the joint, then knocks the burning ember off, and taps a finger against the burnt end to tamp out any remaining burning bits. He pulls out his black cigarette case, and dumps the roach in, then replaces the case in his pocket.*
Jay: I really, really hate losing because of someone else's incompetence. But since Diamond ain't around anymore, I guess I won't be able take my frustration with him out on him. And because of that tag match, Chavis, you've found your way onto my short list. Again, nothing personal, but you've got an unanswered win over me, and that shit ain't gonna fly. Someday, you too will find yourself in the ring with me, Isaiah, and on that day, you will taste defeat by my hand. But that's a problem for a distant day, in an unspecified time. It never pays to get too far ahead of one's self, and I've got a fairly full plate over the next few weeks. Got Easton to beat this Sunday, then next week, at Revenge, I've got to collect my United States Championship from Zombie McMorris.
*Jay shakes his head again, more in commiseration for himself than anything else, and chuckles to himself.*
Jay: To be honest, I don't have a clue which fight will be harder. I mean, I'm pretty sure I can win both of them; one on one, I can beat anybody. But which challenge will prove the greater? I've been in the ring with Mikey several times, so I've got a fair idea of how he fights. You know what I'm talking about, Mikey; those subtle cues in body language, barely perceptible shifts in weight, micro-contractions of the pupils. Subconscious things that we have no physical control over, but can't be discerned from watching tapes, no matter how adept one is at spotting them. And those tapes are all I have when it comes to McMorris. Sadly, I'll only be half-armed when I face him for my title. I would have first hand knowledge, if not for Tony Douglas.
Ajira(offscreen): Getting ahead of yourself again, Jay.
*Omega tips a finger in Ajira's direction in acknowledgment.*
Jay: Thank you. Focus isn't exactly my strong point, when it comes to talking. And I need to focus on Mikey, otherwise I'm just wasting my breath. So, Mikey, I've covered our physical similarities in the past; we're roughly the same height and build, we're both tough as coffin nails. But with those physical similarities comes a slew of mental differences. And no, I'm not just talking about how I sometimes put on a mask, and seemingly become another person. I'm talking about the vast differences between our outlooks on life. I'm a laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, always eager to see what tomorrow will bring. But you? From all I've seen and heard, you're--
*Jay cuts off as his cell phone begins beeping out an 8-bit version of the Mortal Kombat theme song. He quickly pulls it out of his pocket, and checks the Caller ID.*
Jay: Whoops, sorry, Mikey, I've got to take this. I'll get back to you.
*Jay makes the "cut" motion with one hand, and answers his phone with the other. The scene fades out as he raises it to his ear.*
~Ajira lowered the camera, and backed off a few more steps, as Jay raised the phone to his ear.
"Heather?" Omega said into the receiver, confusion mixing with a hint of eager excitement in his voice; he really hadn't expected to ever hear from her again. He certainly didn't expect the conversation that followed.
"Oh-thank-God-Jimmy!" Heather said on the other end of the line, her rapid-fire words coming in a near hysterical voice. "I-need-you-here-now! He's-here-he's-here-in-my-apartment-and-I-don't-know-what--"
Worry blossomed in Jay's chest. Had someone broken in while Heather slept? Why had she called him, and not the police?
"Heather, calm down! I'm on my way now. If you haven't called the cops, you should do that as soon as I ha--"
Omega cut off as Heather interrupted with a frantic shriek. He heard a door slam, then Heather's terrified voice again.
"He-can't-be-here-but-he's-here-but-he's-dead-and-he's-here-and-I-don't-know-WHATTHEFUCK!!!"
A crash, like glass shattering, then another door slamming. Worry turned to fear in his breast; an emotion he'd recently become reacquainted with.
"Heather?! Who's there? Heather!"
"It's BattMan." She said quietly, then screamed. The phone went dead in his hand. Not disconnected, dead. There was no dial tone, no automated voice prompting him to try his call again. Not even a flicker on the display screen.
The blood drained from Jay's face as he dropped the phone into his pocket, and pushed past Ajira into the hotel suite. He quickly grabbed his mask, then fished the wooden totem from his right cargo pocket. Omega locked eyes with Ajira, and spoke in a deathly calm voice.
"I'm going to need you to drag me out to the car, and drive us to this address." Jay said, handing Ajira a small slip of paper with a woman's flowing handwriting on it. "I don't give a fuck if you have to run every red light along the way, don't stop for anything, not even the cops. Got it?"
No stranger to Omega's odd requests, and confident that his friend's status as a foreign dignitary would be enough to absolve them of any vehicular crimes short of manslaughter, Ajira simply nodded, then gathered up his jacket, and Jay's car keys.
"Dragonzord." Jay said to himself, as he slipped the mask over his face. A shudder ran the length of his body, nose to toes, and information passed between the two entities as they swapped places. The Omega Man looked at Ajira with only a hint of Jay's worry less than a heartbeat later.
"You know what to do?" He asked Ajira, who nodded resolutely in response.
The Omega Man clapped himself in the forehead with the wooden totem, and slumped to the floor. With a weary sigh, Ajira crouched, and hefted his unconscious friend up into a fireman's carry, then began what would surely be an awkward journey down to the waiting car.~
.::He stood against the wall of an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. Clothing befitting a female lay strewn across the floor, giving the impression of carpeting to the hardwood floor. On the opposite side of the room huddled the purple pixie; crouched down between the wall and the twin-sized bed. Halfway across the room, between the pixie and the door, stood a man-shaped shadow with tilted crimson slits where the eyes of a human would be. A paralylich. Evidently it sensed his presence, since its upper section split in half, and turned one burning slit in his direction. He felt its power wash over him as it tried to root his feet to the spot.::.
.::Once he'd been paralyzed with fear, it would turn its attention back to the pixie; would sever her from her anchor. Then it would consume her very essence, leaving no evidence she'd ever existed. The next person to enter this room on the physical plane would find a withered, dessicated corpse; seemingly a month dead, even if they happened by moments afterward. Then it would turn to him, and repeat the process at its leisure. There was only one glaring flaw with that scenario. He'd conquered fear more than three human lifetimes ago.::.
"Theron rounds."
~Ajira pulled to a stop outside the designated address, and took a deep breath. It had been nearly five minutes since Jay had started convulsing violently in the passenger seat, then slumped against the door; his breathing shallow and erratic. He hadn't been given any instructions beyond this point, and was at a loss about what to do next.
Now what? Do I wait here? Does he expect me to carry his ass upstairs?
A barely audible shriek drifted down to his ears; a woman screaming Omega's birth name. That answered the question for Ajira, though he doubted she'd react positively to seeing him stagger into her apartment with Jay slung over his shoulders.
Ajira climbed out of the car, and circled around to the passenger side.~
.::He glanced up as a section of air seemed to shimmer, then coalesced into a carbon copy of himself, dressed head to toe in glistening blood red. Of course. The Maniac. The pixie's head swiveled back and forth between them; her colour changing to a deep violet to mirror her confusion. It wasn't every day somebody saw two astral forms of the same being. She placed a hand over her heart in an attempt to slow its beating, then shrunk back against the wall as the Maniac turned to face her; cold hatred in his eyes. He struggled to raise the Caster, to point it at the Maniac, but his arm refused to remain steady.::.
"Neutrino rounds."
"Hold on. I'll be right back, sort of. You need to answer the door."
"What?"
~Ajira stuck his heel out to keep the elevator doors open, thankful the place even had one, then reached down to drag Omega's unconscious form through the opening. He jumped back as The Omega Man sprung to his feet under his own power, then immediately put a hand to his right shoulder.
"Oh good, nobody's home. Would have been real awkward to let the Core try explaining this. C'mon, Hothead, we've got damage control to do." He said as he brushed past the flabbergasted Ajira.
The Omega Man limped down the hall; his left knee didn't want to bend properly it seemed. Ajira was certain he hadn't run into anything along the way, so the injury couldn't be his fault. With a shrug, he put it out of his mind, and followed his friend to a door, which The Omega Man knocked on. A moment later, a pale, disheveled woman answered, and slammed The Omega Man back against the wall in what was either a flying body tackle, or an overly aggressive hug. He lifted her bodily, and marched into the apartment before he disentangled himself from her vise-like grip.
A collection of broken glass lay on the floor by the far wall of the living room, under a torn poster depicting the heavy metal band Black Label Society. The Omega Man strode across the room as though he owned the place, and flopped down on the threadbare, floral print couch. Ajira tried to take control of the situation, before the masked man could even open his mouth.
"Hi. Um, sorry about all this, Ms. uh, Lynch, is it?" Heather nodded mutely in response. "I'm, uh, not sure where to begin. See, our friend Jay over there--"
"Yo yo yo, let me speak on this." The Omega Man interrupted. With a sigh, and a helpless shrug, Ajira indicated that Heather should sit down. When everyone had settled in, The Omega Man launched into his tale.
"Pixie girl, everything you know is wrong." He began, "This world of yours, the entire observable universe? It's an infinitesimally tiny fraction of a fraction of a fraction of existence. Your entire life, you've been looking at reality through a pinprick in a blindfold. Your brain can only comprehend a minute slice of the big picture, and your imagination fills in the rest. Whatever you think of the world you know, the weather, the morality of those around you, the distance between one place and another... its entirety comes from inside your own head. You follow us so far?"
"I.... I think so." Heather replied uncertainly.
"So, no then. This could be difficult." The Omega Man sighed in frustration; human language was so... limited. If only he could somehow... Ah yes. The Omega Man held up his index finger, while the other reached into his pocket, and pulled out the wooden totem, then showed it to her.
"We're going to show you something that might break you a little. We know how you feel about the Core. We know more about your two years than he does. We know how much you trust him, and We ask that you trust us as well; We need him to be cooperative, and that means keeping his kith safe, so you can believe us when We say that We mean you no harm. In a moment, We want you to take this from us, and touch it to your forehead. Don't worry, Firebug here will keep your shell safe while we're away."
The Omega Man clapped the totem to his head, and fell back against the couch. Heather picked up the totem, and looked at it wonderingly, then threw a glance at Ajira. The Japanese man shrugged his shoulders, and put on an expression that clearly said "I don't have a clue". Hesitantly, Heather touched the carved wood to her forehead, and everything changed.~
"You can understand that... thing?"
"Sort of. Please don't interrupt. Glo-Worm, I need a link. She's in danger, and deserves to know what kind."
"Ba-back to... How?"
"Right, first time. Sorry. Um, just go touch yourself, and focus on waking up."
~The two of them came to at the same time; The Omega Man with a wide yawn, Heather with a sharp intake of breath. Heather's face was much paler than it should be; if any more blood drained from her head, she was likely to pass out from lack of oxygen to the brain. She tried to stand, made it halfway, then wobbled, and fell back to a seated position.
"Burning Man, get her a drink," The Omega Man commanded, "Warm water, with some diachlamide in it. Wait, you don't have diachlamide here. Mix a pinch of salt and sugar in with some warm water, make sure you stir it well."
Ajira made his way to the kitchen to fulfill the request, and returned less than a minute later, and handed a glass to the trembling Heather.
"Well, now that we're all caught up, do you mind if We use your apartment like a Hollywood studio?" The Omega Man asked nonchalantly, as if the day's events were commonplace. Heather turned a blank look in his direction, and Ajira cleared his throat before translating to normal English.
"He wants to know if he can shoot a promotional video for his wrestling match on Sunday."
"Are you serious?" Heather squeaked, "Jesus, you are serious. After all... whatever the hell that was, you're still going to wrestle?" Disbelief filled her voice.
"We do this kind of stuff all the time; astral injuries don't last long on the physical body." The Omega Man answered, waving a hand dismissively. Then he noticed the sheepish look on Ajira's face.
"I, uh, didn't bring the camera." He said in a small voice.
"Really? We told you to always keep the baby close at hand! How can We tune the Omegalomaniacs if they can't hear us?" The Omega Man threw his hands up in disgust, then turned to Heather. "Hey, look, sorry to keep bugging you for stuff, but do you possibly have some sort of optic transmitter We could use to relay a message to the Easter Bunny?"
Another blank stare. Once more, Ajira stepped in.
"Do you have, like, a digital camera, or something? Something he can use to film a short video." Ajira held up a hand to ward off the question he saw in her eyes. "I've looked after him for a loooong time; you kind of pick up on the hidden meanings. So, camera?"
"Y-yeah, there's a webcam on my laptop," Heather said, indicating a pink laptop with a black anarchy symbol painted on the lid in nail polish. "Th-this is way too much for me. I... I think I need to lie down."
The Omega Man quickly bent over, scooped up Heather's feet, and placed them in his lap. She shifted position on the couch, and leaned her head back against the armrest, while Ajira set the laptop up to record, and placed it on the coffee table in front of The Omega Man.~
*Our grainy scene fades in on the masked visage of The Omega Man, reclining against a battered, old, floral print couch, with a pair of small bare feet resting on his lap. Though the quality of the footage is very low, his demeanor clearly speaks of a weariness felt in his bones. His voice, however, is as chipper as always.*
Jay: And We're back! Hey there, Michelangelo, sorry for running off on you earlier. We heard the call of duty, and had to engage in some post-modern warfare. But worry not, 'cause We didn't forget about you. No sirree Bob. Now, to continue from where the Core left off.
*The Omega Man fishes a crumpled pack of Belmont cigarettes from the left cargo pocket of his camouflage pants, sticks a bent one in his mouth, then fires it up with his gold Zippo. Bluish smoke drifts out from behind his mask, and he shoots a glance off to his right. He tosses another cigarette that way, then hands over his lighter. A moment later, a similar cloud drifts across the screen, followed by a feminine cough.*
Woman(offscreen): Jesus fuck this is stale! How old are these fucking things?
Jay: Three and a half years.
*One of the feet quickly rises, and smacks Omega under the jaw.*
Woman(offscreen): Dick!
Jay: No, TOM. You can call him Harry, if you want.
*The Omega Man points off to his left.*
Woman(offscreen): Hey, Harry, toss me those smokes, would ya?
Jay: Physical similarities aside, Michelangelo, your worldview seems to be rather bleak. You're at the extreme end of skepticism, aren't you? You look at the great, wide world, and see it as just a tiny pocket of an incomprehensibly large universe, and wonder to yourself, "what's the point?" Oh, if only you knew how close to the mark you were, Easter Bunny.
Woman(offscreen): The fuck? Who are--
Ajira(offscreen): The guy's name is Michael Easton, but Jay never uses proper names when he's like this. Please don't interrupt.
Jay: Domo arigatou, Mr. Roboto. See, bunny-boy, We'd try to explain to you about the nature of perception versus reality, but if our highly developed brain can barely grasp the concepts, then there's no way your thinky-box would be able to comprehend it without exploding out your head holes in a spray of gray jelly. It takes a special kind of person to pierce the Veil, and We don't think your Eyes have been opened to the truth. Now, there's no shame in that; ignorance is bliss, so they say. Just ask pixie girl, here. I'm sure she wishes she could go back to being ignorant of the terrifying truth.
Woman(offscreen): I do have a name, you know.
*Omega pats one of the feet in his lap.*
Jay: Most people do, sweetie. Now, Michelangelo, We know We've run our mouth before, about all sorts of stuff, and We'll totally forgive you for thinking We're just another nutbag. The Core thinks that often enough that it might be true. Oh, hey! Speaking of the Core...
*Omega mumbles something to himself that the webcam's microphone doesn't pick up, and slips the mask off his face. His head lolls back for a moment, then snaps back up. Jay blinks his eyes a few times, glances off to his right, then turns back to the camera.*
Jaay: Uh, where was I?
*The feet in Jay's lap twitch, and pull slightly off screen; as though the person they're attached to had sat up.*
Woman(offscreen): Jimmy? Are you... you?
Jay: Hi, Heather. Yeah, I'm in control again.
*The feet slide off Jay's lap, and out of the shot. A diminutive woman with auburn hair, wearing a powder blue hoodie, leans into view, and clamps a crushing hug around Omega's neck. She plants a quick peck on his cheek, then slumps back out of the frame.*
Heather(offscreen): Whugh. Shouldn't have moved so fast.
*The feet reappear, and settle into place lightly on Jay's crotch.*
Heather(offscreen): You got a joint, Jimmy?
*Jay pulls out his black cigarette case, withdraws a hand-rolled stick of goodness, and passes it to his right.*
Heather(offscreen, quietly): You still have that?
Ajira(offscreen): Heather, please stop interrupting.
Heather(offscreen): Sorry.
Jay: It's okay, I'm not gonna give you shit for it.
*Omega accepts a burning joint passed to him from off camera, hits it, then passes it back.*
Jay: Mikey, I get it. Life sucks, the world you thought you'd find when you grew up turned out to be a big fat lie. And what's your response? You pick fights without caring about the consequences. You drift from moment to moment, looking for something to fill the void you opened in yourself, when you turned your back on the trappings of living your life. You want to know the point, Mikey? The point of it all? You could ask me three times, and I'd give you three different answers, depending on who's wearing my skin at the time. Right now, it's all Jay, and I'll tell you what I've learned about the meaning of life. It's really quite simple; just three little words.
*Jay takes the joint offered to him again, draws on it, then passes it back, and exhales while speaking.*
Jay: Live. Love. Learn. That may not seem like much, but it's really easy to grasp. Live your life to the fullest, because you never know when it's gonna end. Love with all your heart, because you may never get another chance. Learn from your mistakes, and those made by others, so that you don't fall prey to them again. Personally, I haven't had much luck in the second regard, but you, Mikey... You seem to fail hard at the first one. You don't live your life, you just survive it. And I've been there; surviving instead of living, so I know how much it sucks. The difference is that I had people who looked out for me; people who cared about me. What do you have? A watering hole you feel comfortable in? An undefeated streak in the ring? Sorry, pal, but that one's coming to an end Sunday night. Everybody loses sooner or later. And sooner or later, everyone loses to me.
*The joint enters the screen again, and Jay takes it. He carefully repositions the small stub between his thumb and forefinger, hauls on it, then leans forward to put it out in an unseen ashtray. Omega leans back, and casually places his right hand on the ankle closest to the screen.*
Jay: You're a hell of a fighter, Mikey, but so am I. I've spent a long-ass time in this business, and I know a few tricks that might surprise you. Don't get me wrong; I'm not underestimating you. I know that once that bell rings, I'm in for a damn good fight, but you'd best bolieve that you are too. I'm not going to underestimate you, but rest assured I'm not going to sell myself short, either. I will outwit you, outlast you, and out-perform you. There's a reason I call myself the Omega Man, and it hearkens back to something ol' Tony Dipshit said; omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet. It means "the last of a series", or "the end". I am the end, Mikey. The end of your hot streak. The last of a series of challenges you thought to easily overcome. When the dust settles, I am, and always will be, the last man standing. See you Sunday.
*Jay nods to his left, and the scene fades to black.*