Where Does A Circle Begin?

[Jay Omega]

==============================
"Time was a funny and fickle thing. Sometimes there was never enough of it, and other times it stretched out endlessly."
-Be With Me
==============================

March 9th, 2015. 1200 hrs.

~The Philadelphia skyline was not unlike so many of the cityscapes The Omega Man, Jay Omega had seen in his time. Quite unlike a few, and exactly the same as one, though he'd be krekked if he could remember which. Jay turned his attention from the sight of the site of his next huge-mongous match up, and took in the room around him once more. Sure, the overly large conference room spoke of money and taste, but that was what bothered The Omega Man; this had been put together by a decorator, there wasn't a personal touch to the whole room, despite the numerous Pantheon-themed trappings. But then, considering whose tower it was, that wasn't surprising. Jayson Price had probably passed out drunk during a few stages of the tower's developmental process; it would certainly explain floors nine, fifteen, and twenty-eight. Just thinking about that last one was enough to set his head shaking in wonder again.
 
  The large conference table was inlaid with the golden, triangular "Elements, Dynasty, Future" Pantheon logo, with a projector centered in the triangle. Snacks abounded across the table's remaining surface area, coffee cakes predominantly featured, though there was variety wide enough to serve as a prepackaged banquet. Jay decided to tear into a bag of Hot Fries, then immediately regretted his decision; spitting the half-chewed mouthful back into the bag with a grimace. They tasted like slightly potato flavoured sawdust had been compressed into little bars of cruelty, then sprinkled with powdered sadness. From his left, Chelsea Armstrong looked at him questioningly, then smiled when Jay pantomimed gagging. Chelsea went back to her scrutiny of Price on the other side of the table, and Jay followed her gaze, to where Jayson was slumped against the armrest of his chair; dark sunglasses over his eyes, and one hand supporting his head, there's a high probability Price was passed out drunk at that moment.

  The door to the room opened and Corey Black entered, then strode purposefully to stand beside the screen facing the projector. "First things first, I'd like to thank you all for coming--" he started, "That's what she said." Price interjected. "Shut up, Price." Corey said flatly, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to take a moment to address something. Kaz Mazy has said that I only wanted Jay Omega for Pantheon, and brought the rest of the Pack along as a kindness. The gold you're carrying around with you says otherwise." Black uncrossed his arms as he continued; pointing at Armstrong. "Chelsea, you won that title from me. Don't forget what that means, and don't let anyone else forget it, either." Black shifted his aim to Alex Richards; sitting on the other side of Chelsea from Jay, and dividing his attention between his laptop and the gloriously bearded man. "And Richards, you hold a title made relevant by Pantheon..." Corey said with a nod to Price, who silently raised the hand not supporting his head, "And you're doing a damn fine job of keeping it that way."
 

  Black shrugged offhandedly, and re-crossed his arms. "Besides, if I only wanted Omega, I only would have asked Omega. Being in Pantheon has always been synonymous with being the best, and the four of you are the best in your divisions. One by one, I'm sure that each of you--" Corey cut off as Omega raised his hand, waving it about wildly. "I gotta potty!" Jay said in a sing-song voice, "I gotta potty, I gotta pee, I have to tinkle, tee hee hee!" Black frowned at the interruption, and narrowed his eyes at The Omega Man. "Why didn't you go before the meeting?" He asked, which drew a snort from Jay. "Well obviously because I didn't have to go then. But the two litres of chocolate milk I drank seems to have run right through me." Omega said, and indicated the empty cartons on the table before him. Corey sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go. But make it fast; I don't want to be here all day." Jay casually walked out of the room and checked his watch; made sure to memorize the exact time and date as he strode quickly down the hall.

  Omega retraced his steps back up to the helipad, and threw himself into the Agusta-Westland AW-101 VVIP helicopter which had brought half of Pantheon to Philadelphia. The moment Jay had his headset on and was in contact with the pilot, he ordered wheels up. "We gotta haul ass to New York," Omega told the pilot, "Warp Five, engage!" Back in the conference room, the departure of the chopper was unmistakable. Four of the five remaining Pantheon members looked at each other, Alex being the one to break the silence first. "You think he's coming back?" He asked no one in particular. Chelsea shrugged helplessly. "I hope so," She replied, " He's kind of my ride." Black shook his head with a sigh, drawing almost everyone's attention back to him. "Fuck it. We're just going to have the meeting anyway." Corey said with a sense of finality, "Jade can fill him in on anything important that we cover. Now, I believe the first order of Pantheon business has to do with housing..."~

==============================
"How did it get so late so soon?"
-Dr. Seuss
==============================

March 9th, 2015. 1330 hrs.

~Having sent the chopper back to Philadelphia, Jay Omega approached the New York mansion owned by Pantheon's own Jonny Fly. Jay walked right up to the front door and glanced around, then swiped a keycard through an electronic reader. "Welcome, Jayson Price." Said a neutral female voice as the door unlocked itself. Omega pushed the door open, and crept stealthily through the entry hall. Fly might have gone MIA, but Jay could hear various servants going about their daily maintenance routines, and they weren't likely to welcome him with open arms, despite the fact that he too was Pantheon. Omega snuck silently through the mansion, more than one close call setting his heart racing. Jay didn't know which maid service Jonny used, but he had to get the number. But he had to remain focused on his goal, and figure out where the entrance to the garage was. Omega went over the mental map of the mansion he'd constructed during several months of stalk-- researching Jonny Fly, and determined that he needed to get through the kitchen. Where the staff were busily preparing dinner for a man who wasn't there.

  Of course, Jay had all the achievements for Splinter Cell: Blacklist, so he was confident in his ability to slip through the room undetected. Or shank anyone who spotted him. Whichever. The Omega Man tip-toed down the hall like the shadow of a panther's ghost, and dropped into a low crouch as he reached the kitchen door. A pair of busy cooks cooked busily, though what Omega couldn't discern, while a rotund woman took a rolling pin to what was surely a pie crust. Jay sidled up against the island in the middle of the kitchen floor, careful not to disturb any of the hanging pots, then waited for the opportune moment to slip through the door on the far side of the room. Once Omega had the door closed, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then sauntered across the immense concrete floor to the small staircase that led down to the second level. As a bit of a collector himself, Jay couldn't help but let out a low whistle of appreciation at the feast laid out for his eyes. But it wasn't the Porsche 918 Spyder Omega had come here for. Nor was it the Ford Boss 302 Mustang, the Tesla Model S, or even the Ford Taurus(arguably the greatest car ever made).

  Jay's heartbeat quickened with each step as he approached the far end of the garage. A large black tarp covered a vehicle that was set apart from all the rest, a vehicle that was very different from all the rest. Omega felt a tingle of strange energy rush through his fingertips as he gripped the edge of the tarp, suddenly unsure if this was wise. Because that's stopped me when? he thought to himself. Jay pulled the tarp off the vehicle almost reverently, revealing a low slung 1958 Ford Ranchero pickup truck, identical to the one he'd had the pleasure of riding in once before; when Johnny Reb had taken him on a trip to the Cretaceous Period. They'd fought dino-people, smoked some amazing prehistoric bud, and most importantly, that was when Omega had acquired his pet microceratus, Little Corey. And now? Now Jay Omega had access to a time machine of his own. A harsh, grating sound filled Jay's ears, and he realized that he was laughing rather loudly, and wildly. A flurry of possibilities ran through his fractured mind, as he decided how he was going to alter the course of history first. Omega reached for the door handle, and everything went black.

  The Omega Man awoke only a moment later - laying on the floor - to find a folded piece of paper on his chest. Jay unfolded the note as he sat up, and found his own handwriting scrawled within. "Do not fuck with Time" was all the note said. Taking his own advice, Omega immediately discarded the plan he had come up with, then grinned as a second one took form. Jay scrambled to his feet, and wrenched open the driver's door before everything went black again. Omega awoke on the floor again, another handwritten note on his chest. "Seriously. Do NOT fuck with Time." Slightly worried now, Jay discarded his second plan, and tried to formulate a third. Inspiration struck, and Omega put his hand on the truck's door when everything went black one more time. The note on his chest when he awoke this time was on a strange kind of paper, more like parchment, and it certainly wasn't his handwriting this time. "You have been warned" looked to have been scratched onto the parchment in blood, but since it wasn't warning him not to fuck with Time anymore, Jay immediately decided to fuck with Time, and hopped into the Ranchero.

  Having learned from Terminator 2, the first thing The Omega Man did was flip down the sun visor, and caught the key as it slid down into his hand. "Easy money." Omega said to himself as he fired up the engine. The silent engine, apparently, as the expected vroom-vroom sounds were absent. A display screen on the dashboard flickered to life and quickly lit up, displaying the current time, date, and what Jay supposed were his current coordinates in the space-time continuum. Based on what Omega could remember from his excellent adventure with Reb, plus what were surely accurate calculations in the Back To the Future movies, time travel should be as simple as inputting the date of the point in time he would like to visit, and hitting the gas. Jay set his priorities straight, and punched in the date for Saturday, February 28th, 2015, 5pm. There were many things Omega wanted to do, but first he had to help himself pretend to wrestle a match against a midget and a tomato. Paradoxes were fun, and soon enough, there would be plenty of them.~

==============================
"I'm a multi-tasking action man with a glass full of malt liquor."
-Dan Bull
==============================

February 28th, 2015. 1930 hrs.

~Jay Omega leaned against the cool cinderblock wall of the empty dressing room. His head was throbbing, though he wasn't sure if that was because he had been hit in the head by a burning hammer less than an hour ago, or because he was trying to think his way through the logic problem of how he came up with the idea for that mock match in the first place. Jay remembered back to the previous week, when Future Jay had shown up, and given him the idea for the match. But now he was Future Jay, and the only reason he had come back to this point in time, to help himself stage a wrestling match for shits and giggles, was because he had already done it. It was a pickle he couldn't wrap his noodle around, and that train of thought suddenly made him hungry. He just hoped his future-money would still work in the past; it didn't always, as Jay knew from watching lots of movies.

  Omega levered himself up to his feet, and wearily worked his way back to the secluded corner of the Colorado Springs World Arena's parking lot, where he had left the Ranchero. On his trip backward along the temporal road, Jay had gotten a feel for the machine, and could detect the faint hum of what passed for its engine. His journey now was not of the temporal variety; instead he drove to the nearest electronics store to buy himself a GoPro before he moved on to the closest Quizno's. Omega knew better than to eat in the truck, and besides Jay felt the need to cut a promo, though it felt odd to talk about a match that technically hadn't even been booked yet. Regardless, he didn't have to post the video until... whenever, really; he could time travel now! The implications continued to stream through Jay's mind, nearly overwhelming him as he leaned against the Ranchero's bed to eat his black Angus steak sub.

  Once his appetite had been appeased, Omega slipped into the driver's seat, set up the GoPro on the dashboard, and took a moment to organize his scattered thoughts before he powered up the camera. Not an easy task, considering the whirlwind of half-formed plots that tossed about in his head. Eventually something resembling a cohesive starting point crystallized in the tumultuous ocean of his mind, and Jay smiled to himself as he pulled his mask from the cargo pocket of his pants. The Mask was the most important part of The Omega Man's ensemble; without it he was just Jay Omega in a really snazzy outfit. And while Jay Omega might have some choice words for Bobby Cairo and ICE Beckman, The Omega Man had a few things he wanted to say to Don Egypt, and Bobby Drake.

  With some thoughts firmly in mind, Omega reached over to the camera, intent on saying his piece while he thought of when to go, and what to do next. A sense of foreboding came over him; the feeling that the next few hours would have long lasting and far-reaching consequences that would be felt throughout history. For a moment, he considered taking the Ranchero back to Fly's garage; just parking it back under the tarp and walking away. For a moment. Then he remembered the look in the Inveterate Confederate's eye the last time they'd spoken; the chilled malice in his voice, so akin to that of the Hardcore Maniac, and made what would eventually prove to be a life-altering decision. His jaw set, The Omega Man donned his mask, and turned on the camera.~

==============================
"At first, they'll only dislike what you say, but the more correct you start sounding the more they'll dislike you."
-Killosophy
==============================

*Welcome back, True Believers! Our scene fades in on an angled profile shot of the newly crowned King of Pain, the reigning Emperor of Entertainment, and forevermore my favourite Red Eye Jedi; The Omega Man, Jay Omega. In his standard ring gear with the addition of his shiny new golden belt, Omega sits inside a truck's cab at the other end of a vinyl bench seat, his gloved hands resting loosely on the worn leather-wrapped steering wheel. Late afternoon light illuminates the mostly empty parking lot visible through the window, a lone dying sunbeam glaringly reflects off the windshield of a lone dying Chrysler Sunbeam; more rust than blue paint. Jay's fingers tighten on the wheel for a moment, and he shakes his head before he looks over at the camera. Omega's electric blue eyes seem to seek yours out, and a slight crinkling at their corners indicates a smile behind his mask, confirmed by the amused tone of his voice.*

Jay: Hot diggity daffodil, looks like The Omega Man is moving up in the World Championship Federation! It's only been... uh... a week, I think, since I won me this here Hardcore Championship. Well, not this one. I had this belt made special, 'cause the one I took from El Tomato was all tainted by his suckitude. No offense to any of them great names that held it before him, but Danny boy kinda shat on the belt, and every one of their names after he stumbled into a fluke victory over the Space Pimp, who was clearly burning up on reentry. Just to be clear, I mean all that metaphorically; I don't think El Tomato physically pooped on the belt, but he was a weird guy, so let's not rule it out.

*Jay takes his hands from the wheel, and fishes a pack of Belmont cigarettes from his cavernous cargo pockets. Omega pulls out a nic-stick, and takes a moment to roll down the window, before he produces his golden Zippo and lights his cigarette; the exhaled smoke whips away as it exits the window.*

Jay: But about this belt; it seems I'm gonna be passing it off to someone else before I can even get bored of it. Whether our current World Champion, ze Gahdfajha, or our previous one, Drunky McHobobeard, there's a sixty-six percent chance one of 'em is walking away with this title I fought so damned hard to acquire, just one week ago. Or will fight so hard to acquire tomorrow night, depending on when you are in the timestream. BUT! This also means that while I only have a thirty-three percent chance of retaining this well-deserved strap, I have a thirty-three percent chance of upgrading to the only bigger belt. It also means there's a thirty-three percent chance I'll walk out of Philly with nothing, but c'mon; this is me we're talking about!

*Omega snorts, and tosses his head, then takes a puff of his cigarette.*

Jay: We all know I'm not leaving empty-handed. And it's not a question of which belt am I going to leave with, the question is which one of these two dude with attitudes The Omega Man is going to gift the Hardcore Championship to, when I pin his shoulders for that one, two, three. Quite honestly? My money's on Cairo. Beckman's a rough and tumble dude, and I'm sure he's none too impressed with yours truly getting all up in his rematch, but this situation would've happened sooner or later. I mean, maybe not this exact situation; an elimination Triple Threat over two titles. But facing me? That was inevitable. And so is losing to me. Don't get all bent out of shape; it's nothing to lose your shit over. Look around, everybody's doing it. It's the "in" thing these days, to have Jay Omega roll up on you, smack you around, then walk away with your stuff. If Natty don't believe that, he can ask his buddy, Zombie McMoron; he's got plenty of experience having his ass kicked by me.

*Jay takes another puff, the exhaled stream of smoke is torn apart by the wind blowing outside the vehicle's confines.*

Jay: But I'm not filling your screen with my awesomeness just to gloat over Zee Macklemorris. Nah, I'm here to talk to the top two sumbitches in this company. And I think I'll start with the Bobfather, since he's currently numero uno. Now let me see. First things first, I know Cairo's gonna spend half his runtime talking about his dick, 'cause the man has throbbing penis on his mind, like, all the time. Yes, I'm aware that I posted a video that was literally me jacking off, so I don't have much room to talk, but fuck you; that was art! Now, what else is ze Gahdfajha gonna do and say? I expect a shitload of bragging, despite the fact that Cairo didn't pin the ICE man to win that title. I know I said I wasn't gonna talk about Zee Macklemorris, but damn, dude's losing titles he doesn't even hold! How exactly are the Vapor Kings "dominant" these days?

*Omega shrugs his shoulders, takes another puff, and flicks the ash of his cigarette out the window, where it suffers the same fate as the smoke that follows it.*

Jay: Let's focus on more important matters. Now, I know Cairo's going to call me chump change; comes with the territory. When you're on top of the mountain, you can ill afford to show weakness, right? Which means shoveling shit onto everyone below you, right? Because they're literally beneath you? Sucks to by you. I can totally come right out and pay my respects to both the Gahdfajha and Natty. Bravo and kudos to both of you. Y'all been running rampant in the main event scene, like the pair of powerhouses you are. And then here comes this upstart Jay Omega, swaggering into the spotlight like he owns the place. Is Cairo gonna tell you that he respects the undeniable talent of yours truly? Probably not. Is Cairo gonna tell you that there's a chance The Omega Man is gonna drop him down a notch, and trade belts with him? Probably not. Is Cairo gonna tell you that he's sweating under that Poonglorious beard of his? Definitely not.

*Jay takes another puff and shakes his head, his right hand moving toward the truck's ignition. He twists the key, but the engine produces no sound. The Ranchero is definitely receiving power though, as Omega shifts into reverse, and pulls out of the parking lot. Jay shifts gears once again, and begins to drive down a lightly trafficked street. His eyes remain on the road ahead of him, but most of his attention goes to the camera.*

Jay: No, because he's too self-absorbed. Not self-assured, or even self-confident; self-absorbed. Beckman's title run was rife with community activities; TV guest spots, charity appearances, the typical contractual obligations when you're the face of the company. You think Cairo's the kind of guy that can be bothered with shit like that? Only if he can make it about him. And I hate to tell ya, but that does not bode well for the ratings. Yeah, people tune in to watch ze Gahdfajha wrestle, because he's damn good at it. But entertainment is definitely not his strong point; that's Beckman. Yeah, we all know ICE is a funny guy, and he's a good brawler. Though that might have something to do with how wasted dude gets before his matches. But hey, it's not like he's the only one, right? Shit, Brother Strange gets tanked before his music hits, and it seems to be working out for him as well.

*Omega takes another puff, and flicks the ash again.*

Jay: Unfortunately, the Vapor Kings seem to be on a losing streak lately. They've lost the World Championship, they've lost the Hardcore Championship, they've lost the Tag Team Championships, they've lost Steve Orbit, and soon enough Natty's going to lose his rematch, getting bumped to the back of the line in the process. But no worries, Beckster, now that you're Lerchy-Poo's weapon of choice, I'm sure you'll get another crack at The Omega Man somewhere down the line. Seems a shame to waste such fine talent trying to destroy a concept that is invincible, but hey, if Seth wants to waste time trying to take out Pantheon, it is his wrestling company. So what's Beckman going to do? How is he going to further Seth's ridiculous goal of removing a proven draw? By making jokes, of course. That is what the funny man does, isn't it? He'll make jokes, do parodies, possibly even draw up a few of those awesome webcomics he does. Which would make me very happy; I don't feature in nearly enough of them.

*Jay takes another puff, and shakes his head again.*

Jay: Naw, ICE is gonna be the first man out of this match, and I think he knows it. Way too much going on for him to deal with right now; dude's head has to be more scattered than mine. He lost his belt without getting pinned, he lost his brother to one of mine, and the woman he loves is now his sworn enemy. You think Beckman has his head straight? You think he's focused on this match? Serious questions, people, not hyperbole. Do any of you honestly think that Natural ICE Beckman has his sights set on reacquiring the World Championship in what will likely be his most brutal match to date? Or is he more likely to be trying to wrap his head around the dilemma of futilely trying to destroy Pantheon, and Chelsea Armstrong with us? Or, shit, maybe he's drunk off his ass, remembering the good old days when the Vee Kay had three members, and a bunch of gold between them. I'm a hashtag ICE Man Fan, so it truly breaks mah heart to tell you that a memory is all it's ever gonna be, Natty.

*Another puff of the cigarette, and another flick of ash out the window. The vehicle rolls to a stop as Omega comes to an intersection, then turns left.*

Jay: Maybe some day you'll get that World Championship belt back around your waist, Natty, but it won't happen so long as I'm in the picture. I'm honoured to step into the ring with guys like you and Cairo, because it's guys like you who inspire me to push myself beyond the limits others set in place. It's guys like you who raise the bar and force guys like me to either step up, or step off. Anyone who's been paying the slightest bit of attention lately knows exactly which one of those options I'm going to take, and ICE, Bobby? I know you two have been paying attention. Neither one of you is likely to admit that thirty-three percent chance I have of winning this; you'll blow bluster about how your odds are one hundred percent. But you're both sweating inside your skins, knowing that you have to deal with this hardcore motherfucker right here. Bobby Cairo fought Zombie McMorris to a draw, over cocaine. I fought Zombie McMorris for a title he hadn't earned, twice, and defeated him both times. By that logic, I know I can beat ze Gahdfajha. And since he's kinda the man to beat right now, that definitely boosts my confidence.

*Jay takes a final puff from his cigarette, and pitches the butt out the window, which he then rolls up. Omega flips on the turn signal and pulls over, checking in all the mirrors for pedestrians or other motorists before he begins to input data on an unseen screen built into the dashboard.*

Jay: I'm pretty sure that both Cairo and Beckman are going to bring up Helloween. Hellimination. What looked like the beginning of the end for the Pack. Sorry, Deuce Bigelow, Gonzo Gigolo already took that route, and look how well that worked for him. We're still kickin', and stronger than before. But I'm looking forward to laughing at whatever attempts y'all come up with to try and throw yours truly off his game, so get the proverbial lead out, guys. I might have all the Time in the world, but the rest of the WCF Galaxy doesn't; get crackin' with the entertainment. In the meantime, I have my first official Pantheon meeting to attend, so I'll leave you with these parting words; sometimes life seems like nothing more than a series of losses, from beginning to end. That's a given; happens to everyone, even me from time to time. But how you respond to those losses? What you make of what's left? That's the part you have to make up as you go. And it's the only good fight there is. Good talk, guys. Let's have another one soon, 'kay?

*Jay leans back in the driver's seat as he presses down on the accelerator. A bright flash of white light fills the window beside him, and the scene then fades to black.*

==============================
"I cannot travel into my past without the consent of future me."
-My Ancestor Was An Ancient Astronaut
==============================

March 9th, 2015. 1205 hrs.

~The Omega Man rushed down the stairs two at a time, intent on catching himself before he got on the express elevator to the helipad. Jay burst out of the emergency stairwell at full tilt, and careened around the corner at the end of the short hall he found himself in. His mental map of Price Tower wasn't anywhere near as complete as the one of Fly's mansion, but he felt certain he was going the right way. That feeling was confirmed when he skidded around another corner, and found himself looking at his own shapely backside. Startled at the sound of squeaking rubber behind him, Beta Omega spun around, and looked himself over. "So, I guess my plan to break into Jonny Fly for A White Guy's mansion paid off." He said to himself. "Did it ever," Alpha Omega said, as he tossed himself the keys to the Ranchero, "Truck's parked up on the helipad. You would not believe how many tries it took to figure out how to set spatial coordinates." Beta Omega nodded in acceptance. "I can imagine. You're here for the meeting, right?" Alpha Omega nodded once, "Cool. Fill me in on anything important, will ya? I'm gonna see what I can do about making the Ranchero more user-friendly." With a short salute, Beta Omega turned, and continued in the direction of the elevator to the roof. Alpha Omega, meanwhile, retraced his steps back to the conference room.~