There Can Be Only One

[Jay Omega]

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"I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me."
-The Book Thief
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*Welcome back, True Believers! Our scene fades in on the familiar sight of Jay Omega's stunning facial features. Seriously, he makes Kyle Kemp look like a dried up dog turd in comparison. But it's not easy to look this good; it takes a bevy of stylists to keep Jay Omega looking handsome enough to soak a pair of panties at twelve paces. HA! Yeah right! Are you kidding? Jay rolls out of bed looking like he was sculpted from some kind of uber-sexy marble. But that's not to say that Omega doesn't have to do anything to maintain his dashing good looks, which is why we find ourselves in a gleaming chrome-and-white, futuristic looking bathroom. The angle of the camera is such that we can see Jay and his bare-chested reflection, but not the camera or its operator. Omega's eyes flicker in our direction, and a small smile creases his face.*

Jay Omega: It's that time of year again. The most wonderful time of the year. No, it's not Christmas, or Hallowe'en, or even the start of a new season of Orange Is the New Black. Nah, it's time for WAR, motherfuckers! Now, some of you are probably wondering when we're going to get to the shenanigans and the mockery, and all the fun stuff I did last year. Well, I'm sad to say, that won't be happening this time around. No, this year there's way more new blood in WAR than last year's event, and I'm going to guess that a lot of you young bucks are scared and confused by this massive shindig. But fear not; for I'm here to help you out. I'm not interested in being a self-serving douchebag who only tears people down; no, my name's not Joey Flash. Instead, I will be the opposite of a giant festering cockbag, and actually do some good for the company as a whole, and for WAR in particular. I'm going to tap into the knowledge I gained at last year's event, and kindly share it with you all. Follow my advice, and you may not win WAR - that's all me this year - but you will win at life. Now, the first thing you need to do, is determine threats. Accuracy is a plus, but it's not always necessary.

*Jay reaches down to a line of grooming tools, picks up a tiny comb from the countertop, and begins to comb his eyebrows.*

Jay Omega: Everybody's going to be in WAR, but not everybody has a chance of winning it. As I said, that's all me this year. But there are always minor players; people who come out and look good, but tend to fall into the roles defined for them. Your Night Riders, your Cletus Clydes, your Jackson Whites. You know, the kinds of people who really only exist to showcase the talent of those better than them. Every now and then, though, one or two will stand out from the crowd, and refuse to learn their place.

*Omega swaps out the comb for a pair of tweezers, and leans in close to the mirror for a better view. Better view of what? Why, the annoying little hairs that are refusing to learn their places, of course. Jay begins to pluck out the fine hairs between his brows, as well as one or two unruly ones in the brows themselves.*

Jay Omega: These are the people like Vic Venable, Denise D'evil, or Spencer Adams. These are people who could look good, but they're in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they seem to think they're of a different breed than what they are. Like this little bastard here.

*Omega pulls out one hair in particular and makes the attempt to show us, but it's a fucking eyebrow hair clenched in a pair of tweezers; even in 4K Ultra High Def who's going to see that shit? Jay realizes this, and tries to cover by making it seem like he's just talking with his hands. He's not fooling me, though.*

Jay Omega: Reminds me of Doug Murdock. This is a guy who hasn't done anything of note, other than go on a short undefeated streak against a bunch of nobodies. Yet he still felt deserving of a match with the inimitable Jonny Fly because... why? It's the biggest rookie mistake ever buddy, and everybody does it. Don't feel too bad, even people like myself and Joey Flash tried it. Of course, I didn't whine like a little bitch when the big names didn't respond to me calling them out, I worked my way through the ranks and became one of those names. But if that's not your style, Dougie, you can take Flash's route, and stick your tongue so far up Lerch's ass you could make out with him from the inside; that oughtta get you a title shot real quick. I'm pretty sure you're not a suck up, though. After suffering your first loss and no longer having that undefeated thing going for you, you'll need to do something, so I expect you'll be using WAR as a chance to make a name for yourself. Just like your brother. Man, you really just can't get out from under his shadow, can you?

*Omega drops the single hair, and resumes the grooming process. Another out of place hair gets plucked and examined for a moment.*

Jay Omega: Is there anyone in this match more out of place than John Gable? This is a guy whose wrestling career was in a slump. Sure, he set a record with the Cinema Championship, but if you take a look at the people he "defended" against, you'll see that a blind chimp missing both its legs could have done the same. And Gable knew it, which is why he tucked his tail and decided to concentrate on his acting career. Unfortunately for John, he's a better wrestler than he is an actor - which isn't saying much - so it's no surprise that his movies flopped, and he decided to come crawling back to the industry he was marginally respected in. Not by me, though. No, I have no respect for John Gable; he was far too quick to turn on his stablemate, Waylon Cash. And for no better reason than because he was told to. And now where is he, hmm? Tooling around with the Angels of Death? What a fucking joke! This guy went from being on the cusp of greatness, to being the greatest wrestler in the Dubya See Eff's second-shittiest stable.

*A gurgle emanates from Jay's gut, followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of breaking wind. Omega gives us a half shrug and a sheepish look.*

Jay Omega: And speaking of shitty stables, give me a minute, would ya? I have to take a Beach Krew.

*The video freezes for a moment, and we clock wipe to Jay generously spraying a can of deodorizer around the room.*

Jay Omega: Much better. Although it turns out there was too much culture and talent in what I just flushed away to be considered a Beach Krew. It was more of a Movement. I say that not only because it's true, but also because I want The Sharks to understand that Grime was a better Television Champion than he could ever hope to be. Come to think of it, Grime and his Movement were a far better addition to the Dubya See Eff roster than Beach Krew in general. Mainly because they were actually somewhat charismatic and talented, not just a bunch of arrogant, self-absorbed shitstains. I hold your entire little group in such poor regard, that I'm not even going to bother mentioning the individual members. There's no point; none of you are worth more time than what I've already given you. So just go on trying to make a name for yourselves by riding Pantheon's coattails, just like everybody else.

*Omega tweezes out another hair from between his eyebrows and regards it curiously for a moment, then makes eye contact with the camera, keeping up the charade of talking with his hands. Gotta give him credit; when he commits, he commits.*

Jay Omega: Ah, GemWire Grayson Battle. This one reminds me of you. Y'know why? Because he couldn't decide which way he wanted to go. Does he want to be in the right eyebrow, with the music and the ladies? Does he want to be in the left eyebrow, with the badasses and the bikes? He doesn't know. He can't make up his mind, so he tries to do both, but he can't manage either. So he winds up lost in the middle, unable to really accomplish anything on his own, and without any real friends to give him direction, or make him feel like he belongs. And that's a fairly good analogy for what's happened with you, GemWire. You turned more than a few heads last year under the name of Grayson Pierce. Meteoric rise to the top and everything. But you couldn't handle the pressure, could you? First ICE Beckman, then Steve Orbit... it must have been terribly hard on your morale to climb so high so fast, only to be readily beaten by the top two champions in the company, practically back to back. Granted, I've only ever been in the ring with Steve Orbit once - in a four corner tag team clusterfuck - and did not walk away with a victory. But at least I've pinned Beckman, which is something that very few people can claim. And for all the shit that guy got backstage, he was far more entertaining than Joey Flash, that's for damn sure.

*Jay blows the hair away, then finds another unruly strand to pluck. The next one is removed with ease, and Jay smiles as he discards it.*

Jay Omega: Well, there goes Jeff Purse. I will eliminate him from WAR with ease.

*Omega puts down the tweezers and retrieves the tiny comb, gives each eyebrow a pair of swipes, then turns his head this way and that as he inspects his handiwork. Satisfied, Jay picks up the tweezers again, and tilts his head back in an attempt to peer up his nose.*

Jay Omega: Of course, there are always some people who just have to stand out, be noticed. These people tend to fuck everything up for those around them, seemingly without trying. It's like debasing other people comes easy to them. Something that won't come easy, though, is something that's been gnawing at the back of my mind for months. And that's undoing the damage done to what was once a prestigious, and highly sought after title. But I'm up to the task. I can restore respect to a title that has been made a mockery by TORTURE!

*This last word was shouted because Omega had grabbed a nose hair with the tweezers, and chosen that moment to pull it out. A pained expression crossed Jay's face, quickly suppressed.*

Jay Omega: That hurt more than I'd like to admit. I don't mean the nose hair, I mean being shelved by Marc Mayhem, stripped of the Hardcore Championship, and then watching Torture win it, and go through all these shenanigans. You think I don't know he's been mocking me? Well he'll get his at WAR. I don't know if I just have to eliminate him, or if I have to win the whole goddamn enchilada, but it doesn't matter too much, because I intend to do both. And when the dust settles, I will hold the Hardcore Championship once again.

*Omega selects another hair, and wisely braces himself before pulling it. Clearly this one is less painful than the first, though.*

Jay Omega: Hello, Tommy Bates. This isn't likely to go well for you. I mean, not just because you don't exactly have the best track record against me, but because you don't exactly have the best reputation with the boys in the back. Naturally any big guy would be a target in WAR, but you've got an even bigger bullseye than most would. And not because your shoulders are so broad, no no no. It's because, in addition to being such a large target, you're also controversial. You've got these archaic beliefs about women, and gays, and people of colour, whom you delightfully referred to as thugs. But thugs are okay if they're white, right? Otherwise you'd take issue with your homeboy Dougie Deuce Junior, wouldn't you? As for your, shall we say, "old fashioned" take on how to treat women, I would generally agree with you. Don't get me wrong; I'm not the type of guy to backhand my date when she says something I don't like. But in a ring? That's a different story. This is a combat sport, and every woman that steps between those ropes understands that. Except Sandy Coconutz, but she's usually so wasted I doubt she understands much. If this were an Internet title match, I'd bombard you with a thousand of those "Still did his fucking job" memes. But then you'd probably whine that I was oppressing you, or something.

*Jay allows this hair to fall into the chrome sink below him, then selects another hair from the other nostril.*

Jay Omega: David Santiago. Or Santiclozzi, or whatever the fu-- Sanchez! David Sanchez! If you were too intimidated to even talk to me when we faced each other one on one, I can only imagine how much you must be quaking at the thought of having to tangle with the entirety of the roster.

*Omega starts to give a quick yank, but the hair comes out on its own terms, still trailing a little something of Jay's. With a disgusted face, Omega drop the hair, then looks over at us via reflection.*

Jay Omega: I have a fairly good idea of what you might have to say to me, Davey Boy. That is, once your wife digs your balls out of her purse and lets you use them. Probably some bullshit about death and resurrection, suicide and clones, and unrealistic adventures. What you don't seem to understand is that reality isn't even close to being what you think it is. There's so much more. But that's not really relevant at this point in time. What's relevant is that I've already beaten you, Sanchez. Yes, it was via disqualification, but anybody watching that match could tell you I had it won several times over before you decided to take your ball and go home. Now, maybe you're looking for a little payback at WAR, who knows. But if you step to me, you're not going to find anything other than my foot upside your head again. But while we're on the subject of United States Champions I've previously beat the shit out of, allow me to be among the first to say "Welcome back, Occulo!"

*Jay presses his left nostril closed, then exhales forcefully through his right; blowing a snot rocket into the sink.*

Jay Omega: Now you can fuck right off again. This is another guy who thought he had my number. Boy howdy was he fuckin' wrong. D'you remember that, Ocelot? Back during the semi-finals of the TEA Cup, when I knocked the cocky smirk off your face, and beat you so hard you had a British accent for a week after? If not, come looking for me in the ring; I'd be glad to jog your memory, mate. I'll even bring along the old cardboard cut out of Joey Flash, and throw you another pity party afterward. This time you can even invite a real friend, and have Dune there! Although, it'll be just him pitying you. Then again, you guys are buds, right? You celebrate each other. So you'll probably take some solace in knowing that Mister Crabface crushed Flash. Unless, of course, Joey somehow manages to do what no one else has, and unseats Dune at the top of the mountain. That would lead to a rather interesting match: World Champion Joey Flash versus Hardcore Champion Jay Omega at One. Nah, that'd never fly. Fly...

*A small smile tugs at the corner of Omega's mouth, and he shakes his head ever so slightly.*

Jay Omega: Do you think Jonny Fly is going to be in WAR? I hope so. After my fuck up at Ultimate Showdown, I'd like another opportunity to prove myself against him. WAR's not the best place for it, but I'll take what I can get. Of course, if he is going to enter this year, then he's likely going to be one of the final few fighting for first. And since I intend to win, that means there's a high probability I'll get a chance to have a go at Jonny without too many distractions. A chance to prove to him that the current incarnation of Pantheon is just as good as the original. I can't say better, not until Alex and I capture the World Championship. But definitely as good as. This is all dependent on whether or not Fly's actually going to be in the match, of course. I mean, he is one half of the Tag Team Champions, and history indicates that he tends to take things easy under those circumstances. I'm not counting on Jonny to be in the match, but he could surprise me. After all, there are always surprises at WAR.

*Jay turns his head to the side, inspecting a particular spot on the side of his face, near his hairline. A small patch of acne seems to have broken out, which draws a frown from Omega.*

Jay Omega: You never know what sort of surprises WAR might bring, which is why it's best to try to be prepared for as much as you can. For instance, it's unlikely that Bobby Cairo is going to return in time for WAR, or at all, but I've been working on counters for his particular style anyway. Because like I said, you never know. I've also been preparing for guys like Steve Orbit, Odin Balfore, Gravedigger... shit, I've been scouting Seifer fucking Black, just in case. Anybody and everybody is a potential threat in WAR, including someone many of you take for nothing more than a joke; Adam Young.

*Jay taps the edge of the countertop to one side of the sink, releasing a magnetic lock. A concealed drawer slides out from the washstand, and Omega roots through it, eventually coming up with a tube of zit cream. It's not that he needs it, usually; his kid is seventeen and, like, super self-conscious about that kind of stuff. Wait, why do you care? Moving on, Jay takes a little dab and smears it on the small patch at the side of his face.*

Jay Omega: Ordinarily, I'd be right alongside you greenhorns; laughing my ass off at the idea of Adam Young being considered a credible threat. But what you newer guys don't understand is that WAR is the one time when, yes, Adam Young is a credible fucking threat. This is his playground; the only match he well and truly cares about. I'm not saying he's going to win it - disbelief can only be suspended so far - but if the legendary Corey Black can be eliminated by Adam Young, you can too. And while we're on the subject of entrants whom others will dismiss lightly, let's take a moment to talk about the two Pantheon prospects entering WAR this year.

*Omega drops the topical ointment back in the drawer, which he then closes with his hip. Jay places both hands on the countertop; leaning forward to support some of his weight with his arms.*

Jay Omega: Gunther Blythe, and Dexter Radcliffe. You guys have been impressive so far. Throughout all the trials we've thrown at you prospects over the last few months, only the two of you have made it this far. Now, obviously neither of you have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning WAR, but don't feel too bad, because no one else does, either. It's all right, really; we're not expecting you to win WAR your first time out, just don't embarrass yourselves, and by extension, Pantheon. All you have to do is prove to us, and the roster, why you deserve to stand among the greatest collection of wrestling talent in the industry. Whichever one of you puts on the best performance will ascend into the lofty ranks of Earth's Mightiest Wrestling Stable. Now, Gunther, you've trained exclusively with Corey Black, and you're roughly the same size as I am. Which leads me to believe that you are just going to wreck shit when you hit the ring; smashing everybody with a series of high-impact strikes that could knock a motherfucker out in one go. That's my kind of fight, yo. Maybe we'll get the chance to mix it up a little; have some fun. Come find me, what do you say?

*A broad grin breaks out on Omega's face as he makes the invitation. Then Jay ducks his head to the side as he considers Dexter.*

Jay Omega: Then again, Dex trained himself by imitating the greatest wrestlers in the business, which is Pantheon, for those of you living under a rock. Or in the desert. For the last year and a half, this kid has been hiding out in Jayson Price's basement; stealing his food, touching his stuff, and making use of the various amenities offered by the type of luxury not available to your average rich douchebag. So by doing stuff that would piss off Price, he's already okay in my books. But there's also the fact that he's a really big fan of mine. Well, Pantheon in general, but I like the attention. On a serious note, though, this kid has been training his ass off in the hopes of making it into Pantheon some day. Which means he's been training to be better than the best. I'm looking forward to seeing what this kid can do against some established pros, instead of awkwardly tangling with other hopefuls. And now that we're talking about Pantheon, I would be seriously remiss if I didn't have a few words for my old friend, Alex Richards.

*Omega picks up an electric razor and fits a short blade guard onto it. Jay begins to run the razor over his facial hair in smooth strokes, keeping the length of his beard and moostahsh even. I'm sorry, I can't help but pronounce it like that; TFS fans will understand. The low pitched hum of the electric razor is barely noticeable as Omega trims his face, but it gives us something to listen to while we wait for him to finish.*

Jay Omega: Ah, Alex. We had some good times in last year's WAR, didn't we? We tore through just about everyone that got in our collective way. People called the Pack a joke, said we'd never amount to anything. Yet we outlasted almost everybody last year. By the time we were all eliminated, at ninth, eighth, and seventh, the only people left in the ring were Bobby Cairo, Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, Gravedigger, Jeff Purse, and Torture. I'd like the rest of the roster to let that sink in for a moment. Chelsea, Alex, and myself were able to hang with the legendary names in this company. People none of you have a hope of ever challenging, let alone defeating. Granted, I lasted a little longer than you did, Alex, so either that means you're going to be trying even harder this year to win, or you're more than likely going to get eliminated just before I do, again. But hey, since I'm winning this year, that means you get to go out at number two, and runner up isn't that bad. Especially when you think of all the great names we get to test ourselves against this year, like Jeff Purse, and... um... I guess that's it, so far. And as I've already stated with the utmost of confidence, I will eliminate Jeff Purse with ease.

Jay picks up another comb - larger than the last, but still small - and grooms his moostahsh; ensuring it blends evenly into his light beard. A single strand stands out at an unusual angle, and Omega puts on a wry expression as he reaches for the tweezers again.*

Jay Omega: Waylon Cash. How could I have skipped over you? I mentioned you in passing, but now I find I have to give you a little more thought.

*Jay plucks the hair from his face, glances at us, and lets it fall.*

Jay Omega: Once upon a time, Waylon Cash was the premier member of the Savage Political Action Comittee; Dubya See Eff's number two stable. Number two in their time, not overall. There's really no need to ask who the number one stable was, is there? Of course not. Now, once upon a time, Waylon Cash was one hell of a contender; former World Champion, which he won by defeating Vic Venable's older, and much more accomplished, brother Frank. And that in itself would be great... right up until you realize he lost the belt two weeks later, in Two Thousand Twelve's Ultimate Showdown, when he was pinned by Tommy Kain, and walked away as nothing. Not with nothing, as nothing. Now, "who the fuck is Tommy Kain", some of you are asking. And you're right to ask that, because I was left wondering the same thing. So I asked around, and wouldn't you know it, it turns out he wasn't much of anybody. So that's a World title reign shorter than Jayson Price's, ended by some who-gives-a-fuck. But at least Waylon's got those three Tag Team Championship reigns to fall back on. Except that official records only show two.

*Omega shrugs, then sets the tweezers down and picks up yet another comb, this one finally full-size. Jay taps his chin twice with the comb, then his head tics to the side quickly; almost a shake of the head, but not quite. Omega begins to runs the comb through his hair as he continues.*

Jay Omega: We've got your run with Orbit as the Homegrown Players, a nice three month reign. Then there's your stint in Ess-PAC, with John... Gobble. Right. I'd almost forgotten about him, as I'm sure John would like us all to do. Yeah, that one is never going to go away, Gobble. But that's where things end, as far as the archives are concerned. So I'm wondering where this third Tag Team Championship run is. Who was it with? Hopefully Waylon will remark upon all this as he tries to convince us that he's ever going to place any higher than fifth in WAR. The best you can hope for is fourth, dude, because the top three slots are spoken for by Pantheon.

*Jay pauses in the midst of combing his hair with a thoughtful look on his face.*

Jay Omega: Hunh. Well, that seems to be all the people who have the potential to even come close to the top ten, minus Beach Krew of course, so let's take a moment to go through the honourable mentions and also-rans. Minus Beach Krew, of course.

*Omega resumes the process of dragging the comb through his thick hair in smooth strokes.*

Jay Omega: Let's see, Vic Venable... This guy has a couple of similarities with Doug Murdock, in that they're both living in the shadow of an older brother, who left behind some pretty big shoes to fill, and neither one of them has managed to do it convincingly so far. The major difference is that Vic's Eye Cue isn't in the negatives, unlike Doug Not-Funnie. Now, I'm not saying Vic can't make his own name; in fact, he intends to do just that at WAR. That's a pretty powerful motivation you've got, Vic. And I like that you already accept that you're not going to win. Hell, I might even feed you a few eliminations; try and help you along to that record-breaking six eliminations. Of course it's far more likely that I'm going to kick you in the face, but don't take it personally. I'm all for helping the people who deserve it find the success they seek, but only one person gets their hand raised at the end of this match, and the sooner you're gone, the less likely I am to be one of those six people you're shooting for.

*Jay puts the comb down, and spritzes a little hairspray around his head.*

Jay Omega: Who else have we got? Spencer Adams, I guess. A former People's Champion, with one of the shortest reigns ever. When this kid walked in the door, all wide-eyed in wonderment, he saw lines being drawn. Pantheon had just welcomed the Pack under their banner, Imperium formed with the foolish notion of destroying us, and the Dark Riders Gang decided they were going to forcibly keep the peace, and ensure that the war between the top two stables didn't spill over to the rest of the roster. And they tried to do that by recruiting half the roster. Now, as I said, Spence was still wet behind the ears and rather naive, so he joined up without a second thought. It was only after he started getting undue heat that he realized signing on with a biker gang headed by a Southern bigot probably wasn't the best idea. And look at him now! Why he's... um... Well, he was People's Champion for, like, two whole weeks, so that's something, right? I mean, it's pretty bad when you come out here, bust your ass in the ring, and it turns out your mom is more over than you are. Shit, why isn't Betty entering WAR? Is it because her little Prince would be embarrassed if mommy upstaged him? I bet that's what it is.

*Omega gives us a cocky smirk, and pats at the sides of his head. Once satisfied that his hair is perfectly styled - and it is - Jay reaches off screen to retrieve a short-sleeved, dark green silk shirt, which he slips into, but does not button up.*

Jay Omega: Should I bring up Denise D'evil? I mean, I guess I just did, so I suppose now I have to keep going. Okay, let's see. Has anything changed since Jeff and I put Denise and Night Rider down? Why yes! It seems there's... something going on between Denise and ol' Tommy Bates. Now, I know there was a little... tension between them over Tommy's stance on how you shouldn't hit women. Unless they've been out of the kitchen too long, right Tom? Now, I hope you can cook, Denise, because if I know my rednecks right, Tommy Boy probably expects you to make that dinner he asked you to. For no reason other than because you're the woman, and he's the man. But he's not your man, so I've got to ask what the hell you're up to? No, no, forget I asked. I really don't care. Besides, I'm fairly sure either Night Rider is in on it, or he's the dumbest motherfucker walking the face of the planet.

*Omega takes hold of the collar of his shirt, rearranging it to hang off his shoulders evenly, then takes a moment to flex, and admire his physique.*

Jay Omega: Of course; it could be both. Intelligence has never been Night Rider's strong suit. That's probably due to all the sticky-icky-icky he smokes. And that's saying something, coming from me. Then again, I could lose fifty percent of my brainpower and still be twice as smart as the 'Hoff, so I guess it's all a matter of perspective. I mean come on; the last time I tangled with this guy, he spent half his run time telling Petrov to go fuck himself. And Petrov was not involved in the match in any way, shape, or form. Night Rider is so fuckin' spaced out, he barely knows who he's up against half the time; it's no wonder he can't win a match to save his life. But that's the story of most of the Angels of Death, isn't it? The only halfway competent members are John Gobble and Oblivion; at least those two can kick some ass. Granted, Gobble does have a loss against Wolf on his record, so there is that. What that means is that going into WAR, Oblivion is the only member of this pathetic stable with any forward momentum.

*Jay turns for a profile look at himself, flexing again to show off for... well more for him than us, if we're being honest. Yes, ladies, I know you're excited, but that's not what's on Omega's mind at the moment, trust me. Jay finally stops admiring his reflection, and begins to button up his shirt.*

Jay Omega: Of course, that's not too surprising. Oblivion isn't known as the Monster simply because IT thought the name sounded cool. No, IT lives up to that moniker every time IT steps into the ring. He's the most accomplished member of the Ay Oh Dee, being the only former World Champion, but that doesn't necessarily make him the best. He's easily the most undpredictable, though, which means you young bucks who thinks ITs time has passed had better think again. Keep your eyes on Oblivion during WAR, because you can't know when or where the Monster will strike. I'll be watching out for IT, but I've already got a pretty good track record against Oblivion, so I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever IT dishes out. Hell, I might not even come up against Oblivion at all; there's no guarantee I'll get to grapple with everybody who makes an appearance. But I want to make it perfectly clear that I'm well prepared for just such an occasion. Like I said, I've been scouting as many people as I can; trying to expect the unexpected, and prepare for the unimaginable.

*Omega finishes up with his shirt, save for the very last button near the collar. Smaller than the others, he always finds that the hardest button to button, so he generally leaves it open.*

Jay Omega: Speaking of the unimaginable, I find it hard to believe that Jackson White has still made, like, zero progress on finding his father's killer. You really are a shitty detective, or spy, or whatever the fuck you think you are, aren't you? Much like John Gobble, you're marginally better at wrestling than your other chosen profession. Unlike John Gobble, you've yet to do anything noteworthy in Dubya See Eff. Who knows, maybe you'll do that here at WAR, by making the top te-heh-heh-heh, ah, I'm sorry, I couldn't do it. The Fenix has done nothing but crash and burn. Every time you pull yourself up out of the ashes, you fly too close to someone whose light shines brighter than your own, and you wind up going down in flames again. Face it, buck-o; you're a disappointment in every aspect of your life. You can't close the deal in the ring, you're still chasing smoke after all these years, and I get the feeling you lead a very lonely life. I'm pretty sure your father's not proud of you, he's wondering when you're going to face facts, and give it up.

*Jay brushes his hands down his chest twice in order to smooth out any wrinkles in his shirt, then turns to face us directly. The camera backs out of the bathroom as Omega approaches, then pauses and leans against the doorjamb.*

Jay Omega: Speaking of giving it up, let's take a moment to talk about Odin Balfore. Like I said, I've been preparing for as many possibilities as I can think of. Now, Odin's probably not going to be in WAR, because he's retired. He hangs around his castle, works out, and eats chocolate cake. Those are the perks. But he also gets disrespected by new guys coming in looking to make names for themselves. So every now and again, Odin comes out of retirement just to show the young 'uns that it's not the best idea to piss off a giant wizard. Of course, sometimes that doesn't work out for him. After all, just look at what happened between Odin and the dearly departed Scarecrow; Odin came out of retirement to humour this young upstart, and Crow actually did make a name for himself when he put the big man away. That's more a point for Scarecrow than against Odin, though. After all, Crow was a damn fine wrestler, and Odin is getting a little long in the tooth. He might show up to wreak a little havoc, but I'm fairly sure he'll sit this one out, and enjoy the perks of being retired.

*Jay scratches absently at the patch of acne at the side of his face, then grimaces and wipes his fingers off on his khaki shorts.*

Jay Omega: You know who else is probably enjoying retirement instead of taking part in WAR? Steve Orbit. But that's not going to stop me from talking shit about him. I remember when I first arrived in Dubya See Eff; Steve Orbit was riding high as World Champion, and more importantly a member of Pantheon. And for all the shit I give Jonny Fly for being a traitor to the name, Steve Orbit fits that description far better. After all, Steve Orbit was the one who betrayed Pantheon to join forces with the Vapor Kings. But, Orbit has managed to run a successful business for some time, so he's not a stupid man. And that's why I think he'll be sitting WAR out this year; because he'd have to be real stupid to get in the ring with myself, Alex, Jeff, and the two prospects. I could see both Gunther and Dexter trying to ingratiate themselves by taking Orbit out. So do yourself a favour, Steve; stay retired. And the same goes for you, Gravedigger.

*Omega steps out of the doorway and turns down the blue carpeted hall. We follow along at a short distance, while Jay continues to speak over his shoulder.*

Jay Omega: I'm not going to be like everyone else and say that you're over the hill, or that you can't hack it with the current crop of ultra-mega-superstars, or the same tired cliches people cart out when a veteran decides to dust off his old boots and have one more run at glory. No, I understand that, like myself, you thrive on the chaos. WAR is one of your favourite times of year, just as it is mine, am I right, Diggles? And why not? You're one of the people that holds the record Vic Venable plans to break - most eliminations, keep up people - and you're one of the few men to lay claim to a WAR victory. I imagine you'll be taking part this year, trying to outdo Jeff Purse, and be the second man to win more than one WAR. Well, don't worry too much about Purse; neither one of you is going to be a two-time WAR winner. Not this year, anyway. You're welcome to try your luck, Diggles, but honestly, I think you'd be better off calling the match from the other side of the announce table. You're the Epitome of Commentary now; I'm the Epitome of Hardcore these days.

*We round a corner, and enter a kitchen large enough to service a full-size restaurant. Several cooks scurry to and fro, busily preparing breakfast for the occupants of the Fortress of Ball-itude. Ah, if only Smellevision were a thing, so you could enjoy what I'm experiencing; I tell ya, that bacon sizzling in the background is making my mouth water something fierce. Omega stops by the double-wide chrome fridge, and retrieves a can of Monster energy drink. Jay carefully holds the can with the label pointing toward the camera, ensuring his grip doesn't obscure the blatant product placement.*

Jay Omega: I suppose, if I'm talking about well respected and established names, I have to say a little something about Corey Black, don't I?

*Omega pops the top of the can, then drinks awkwardly as he tries to keep the label in view, despite the opening of the can lining up with said label. You ever tried to drink out of the side of a can's mouth? That shit ain't easy. So of course a little bit spills, and dribbles down the front of Jay's silk shirt. Omega makes a vexed noise, sets the can down, then strips off the shirt, balls it up, and throws it into the nearest trash can. Topless once more, Jay takes a swig of his drink, then shrugs at the camera.*

Jay Omega: So, Corey. You gonna suck my dick, or what? Nah, I'm just kidding. Like I'd brush you off that easily. You're one of the most highly respected names in the business, with a wrestling repertoire that would send most opponents to an early retirement. But WAR just isn't your deal, y'know? I mean, you try. And you do great, some times. And other times... you get eliminated by Adam Young. Now, I don't even know if you're going to enter WAR, you haven't exactly been forthcoming on your plans regarding that. Maybe you'll just come out and play cheerleader for Gunther, give him some moral support. Or maybe you'll hit the ring with such fury and vengeance that people remember once more why Creeping Death was a name spoken in hushed whispers. I'm hoping for the latter, but I won't bag on you if it's the former. After all, you may not be old, but you're no spring chicken. Besides, do you really want to take the chance that your elbow might get injured again? There are plenty of douchebags in this match, and I'm sure more than one would jump at the chance to permanently shelf the illustrious Corey Black.

*Omega brushes past the camera, and we about-face to keep him in view as he heads back down the hall we just traversed.*

Jay Omega: Now to give you guys an idea of what I mean when I say I've prepared for almost any possibility. Jayson Price...

*Jay looks over his shoulder, and gives us a playful wink.*

Jay Omega: Yes, I know that there's a higher probability we'll see Billy win Miss America than see Price show up at WAR, but that's not going to stop me. The best part is, since I'm ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent certain Price won't be there, I don't even have to say anything, other than remind everybody that I whooped him in my second match here in Dubya See Eff. He was fresh off a double knockout draw against then-World Champion, Steve Orbit. A high point in his career, to be sure. Then suddenly he's in the opening match against some brash, loudmouth sumbitch who bribed the boss. But I only bought the chance to face you, Price. I earned the victory I have. I've done nothing but prove myself, time and again, but you didn't exactly make an effort to make me feel welcome once Corey invited Chelsea, Alex, and myself into the hallowed ranks of Pantheon. So I didn't feel too bad when you got kicked out; you'd been trying to stir up dissension from that very first night. That coma may be a bit more than you deserve, but when you wake up, I'm sure even you'd have to admit that you sort of had it coming.

*We pass by the bathroom and continue on down the hall, Omega's feet padding almost silently along the plush carpet. Jay reaches out his left hand, and trails his fingers along the smooth interior wall; cut from the moutainside his home is built on, in and around. We come to a stop by another doorway, this portal leading to Omega's master bedroom. Jay bars us entry at this point, and closes the solid oak door behind him. A muffled shout comes from the other side followed by a few moments of silence. Eventually Omega opens the door once more, now clad in black denim shorts, with a matching silk shirt, a parade of skull-and-crossbones along the hem of the shirt in silver thread.*

Jay Omega: Well, since you didn't knock twice, I'll assume you couldn't hear me through the door. Well, as I was going to say, I think that's it for all the people I wanted to have a few jabs at. As it stands, the full list of participants hasn't been posted anywhere yet, which leads me to believe that Lerch passed out drunk before he could send it off to make it official. But that's fine; I've got shit to do today anyway. So if an when the list does eventually make the rounds, I'll probably be back with a few more things to say, to some people I might have missed. I know there are plenty of people who are going to be in WAR who are worthy of attention. I don't know who all of them are yet, but once I find out, you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll have something for them. And I'm not talking about cannon fodder like the Ultimate Destroyer, or Cletus Clyde. I mean I want to have a few things to say to Legion, perhaps Nathan von Liebert, since he seems to be interested in making life difficult for my friend and tag team partner, Jeff Purse. Whom I will eliminate with ease.

*Jay wags his finger at us, and takes a sip of his Monster.*

Jay Omega: And don't think I've forgotten about guys like Wolf, Dustin Beaver, or Bad News Benson. They're just so low on the card it's hard to worry about them. But worry I shall, and you'll definitely hear the end result. I mean, I spoke about almost every member of the Ay Oh Dee except Riddlebox, you don't think I'm just going to let that slide, do you? I have to talk about Riddlebox, y'know? Because he's... he's... Wait, who's Riddlebox again? Right, he's that other dipshit with the painted face. The one who's more of a clown than that Juggaloser, Isaiah Chavis. But for now, my breakfast is calling to me, and I seriously doubt you guys want to watch me eat. So take care, and we'll see each other again real soon, okay? Ciao!

*With a cheerful wave and another playful wink, Omega slips past us, and makes his way back toward the kitchen. By the time Jay takes his fourth step away from us, the scene fades to black.*

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"War does not determine who is right - only who is left."
-Bertrand Russell
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~It was indeed a long day that Jay Omega had ahead of him. A hearty breakfast was first on his agenda, followed by a light workout to burn off some of the acquired calories. After that he'd have to hold court for a few hours, listening to the complaints and petitions of the people he ruled over. Then after that he had to make a few rounds down at the barracks; a surprise inspection from the man who signed the paycheques generally kept the men on their toes, and they certainly needed it. And then after that he had to make a trip out to the Rock of Ages, and have a little pow wow with Johnny Reb. Jay's tag partner Jeff Purse had been refusing to share any tips about WAR, other than "don't be Jay Omega", so Omega had determined to get some tips from another WAR winner; one who was less inclined to try for a second victory. So one could imagine the surprise Jay must have felt when he eventually made his way out to the lair of the Timekeeper, and found it sans Johnny.

  High and low did Jay search, but to no avail. Eventually he stumbled across recent rescuees, a cybernetic future version of intrepid WCF reporter Hank Brown known as CyberHank, and mutated cat-man hybrid, Brian Setzer. The pair were seated at a low table in one of the infinite number of chambers honeycombing the Rock of Ages, engaged in a game of cards as Omega approached. There was an awkward moment while CyberHank and Brian once again thanked Jay for saving their lives, and Omega assured them that it was all part of a day's work safeguarding the temporal stream of reality, followed by CyberHank handing over a letter written on some strange sort of parchment; very old stuff, judging by the cracks around the edges. Jay scanned through the letter, shook his head in disbelief, then started over; reading much more thoroughly the second time through. When he had finished fully reading the letter, Omega lowered the parchment, and threw a questioning look at Brian and CyberHank.

  "Is this for real?" Jay asked. CyberHank and Brian exchanged a glance, unsure of how to respond. "Well I certainly didn't write it." CyberHank replied. Brian nonchalantly licked at the index knuckle of his left hand, then used it to smooth down a tuft of hair beside his ear. Setzer met Omega's icy blue eyes with his piercing green gaze; the vertical slits of his pupils suddenly making Jay slightly uneasy. They reminded him of his first temporal adventure with Johnny Reb, when the two of them had been captured by a long-dead saurian race back in the Cretaceous Period. Jay suppressed both a shudder, and a sudden urge to kick Brian in the face. Neither would help him in this instance, though the latter might relieve some of the stress that was building. Bluster and bravado were all well and good on camera, but between Omega and his private thoughts, he wasn't so certain about his chances of winning WAR. A spot in the top five was all but guaranteed, to be sure, but number one? It would take just as much luck to attain that spot as it would skill. And while Jay was confident in his skill, his luck was something entirely different.

  Omega was on his way back to the modified Ranchero he had laid claim to what seemed like a lifetime ago. Though it had only been a few months in the Prime Timeline, for Jay much more time had passed while he had battled with the Dark Timekeeper across centuries untold. Omega began to drift backward through his memories, his mind seeking out particular moments of accomplishment. Like when he and The Omega Man had infiltrated the Righteous Militant Air Corps in an alternate 1941, and crashed the Dark Timekeeper's flagship aircraft into a munitions dump. They had brought an end to World War Two before the Americans even got involved, which in turn had led to a very different modern day America. Unfortunately, that timeline had been erased shortly thereafter, as had all the other timelines the Dark Timekeeper had tried to infect with his vile plots. So wrapped up in his reminiscing was he, that he very nearly ran into The Omega Man as the other stepped around a corner.

  "Whoa!" Omega exclaimed, pulling up short. "Damn this non-Euclidean mind fuck! Where did that corner come from?" Jay simply shrugged in response; The Omega Man was more familiar with the oddities contained within the Rock of Ages than he was. Regardless, if he was here, that meant it was unlikely he knew what was up with Reb. It also meant that he had probably already finished with his task of shooting a promotional video for WAR as well. Before he could get caught up in whatever nonsense was running through The Omega Man's fractured mind, Jay pushed the parchment into Omega's hands, and slipped past him, making a beeline for the Ranchero. "Hey wait a sec!" Came the expected call from Omega. "What in Xor's name is this supposed to mean?" He asked. Jay pretended not to hear him, and quickly slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. A quick wave to his counterpart while he fired up the silent engine, and Jay was gone in a flash of light before Omega could take more than a single step in his direction.~