If You Can't Dazzle Them With Brilliance...

[Jay Omega]

.::He reclined comfortably in the increasingly familiar room. The dim light coming from the ornate, yet dusty, light fixture attached to the fourth wall barely provided illumination, but that was irrelevant; he'd come to understand that one didn't need eyes to see, here. He still hadn't mastered, or even attempted, The Omega Man's supposed "three-sixty vision", but he had learned to sense minute changes in the room's air pressure. Such a change came now, and he shifted his attention to the rippling stream of blood that comprised the third wall. The Hardcore Maniac entered the dreamshard silently; his very presence dimming the already low light to a level that would make even a cat feel blind. It didn't affect his vision in the slightest. As the Maniac strode forward, a mist rose from the floor and solidified into a conference table that formed a flimsy barrier between them. The Maniac's mask conveyed amusement, but the man himself, if a man he truly was, stopped and placed his palms on the table as he leaned forward.::.

"Why have you brought me here again?"

.::He didn't answer; knew he didn't need to. Apparently both the Maniac and The Omega Man could read his thoughts more concisely than he could express them, so why bother? He merely radiated an aura of calm patience while remaining silent. The third member of this little meeting had yet to arrive, but the building sense of anticipation told him The Omega Man drew near. The fourth wall came to life, the myriad colours swirling and striating in a mad frenzy, and The Omega Man stepped into the room. He also walked toward the table, then leaned in to inspect the golden, triangular logo etched into its surface.::.

"Oh hey, I recognize this symbol! Cool! So we're--"

"No, we are not in fucking Pantheon!"

"Well spluh. Did you forget that we joined up with Smurfette, and John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt's little brother?"

"Fool. Chase Michaels is of no relation to the Cut Throat Kid."

"Furthermore, it's only Chelsea's hair that's blue, not her skin."

"Yeah, well, shackin' up with Bobby Drake is sure to end in frostbite, so it's only a matter of time before she is blue."

"Might we perhaps tend to the matter at hand? Why have you drawn us here?"

.::He wasn't completely sure of this plan he'd come up with, but he had few other options, and none of them had a high percentage of success. There was a risk, of course; he'd have to give control to the Maniac once or twice, but it was a necessary gamble if he intended to make the rest of the roster understand just why he would be the one to win War.::.

"Here's the skinny, guys; this next Pay Per View is a huge event, probably the biggest of my career."

"Our career."

"Whatever. Point is, there's gonna be more than two dozen other guys trying to win this thing as well. Now, I don't have to beat everybody, just gotta make sure I'm the last one standing. To do that, I'm probably going to need help from both of you."

"Ha! And why should I help you accomplish your goals, when you keep me shackled, and prevent me from achieving my own?"

"Well, maybe if your goals didn't include genocide, you might have a stronger case."

"ANYWAY... Maniac, you want out, you want to hurt people, this is your opportunity. If I'm going to win this match, that means that I can't let any allegiance or alliance hamper me. Friend or foe, you'll have free rein to fuck 'em all up. So long as you're willing to help with the promotional aspect leading up to the show."

"You wish me to waste my breath on the insignificant insects you must battle?"

"Technically it's my breath. And yes. Yes I do. Those are the stips; you help out during the week, you get let out during the match. No help, no freedom. Your call."

"Very well, I accept your terms. But know this; events spiral out of the control of beings far more powerful than yourself. The Balance has been disturbed, and the ramifications could be catastrophic for your kind. This War you fight is far more important than you realize."

"Yeah, and that ain't all. My Omega Sense detected a Class Four tear in the continuum a little while back. I didn't think to mention it, since possessions happen all the time and never really amount to much, but it turns out something more ugly and dangerous than usual was walking around in a skin-puppet not too long ago. It don't take an astrophysicist to figure out that the evil forces of dreaded dark evilness are getting impatient and desperate."

.::Oh yeah, this was a great plan. What could possibly go wrong with actually allowing either of these two control for an extended period of time?::.

"Well, since we're all in agreement, here's the plan..."

==============================

*Our scene fades in a dark, smoky room. The low light barely illuminates our immediate surroundings, and nothing beyond a few feet away, leaving us with a drab view of a concrete floor covered in shards of broken glass. Footsteps sound in the darkness, crunching their way closer, and Jay Omega's crimson clad personality, the Hardcore Maniac, strides into the tiny pool of weak light. He stands impassively for a moment, then lowers the glistening red hood attached to his vest, and stares into the camera from behind his leather face mask.*

Jay: Shawn Scholes. A pathetic waste of meat, and an infuriating waste of my time. I've no interest in an insect so low in the pecking order. I only mention him because I'm not foolish enough to allow even the smallest of threats to pass by unnoticed. Stare too hard at the wolf in front of you, and you miss the snake striking at your heel. Scholes will be vanquished with ease. If not by my hand, then by another's. I've wasted enough breath on this offal; he's done nothing to warrant further attention, and he will continue to do such. He is already forgotten.

*A clock wipe changes our scenery from the Hardcore Maniac to plain old Jay Omega in jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the album cover of Helloween's "Walls of Jericho". Jay stands on a helipad with a clear blue sky at his back, and a sweeping vista of the lush jungle covering his fair-sized tropical island. A salty ocean breeze causes the treetops to sway, and Omega closes his eyes fro a moment as he inhales the fresh air.*

Jay: Justin Cash. You're kind of a dick. But you've shown a hell of a lot of improvement in your ring work since you signed your contract. The question is, how much have you improved? Do you think it's enough to get you all the way trough War? No, probably not. Don't get me wrong, bucko; you've got all the earmarks of a future World Champion, but your attitude leaves a little something to be desired. Like a drive by. Nah, I'm just playin'; there are very few people in this world I'd wish death on, and you ain't one of 'em. I'd wish you luck, Justin, 'cause you'll need it if you don't want to be the first man out, but I think I'd rather save all the luck I can, since I'm gonna need it too.

*Another clock wipe, and now we find ourselves looking at The Omega Man sitting in a patio chair. Underwater. He wears a SCUBA tank and respirator, though the goggles do him no good, as seawater is obviously leaking in through the sides of his mask; evidenced by his closed eyes. Since he clearly can't speak while underwater, The Omega Man uses American Sign Language to communicate his thoughts.*

Jay(signing): K-A-Z...M-A-Z-Y. Dude, you crazy. We like that. But there lots crazy people in W-C-F; you not stand out. Is all right, though, people say same about us, and We U.S. Champion. Clear that something special about Omega Man, and not small truck special. Big awesome special. Not so special is M-A-Z-Y; he not proven talent yet, like us. This was not good idea; talking better because more fast. Sorry, K-A-Z, no more time talk you. We go back up in air, maybe talk you more later.

*The Omega Man waves slowly, then pushes himself up from his chair, and swims toward the water's surface. The camera doesn't follow him; instead we get another clock wipe as Omega leaves the frame, which takes us back to the Hardcore Maniac standing in his gloomy chamber.*

Jay: Tobias Barnz. You're only worth mentioning because you share a name with a WCF Hall of Famer; Gravedigger. What hope do you possibly have in this match? Your gangly frame might as well be made of aluminum for all the effectiveness you'll have. I won't be surprised if somebody hefts you overhead, and simply ejects you into the crowd. You're spindly enough that a child could do so with relative ease. And your wrestling ability is on par with a dead squirrel's, so you really don't have much chance of progressing beyond the point you're at now in your career. Which is to say, doing nothing.

*Clock wipe. Back to Jay on the helipad. Omega stands with his back to us, looking out over his domain.*

Jay: Biohazard? Really? How did I get stuck talking about him? Fuck that, I'ma just smoke a joint instead. I stomped the shit out of B-Haz my first night in WCF, and despite his win over Logan last week, dude ain't nowhere near my level. Although, now that I think about it, I seem to remember him trying to collect on that bounty I had on offer a while back. He didn't do shit, but the attempt is worth at least a grand. Biohazard, come find me after War, I owe you some money.

*You guessed it, clock wipe. Now we're on a beach; white sand, waves lapping at the shore, the cries of seagulls in the sky. And The Omega Man, buried up to his chin under a detailed sand body that looks part mermaid, part octopus. He calls a "merctopus", in case you're wondering.*

Jay: Air tastes so much better than saltwater. Who do We have now? A Daredevil Muppet? The number two? Oh! A lame Hunter Thompson wannabe! We know all about getting kerfluffered on some wicked cool stuff, so it stands to reason that you're high as a G-6 while watching this. Which is why We decided to get this artwork going on; if Matt Murdock can see us right now, then We probably look like a Kraken to him, which can only serve to make him fear us. Perhaps this means he'll avoid us in the ring once the War starts. Not that We want people to avoid us, but it'll be a lot easier to win if We don't have to pin everybody ourself, ya dig? No, seriously, dig us out of here; our butt itches.

*The image dissolves, nah just kidding, it's another clock wipe. Back to the Maniac we go! This time he's got a folding steel chair set up, and has his crimson-clad ass planted in the seat.*

Jay: Who in the Nine Hells is Louis Bartkowski? I'm not going to waste my time with this trash. It was a foolish idea to begin with the imbeciles who rank so low on the card that they rarely even get booked.

*I guess that's all we're getting out of him. Clock wipe! Jay Omega is now sitting at the edge of the helipad, his legs dangling out over a dizzying drop down the side of a sheer bluff.*

Jay: Oh man, Alex Richards. The Archduke of Mass Confusion. I've known this guy for years, though I only recently warmed up to him. Dude was a bit of a prick back in the day. From what I understand, he was a bit of a prick right up until he got his noggin knocked here in the WCF. Now? Now he reminds me of the old me, which ironically is the young me. But that don't matter too much. Nor does the fact that we're running with the same crew these days. I can imagine that there's going to be a fair amount of teamwork between the five of us, but make no mistake, people; there can only be one winner. Alex, I'll be glad to give you a hand if you need it, but I will eliminate you if the chance comes up, and I would expect the same from you.

*Clo-- no? No clock wipe. This time it's an iris wipe. Odd, usually once Omega latches on to an idea, he beats it to death. Anyway, iris wipe to The Omega Man, now standing in the jungle and leaning against the bole of a widely sprawling rubber tree. As in, a tree that produces the sap used in rubber, not a tree made of rubber; that would just be silly. Of course, this is The Omega Man we're talking about, so it very well could be a tree made of rubber. Whatever, just pay attention.*

Jay: We can't bolieve We drew Logan's name; that's so cool. We've been a big fan of Logan's ever since We first picked up an X-Men comic book. He's been on more crazy adventures than... Oh. Not that Logan. Hot Dog Guy? Well all righty then, this is gonna be even easier than We thought! We were worried about fighting an immortal with a metal skeleton, but if it's just Hot Dog Guy, We're good. Dude lost to Ivan Ooze last week, what do We have to worry about? Next!

*Clock wipe... dammit, I shouldn't have said anything... clock wipe to the Hardcore Maniac again, still sitting in the darkness, though now he has a rather large Bowie knife in one hand, and a whetstone in the other. The Maniac runs the blade over the whetstone in smooth strokes, his attention focused on his work, not his words.*

Jay: I refuse to waste further time. The Ultimate Destroyer is an opponent better suited for the gibbering madman to deal with, not I. If I am to take part in this idiotic venture, at least provide me with a target worthy of my attention.

*Not very talkative, is he? Star wipe back to Jay on the helipad. He still sits on the edge, though he now has one knee drawn up, and a joint burning between his fingers. Omega takes a haul, then glances our way.*

Jay: Doc Henry. I really hope you're all right, man. Any friend of Johnny's is a friend of mine. But that don't mean I ain't gonna kick you in the face. Being in the main event at One would be huge, let alone the fact that the World Championship will be on the line. I want that spot, I want that shot. I won't seek you out, Doc, but if you get in my way, I'ma knock you down. I know this match ain't about who gets the most pinfalls; that don't determine the winner. I don't care too much about breaking records with how many people I eliminate. I just want to be the last one left, Doc, which means you're gonna have to go. That's just the way the cookie crumbles.

*This time we get a barn wipe that takes us back to The Omega Man, now sitting in a Zen garden. Not on a chair, or anything. He's not looking out at the Zen garden; he's standing atop a moss-covered boulder in the center of the garden, perched on one foot in a Crane position. When he speaks, it's with a very bad, horribly racist, fake Japanese accent. Which is extra terrible, because he actually can speak Japanese.*

Jay: Ohayo, Walker-san. Yora training witta Johnny Fry make you biiiig trett. To Biohazard. Not to Omega Man. KIIAAII!

*The Omega Man hops from one foot to the other while kicking out. He almost loses his balance on the slippery stone, but catches himself at the last moment.*

Jay: You probabry not know dis, but We were raised by ninja werewurves a rong time ago, in a garaxy fah fah away afta our home was destroyed by forces uvva evow. But We don'ta think it was da same pranet you are from, because your fur is not pinkuh. Arso, because it was a diff-a-rent universe. But-ah no matta. Arr yora training whirr not herp you against us, because-a We--

Ajira(offscreen): You know, the accent thing is kind of offensive.

Jay(normal voice): Dude! Shut up! You just ruined our premise!

*Clock wipe... fuck, I was hoping we were actually breaking away from those... back to the Hardcore Maniac. The knife and whetstone are gone, and the Maniac is being very boring; just sitting there, staring at us. It's kinda creepy, actually.*

Jay: Ah, the filthy beast. At last someone worth speaking to. Hyena, I'm sure you remember just how capable I am when it comes to these multiple participant matches. I have the skill, the stamina, and the determination to make it all the way to the end, you know this. And I'm fully aware that you possess those self-same attributes. But make no mistake, dog; regardless of what else may happen during the course of this battle, you will not eliminate me. Honestly, I'll be surprised if you last more than fifteen minutes. You're no stranger to a good brawl, but I think this particular battle is beyond you.

*Clock wipe back to Jay. His joint is gone, and he now stands facing the camera with his back to the open sky.*

Jay: Steeltoe Joe. The Holy Flame. I'd say something about how it must be nice to have your God on your side, but so far, it seems your God don't like you too much. How else do you account for your lack of results since your return? Or is that a testament to your lack of skill? You look a little rusty, if you ask me. But then, I wasn't around for your first run in the WCF, so maybe you always sucked this bad. I don't know. Point is, I don't think too highly of you. Any man who deludes himself with religion is an idiot, in my opinion. Pray you don't come up against me in this match, Joe. And if you do? It won't do you any good, but you can try praying that I don't knock you the fuck out, and pin your ass for the elimination.

*Iris wipe back to The Omega Man, in the jungle again. Except now he's dressed in a full khaki outfit, wearing an Outback style hat with the left side folded up.*

Jay(w/ Australian accent): G'day, mates! Crocodile Dundee 'Unter 'ere! Got a li'l message fer that dingo, Brent Alpine! No, wait a tick... it's not five fifty-nine yet. Sorry, mate, yer gonna have to come back in a bit to see if We've got anything to say to ya. In the meantime, We're gonna be a mite busy, buildin' a little fort outta sandbags. Catch ya on the flipside, mate!

*Clock wipe, ugh, back to... Jay Omega? Yep, Jay Omega. Still standing on the helipad. We zoom in on his smiling face, until the blue sky is barely visible as a cerulean corona around his head.*

Jay: That leaves me with Bryan "Buzz" Worthy, for the moment. The current Television Champion; the man who unseated the pompous and arrogant douche nozzle, John Gable. Buzz, you've got talent, I'll give you that. But that's not all I'm going to give you, oh no. 'Cause once I hit that ring, I'ma give you the same thing I'ma give everyone else who steps in my path; a foot to the jaw, and a quick one, two, three. Am I certain I'm going to win? No. there's always that little sliver of doubt, and it increases exponentially with each added wrestler in the ring. But I am about eighty-seven percent certain. There are more than a few people who can put a stop to the rampage I'll be bringing, but Buzz, you ain't one of 'em. I'll get to those guys soon enough, but all this talking is thirsty work, and I still have some of that Whoop Ass I nabbed from Hyena a while back. So I'm off to have a few drinks, and then I'll be back on the airwaves to shoot a verbal bukkake at the rest of the people in the War match. Until then, peeps.

*Omega winks at the camera, and the scene fades to black.*