A Day of Very Low Probability(Pt.1)

[Jay Omega]

==============================
"I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts."
-Herman Melville
==============================

Fortress of Ball-itude, Maritopia
April 23rd, 2016
1531hrs, Local Time

~As the landing gear of the Bell 525 Relentless helicopter touched down on the tarmac, a white-cloaked figure scurried over toward the aircraft, ducking low under the spinning blades. Before Nikola Tesla could reach for the door, the aperture was slid open from the inside, revealing its passengers; Bonnie Blue, and DeMarcus Jordan, the latter awkwardly trying to disembark while handling a pair of crutches. "Miss Blue, Mister Jordan, welcome to the not-so-humble abode of my currently deceased benefactor." Tesla said jovially, ushering the pair toward a concrete alcove set into the mountainside; ordinarily a short walk along the rooftop landing pad, made slightly longer by Jordan's hobbling pace.

  And by the fact that once clear of the helicopter, both Bonnie and DeMarcus took a moment to soak in the stunning vista; lush, verdant, tropical jungle spilling out in an emerald cascade that ran the breadth of the sizable island, all the way to a sandy white strip of beach that stretched along the coast, with aquamarine waters fading to the deeper blue of the vast Pacific Ocean as far as the eye could see. And all viewed from near the peak of a small mountain. An inactive volcano, really, but the Rebellution members were unaware of that particular detail. The visual aesthetics absorbed, the group resumed course toward the express elevator; the lavish interior now including a gilt-framed bench with red velvet padding built along the back wall.

  Once inside the elevator, Tesla inserted a small, triangular key into a waiting slot, pressed an unmarked button, and held his thumb in place while he turned the key. "Identity confirmed," Said a confident-sounding female voice over the intercom's speakers, "Tesla, Nikola. Alpha level access granted." DeMarcus looked over at Bonnie with an eyebrow raised disbelievingly. He nodded toward the impeccably dressed man in front of him, and silently mouthed the name at her questioningly. A small smile lifted the corner of Bonnie's mouth, and she simply shrugged and nodded in response. A tingling sensation suddenly swept through both of them, and the golden doors slid open once more.

  DeMarcus' comment on the short ride remained unspoken as he caught his first glimpse of the impossible space known as the Workshop. The tingling abated as the trio exited the elevator, and Jordan's eyes widened as he turned his head from left to right, taking in the wide array of technological equipment in the cavernous space; most of the machinery autonomously performing complicated and unfathomable tasks. "As you can see, Mister Jordan, Aracanum Industries is on the bleeding edge of technological advancement." Nikola explained as he lead the pair through the industrial maze, toward an area visibly resembling the medical facilities of the fictional starship, USS Voyager, of the eponymous Star Trek spinoff.

  "We've made many innovations, in a variety of fields," Tesla continued, "Not the least of which is our cybernetics and prosthesis program." DeMarcus paused in his hobbling, causing Bonnie to nearly run into his back. "Hold up," Jordan said, a slight note of caution creeping into his voice, "What's this about cybernetics and shit?" Nikola turned to face him with a puzzled expression. "I'm sorry. I had thought that when Miss Blue contacted me about repairing the damage to your knee," Tesla made a broad gesture that took in Jordan's currently crippled condition, "That the two of you had discussed the matter thoroughly. Is this not the case?" DeMarcus threw a glance Bonnie's way, then shrugged at Tesla.

  "Well, I mean, she said you could fix my leg, but nobody said anything about prosthetics, or cyborgs, or any of that kind of stuff." DeMarcus replied, suddenly having second thoughts about the whole deal. "I thought you could just inject me with some future juice, or something. Maybe use one of those healing tanks they got in Star Wars." Nikola rolled his eyes, then shook his head. "Don't be preposterous," Tesla said indignantly, "Such notions are in the realm of science fiction." Nikola placed an arm around DeMarcus' shoulder, and guided him toward a contoured table. "No, I'm going to remove your damaged joint completely, and replace it with synthetic material so lifelike, your own nervous system won't be able to tell the difference."

  "Wait, the fuck you mean 'remove the joint completely'?" DeMarcus asked, panic beginning to rise in his tone. Tesla didn't answer, instead turning to Bonnie. "Unless you're a certified medical professional, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside the operating room." Bonnie shrugged in mute acceptance and turned to leave. "For real though, I didn't sign up for surgery! This shit's going to take forever to heal!" A mechanical whirring noise came from out of Jordan's field of view, and he turned just in time to see a robotic arm extend a hypodermic syringe in his direction. There was no time to react, and DeMarcus' senses began to dull before the robotic arm could fully withdraw the needle from his thigh.

  As Jordan went slack and settled into the contours of the table, Nikola looked over at Bonnie with a reassuring expression to soothe the worry he saw there. "Just how long is it gonna take to heal?" Blue asked with some concern, "I sorta need him cleared to wrestle before next Sunday." Tesla's answering smile alleviated her fears almost as much as his words did. "No need to fret, child," Nikola said warmly, "He'll be good as new in only a few minutes. Better than new, I dare say." Bonnie nodded in response as she turned away, nearly colliding with another woman approaching on silent feet, bearing a tray laden with surgical equipment. Blue stopped short in surprise, then offered a warm smile.

  "Howdy, N'Jiva," Bonnie greeted the exotic woman in a friendly manner, as the paleolithic expat had few opportunities for social interaction outside the Workshop. Though she knew she was an attractive young woman herself, Bonnie couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she took in N'Jiva's flawless caramel skin, slightly almond-shaped eyes, delicate nose, and full lips that seemed permanently on the verge of breaking into a grin. The grin in question appeared as N'Jiva greeted her savior, revealing a pair of dimples that only added to her beauty. "Hello, Miss Bonnie," N'Jiva replied with a musically lilting accent; the only remnant of a language long-dead.

  As Bonnie sidestepped out of the way, her gaze took in N'Jiva's sturdy frame, then did a double take as her eyes fell on the glowing woman's swollen belly. Blue's gasp of surprise pulled Nikola and N'Jiva's eyes to her, and both practically beamed with pride as Bonnie pointed at the pregnant proto-woman's present predicament. "Y-you're..." The Daughter of Time stammered, her surprise causing her tongue to malfunction. "With child, yes." N'Jiva's tone and gaze became loving as she favored Tesla with another beatific smile. "By four months now." Bonnie didn't think her jaw could drop any farther without hitting the floor.

  "Four months?" Blue asked incredulously, "How? It ain't even been one since I brought you here!" Bonnie turned to Nikola for an explanation, and he offered a sheepish shrug before he provided an answer. "Yes, well, as to that... I, um, may or may not have fractured the Timestream while constructing the Workshop. Several times. As a result, the flow of Time is... different here." While such an answer would likely draw more questions from the average person, Bonnie already knew that Time was not always a linear construct, and simply nodded in understanding.

  "Of course, it does still pass," Nikola said, with a meaningful glance to where DeMarcus lay, being prepped for surgery by a pair of robotic arms. "And the sedative Erin gave Mister Jordan won't last forever, so if you wouldn't mind?" Bonnie took the hint, and with the tip of an imaginary hat, she congratulated the expecting couple and slipped out of the room. The sliding doors closed behind her quietly, and the Daughter of Time decided to explore a little of the Workshop while she waited. Who knew what wonders she might find? If she could puzzle out the purpose of most of these machines, anyway. She may hail from a technologically advanced society, but she was no engineer.

---------------

~Elsewhere on the island, in a large, man-made clearing, stood a rather large piece of machinery. A circular platform, some forty feet in diameter, rising fifteen feet above the ground, the outer circumference enveloped with control panels and display screens. In the center of the platform a trio of concentric metal rings huddled around another plateau; this one resembling a wrestling ring minus the ropes. On either side of the enormous construct stood a massive, twenty-five foot Tesla coil, each capable of outputting more than 1.21 Jiggawatts. Despite months of neglect and exposure to Maritopia's unstable elements, the apparatus remained in pristine condition; the silvery metal used in the majority of the construction still retaining its chrome-like shine.

  Seemingly of its own accord, one of the display screens suddenly lit up, though the only lifeform nearby large enough to operate the controls was the time-displaced microceratus named Little Corey, and he was more than a hundred fifty feet distant; chasing birds through the jungle in blissful ignorance. A sequence of numbers, letters, and other symbols scrolled across the screen, and one by one, the other screens began to light up; the control panels coming alive in a series of blinking lights in various colors. The innermost silvery ring shifted a few millimeters, and a deep thrumming began to emanate from somewhere below the Tesla coils. In the underbrush, Little Corey stopped in his tracks; his primitive senses picking up the vibrations.

  The ceratopsian reptile was incapable of understanding the meaning of this particular change, but curiosity wasn't a dominant trait in his species, and instinct geared toward survival sent the little creature scurrying off in search of a safe place to hide. Tiny arcs of blue-white energy crackled up the length of the Tesla coils; the electric hum of gathering energy playing counterpoint to the thrumming from below. The innermost ring of silvery metal began to move freely, though slowly. The ring completed one full revolution along its Y axis and began to pick up speed, and the second ring started to spin as well, along the X axis. Finally, the third ring joined the sequence; rotating around the other two in an alternating diagonal pattern.

  In a secure control room buried in a bunker halfway across the island, a lone guard sat in front of a bank of surveillance and monitoring equipment, idly using his smartphone to fling enraged avians at flimsy structures supporting porcine thieves. A single beep from the console before him drew his attention immediately, and the guard leaned forward to stare at a screen warning of a massive energy spike in wide-eyed horror. Training warred with a morbid fascination, and his brain reached a compromise. Without tearing his eyes from the screen, the guard's hands scarbbled along the desk looking for his radio.

  "This is Bravo Romeo Oscar," He said into the receiver once he had located it, "We have a level two alert, repeat, level two alert. We have an unscheduled activation of the Cue Em Tee Ess; we need a response team onsite ASAP. And somebody better bring Tesla." He barely heard the acknowledgement, hardly noticed the shift in light tone as military forces in various installations were put on high alert. Nearly all his attention was divided between the screen showing the estimated energy output, and the live feed showing the Quantum Micro Tunnel Stabilizer running at full tilt; the trio of rings now moving so fast as to seem a solid sphere.

---------------

~A little groggy, DeMarcus Jordan opened his eyes. The fog in his mind cleared quickly, though, evaporating fully when he saw Nikola Tesla's face grinning at him. "Motherfucker!" Jordan shouted, leaping up and backpedaling to put as much room between himself and Tesla as possible. From the doorway of the room came a feminine chuckle; Bonnie Blue having a laugh at her flustered Rebellution compatriot as she re-entered the chamber. "This isn't funny, Baby Blue; this motherfucker wants to cut my leg off!" DeMarcus exclaimed, pointing at Nikola in outrage. "Well, not anymore I don't." Tesla said, barely constraining his amusement.

  Confused, Jordan looked back at Bonnie - sharing Tesla's grin - and noticed that she was holding his crutches. Flabbergasted, DeMarcus glanced down at his legs, half expecting to see something out of a bad RoboCop ripoff, and was stunned to note that both his legs looked exactly the same as they had when he put on his shorts that morning. No, better in fact; the scars from his initial knee surgery were gone. Jordan flexed the knee experimentally, then tentatively tried supporting his weight with it. Experiencing no pain whatsoever, DeMarcus hopped on one foot a few times, then look up at Tesla in wonder.

  "That's amazing!" Jordan proclaimed, his voice filled with awe. He ran his hands over his new joint, and felt goosebumps spring up; it all felt so real, so natural. "I-I don't know what to say." Nikola shrugged offhandedly. "'Thank you' will suffice." Was his reply, causing DeMarcus to nod emphatically. "Oh, thank you, for sure. But that still feels kind of inadequate." Tesla waved a hand dismissively, but before he could reply, a harsh buzzing sounded throughout the Workshop, coming from every direction at once. "Jебати!" Nikola swore in Serbian, "Erin, what is the meaning of this?" He demanded, looking up at the ceiling.

  One of the flatscreen monitors built into the wall behind Bonnie flickered to life; on a field of white, several columns of ones and zeroes scrolled vertically in varying shades of purple, forming a semblance of a female face. The construct - formerly the Enhanced Reaction and Intuitive Navigation system of a 22nd century combat exosuit, now a sentient Virtual Intelligence simply called Erin - seemed to turn in Tesla's direction. "You're needed at the Stabilizer, sir." She explained, "It appears to have been activated from another side." Nikola went very still at the news, and blinked several times in rapid succession as he processed that. "Oh." He said simply.

  With a brisk shake, Tesla ushered DeMarcus and Bonnie out of the room. Rather than head back toward the elevator they had arrived in, Nikola led them through the winding maze of high-tech incomprehensibility in a different direction entirely. The trio rounded a corner at an intersection, and had to pull up short as Tesla nearly knocked himself out. Literally; the man had nearly run headfirst into a mirror image of himself, leading none other than Jeff and Kari Purse, the latter carrying their infant child. "Blast." Said both Teslas simultaneously. With a pair of shrugs the doppelgangers took the lead once more, trailing a quartet of slightly confused people behind them.

  Within a few more moments, the small group approached a heavy circular door resembling an airlock. Standing just to the side of the door was Tesla's expectant bride-to-be, engaged in conversation with yet a third iteration of her fiance. The Nikola by the door glanced up and saw the wondering stares painted across the faces of his guests, and blew out a heavy sigh. "Blast." He said, "Well, nothing to be done about it now. Lombax, Argent, remain here with N'Jiva; I'll handle the situation, and see to our guests." The two men escorting the Purse family and Rebellution nodded in unison; one offered an arm to the bulbous beauty, and the other led them back into the maze.

  "Come along now, don't dally." The remaining Tesla said as he turned to the keypad beside the large circular door and entered a four digit code. "No, no. I really should use the other side. Too many questions already." Nikola said to himself, then cleared the passcode from the keypad and input another four digit number. The heavy airlock door swung inward on well-oiled hinges, and Tesla led the group into a small, tubular room; gathering at the far end to allow the door to swing shut. As they waited for the lock chamber to cycle, Nikola gazed around the group hopefully. "Incidentally, I don't suppose any of you would believe that those men were my brothers?" He asked weakly, "That we're identical triplets?"

  DeMarcus was the only one who looked even slightly convinced, and even his skepticism grew visibly as he noticed the frankly disbelieving looks on the others' faces. "I've been here before," Kari said bluntly, "I know that's not true." Tesla shrugged, and made a noncommittal sound. "Be that as it may, that is the explanation I choose to put forth. Whether or not you believe it is up to you." No one seemed to, but it was apparent they weren't going to get any other explanation. Jeff looked over at DeMarcus, and nodded at him in complimentary fashion. "Nice shirt." Purse said politely. "Thanks," Jordan said graciously, then indicated Jeff's footwear. "I like your shoes."

  A chime sounded as a green light flashed overhead, and Nikola pushed the other heavy steel door open. The group exited out into bright sunlight shining down on asphalt. As DeMarcus looked around, he saw that they had just exited from inside a re-purposed airplane hangar, which would explain the unusually large space of the Workshop. What didn't make any sense to him, was that he could see the mountain-top palatial villa that he and Bonnie had arrived at, some miles distant on the horizon. He had no time to contemplate the matter, though, as an armored all-terrain personnel carrier rumbled into view from several hangars away, and pulled up alongside them.

  The rear hatch of the vehicle swung open, and a grizzled man in his late 40's hopped out; the insignia on his uniform marking him a sergeant, and the red eye painted on the patch covering his right socket giving him a permanently sour expression. "Mister Tesla, sir," The sergeant said with a crisp salute; his voice sounding as though he gargled with razor blades. "If you and your companions would come with me, we'll take you to the Cue Em Tee Ess." Nikola nodded, then turned to the aforementined companions, and gestured toward the waiting APC. "Noooope" Kari said emphatically, shaking her head for good measure.

  "I'm not going anywhere with One Eyed Willy over here. And I am definitely not getting in that thing with Patrick." Jeff turned to his wife and spread his hands helplessly. "So what, you just want to stand around here?" He asked. Kari rolled her eyes at him in response. "No. We're at an airstrip, and Mister Moneybags has that private jet. Patrick and I will wait on the plane while you and your friends go do your little thing with the cutie Emmas. Which better not be what it sounds like." Tesla raised an index finger as he tried to interject, "Beg pardon, but it's Cue Em Tee Ess. Stands for Quantum Micro--" Kari threw him a pointed look. "Don't actually care."

  "That's a negative, ma'am," The sergeant spoke up, "All the civilian fixed-wing aircraft are deployed on various diplomatic missions. However, the Indominus here gives a smoother ride than a--" The sergeant caught himself on the point of saying something bawdy, then cleared his throat and quickly changed the ending of his sentence. "Than a, uh, luxury sedan. Unless we come under direct artillery fire or worse, your child's safety is guaranteed." Mrs. Purse frowned, not pleased with the situation, but also without an alternate course. "Fine." She said sourly, then narrowed her eyes at Jeff. "The next time you see Omega, you can tell him I'm not happy with him."

  "Kari, I told you, Jay's dead." Kari scoffed at her husband's naivety, and gave a half shrug. "So? He was dead the last time we were here too, and the next week you two were tag team partners." That was a very valid point; one Jeff couldn't argue against. Not that he had the chance, as Kari brushed past him, and marched into the waiting APC. The rest of the group followed suit; piling into the surprisingly comfortable interior, with the sergeant bringing up the rear. During the short ride - which was smoother than a Jeff Purse jazz album - the military man brought Tesla up to speed on the situation. "Control room reported the Cue Em Tee Ess active four minutes ago, and estimates another two until it reaches operational power levels."

  Tesla was quite obviously buzzing with curiosity, but held his tongue and allowed the sergeant to continue with his briefing. "The failsafe inhibitors on the main output coils are currently active; standing orders are nothing comes through without Alpha level clearance. However, Control has also advised that whoever turned the machine on is also trying to bypass the inhibitors from their side, so there's a good chance our unexpected guest - or guests - will arrive soon, whether we want them to or not." Tesla nodded in understanding, his mind a-whirl with calculating probabilities. "Disengage the inhibitors when we arrive," Nikola said, "If they are likely to be bypassed anyway, then there's no sense wasting the effort."

  The order was relayed through the sergeant's radio, and confirmation received; the tone of the conversation made it clear that neither the sergeant nor those in the control room saw any wisdom in such an order, but Tesla did have Alpha level clearance, so they were obliged to obey. The remainder of the short trip passed in relative silence; the only sound coming from the military-grade diesel engine, and that was muffled by the luxury civilian-grade interior of the APC. As the vehicle came to a stop and the engine shut off however, another noise became noticeable; a low, steadily pulsing hum, just on the edge of hearing. The deep thrumming became markedly louder as the rear hatch opened; becoming just as much felt as heard.

  Nikola moved to disembark, but was stopped by the sergeant's oustretched hand. "Let us secure the area first, sir." A baker's dozen heavily-armed commandos filed out of the APC, each bringing his or her weapon to bear as their boots hit the ground. After a few moments, calls of "Clear!" went up from half a dozen directions, and the sergeant nodded to Tesla, et al. The civilian group exited the vehicle into a wide, man-made clearing, and were left staring at the whirling technological marvel with mouths agape. Jagged blue-white forks danced continuously along the length of both the enormous Tesla coils, and a blurry silver sphere shimmered between them on a raised platform.

  Kari took one look at the crackling coils, and clutched her child closer to her chest. "Is it really safe to be here?" She asked with notable concern. Nikola followed her gaze, and waved off the question casually. "Oh, yes of course." He said confidently, "Another cascade failure is most unlikely." DeMarcus turned to Bonnie with an upraised eyebrow. "What's he mean 'another'?" Jordan asked, his voice pitched for Blue's ears alone. "He's just joking, right?" Bonnie just shrugged at him helplessly. "I don't even know what this thing is, let alone how likely it is to blow up." She said honestly. DeMarcus' eyes widened at the mention of the machine exploding.

  "If we're so safe," Kari persisted, "Then what's with all the guns?" Tesla was only paying minimal attention at this point, most of his awareness taken up with the various readouts and displays on the huge bank of electronics. "Merely a precaution, I assure you." Nikola said distractedly, "Should anyone or anything appear that these fine gentlemen can't handle... well, you'd likely be no safer anywhere else on the planet." Tesla adjusted a few dials, flipped a few switches, and pressed a few buttons, then stepped back behind the encircling ring of soldiers. "Besides, I don't think our guest is going to have malevolent intentions. Call it a hunch."

  The thrumming changed tone; the pitch rising higher and higher until it passed out of the range of human ears. The crackling around the Tesla coils seemed to intensify as they gathered further energy, finally reaching a point where release was inevitable. As one, twin bolts of coruscating white-hot energy lanced out from the Tesla coils and struck the shining pseudo-sphere. A pulse of teal light erupted from the machine, and swept out across the assembled observers harmlessly. The machinery's high-pitched whining slowed gradually, as did the shimmering, spinning rings that had previously seemed a solid mass. As gaps began to appear between the swift-moving rings, those gathered caught sight of a single person kneeling within.

  The rings came to a standstill, wisps of steam rising from the superheated metal, and the kneeling figure drew himself up. The mottled pattern of his body armor would blend well within a jungle setting, and the angled plates seemed more suited to deflecting energy blasts than ballistic projectiles. The heavy-duty rifle clutched in both his hands added credence to that observation, as it was much more advanced than the Chinese-made Type 95s the response team was armed with. Disbelief held the tongues of the gathered civilians; the same disbelief that was etched across the features of the man standing on the platform. A man instantly recognized as Jay Omega by the people staring at him in shock.

  Laughing wildly, Omega didn't seem to notice his audience at first. "It worked!" He shouted at the sky, "Abraham's beard, it fucking worked! HA HA!" Jay's gaze finally dropped to the group of people standing at the base of the machine, and his entire face lit up as he registered who was there. "Jeff! Kari!" Omega's rifle clattered against the metal of the platform as he dropped it. He hopped down off the raised square and sprinted across the circular platform, leaping to the ground and landing in a smooth crouch. A dozen rifle bolts ratcheted as the response team shouldered their weapons. "Hold!" Tesla shouted frantically.

  Jay barreled across the intervening space, and lifted Jeff Purse up off the ground in a crushing bearhug. Omega clapped him on the shoulder as he set him down, then turned to Kari and took her in a passionate, yet careful embrace; his mouth hungrily devouring hers, while taking caution not to squish the baby. "Hey! HEY!" Jeff shouted, grabbing hold of Omega's shoulder. "Get the hell off my wife, man!" Jay broke off the kiss in surprise, leaving Kari shocked and breathless; half furious, half aroused. "Your wife?" Jay said in confusion, looking to Kari for confirmation. With an expression that called him stupid for even asking, Kari simply nodded at him, while Jeff slipped an arm around her waist.

  "The fuck?" Jay said out loud, but more to himself than anyone else. He shook his head as he backed away from the Purses, then threw a wondering look at Tesla. "What the hell is going on, Doctor Slate?" Nikola glanced about, then realized that Omega was speaking to him. "I beg your pardon?" Tesla said, just as confused as Jay, "I'm afraid I don't have the proper context to answer that." Omega turned and indicated the massive metal construct that had been the center of attention moments ago. "I set the time machine to take me back--" Jay cut off with a heavy glance at Jeff and Kari, "Back before somethin' bad happened. But something must have gone wrong."

  Nikola looked over at the QMTS, then back at Omega with a commiserating expression. "Good sir," Tesla began in a gentle voice, "I'm not certain who this Doctor Slate is, but I can assure you I am not he. Just as I can assure you that the device you've just used is most certainly not a time machine." A range of emotions and expressions flickered across Jay's face in rapid succession. Momentary confusion first. Then understanding that his actions hadn't produced the desired results at all. Horror, as he realized that all the things he had meant to prevent remained unaltered. Loss and pain as he glanced once more at Jeff and Kari. Rage came next, along with a white-hot hatred. That was quickly bottled, and replaced with a mask of grim determination as Omega faced Nikola once more.

  "Well if it's not a time machine," Jay said in a voice that was both soft and hard; like a titanium bar wrapped in cashmere. "What is it? Can it send me back?" Tesla was quick to nod reassuringly. "Oh, most certainly," The scientist said without a trace of doubt, "The Quantum Micro Tunnel Stabilizer is able to pierce the barriers between realities; I could send you to just about any possible world you wish. Provided I know the proper coordinates in the Metaversal spectrum, of course." The mention of alternate realities drained the color from Omega's face, leaving it an ashen gray. "Son of a-- Pierce the barrie-- Metaversal spec-- What the fucking fuck?!?" There was too much information to process, and too many question to articulate.

  With the exception of Bonnie Blue, everyone else seemed to be just as confused. Jeff was no stranger to the concept of alternate realities either, but this was a different matter entirely. "I don't suppose you happen to know precisely which dimension you originated from?" Though he knew it to be a long shot, Nikola felt the question to be prudent. Omega's blank stare was answer enough. "No, I thought not. Well, in that case, I have good news and bad news. The good news is, we can determine where exactly to return you. The bad news is, it may take some time to do so." Tesla spread his hands helplessly; it was the best he could do. After a brief moment's consideration, Jay shrugged, then nodded once.

  "Better than nothing." He replied, "I'm not exactly in a rush to get home right away." Nikola glanced around at the soldiers, their weapons still trained on Omega. Tesla gave a displeased frown, and directed his attention to the sergeant. "I'm quite sure there's no need for all of this," Nikola said sternly, "Lower your weapons, before you put someone's eye out." Hesitantly, the sergeant obeyed, as did the rest of the squad. Nikola's gaze then swept over the other civilians consideringly, and he turned back to the sergeant. "And send for a helicopter, would you?" Tesla turned to the four guests with an apologetic look on his face.

  "Do forgive me, but Mister Omega and I--" Omega interjected quickly with a clarification, "Captain." He corrected, pointing out the insignia on the shoulder of his armor. "Captain Jim Megaron, Allied Resistance Forces." Nikola readily accepted the new information, and ducked his head in acknowledgement. "As you say. Captain Megaron and I have rather important matters to discuss, and unfortunately, none of you have the necessary security clearance to be part of the conversation." Tesla directed Omega toward the waiting APC, but kept his focus on the Rebellution members and the Purses, and favored Bonnie and DeMarcus with a smile before he continued.

  "I believe our business has concluded. When the helicopter arrives, you may instruct the pilot to take you home, or you may remain on the island and enjoy the amenities. Socialise with N'Jiva if you wish; she does so enjoy the company. Regardless; Miss Blue, always a pleasure. Mister Jordan, enjoy the new knee. Should any problems arise, don't hesitate to get in touch." Nikola then turned to the Purses, and gave a short, respectful bow in their direction. "Mister Purse, there are still the details of your inheritance to discuss, so I would ask that you and your wife remain at the estate until I return with Mist-- Captain Megaron." Kari looked from Jeff, to Jay, to Nikola, back to Jeff, then back to Nikola, and pointed in Jay's direction.

  "Oh no," Mrs. Purse huffed indignantly, "He's back, he can do his own damned laundry!" Tesla sighed, and shook his head. "That is not the matter I'm referring to, Missus Purse." Nikola said patiently, "Besides which, though he may be genetically identical, this man is neither a reincarnation, reanimation, or clone of the James Owen Megaron of this reality. As such, his presence here does not negate the last will and testament of my currently deceased benefactor." Kari wasn't a lawyer, but she was still fairly sure that wouldn't hold up in court. Tesla didn't give her further opportunity to argue though; he just thanked the two of them for their time once more, and hastened toward the Indominus.

  Once the hatch had been shut, and the APC trundled into motion once more, Nikola regarded this carbon copy of Jay Omega curiously. "This could be a long process, Captain Megaron," Tesla said warningly, "But I hope to narrow down the possibilities as much as I can. The easiest way to do that, is to enumerate as many differences between our realities as possible. I know it may be dull, but let us discuss the significant events of your world's history. From as far back as you can, if you please."~

==============================
"Until you realize how easy it is for your mind to be manipulated, you remain the puppet of someone else's game."
-Evita Ochel
==============================

*Our scene fades in on a gorgeous view--*

And the background ain't half bad either.

*Come on, you know only one of us can be in here at a time. And this version can't seem to hear us, so your particular style would just go to waste.*

For realsies? Boo-tista! All right, fine. You do your thing, Serious Sam. I'm gonna go bug Scathe for a bit.

*Ugh. Do you really need to antagonize him?*

Heh, yeah. I really do. So I'm gonna go do that. Toodles! Have fun being boring!

*... Our scene fades in on a gorgeous view--*

Of yo mamma! HA! Sorry, sorry. I'm leaving for real now.

*... ... Our scene fades in on a gorgeous view... Hunh. On a gorgeous view of a modern Zen garden. A tall, white stone wall borders the scene on two sides; to our left, and at the very back of the enclosure. The clean, evenly spaced lines in the sand pit are curved and connected in such a way as to resemble a championship belt, though which in particular is indeterminate. Several large, moss-covered boulders are interspersed in a seemingly random manner, and a three-tiered, circular waterfall fountain constructed entirely of shale plates rises from a small pond at the edge of the garden, at the right of our screens. A single bamboo pillar, supporting a small patch of terracotta tiled roof is also visible at the far right; the corner of a covered meditation area.*

*Beyond the wall, the canopy level of the surrounding jungle can be seen, the treetops swaying in the salty breeze sweeping in off the ocean. An unbroken azure sky stretches across our view overhead, and several gulls circle and swoop not too distant; calling out with their distinctive cry. Presumably along the shoreline, judging from the lulling, gentle sound of waves rolling against the beach in counterpoint to the shrieking birds. A tiny spot of brightness shines at the upper left corner of the screen; the barest hint of the late afternoon sun's corona causing a minor lens flare from time to time as the operator shifts.*

*In the foreground of the shot is the feature presentation, though. Seated on the flagstone patio, in an unnecessarily expensive lawn chair - embroidered leather strips on a platinum frame - sits the one(?), the only(?), The Omega Man(!), Jay Omega. Camouflage cargo shorts prevent us from having an X rating, and a tight, taut, olive green T-shirt obscures Omega's chiseled abs and rippling pecto-- Jesus, who wrote this shit, Steven Osbourne? I'm gonna summarize. Jay's wearing black sandals, camo cargo shorts, a plain T-shirt in military green, and a pair of dark, reflective Oakley shades. A frosted glass pitcher - etched with the Infinity Omega, and three-quarters full of an amber liquid - sits on a table as equally unnecessarily extravagant as the overpriced deck chair.*

*A squat glass tumbler matching the pitcher is held loosely in Omega's right hand, and he takes a small sip from the half-full cup before he places the glass on the table. Jay then settles himself back in his chair, and hooks his right ankle over his left knee. An easy smile lights his face up in a familiar half-grin.*

Jay Omega: Well shit. I hardly even know where to begin. I mean, I've watched enough footage to know who I'm supposed to be talking about, and more importantly, who I'm supposed to pretend to be. I've learned a hell of a lot in the week since I got here, but I'm still having a rough time wrapping my head around all of it. Of course, I've been told most of you will just believe whatever the hell you want anyway, so it doesn't really matter too much whether I keep up the charade or not.

*Jay shrugs in an offhand manner, then reaches for his glass again.*

Jay Omega: So what have we got? We have a multi-sport athlete who's a way better wrestler than he ever was a Ke-- baseball player. Which is hilarious to me. We've also got an actor who is also more proficient at wrestling than his other occupation, which is just as humourous. And finally, a wizard. But not an imposing one, like Odin Balfore. More of a bumbling, inept mage like Questor Thews. Now, I'm led to understand that in this reality, you three are all passable combatants at the very least, and dangerous opponents at best. And if I were the Jay Omega who originated in this reality, I'm sure I'd have to worry at least a little bit about John Gable. But that's the thing: I'm not from this world.

*Omega swirls the liquid in his glass and takes another sip. He raises the index finger of his left hand as he replaces the glass on the table.*

Jay Omega: No, I'm not an alien, or a spaceman, or something like that. I'm a human, from Earth. Always have been, no matter what some people apparently think. I don't think I can quite remember the whole explanation about Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen bridges and quantum micro tunnels, but the short version is that there's a bunch of different realities all overlapping, and I come form a different one than this one. Now, on the one hand, I do already feel sort of familiar in a world where people use violence to solve their problems, though I'm not really used to doing it as a form of entertainment. Gable is, though. Both here, and where I come from.

*Jay chuckles softly to himself, and shakes his head slightly.*

Jay Omega: See, where I come from, John Gable was just an actor. Well, I shouldn't say just an actor. In my world, John Gable is the Bruce Willis of the Two Thousands; the everyman action hero. And he does a fairly good job, even if all his work follows the same formula. But to be fair, there's really only so much you can do with a standard action movie script, right? But that's surprisingly not what he's most famous for. No, where I come from, John Gable is single-handedly responsible for reviving and reinventing the art of mime. Silent films have made a resurgence thanks to him, and the world has achieved a new appreciation for the nuances of body language. The Gable of this world should take a cue from his alternate, and keep his mouth shut. Things will probably go better for him if he does.

*Omega fishes through the cargo pockets of his shorts, and produces a camouflage patterned Zippo lighter, and a dark red, plastic cigar case. Jay lights up a stogie, and puffs at it a few times to ensure it remains lit. The butt clamped firmly between his teeth distorts his voice slightly.*

Jay Omega: Then there'sh Kyle Kemp. 'Ere he got kicked outta minor league Ke-- bayshball an' became a wreshler. In my reality? In my reality, Kyle Kemp wash shuch a prolific bayshball player, that the shport wash renamed in hish honour. In fact, how'sh thish for irony, John Gable wash shlated to play Kyle Kemp in the upcoming biopic, "Back To the Minorsh: The Kyle Kemp Shtory".

*Omega puffs at the cigar, removes it from his mouth, and blows a cloud of smoke off to the side.*

Jay Omega: Of course, over here, Kyle Kemp a mediocre wresler at best, and an even worse baseball player. His biggest accomplishment in this reality is an admittedly decent Tag Team Championship run, but the vast majority of that success should be laid at the feet of... Johnny Rabid.

*A cold, malevolent hatred enters Omega's voice as he speaks that name, accompanied by a muscle at the corner of his left eye twitching violently. Jay visibly calms himself, and sticks the cigar back between his teeth.*

Jay Omega: That ashosheation alone ish enough motivation for me to do shome sherioush damage to you, Kemp. I'd advishe you to keep your dishtanshe, maybe try your luck with either DeMarcush or Bonnie. But I'm pretty sure you're not shmart enough to heed that warning. Sho if you're gonna shtep to me, maybe borrow a potion or two from your partner, Gandalf, or whoever. He'sh got to have shome short of party buff in hish magic shatchel. Or ish he jusht a conjurer of cheap tricksh?

*Omega picks up the glass again, and trades out the cigar for a sip of his drink. His whistle wetted, he puts the glass back down, and uses the smoking cigar to gesture at the screen as he talks with his hands.*

Jay Omega: Now let's take a brief moment to talk about Dumbledork, or whoever the fuck this wizard dude is. And only a brief moment, because I don't give a Fawkes about a mage whose mastery over the elemental art of magic is so insignificant, he can't even conjure himself up a single win. You'd think having a spellcaster on your team would give you an advantage, but Gable and Kemp will be lucky if ol' Questor Thews over there doesn't accidentally set them on fire when they reach for a tag. Honestly, their best bet is to keep him out of the ring as much as possible, let Gable do the heavy lifting, and keep Kemp in reserve for emergencies. And even then, they only stand a slim chance of walking away with the victory.

*Jay puffs at the cigar, and exhales to the side once more.*

Jay Omega: Because my team consists of DeMarcus Jordan; a hungry young scrapper looking to get back in the ring, and get some revenge against the people who put him on the shelf. He's a badass motherfucker, with a mean streak in him. I'd pity the poor saps he's got his sights on, if not for the fact that they absolutely deserve what's coming to them. I'd draw you a parallel with the DeMarcus of my world, but to be honest, I don't know the DeMarcus Jordan of my world, and he hasn't done anything to make his name famous enough to be heard. That's not a knock on the guy either; there are seven billion other people in the same boat. Or there were, at least.

*A pained shadow crosses Omega's face, but he wipes it away, replacing it with a smile that's only half forced.*

Jay Omega: We've also got Bonnie Blue; a tenacious little spitfire who technically won't be born for another seven hundred years. But that hasn't stopped her from kicking some ass, and drawing the wrong kind of attention to herself. She and I have a common enemy, and because of that, I'll fight by her side until my dying breath; proud to have called her comrade. That's a loyalty I don't think anybody in Beach Crew is capable of understanding. Because it's something none of them have ever experienced. The existing friendship between DeMarcus and Bonnie helps make this team so cohesive. The trust and respect I have for the both of them is well-founded, and will be a solid basis for what will be a sure victory this coming Sunday night.

*Jay picks up the glass, and drains the contents in a single gulp, then levers himself up from the chair. He begins to turn away, then pauses, and faces the camera once more.*

Jay Omega: Right, almost forgot. I'm obviously the third member of Rebel Scum. Here, on this world, Jay Omega is a highly decorated wrestler, having held multiple championships here in the Dubya See Eff, up to and including the World Championship. He's a consummate warrior, who battled for more than three hours in fierce competition to win the annual WAR event last year. He has defeated, in some capacity, nearly everyone he has ever set foot in the ring with. But in my world?

*A dangerous light sparks in Omega's eye, and a feral grin comes to his face.*

Jay Omega: In my world, I'm a soldier. A battle-hardened combat veteran who has lost more blood than the trio of Gable, Kemp, and Orko have ever spilled. Every day of my life for the last five years has been consumed with war. We'd wake up and fight, have breakfast, then get back to fighting. Break for lunch, fight some more, have dinner if you have time, then fight until exhaustion overwhelms you, and you fall asleep where you stand. If you were lucky enough to live through the night, you did it again the next day. Sometimes we'd skip breakfast, too. My point is, you three are a bunch of athletes, and not very good ones. I'm a fucking warrior, and I'm teamed with a pair of people who don't seem to be all that fond of the Beach Crew brand. That doesn't bode well for any of you.

*Jay nods to the camera, then turns away, and walks off screen. The camera remains focused on the picturesque view for a moment, before the scene fades to black.*