Makin' A List, Checkin' It Twice

[Jay Omega]

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"It’s not big, it’s not fucking clever – way to denigrate everyone else’s hard work and write it off as trash you condescending cunt."
-Joey Flash Being Ironic
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Origin Story? Check.
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~It hadn't been easy cleaning out the old Cryogenix compound, but now that it was done, Jay Omega looked around the freshly swept maintenance bay with a measure of satisfaction. Not satisfaction with his work, as he hadn't lifted a finger, but with the efficiency of his private army, the Maritopian Defense Force. The maintenance bay seemed far to empty for Jay's liking, due to the fact that the only vehicle present was his Aston Martin DB11; a fine vehicle to be sure, but it paled in comparison to the time traveling Ford Ranchero he'd once had the pleasure of piloting, to say nothing of the transforming podcycle built for him by the time-displaced Nikola Tesla. The Aston Martin was a superb land-based vehicle, but it didn't have any weapons, it couldn't fly, and it certainly wasn't capable of space travel. The complete lack of advanced technology made Omega feel more alone than he had in years. Reflecting on that sentiment, Jay's mind drifted backward through his own personal history. Backward, before his debut in WCF. Before his first World Championship. Before his first time inside a wrestling ring in the role of competitor. Back to his days as a troubled orphan, struggling to survive in the back alleys of Toronto...

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~The young man sighed in disgust, and tried in vain to wipe the dog shit he'd just stepped in off his shoe by smearing it along the grass. "Hurry the fuck up, Jimmy," Said an older voice in a stage whisper. The young man - 15 year old James "Jimmy" Megaron - looked up, his gaze trying to pierce the darkness. His eyes adjusted to the gloomy dimness of the large front yard he was crossing, and he picked out the crusty street punk known only as "Battman" crouched down by the rear end of a cherry red 1997 Chevrolet Corvette. Battman waved him over impatiently, and Jimmy scurried across the well-maintained expanse of emerald green, staying as low as he could. Once they'd joined up, the pair began to stealthily make their way toward the tastefully modest red brick house set a fair distance back from the road. "I still don't get why you brought me on this job instead of Lankly, he's way better at this shit than I am." Jimmy said quietly as they skirted around to the back of the house. "'Cause Lankly and Pockitt have another job to take care of," Battman answered curtly, "'Sides, you gotta stop being such a little pussy sooner or later." The surly street tough pushed Jimmy forward to emphasize his point, and the young man stumbled, nearly falling on his face.

 This wasn't Jimmy's first burglary, but he was inexperienced enough to be nervous. Not to mention the few other times he had been brought along on this kind of job had all been in lower class neighbourhoods; this was a higher end area of Toronto; sure there was probably better loot, but there would be better security, too. Megaron voiced that sentiment to Battman, but the older punk just scoffed and pushed him forward again. "Right, 'cause I'm stupid, and didn't think of that," The duo stopped under a high windowsill, out of the reach of either of them individually. Battman leaned against the wall and pulled a pack of cheap cigarettes from inside his leather jacket and lit one up. He offered the pack to Jimmy, but the teen shook his head and looked up at the window. "I had Roast Beef scopin' the place all week; no alarm system, no guard dog, nothin'. And the family's s'posed to be gone all weekend; it's like they're askin' to get robbed." Battman stuck his cigarette in his mouth, then cupped his hands together in order to give Megaron a foothold. Once boosted high enough, Jimmy grabbed the concrete windowsill and braced himself on one forearm while he slit the screen with his pocket knife.

 Megaron levered the blade of the knife under the window, and popped it up enough to slide it open smoothly from the wrong side. Jimmy put his knife away and began to wriggle his way into the house. "All right, now go unlock the door, and let's get this show on the road!" Battman called after him softly. Megaron silently rolled his eyes at the unnecessary reminder of his assigned task, and pulled himself further into the much darker room, his nose detecting the faint scent of lavender. Now most of the way inside, Jimmy shifted forward to place his hands down on the top of the dresser he could barely make out beneath him. This proved to be a mistake, as his right hand pressed down on something incredibly pointy. "Shit!" Megaron managed to blurt out before he toppled into the room with a crash. He heard a rustle of bedsheets, light footsteps, and then a light snapped on overhead. A moment later, an ear-piercing shriek nearly shattered his eardrums. "Fuck!" Came a shout from outside. Jimmy scrambled to his feet, and came to an abrupt stop as he laid eyes on a beautiful blonde girl who appeared to be close to his age. The girl screamed again, and the sounds of heavy footfalls running toward the room came from the hall.

 Megaron finally broke from his paralysis and spun back toward the window. Before he could do more than clamber onto the dresser, a meathy hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him back. Jimmy quickly grabbed at the wrist connected to the hand, dropped low, and spun back behind the massive homeowner in a motion similar to applying a hammerlock. Megaron quickly shoved away from the bear of a man and sprinted past the girl whose room he'd broken into. Jimmy barely made it down the hall to the short flight of stairs before the man was on him again. "No you don't, you little shit!" Cried the irate homeowner as Megaron fled down the stairs. Jimmy hit the ground running, but the large man chose to forgo the stairs entirely, and took Megaron to the floor with a diving tackle. The homeowner roughly hauled Jimmy to his feet by one arm, and firmly wrung the arm by the wrist, causing Megaron to hunch over in pain. Jimmy tucked and rolled to relieve the pressure, came partway to his feet, then grabbed hold of the man's arm with both hands, planted one foot on the homeowner's hip, and rolled back with all the force his 140 pound body could muster. The larger man's own weight worked against him, and he went head over heels to land sprawled on his back.

 Megaron was on his feet again in a flash, and moving toward the back door with the speed that only fear can provide. He heard a soft thump from outside as he wrenched the door open, but paid it no mind; there was only room enough in his head for thoughts of escape. A howl of rage came from behind him, and Jimmy redoubled his efforts to put as much distance between himself and the burly, berserk blond bear pursuing him as humanly possible. Megaron burst out the back door and began to sprint toward the fence to his left. Battman was nowhere in sight, but that wasn't surprising; the job had gone sideways, and it was every man for himself. That was just how life was on the streets. Jimmy didn't have time to feel any disappointment though, as a shadow rose up from the ground right in ront of him. He had time enough to widen his eyes and begin to cry out, but his shout was stalled in his throat by the slim arm that took him in the Adam's apple. Megaron hit the ground with enough force to drive the wind out of him, and a galaxy's worth of stars went supernova behind his eyelids. "Goddammit, Carol, get back in the--! Well hot shit, you got 'im? Nice work, honey. You go call the cops while I handle this." Megaron coughed as oxygen re-entered his lungs, and the girl - Carol - left his field of vision.~

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~The bail hearing had not gone well by Jimmy's estimation. The last foster family he'd lived with had moved out of the province not long after he'd run away, leaving him a Crown Ward once more. Something was bothering Megaron, though. It had been far too long since the end of the day's proceedings, and he was still in a holding cell in the courthouse. At length, the jangling of keys foretold the approach of a police officer, and Jimmy prepared himself to be cuffed and transferred to a Young Offenders detention center. And so it was with great surprise that he greeted the sight of the burly blond man whose house he'd attempted to burgle - whose name he'd learned was Bill Quinn during the hearing - walking along behind the cop. "Time to go, kid." Said the officer as he unlocked the cell door. Megaron blinked in incomprehension, and made no move toward the door. Quinn arched an eyebrow, then turned his head to speak to the officer. "Well, I guess if he doesn't want to leave, I ain't gonna post bail for him." Bill turned to leave, and Jimmy scrambled forward in a panic. "Wait!" He called out, and Quinn stopped short. The man turned back with an inquisitive expression, and Megaron bit his lower lip, unsure of himself. But he was tired of being cold and hungry all the time.

 "You... you bailed me out?" Jimmy asked dully, "Why?" Bill harrumphed, and motioned for the kid to follow. "I been asking myself the same thing all afternoon." He said as he led his new charge out of the courthouse and into the late afternoon sun. "Maybe I'm a sentimental old fool, and I felt bad 'cause you ain't got nobody. Maybe I saw something of myself in ya. Maybe I took a hard look at ya, and saw a scared kid just tryin' to stay alive in a harsh world." Quinn shook his head as they approached a pale blue Dodge Caravan. "Point is, you're young enough yet that you can have a better life than the one you're livin', you just need the chance to climb outta whatever hole you've been stuck in. Well, I'm giving you that chance now. Whether or not you take it is up to you." Megaron hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave his friends without even saying goodbye. Then his stomach rumbled, reminding him that the only thing he'd eaten that day had been two pieces of cardboard and a strip of tissue paper that the cop had claimed was a ham sandwich, and Jimmy climbed into the van. Every man for himself, that was just the way life was on the streets. Jimmy buckled up as Bill climbed into the front seat and started up the minivan, and silence reigned for a few moments as they pulled out of the parking lot.

 "So where'd you learn to fight, kid?" Quinn asked once they were on the road. Megaron hunched down slightly in the back seat, and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not a kid," Jimmy said sullenly, causing Bill to let out a chuckle. "No, I suppose you're not. All right, James then? You had to have some training; there's no way you learned some of that stuff scrappin' in alleys." Megaron's mind pulled away from the details - the less he remembered about his childhood the better - but he pulled up enough information to answer the question. "My parents wanted to make sure they'd never have to pay a ransom for me, so I was taught Muay Thai and Judo ever since I was old enough to walk." Quinn glanced at him in the rearview mirror, surprise evident on his face. "Ransom? If you don't mind me askin', James, were your folks important people?" Well, they had certainly been important to him, but Jimmy wasn't about to admit that. "I don't know if they were important, but they were definitely rich." Bill nodded in silent understanding, but Megaron spoke up before he could ask any more questions. "Look, Mister Quinn, I don't mean to be rude, but could we maybe talk about something other than my dead parents?" Quinn nodded again, suitably chastised.

 "Of course, of course. I'm sorry. How 'bout you then? Any thoughts on what you wanna do with your life?" For the first time in three years, Jimmy let himself think about his dream; let himself feel a glimmer of hope. "I want to be a rock star!" Megaron said fervently. "I'm a pretty good guitarist, and I've already written a couple of songs. I've even got a great name for my band; 'Vorort-Zerfall'. It means 'Suburban Decay' in German." Bill nodded once more, wisely refraining from voicing his opinion of the name. "All right, so you got yourself a goal, that's good. Now what's your plan for getting signed to a record label?" Jimmy fell silent once more as he mulled that over. He'd never really thought about how to go about getting a record deal, he had always figured he'd put a band together and they'd work their way up from the bottom until they were world famous. It was only now, confronted by a question from someone more knowledgeable, that Megaron realized just how little he knew about his own dream job. Quinn must have seen his thoughtful expression in the mirror, since the older man piped up with some encouragement. "Don't sweat it, James; you've got plenty of time to make plans. And if you're serious about turning your life around, then I'm serious about helping you do it, you understand?"

 Jimmy nodded, and added verbal confirmation as well. He understood quite well, as a matter of fact. This all sounded pretty great on the surface, but it had been his experience that a lot of people talked about helping, but very few ever did. Most of the foster parents he'd been stuck with had done the bare minimum required to keep him healthy, help was a four-letter word. And they all treated him like an afterthought compared to their own children. The rational part of his mind had always understood that, but he had been twelve and grieving when he first entered the system, and had spent the next two and a half years being shuffled from foster home to foster home, receiving similar treatment in almost all of them. Almost. There had been a few places that hadn't been all bad, and even one that had been pretty good, looking back on it. It had been a younger couple who didn't have any children of their own - couldn't have any, though he didn't know the specifics - and they had been very kind people. But it had only been three months since his parents had died, and they had always been somewhat distant people, so he'd had no idea how to react to this sudden outpouring of care and compassion. He had refused to let them in, behaved poorly, and was eventually transferred to another foster family.

 "Well, if you're gonna be a rock star," Bill said, interrupting Megaron's musings, "You're gonna need a guitar. And you'll value that guitar more if you gotta pay for it yourself, so that's what you're gonna do." Quinn met Jimmy's eye in the mirror again, and held the gaze for a meaningful moment. "Now I'll give you a job, and pay you a decent wage, but you gotta work; I got no patience for slackers." Of course; there was always a catch. Jimmy figured this guy's idea of a 'decent' wage was five bucks a day. "What, uh, what kind of job? I'm... I'm not very strong, so I can't really do, like, heavy lifting and stuff." Bill chuckled again, and shook his head. "There won't be much lifting, don't you worry. You're gonna be my gopher down at the gym. It's gonna be a pain in the ass, and you probably won't like it, but it's honest work, and your best option at the moment.." Megaron's eyes narrowed as his interest was raised, and he probed a little deeper. "You work at a gym?" He asked tentatively. Perhaps he'd be able to pack some muscle onto his wiry frame. "You could say that," Quinn replied with a note of pride in his voice, "I run the Tiger's Den, a wrestling school downtown." Well, that explained the man's massive physique.

 Jimmy's stomach growled again, louder than before. Megaron ducked his head, embarrassed, and Bill didn't hesitate to change the destination he had in mind. "Shit, I didn't even think; you must be starving, eh boy? Let's get some food in ya before your gut starts eating itself." Quinn turned in to a Taco Bell parking lot, and pulled into a parking space near the door. He twisted in his seat to make direct eye contact with Jimmy before they disembarked. "You like tacos? I been addicted to 'em ever since my days workin' the ring in Mexico. I mean, what they sell here is kinda shitty compared to the real deal, but it's close enough to hit the spot." Megaron didn't really care much for greasy fast food, but he wasn't about to complain about a free meal. Besides, he was more interested by the revelation of his newest guardian's former profession; Jimmy had long been a fan of professional wrestling - he had found the showmanship enthralling as a child - because it was the one interest he had shared with his father. "Tacos are cool," Megaron said with a casual shrug, "You used to be a wrestler?" Damn, that was too casual. Bill grinned at him, confirming that he was busted. "Sure was. I take it you're a fan of the sport?" Quinn opened his door and stepped out into the parking lot, Jimmy followed suit.

 "Well, don't get your hopes up, you probably never heard of me. Never got much traction in the Northern circuits." Bill shrugged along with the statement; he hadn't been happy with a lot of the business practices that were prevalent in the American territories. "But I was a pretty big deal once upon a time, in Mexico." A hint of pride entered Quinn's voice as they entered the establishment, "I was known as 'El Tigre Blanco' - the White Tiger - and I was billed as the 'Terror of Tijuana'. I was a heel naturally, bein' a gringo and all, and hot damn was I a good one. I can't even count how many times I almost got knifed after a show." The nostalgic smile of fond reminiscence on Bill's face was at odds with the words he spoke, and the strange dichotomy left an impression on the young man. Jimmy found himself revising his opinion of his latest guardian as they stood in line; the odd kindness Quinn was showing spoke of a gentle nature, but at the same time he exuded a sense of power and restraint; the man knew he was a tough son of a bitch, and knew he had no need to prove it. Megaron began considering whether the life of a rock star was really what he wanted.~

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Expositional Interviews With Acquaintances? Check.
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*Video playback begins showing a somewhat chubby man of Japanese descent in his early 40s, wearing a charcoal blazer over a red silk button up, sitting in a folding director's chair against a backdrop consisting of a black velvet curtain bearing the WCF logo, and a large framed poster promoting the WAR Pay Per View event. A small gray bar appears along the bottom of the screen, identifying the man as Ajira Miyamoto. Underneath his name appears the information "Long-Time Friend of Jay Omega".

Hank Brown(offscreen): So, how long have you known Jay Omega?

Ajira: His entire career. I remember his debut match in Nippon Puroresu Extreme, heh. It didn't go too well for him.

*Ajira smiles as he says this last, prompting Hank to ask for an elaboration.*

Hank Brown(offscreen): Can you elaborate on that?

Ajira: Well, I mean that he lost, obviously. And losing your debut match can be devastating if you take it badly. But not Jay; losing that match just seemed to light a fire inside him. He trained hard after that; pushed himself to find his limits, and go beyond them.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Can you tell me a little about his early career?

*Ajira nods and looks off to his right. His gaze turns inward as he reminisces about the younger days of The Omega Man.*

Ajira: Like I said, he was all about pushing his limits, always trying to make himself harder than anyone else. I mean, he still lost more than he won when he was just starting out, but he never really let that bother him back then; he was in it for love of the sport, the cheers of the crowd. He was a good kid back in the day; a little guarded, but friendly enough--

Hank Brown(offscreen): So you've always been close, then?

*The Japanese man cracks a smile, and chuckles at Hank as he shakes his head.*

Ajira: Oh God, no. I don't think it's possible for any two people to hate each other as much as we did.

Hank Brown(offscreen): What changed?

*Ajira makes a pained expression, and when he looks at the camera again there's a haunted look in his eyes.*

Ajira: There was... an accident, and it was partly my fault. Jay wasn't exactly himself for a long time after that, and I felt responsible, so I did my best to look after him when I learned about... his condition.

Hank Brown(offscreen): And what exactly was his condition?

*The Japanese man tilts his head to the right, and his face expresses that Hank's question has multiple answers.*

Ajira: Pretty bad. He suffered some brain damage, and while he was still, y'know, functional, he was... well, batshit crazy.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Ah, the old "unhinged lunatic" angle.

*Ajira shakes his head, his expression saying Hank has misinterpreted.*

Ajira: No, not quite. I mean, yeah, he was spastic whackjob, but he wasn't really dangerous outside the ring.

Hank Brown(offscreen): So you're saying he wasn't driven by a compulsion to hurt people. Then what would you say did motivate Jay Omega?

*The Japanese man frowns in concentration, and thoughtfully rubs at his salt-and-pepper goatee.*

Ajira: I guess that depends on which point of his career we're talking about. There have been a few times when Jay wasn't really in control of his career choices; times when certain domineering people simply dictated his life to him, and he just followed along. But no matter what he calls himself, each and every time Jay Omega has made the choice to step into the ring, he's done it for the fans. Even when he thought he was an interdimensional superhero, he said his powers were charged by the frantic energy of an entertained audience.

Hank Brown(offscreen): So he wrestles for the attention?

*Ajira waggles his hand from side to side in a "so-so" manner, and makes a non-committal sound.*

Ajira: At this point, he gets all kinds of attention from a whole bunch of sources, so no, that's not why he does it anymore. According to him, wrestling is just a good way to stay in shape for what he calls the "real" fights. He doesn't consider wrestling a sport anymore; it's just exercise to him.

Hank Brown(offscreen): And how do you think that might help him in the War match?

Ajira: Last year the man wrestled for over three hours, and outlasted more than half the Double You See Eff's roster - a roster that had a much deeper talent pool than the current one - and came out on top. Do you think he's just been sitting around, getting soft since then? And based on what I've seen of who Seth Lerch has hired over the last year, this is barely going to amount to some mild calisthenics for Jay. Seth could have saved himself a lot of time if he had just booked Jay Omega versus Joey Flash for number one contendership. But watching The Omega Man tear through the entire roster in order to get to Joey is going to be a pretty brutal sight. I'm really looking forward to it.

Hank Brown(offscreen): All right, well, thank you for your time, Mister Miyamoto.

Ajira: Not a problem.

*The Japanese man leans forward to shake the hand being extended from the bottom left of the screen, and the scene fades to black.*

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Death As A Motivator? Check.
(Bad) Poetry? Check.
Drug Trip? Check.
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~Omega shook himself out of his reverie, pausing briefly to reflect wonderingly on the clarity of the memory he'd just experienced, and felt a tug on his heartstrings. Bill Quinn had been a great influence on his young life, had helped shape Jay into the man he was today. And his daughter Carol had been Omega's first love, though that was a tale that ended in tragedy. After a lengthy and unintentional separation they had been reunited, only for Carol to be abducted and murdered less than a month later. Jay had never truly gotten over her loss, and had spent the better part of a decade throwing himself into the most physically punishing matches he could, when he wasn't whoring around, trying to fill the hole in his heart by filling as many holes as he could. There had been other women that he'd cared for, but Carol would always have a special place as the first. Making a snap decision, Omega headed toward the helipad where his dark green AgustaWestland AW101 VVIP helicopter awaited. It had been too long since he had visited Carol's grave, and it was time to change that. Jay debated whether or not to leave his... girlfriend?.. behind, but opted to avoid the shitstorm that would likely cause. Instead, he snagged a soldier walking by, and sent him running to find the alien princess.~

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~The flight from Colorado to Toronto had been uneventful, much to the dismay of Tasha's libido, and now the couple were standing in a near-empty cemetery under an overcast sky. Omega had explained the situation during the flight, and Tasha had been understanding of his motivations. Jay had been a little worried how she might take the idea of him express such feelings for another woman, but the princess had seen no logic in being jealous of a woman who was twelve years a corpse. Now Omega stood at the foot of Carol's grave, a bouquet of white tulips - her favourite flower - laid lovingly by her headstone. The couple stood in silence, Jay with his head bowed, until finally Jay reached inside his green plaid vest - pleased to discover the quantum entanglement pocket therein still worked across realities - and withdrew am eclectic collection of items. A bag containing a small amount of shriveled fungus, a smaller bag containing a few small squares of paper, and a squat bottle of pale green absinthe. Jay passed the bottle to Tasha while he opened both bags, then dropped the four hits of LSD into the bag of Magic Mushrooms, and shoveled the whole collection into his mouth.

 Omega chewed mechanically, bobbing his head from side to side until the psilocybin-infused fungus in his mouth was nothing more than mush, then washed it down with roughly half the bottle of absinthe. Jay shook himself vigorously as he lowered the bottle and screwed the cap back on , before he replaced the bottle inside his vest. He then withdrew a sheet of paper folded twice and opened it up to reveal a short poem he had written. The edges crinkled as his fingers began to tighten with emotion, but The Omega Man calmed himself, and turned to Tasha. "Yeah, so, I just took a shitload of hallucinogens. It's gonna take a bit for them to kick in, but when they do, I'm probably gonna start acting pretty weird." Jay gave a half shrug, and waved dismissively with one hand. "I mean, I can handle my shit, but it might be surprising for you, I just want you to be prepared." Tasha raised her chin and squared her shoulders in response. "I shall stand vigilant, prepared for whatever might happen." Omega cracked a grin and winked at her. "Heh, you say that now, but you might change your tune in a few minutes." The princess arched an aquamarine eyebrow at him, but by that point Jay was already looking back down at the poetry in his hand.

Although it has been many years
It still hurts me that you're gone
I've shed about a million tears
In a night that has no dawn.

I have tried to live my life
Doing good from up above
Had you lived to be my wife
We'd rule this sport you loved

I've learned to cope; I'll be all right
It's easier as Time passes
But now I need your help to fight
And kick a ton of asses

Of course you know that I can fight
A dozen men or more
I'll have my hands full Sunday night
When I take part in WAR

This will be a massive match
The style; elimination
You know that I will win it, natch
'Cause I'm the best in the nation

But I know it will be tough
This match is never easy
Some help from you would be enough
To receive your aid would please me

No matter what the others say
I know I'll make it through
'Cause when I hit New York, Sunday
I'll win this WAR for you

 Omega fell silent, folding the paper once more. Tasha placed a hand on his shoulder in commiseration and squeezed gently. Jay patted at her hand, then gave a start as his vision began to wobble. "Oh shit; the drugs are kicking in faster than I thought they would. Damn plot points." Omega turned to Tasha as he tucked the poem back inside his vest, "I'd say 'buckle up', but that wouldn't mean anything to you. Besides which, I think I'm the one who's gonna need to hang on tight." The alien princess watched as Jay's pupils dilated, his irises shrinking to tiny, electric blue rings. A manic grin spread across his face, and a high-pitched giggle escaped his throat. The world around him became brighter, colours more vivid. It was as if someone had reached inside his eyes, and turned up the saturation. The gravestones began to gently pulse in and out, giving the impression of breathing, and the large oak tree in the middle distance suddenly sprouted a pair of googly eyes and a grin as wide as his own. A pair of octopi swung down from the branches of the tree, linking tentacles in order to spell the word "Hello" across the tree's face. Omega raised a hand and waggled his fingers at the cephalopods uncertainly. That's when things got weird.~

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The left-most octopus tipped a bowler hat that hadn't been there a moment ago, and began tap-dancing her way across the expanse of tiny religious Martians, bending and swaying in prayer to their deity, Everris.
The octopus on the right adjusted his monocle, and followed after the other, gliding along on his many roller skates, each a different colour of the rainbow.

"Tiki tiki tembo?"

asked the be-monocled tentacle freak, the words hanging over his head in a seafoam green speech bubble.

"No, sei Rembo."

replied the bulbous jellyfaced hat wearer, by way of exuding a series of colourful smells.

"Cherry, berry rucci,"

intoned the male-o-puss, the letters spilling out of his beak like verbal taffetta.

"Pipberry Pembo!"

cried the she-phalopod, the shininess of her voice almost overwhelming.

"Mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome-raths outgrabe?"

the pink-skinned biped added with a sense of whatthefuckery.

"Ah, English."

said the octo-dude in a definitive tone.

"Well of course English."

answered the cepha-lady in a condescending voice.

"I also know Klingon."

interjected the non-squid, and the octo-pair just looked at him in mute silence for a moment.

"Not an asset."

the squirmy skater told him flatly.

"NEEEEERRRRRDDD!!!"

exclaimed the tentacley tap-dancer.
The tiny religious Martians far far below where the eyes were started singing a hymn that sounded like a soft breeze, paying no attention to either the clickety-clacking shoes, or the rolly-crushy ones.

"Clearly you've never been to a Star Trek convention."

the vertical vertebrate's statement didn't help his case, judging by the identically non-plussed looks directed his way.

"Aaaarrrreeee yyyyoooouuuu wwwweeeellllllll, ddddeeeeaaaarrrr oooonnnneeee?"

a long, drawn out question warbled across his vision in a rippling of grape-flavoured waves.
The meaty bone-mecha's brain cage turned ever so slowly toward the source of the saccharine sounds, and he felt stunned by the incredible goddess standing beside him.
The smoothness of her purple skin made him think of the novelty peanut butter that had been sold when he was a child; it wasn't weird because he had liked that purple peanut butter, and she looked extra creamy.
Her hair was long strands of aquamarine spidersilk flowing on the hymn of the Martian zealots, and her eyes shone like burnished gold; the colour of a championship belt.
In short, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, and the very sight of her overwhelmed him so, causing him to fall to his knees in worship.

"Tttthhhhaaaannnnkkkk yyyyoooouuuu, tttthhhhaaaatttt wwwwaaaassss sssswwwweeeeeeeetttt. IIII tttthhhhiiiinnnnkkkk."

said the vision of violet slowly, indicating the goddess could read his mind.
Or perhaps the internal monologue was broken again; could it be that the wannabe Green Ranger was narrating out loud?

"Yyyyoooouuuu aaaarrrreeee ssssppppeeeeaaaakkkkiiiinnnngggg, yyyyeeeessss."

confirmed the gorgeous creature looking down at him.
Well, fuckbunkies; that was a potential problem; a running narration of the drug-addled thoughts coursing through the Omega-brain could cause problems if it was even half-way intelligible.
Also, why in the shit was shit so slow? Like, shit.
Wait, was the narration still happening?

"Wwwwhhhhyyyy aaaarrrreeee yyyyoooouuuu ssssttttaaaarrrriiiinnnngggg aaaatttt mmmmeeee?"

queried the temptress who would forevermore stalk his dreams.
Ha! That meant there was no more talky-talky coming from the word hole.
Shit was still super slow, though, yo.
That's when he saw it; the young kangaroo clad in a crimson jumpsuit, a gold lightning bolt emblazoned on its chest.
He wasn't much of a boxer, but he felt a strong urge to engage in fisticuffs with this speedy Roo; so strong that he let out an ululating battle cry to rival Xena, and rushed the unsuspecting marsupial.
Like a lightning strike, the damned thing booted him in the jingle bells the moment he was in range, which he really should have been expecting, considering the animal's known proclivity for cheap shots.
Then the over-sized rat sprayed acid in his face, which he hadn't been aware they could do.

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

~Princess Tasha had some slight difficulty translating her consort's words considering the rapid pace at which they tumbled from his lips. She was fairly proficient in English by now - though she still had trouble with some slang and pop culture references - but Jay's speech had sped up considerably once he had started talking about octopuses, whatever they were. And then all of a sudden he had let out a trilling scream that reminded her of a dying yunja*, and had sprinted toward a middle-aged human woman in a red tracksuit jogging through the necropolis. The woman must have viewed his actions as an attack - for indeed they were - and had responded with a swift blow to Omega's nether region. As Tasha's lover had crumpled to the ground, the woman he had attempted to assault brandished a small canister, and sprayed him in the face with a substance that had Jay clawing at his eyes. Worried that perhaps her consort may be mortally wounded, the princess rushed to his side as the frightened woman in red ran away. Tasha rolled him over gently, only to find The Omega Man wiping the irritant from his face and licking it off his fingers. "It's incapacitatingly good!" Declared her lover in a strangled voice, looking up at her with reddened, bloodshot eyes.~
(*- Yunja: A large, flightless, reptilian bird-thing found on Aja Darrik.)

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

Who knew acid-spit could be so tasty? Still, that would teach him to be so hasty.
Ha! Unintentional poetry!
Now, why had he decided it would be a good idea to trip out at a cemetery?
Oh yeah; the hope of having a spiritual moment to connect with a dead loved one!
Well, unless those two octo-thingies were supposed to be his parents, this was turning out to be a bust.
Wait, were they supposed to be his parents?
Checking, checking... Nope, "Discussion With Dead Family" wasn't scheduled until later.
Whoa; meta.
Well, if there was to be no family visit, he'd just enjoy the ride, nawmean?
Roll over and sprawl on the mini-Martians; that's the ticket.
Where was that tree at again? The best things to look at when tripping were masonry and foliage.
Ah, the shifting greens, some fading to the yellows, oranges, and reds of autumn already.
The shimmery leaves began to take on characteristics as he watched; the mottled patches of sunlight shifting around to form eyes, a mouth, quite possibly nasal passages, though he couldn't be certain of that.
When the face formed of leaves started to beatbox at him, he couldn't help but giggle.

"Yo yo, jiggy Gee! Henry Spearman in the hiz-ouse!"

shouted the face of foliage with a Bronx accent.

"Uh, isn't that guy supposed to be from West Vagina, or something? Pretty sure he doesn't talk like that."

"Straight goods, that don't matter, boyee; this here's a mawfuckin' hallucination; shit ain't gotta make sense, yo."

"You have a point, talking leaf man. Proceed."

"A'ight, so check it; this Spearman mawfuckah? Dude's tryin' to sort his shit out upstairs, you feel me? Little pantywaist got teased an' shit, so he went all emo, called himself Doctor Nefario, or some shit, and for a while he was a bad, bad man. Then he rediscovered the power of good - like, he found Jesus or some shit - and now he's tryin' to make up for all the fuckery he done while he was eeeeeeeevil."

"INDEEEEEEED!"

"Oh, shut up, Phil."

"Sorry; I just wanted to be part of the conversation."

"Okay, while I enjoy the colourful phrasing, you're not telling me anything I'm not already aware of. As far as drug-induced epiphanies go, I would rate you as less helpful than relationship advice from Lilith."

"Oi! I wasn't finished, now was I, guv?"

"Why are you British now?"

"Hallucination! The point is, this Spearman mawfuckah is mentally weak, yo. Homeslice is looking for some kinda redemption, trying to forget his past an' move forward, ya dig? Which means he ain't gonna be willing to go to the same lengths you are to win this shit."

The sky wobbled like an inverted bowl of blue-raspberry Jell-O as he shook his head at the faulty logic.

"That logic's flawed, dude. I mean, what if he reconnects with his dark side in order to get back that ruthless aggression that is absolutely necessary to make it in WAR?"

"Well he'd still be fucked, yo. Who does you think you is? Ain't you s'posed to be The Omega Man? Last man standin' and all that shit, yeah?"

"Yeah, you right. Also, I miss Polar. But nah, Spearman's a brawler; undisciplined, untrained, unprepared. That makes him predictable, don'tcha know. He's not a threat to Moleculo, the Molecular Man!"

"Very true. But you ain't Moleculo."

"The Molecular Man!"

"I totally get why people find you annoying, yo."

"Oh, for sure. But you know what's really annoying? Rip offs. Guys like Psychochump."

Leaf face danced the shimmy-shimmy shake as the Martian hymn rose up in a crescendo of gentle sighs, and the face was reconfigulated into an approximation of a completely different person.

"Good sir, I disapprove of your disparaging attitude toward me. It is quite evident you know nothing of me."

the voice coming from behind the leafy walrus moostache was crisp, reserved, and most definitely not Psychopomp's.

"I know that your "classic" tale has already been told - and far better - by none other than the man, the myth, the monkey, the Mummy, the Mummy Returns, George of the Jungle, man, Brendan Frasier was such a great acto-- what were we talking about?"

"You were vainly attempting to justify your egregious insult, the slanderous accusation that I am a common plagiarist; having reproduced nearly every aspect of your life - both professional and personal - only in poorer fashion."

"Oh yeah. No, totally; I mean, beyond the closeness of height and weight, there's the hometown bit. Sure, Tee-Dot's a big-ish city, as far as Canadian cities go, so I guess I can buy that. But then you look at the other details, like being a guy who toiled up through the indies after suffering an accident that left him mentally impaired? A medical condition that left him confused, unable to remember his past, and often resulted in him finding himself in unintentionally humourous situations? That's the first ten years of my eighteen year career. How are you not a complete and total rip off of me?"

"For one, I am not so brutish a thug as you; while you might enjoy striking people with your fists, I prefer to rely more on my technical skill. Though I am more than capable of taking to the air if I so choose."

"Right, 'cause I didn't specialize in aerial shit when I was in the indies, and I've never trained with a submission specialist. Also, how does having fewer skills make you better? That's some hashtag Kyle Kemp Logic right there."

"I daresay, good sir, I've no idea of the specifics of your life; why, I barely even know who you are!"

"Bollocks and bullshit, I says! I am the baddest ass in the solar system; my name is spoken with awe and admiration in all corners of the globe."

"A globe doesn't have corners, imbecile."

"This is a hallucination; it doesn't have to make sense."

"Well played, good sir."

"Oooh, you know what I always liked playing? Guitar Hero. I was really good at 'Cliffs of Dover', though I couldn't play any of the other songs worth shit."

The leafy face did that thing where it shook around for a bit, while Jay decided to look up at some of the clouds drifting by like fluffs of custard sailing on toilet bowl cleaner.
That one looked like the Great Catsy chasing a ball of yarn into traffic, while that one resembled Donald Duck giving it to the Little Mermaid.
Or was that Aquaman?

"Yarr, did somebody say Cliff o' Doom?"

He looked down from his cloud watching to see that the leaves had rearranged themselves in the shape of a ginger pirate.

"What kind of fucked up am I, that these are the associations I'm making?"

"Faith and begorrah, me hearty, why do ye be asking a hallucination why ye be hallucinatin' that particlear hallucination?"

"I am even more confused than usual."

"Yo ho ho, me hearty, this be nothing! Wait until I tell ye that I be a teacher, and while wrestling do be my dream, it be more like a thing I do in me spare time. Grading papers be hard work, yarr."

"Shit man, anything is hard work when you're a scrawny little tootchpick."

"You mean toothpick."

"I know what I said. And beneath that Irish pirate exterior of yours, you might have the in-your-face attitude of the stereotypical New Yorker - seems you don't even have to live in the city to have that, anywhere in the state will do - and that'll help in plenty of situations. But you are at a severe disadvantage trying to break into the business this late in life. You haven't had the time to gain the experience you should have by this age, so you've got the knowledge of a rookie, and that's way too easy for an old hand like me to take advantage of. Plus, you so tiny! I mean, do you even lift, bro? No! Clearly you do not! It makes sense that you're a flyer, since you have to use all of your body weight to be effective at anything. You know what the best defense against an aerial opponent is? Ground and pound. High flying is high energy. High risk. You fuck up just once - and you will fuck up - and the consequences will be swift and severe. All your spot monkey flippidy-doo-dah ain't gonna help you when you're facedown on the mat, arms and legs all twisted up like the world's least appetizing pretzel. And that's just against me, in a one on one situation. To put it in terms you'll understand, this do be WAR, me lass, and there be no shortage o' timbers to shiver, so ye'll be walkin' the plank in no time."

"Yarr, that metaphor don't be computin'."

"Are you a computer, or a lepre-pirate?"

"Hallucination!"

"Gggguuuuaaaarrrrddddssss aaaapppppppprrrrooooaaaacccchhhh, ddddeeeeaaaarrrr oooonnnneeee."

Springing to his feet caused the world to shift and blur, leaving streaks across his vision like colourful soap smears on a window.
When his vision cleared, he saw a trio of bipedal pork products heading in his direction, a ham roast, a pork chop, and a walking strip of bacon; justice never looked so delicious.
Tapping some keys on the W.E.I.R.D., he made a direct connection with Iceberg-7 in Colorado, and quickly apprised the sentient supercomputer of the situation.

"So yeah, Eye-Seven, if you could have Sulu beam me up, that'd be fan-bloody-tastic."

Tasha had probably never been arrested before, so she was about to get a firsthand look at how broken the Earthly justice system was.
Basically, you could get away with just about anything if you had enough money, and if you also had diplomatic immunity, life had no consequences.
And Jay Omega just so happened to have both diplomatic immunity, and a ludicrous amount of wealth.

---------------
Expositional Interviews. Plural.
---------------

*Video playback begins showing a beautiful young woman with purple skin and aquamarine hair. Looking to be in her late twenties and wearing a tastefully modest black dress, she sits in a folding director's chair against a backdrop consisting of a black velvet curtain bearing the WCF logo, and a large framed poster promoting the WAR Pay Per View event. A small gray bar appears along the bottom of the screen, identifying the woman as Lady Tasha. Underneath her name appears the additional information, "Hot Purple Chick".*

Hank Brown(offscreen): How long have you known Jay Omega?

Tasha: Almost half a solar cycle, though at times it feels much longer.

Hank Brown(offscreen): And how well would you say you've gotten to know him over that period of time?

*The attractive purple woman narrows her golden eyes, and her voice becomes professorial.*

Tasha: I have taken the man you so glibly refer to as Jay Omega as my royal consort; we were joined in the ancient Rites of Qint'ahr, wherein he bared his soul to me. There is very little I do not know of my Lord Omega.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Uh, all right then. So, would you say that you would know better than anyone what drives him to excel? What motivates him to keep fighting long past the time when most normal men would give in?

Tasha: But of course; the man possesses the spirit of a great warrior, and a will stronger than deludium.

Hank Brown(offscreen): And what would you say is Jay Omega's greatest motivator?

Tasha: The thrill of battle, and the glory of victory. The more overwhelming the foe, the greater the glory.

Hank Brown(offscreen): What do you think is Jay Omega's greatest strength?

*The pretty woman's purple cheeks darken slightly as she blushes and she looks away from the camera, a small smile on her lips. She clears her throat and regains her composure before she looks back and offers an answer.*

Tasha: Ahem, I take it you mean on the battlefield, not in the bed chamber. Lord Omega's greatest strength in battle would be, as I said, his strength of will. I have seen him take grievous injury, and yet fight on. Truly, he does not know when to give up.

Hank Brown(offscreen): All right, in that same vein, can you tell us what you would consider his greatest weakness?

*Lady Tasha's humanoid features become a mask of concentration as she considers the question.*

Tasha: I suppose he can be over-confident at times, and this can lead him to make mistakes. He seems to enjoy taking risks as well, which compounds the mistakes his over-confidence can cause.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I've asked about his greatest motivator, but what would you say is his greatest fear?

*The extraterrestrial princess lets out a musical laugh, the smile on her plump plum lips one of genuine amusement.*

Tasha: A delightful jest! Surely you know that Jay Omega fears nothing!

Hank Brown(offscreen): That seems to be the consensus, yes. All right, just one more question: Why do you think Jay Omega is going to win WAR?

*Tasha's smile widens fully, and she practically beams with pride.*

Tasha: He is the finest gladiator on the planet; truly, the Champion of your world in deed, if not name.

Hank Brown(offscreen): All right, well, thank you for your time, uh, my Lady.

Tasha: You are quite welcome; I do so enjoy speaking of my Lord Omega.

*The nature of the pretty woman's smile changes once again, becoming wolfish. She catches herself and blinks rapidly in embarrassment, then blushes again as the scene fades to black.*

---------------
Dream Sequence? Check.
Discussion With Dead Family? Check.
---------------

~It had been several hours since the encounter in the necropolis, and now the Lady Tasha sat at the bedside of the unconscious Jay Omega. The incident with the "police" - as they were called here - had nearly turned violent; had it not been for her consort cautioning her to cooperate, Tasha likely would have broken the arm of the officer who had initially tried to arrest her for daring to lay hands on her person. Once placed in a holding cell, the princess had been furious with the barbaric treatment she had been subjected to, though she wisely followed Jay's advice about remaining silent until the "lawyer" showed up. Such a small woman this lawyer had been, though she possessed an aura of command that had even had Tasha feeling deferential toward her. It had not been long after the lawyer's arrival that Tasha and Omega had been released, but there had been little time for celebration, as Jay had suddenly declared his need for medical attention. He had demanded that they attend this hospital, in a city called "Philadelphia", though he hadn't mentioned why before losing consciousness. The healers had done an admirable job of removing most of the unabsorbed toxins, and had told Tasha that while he would live, all that could be done now was wait for him to regain consciousness on his own.~

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

.::He stood at the dim junction of the familiar hallway. The concrete corridor to his left seemed to stretch off into infinity, a weak flicker of orange light pulsating with the slow, steady, rhythmic beat of metal banging against metal. The metallic sound was distant, as though from an unimaginably great distance, and just on the edge of hearing. To his right, the hallway was much the same, though there was no flickering light, no clanging of steel on steel. Instead came the haunting strains of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata", also on the edge of hearing. The choice was clear; he had no idea what awaited him at either end, but the summoning from his left wasn't meant for him. Right it was, then. Motion had no meaning here. He didn't walk, the hallway simply shifted around him until he was standing in front of a heavy steel door. The music wasn't any louder than before, but he knew it was coming from the room beyond the portal in front of him. He reached out a hand, but the door opened of its own accord before his grasping fingers could close around the handle.::.

.::He stood in the center of the dimly lit room; familiar, yet alien. The plush black carpet beneath his feet felt thick, and the pair of wall-to-wall bookcases forming the corner of the first two walls he faced were filled with the titles and authors he was accustomed to. He turned to inspect the rest of the room, and found more than a few oddities. There were no other furnishings, and the third wall, where the door should be, was simply a blank slate; eggshell white. The fourth wall was painted in a myriad of colours, ranging from neon green to deep violet. The paint was peeling though, showing cracks in the wall behind it. A single brass light fixture - badly in need of a cleaning - jutted out from the wall like a grimy chin, it's checkered lampshade askew. That was significant somehow, he knew, but he couldn't place it. Tacked to the fourth wall was a list scrawled in a child's hand titled “PREDICT WHAT STUPID FUCKING ‘CREATIVE’ WAYS PEOPLE WILL TRY TO PROMO FOR WAR”. The hair along the back of his neck stood rigid, and a cool tingle ran down his spine indicating that he was being watched. A minute change in the air pressure told him he was no longer alone in the room.::.

"What up! Long time no see, dude!"

.::The barely audible music cut off in an instant. He spun to face the source of the sound, or perhaps the room spun around him. Regardless, there was a blur, and he was suddenly face to face with himself, in a way. The carbon copy seated in a plush leather chair before him only looked like him, though how the incorporeal aspect had come to be here now was beyond him.::.

"How are you even here? I thought the Director made us merge as a part of resurrecting me again. Us. Whatever."

"Yeah, that was totally not me. Remember the whole twisty time travel twin bit? While you were sort of locked in here for being a douche? If you remember correctly, I said I was going on a vacay with some other quote-unquote fictional characters - did you know Deadpool made a movie? - while Jerry defended the Hardcore Championship against Jerry. Do you remember the Maniac defending against Kazzle Dazzle? Doesn't matter. Anyway, once y'all got rid of ol' Jerry, you got stuffed back into your own shell, and the Timekeeper Wars started, well you completely forgot about the fact that there had been two of me."

"Okay, I think I remember that. I definitely remember being locked in a Dreamshard. So then you're the guy Johnny Rabid was talking about, who bailed on some match at Thirteen?"

"Uh, no, actually. That's an entirely different you who thought the Quantum Micro Tunnel Stabilizer was a time machine. I understand his subatomic metaspectral frequency was taken over by that instance's version of Rabid, and the so-called Lord Protector was responsible for his wife's death, so when he showed up here and learned he could get his hands on Rabid in a Nightmare Chamber, he assumed your identity in order to get himself booked."

"Well, judging from Rabid's tweets, I take it that didn't pan out."

"Nuuupe. Good thing, too; pretty sure the captain was gonna try to kill Rabid."

"And what a tragedy that would have been."

.::Another chair appeared, an unspoken invitation. He altered the chair to suit his state of mind, and sat upon a crate of ammunition.The small, round table that appeared was frosted glass, the center etched and inlaid with gold in a triangular pattern. He took a slice of coffee cake from the platter, and bit into its moist deliciousness.::.

"I don't think we're in Pantheon anymore, dude. At least, I'm pretty sure I'm not."

"Pssh, Pantheon's for life."

"Well, I did die. Twice, actually."

"Oh. It seems you've had some interesting times yourself while I've been gone."

"I do hope that doesn't mean you're going to try to live in my head again; I don't think that'll work after what's happened."

"No, no. I'm actually here because I met some people that I thought you might be interested in having a chat with. This is just the first time you've been deep enough that I could pull you in here. You're more... resistant somehow."

"Oh for fuck's sake, are you gonna have Tony the Tiger give me a pep talk or some stupid shit like that? Because that's a hard pass."

"No, but don't hate on Tony; he's grrrreat!"

"I really hate you sometimes, you know."

"But do you hate your parents? Thomas, Martha, come on down! You're the next contestants on the Contrived Scenario Show!"

"I told you those weren't our names."

.::A cool breeze touched his cheek, and the hand holding the last bite of coffee cake froze on the way to his mouth as a scent touched his nose that forced up memories of his childhood. He turned to the third wall, to find a pair of French doors had opened into the room, the other side leading out into a vast, rolling prairie under a pale blue sky. A pair of shapes stood out against the bright morning light shining behind them, resolving themselves into a man and woman whose faces he hadn't seen in more than two decades. She wore a dark gray business suit, her skirt primly reaching past her knees. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit, emerald cuff-links flashing as he adjusted the Windsor knot of his necktie. Without thought he was on his feet, spine stiff, shoulders square.::.

"Sir, Mother."

"Well, I guess we were wrong, Westley; he does still have some manners somewhere."

"Hmph. So, professional wrestler, are you? I suppose that's better than what I expected to happen after your mother and I died."

.::Oh. Right. Why exactly had he missed them so much? While there was a great swell of disappointment, there was no surprise that the first thing his parents had done was criticize his career path. But he was so much more than just a professional wrestler now, and he no longer needed the approval of a man twenty years dead.::.

"Oh, not only is my life better than what you expected to happen after you died, it's also a Hell of a lot better than it would have been if you had lived, too, and I know that sounds harsh but let me--"

"Well, that didn't take long. Twenty years to grow up, and you're still as ungrateful as--"

"Angelique."

.::The voice of firm command that he remembered from his early life was still just as steady, and just as effective. His father had always disliked interruptions.::.

"As an adult looking back on things, I'm pretty sure you would have tried to groom me for politics. And while I probably could have done some good in that field, I have done way more important stuff than you might think."

.::His father's arm raised in a forestalling gesture, despite his aversion to interruptions, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide of words.::.

"I've saved the entire planet on more than one occasion, I've made technological advancements for the betterment of mankind--"

"We know, James."

"--I've been trying to save another planet in another you what now?"

"We know. Of course we've kept watch over you."

"Well, not at first. You were quite a disgrace to the name you represent."

"Angelique. That is not why we're here."

"How could you possibly know about some of what I've done? And since you bring it up, why are you here?"

.::That stern look closed his jaw with a click, biting off the end of his question.::.

"What you've accomplished allows for a measure of self-confidence, but remember to whom you are speaking, boy."

"Yes, Sir."

"Better. In answer to your first question, we know all that you've done since around the end of the year Two Thousand, when your wrestling career began, sorry thing that it was at the time."

"You know I wrestled in Japan before that."

"No one pays attention to what goes on over there. Besides, it's what happened later that we're here to tell you about."

"As your father said, we know everything you've been involved in, including your dealings with offworlders, and pocket realities. Don't look at me like that; we're dead, James. You've seen the afterlife, however briefly; you know what's possible."

"I don't... I don't remember being dead."

"Of course not; the living mind can't hold knowledge of the next plane. That's not what's important though, boy, so listen sharp."

.::It still rankled to be called that, even after all these years. Especially after all these years. But listen he did.::.

"Your mother and I have been fortunate enough to see all your greatest triumphs, and all your deepest failures like no living parent could. While you would have made a damned fine Prime Minister - yes, I believe you could have been - you have indeed done more important things by following your chosen career path."

.::Wait for it. If the old man didn't, then his mother would surely find some passive-aggressive way to turn that into a backhanded compliment, and insult him on the sly.::.

"We weren't exactly supportive of your dreams as a child, James, and while we can't do anything about that, we can tell you that the man you've grown to be is more than acceptable, all things considered."

"What your mother is trying to say, what we are trying to say, is that we know we don't deserve your forgiveness, and we're not asking for it. But we want you to know that we're proud of you, son.

I'm sorry, this hallucinogen-induced coma must be playing tricks on me, what did you just say?

.::His father favoured him with a rare smile, and if his heart had need to beat in this place, it would have skipped a few just then.::.

"We're proud of you, Jay Omega. Now wake up, and go win WAR again."

---------------
Another Interview? Check.
---------------

*Video playback begins showing a clean-cut Caucasian man in his late twenties/early thirties, wearing a black T-shirt advertising the 2014 X-Games and a black ball cap bearing the Monster energy drink logo, sitting in a folding wooden director's chair against a backdrop consisting of a black velvet curtain bearing the WCF logo, and a large framed poster promoting the WAR Pay Per View event. A small gray bar appears along the bottom of the screen, identifying the man as "Jeff Purse". Underneath his name appears the additional information, "Obsessive, Compulsive, But Smooth".*

Hank Brown(offscreen): First off, how long have you known Jay Omega?

Jeff Purse: A couple years now. I mean, I had heard the name here and there, but I didn't actually meet him until just before WAR, in Twenty-Fourteen.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Ah yes, wasn't that around the time you were being mind-controlled by a puppet?

*Jeff grimaces, and he hangs his head sheepishly for a moment. When he looks back up he frowns slightly, then begins fidgeting with his hands*

Jeff Purse: Come on, we're not here to talk about me, Hank. Also, your tie is a little crooked.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Oh, thank you. All right, what would you say is Jay Omega's greatest weakness?

Jeff Purse: Besides not being me? I don't know, I guess... He can't let things go, you know? He'll hold a grudge and let it eat at him until he can get some measure of revenge. I mean, we've become pretty close ever since he joined Pantheon, but he still can't get over the fact that I eliminated him from his first WAR.

*Purse offers a dazzling smile, but the grin slips off his face. Jeff stands up and approaches the camera, his hands reaching off screen.*

Jeff Purse: Sorry... I just... Let me... There, much better.

*Purse resumes his seat, then reaches into the pocket of his cut-off denim shorts to retrieve a Wet-Nap brand disposable antiseptic napkin. Jeff tears open the packet and begins to meticulously clean each individual finger.*

Hank Brown(offscreen): What do you think Jay Omega's greatest motivator is?

Jeff Purse: Trying to outdo me. Which he can't. But he keeps trying, and that's what makes him such a force to be reckoned with. He's like Vegeta to my Goku.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I'll assume that's a cutting insult, and move on. Why do you think Jay Omega is so confident about his chances of winning WAR this year?

*The Future finishes disinfecting his hands, and begins to painstakingly re-fold the Wet-Nap.*

Jeff Purse: Because he's delusional? Heh heh. No, I mean, he is a damn good wrestler and all. But he's not going to win WAR.

Hank Brown(offscreen): And why do you say that?

*Jeff realizes he has mis-folded, sighs, and shakes out the Wet-Nap in order to start again.*

Jeff Purse: Because I'm going to win, obviously. This is my year, Hank; I can feel it.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I see. All right, well, thank you for your time, Jeff.

Jeff Purse: Yabba dabba.

*Purse barely even glances up at Hank, his attention focused on precise folding techniques as the scene fades to black.*

---------------
Cameo From A Former Wrestler? Check.
Discussion With (Living) Family? Check.
---------------

~A single tear escaped from Jay Omega's left eye, and rolled unnoticed down his cheek. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and with a deep inhalation through the nose, The Omega Man awoke. Princess Tasha started up from her seat at his bedside, her hands instantly taking hold of his right one. "Are you well, my Lord?" Tasha asked softly, the pinched look around her eyes matching the worry in her voice. "As well as can be expected for someone who intentionally poisoned himself." Jay replied with a cheeky smirk. "Don't worry so much, my Lady; I don't know if I've told you this, but I have some pretty effective plot armour." The alien princess didn't get a chance to ask what exactly plot armour was, due to a knock from the door. Tasha leaned back to allow Omega a view of the door, and The Omega Man made a garbled sound of surprise when he saw who had come to pay him a visit; the Nightmare of South Street, Mister Every Singles Title, Jayson Price. The former two-time WCF World Champion entered the room, but stayed near the door, leaning casually against the wall.

 "Well, well, well. I didn't know whether or not to believe my own eyes, but here you are." Price said to Jay, though his eyes never left Tasha. "What an amazing coincidence!" Omega said, his voice an exaggeration of genuine. "How did you even know I was here?" Jayson waved the question away dismissively, and folded his arms over his chest. "I was picking up some oxycontin from this nurse I bang from time to time, and I saw them wheel you in." Price shrugged as if it were an everyday occurence. "Figured I'd stop by and see what's up after I blew my wad." Tasha grimaced distastefully at the mental image and gave a slight shudder. "Classy as always, Price." Jay said with a roll of his eyes. "Gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here. We weren't exactly on the best of terms last time we saw each other." Jayson threw up his hands with a put-upon expression. "Oh my god, that was a whole year ago! Are you going to harp on that forever?" Omega's eyebrows tried to climb up his forehead and into his hairline.

 "You hit me with the Downfall as you teamed up with Torture! Yes, I'm going to harp on that forever, asshole!" Price extended both arms, palms out in an effort to cut Jay off. "Whoa whoa whoa, you got no one to blame for that but yourself," Jayson interjected, then overrode Omega's attempt to interrupt. "I was having a grand old time in my coma, not having Corey Black call me Princess and making songs about panties at my expense. And then you come along, and laid down such a blistering shoot last year, that I just had to wake up from my coma, and come get myself a piece of Omega." Jay scratched at his head in confusion for a moment, and glanced up at Tasha. The extraterrestrial princess was of no help, of course; he just liked looking at her. "I'm pretty sure my shit talk about you wasn't even all that great, dude." The Omega Man stated honestly, and Price shook his head. "No, not just on me, I mean on everybody. You were so on point last year, it wasn't even funny. There's a reason Corey wanted you in Pantheon." A wide grin split Jay's face.

 "Is that reason because I'm fucking awesome?" Omega asked, the question very obviously a leading one. "Enh, something like that. I don't think those are the words he used, though." Jay's face fell, and Jayson smirked at the result for a moment, then softened the blow. "Of course, you kind of proved yourself worthy of being in Pantheon long before WAR rolled around, and winning the match last year was a pretty big deal, even without the World Championship involved." Omega scowled at Price as the latter finished his statement. "Yeah and then you stole my thunder by forming the Man Made Gods. Tell me, how'd that work out, hmm?" Jayson's face squinched up in chagrin, and he looked away from Jay. "We lasted longer than your title reign did." Price responded, causing Omega to ball up a fist and shake it at him. "You're lucky I still feel like vomiting, or else I'd come over there and put you back in a coma by myself." Jayson chuckled at The Omega Man's words; the threat clearly not a serious one. "Adorable; you say that like it should scare me. Well, this has been fun, but I've got a bottle of Scotch at home that's calling my name, so I'm going to take off. Good luck in WAR, numbnuts."

 "Hold up," Jay called as Price turned to leave, "You think maybe you could give me some tips about some of the other guys in the WAR match?" Jayson turned back, the look on his face calling Omega nine kinds of idiot. "I've never even heard of half these people, or do you want advice on how to beat people like Doc Henry? 'Cause that's simple; you just show up." Jay shrugged uncomfortably, and Tasha squeezed his shoulder. "You want to know how to beat Adam Young? Don't be Corey Black or Joey Flash. Look at that; you're already doing it. Or how about ZeeMAC, do you need advice on how to beat ZeeMAC for the hundredth time, or do you think you can manage that one?" Omega flipped Price a double gun salute, then sighed wearily. "No, I guess you're right. I mean, all the people you'd be familiar with, are people who can't hold a candle to me in the ring. Well, except guys like Purse, or Joey Flash himself. I'd add Gemini Battle to that short list, but he's gonna go through Hell with Teddy Blaze before WAR even starts, so I doubt he's gonna be in top form. Unless he throws his title match, that is."

 "Hahaha, you're worried about Jeff Purse? Hahaha!" Jay scowled again, but Jayson paid him little heed, and continued laughing. "Laugh all you want, but he's more of a threat than guys like Kidd Krazzy." Price's laughter changed as a groan was added to it. "Oh god. I don't know who that is, but just based on the name, I'm going to guess he's retarded. Let me guess, he's a hardcore high flyer who spells his name with Kays instead of Sees?" Omega chuckled at the accuracy of the assumption. "Close. I don't think he identifies as hardcore, but he's definitely a spot monkey. And yeah, he spells his name with Kays. I think he might be retarded, though; it's the only explanation for why a dude who's only five five and a buck twenty-five would think he stands a snowball's chance in Hell against Tyler Walker Flyocker Flame, let alone a half decent wrestler." Jayson facepalmed as he groaned again. "Christ, I had forgotten about that. What the fuck was Fly thinking?" Jay gave a hapless shrug in response; he had spent several months stalk-- researching Jonny Fly, and he was no closer to understanding the man's thought process now than he had been the very first time he'd gone pawing through Jonny's garbage.

 "Well, whatever. Like I said, Scotch is calling me. Sorry I couldn't be more help." Price said with a rueful shrug. "No you're not." Omega said, and Jayson grinned at him. "Nah, I'm not. All right, I'm out, dickweed. Don't cry when you lose to Flash." Price ducked out of the room just ahead of the cheap glass vase that shattered against the wall where his head had been. "You can gobble a heapin' helpin' of corn on the knob, ya bastard!" Jay called after the native son of Philly, a little more than half serious. Tasha looked down at him with no small amount of confusion etched on her face. "I do not believe I understand your relationship with that man. Is he your friend, or enemy? You speak as if he is both." Omega gave a wry smile and nodded at his alien lover. "Yes." Even when frowning, Tasha's face was still pretty. "It's complicated. We used to be on the same team, but there was a falling out. I wasn't involved in the decision, but he was literally kicked off the team; three other guys all kicked him in the head at the same time, which put him into a coma. He sort of blames me by association, but I was also the only one who didn't do dumb shit with his unconscious body when I came to visit."

 "I walked into this conversation at the wrong time," Said a tall blond man as he entered the room. Omega's jaw dropped at the sight of his estranged half-brother. The elder by three years, Jack Walsh was the illicit offspring of Westley Megaron - Jay's father - and Joanne Walsh, the housekeeper when Omega had been very little. Despite a great deal of initial resentment, Walsh and Jay had warmed to each other once Omega had ensured that one of his only living relatives was well taken care of. Jack had suffered an even worse life than Jay had, but that was neither here nor there. Walsh stopped dead just outside the room, his eyes locked on Tasha. "Why are you purple?" Jack asked in a tone that said he already knew it was because she was crazy. "She's a cosplayer," Omega piped up before Tasha could introduce herself. Walsh was one of those people who could never accept the world beyond his narrow view of "reality", no matter how much evidence he was given. The alien princess frowned at him, then turned to his brother, and gave a formal bow.

 "I am Her Imperial Highness, Ymsyllynt'ash'Andwalu, Second Heiress to the Darrikaan Stellar Empire." The expression on Jack's face made it clear that the introduction had only served to confirm his initial diagnosis. "Heh, hardcore LARPers don't like to break character, know what I mean?" Walsh shook his head sadly at his little brother, then shrugged, and returned Tasha's bow with a passable facsimile. "Nice to meetcha, Your Royalness. Name's Jack. Jack Walsh. Friends call me 'Hammer', but you can call me Jack. And I'm sorry, but I gotta ask, does the carpet match the drapes?" The purple princess frowned in confusion, and glanced down at the linoleum tile floor. Jay laughed and patted at her hand, then caught Walsh's eye and nodded with a roguish grin. "I feel this is another of those things I will have to learn for myself, yes?" Jack shrugged casually, and leaned against the door frame. "Nah, I was just wondering if your hair was the same colour all over. Y'know, all over." It took a moment, but once Tasha had translated his query, spots of colour bloomed on her cheeks. "Oh. Oh! That is none of your business, vermin!" Omega reached for her hand once more, this time in an effort to calm her.

 "Whoa, settle down, princess. This guy's just as much an ass as the one who just left, except this one's my brother." The Darrikaan noblewoman's mouth twisted as if she'd bitten something sour, but she relented. "So what brings you to Philadelphia, Jack?" Walsh's expression was puzzled, and he glanced at Tasha as if asking whether or not Jay were being facetious, though she was no help, of course. "You're kidding, right? I got a phone call telling me you wanted me to come visit you in this hospital." Jay was only momentarily confused, as he vaguely recalled sending instructions to Iceberg-7 in the tail end of his drug trip; before his W.E.I.R.D. had been confiscated by the hospital staff. "Right, right. I had you called because I need your help with a project." Jack snorted and shook his head, his tone unimpressed. "Why am I not surprised that you only called me because you want something?" Omega shook his own head, and waved his hand at his half-brother. "No, it's not what you think. I just wanted to talk. About wrestling. Specifically the Dubya See Eff WAR match, and the participants this year." Walsh stared at him as if he'd grown another head, and spread his hands with a shrug.

 "The fuck do I know about any of that shit?" The older of the two brothers asked in disbelief, "You know I don't watch your gay-ass soap opera." Tasha's grip on his hand tightened, and her voice held an edge of anger when she interjected into the conversation. "Take a care in how you address your betters." She growled softly, causing Jay to squeeze back hard enough to pull her attention to him. "Come on, Tasha, ease up." The princess frowned disapprovingly, and Omega heaved a sigh; trying to strike up a dialogue with his half-brother had been a long shot, but he had hoped for at least some banter. "Well, if you can't help me prepare for WAR, then what fuckin' good are ya?" He asked in frustration, resulting in Jack flipping him off. "Here I was, hoping you might have some sort of insight borne of a fresh perspective on some of these guys, and you totally let me down." Walsh shrugged and stepped into the room. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't know shit about your career, either." Jay's brows drew together at the admission. "No, that doesn't make me feel better! Why would that make me feel better?" Omega shook his head at his brother, "Unbelievable. You are, like, the worst brother ever. You're more useless than everyone in Zero Tolerance combined." Jack shrugged again, this time with a carefree smirk.

 "Yeah, I don't know who or what Zero Tolerance is, and I'm okay with not knowing." Jay continued on as though he hadn't heard his brother's objection, "Between Justin Cash, Salem Shepard, and Crazy J, I don't think there's more than a dozen functioning synapses in total." It was Walsh's turn to heave a sigh, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, you're just going to keep going, aren't you? Fuck that noise; I'm going back to Toronto." Jack suited his words by turning on his heel and walking out of the room. "But I didn't even get to tell you about how they're an even shittier version of Eye See Pee than Twiztid was! These assholes can't even rap!" It was pointless now; Walsh was already gone. Omega grumbled under his breath about the unfairness of it all as he pulled himself out of the hospital bed and began dressing himself in his own clothing; cursing his brother for not being more knowledgeable about a roster he himself was unfamiliar with. Taking note of his purposeful movement, Tasha collected the small personal items of Jay's that she had hidden from the doctors - his Zippo, his cigarette case, a package of Tic-Tacs she had mistaken for medication, his keys, and a few other things - and held them ready for him by the door.

 "What do you have in mind now, dear one?" The princess asked as she handed The Omega Man his personal effects. Omega tucked the small collection away in various pockets about his person, and the couple departed the hospital room before Jay answered. "Oh, I've only got vague notions at the moment, and I have to make some calls, make some arrangements and such, but the real fun is about to begin. It's time for me to go to work." Tasha pondered just what that might entail as they made their way through the hospital. Once outside the confines of the building, Omega keyed up his W.E.I.R.D. and instructed Iceberg-7 to contact Hank Brown, as well as a few other choice individuals. Once those orders had been relayed, it was just a matter of waiting for the helicopter to arrive and take them back to the Cryogenix compound in Colorado that he'd commandeered. It had been quite some time since he'd been back to Maritopia, but the island nation he had once ruled over just didn't have the same level of technology, and that was saying something. The Quantum Micro Tunnel Stabilizer located there was all well and good, but Maritopia didn't have a hologym.~

==============================
"I just didn't want poor Joey to look like even more of a condescending cunt than he already does."
-Jay Omega
==============================

Dense, Psuedo-Intellectual Garbage? Check.
Interview With Hank Brown? Check.
Did I Need To Say That Twice? Check.
---------------

*Video playback begins showing Jay Omega wearing a black unitard with a lime green letter omega on the chest, standing in front of a backdrop consisting of a black velvet curtain bearing the WCF logo, and a large framed poster promoting the WAR Pay Per View event. A small gray bar appears along the bottom of the screen, identifying the man we already know is "Jay Omega" Underneath his name appears the additional information, "Red-Eye Jedi".*

Jay Omega: Before we get started, Hank, I'd just like to thank you for doing this on such short notice. You probably hate how cliched this bit gets, eh?

Hank Brown(offscreen): Not at all. Are you kidding me? I get more air time in the two weeks leading up to War than I do the rest of the year!

Jay Omega: Heh, irony. All right, let's get this hackneyed, uninspired show on the road, shall we? Let 'em rip, Hanky-Spanky.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Starting at the top of the list you gave me, we'll begin with the "Hebrew Hammer", Serujah Goldstein.

*Jay crouches down into a ball, and slowly rises up again, twisting and winding like a sunflower reaching for the nourishment of the Daystar.*

Jay Omega: Naked and afraid. Victim of cruelty.

*Omega's arms spread wide and he lifts his left leg out to the side. His head tilts back ever so slowly, then he quickly brings both fists together in front of his chest while bending his left knee to place his foot against his right leg.*

Jay Omega: A lost soul wanders through a forest of dicks; a child in a confectioner's shop.

*Jay drops his foot for a more stable base, and buries his face in the crook of his right arm, with the left arm extended away from him. He flaps his wrists weakly, then repeats the process facing the other way.*

Jay Omega: Nonsensical. Non-threatening. Non-issue. Dismissed.

*Omega covers his face with both hands as he says this last and holds the pose for a moment, then drops his hands and shakes out his arms, his face returning to a neutral expression.*

Jay Omega: That means "next", Hank.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Oh, sorry. Next is Adrian Archer.

*Jay inhales deeply, leans over to his right, then drops back into a wide-legged squat while puffing out his cheeks. His arms at shoulder height to either side, Omega sweeps them forward in a swift motion with his fists facing palm up. A solitary finger on each hand springs up, universal sign language that requires no explanation.*

Jay Omega: A large mouth blows hot air from a small mind. A small mind deluded into believing itself great.

*Jay's hands wiggle up an down as he moves them to the left of the screen, giving a very convincing illusion of rippling water. Once his arms are extended as far as he can get them, he reverses direction until his hands reach his chest, which causes him to bend backward from the force before he snaps back upright as though he were spring loaded.*

Jay Omega: Blind and ignorant, the toad lives under a rock, thinking it knows and sees all. A veil of obscuring darkness, the toad sees through a pinprick, and cannot grasp the wonders beyond the lies he tells himself in order to feel important.

*Omega's eyes widen and he purses his lips, his face a caricature of fear. Jay raises his hands as though warding off an attack, and waves them back and forth in front of his face three times.*

Jay Omega: Unable to accept what doesn't fit the limited scope of its world view, the toad shies away.

Hank Brown(offscreen): This is... this is not what I expected when I agreed to do this. What are you even doing?

*Omega assumes a slack posture of disappointment, and frowns at Hank.*

Jay Omega: It's called interpretive dance, you uncultured heathen. I really want to look creative by just being obtuse, y'know?

Hank Brown(offscreen): That is the most unimaginative thing I've heard all week.

Jay Omega: Then you clearly haven't watched any of Joey Flash's so-called promotional work.

*A rimshot sound effect plays in the background, and Jay gives us a smirk. Unseen, Hank Brown heaves a sigh.*

Hank Brown(offscreen): And here I had hoped I might finally be able to conduct a serious interview with the notoriously aloof Jay Omega.

Jay Omega: HA! Have you even seen any of my vignettes? "Serious" is not a word that can applied to many of them. Especially not when WAR rolls around. Like, holy balls, dudeski, did you see my shit last year, with the singing and the dancing and the random scenarios? Some of my best work, I think.

Hank Brown(offscreen): It was certainly, uh, something, I'll give you that. It will definitely be hard to top, that's for certain.

*Omega shakes his head with an expression of cocky self-assurance, and folds his arms over his chest.*

Jay Omega: Please, even I know it's impossible to repeat my performance last year. For one, the guy challenging for the World Championship this year isn't an arrogant douche nozzle who thinks himself so much better than the roster that he'd rather immediately vacate the title than defend it against people he deems to be beneath him.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Whoa, that was kind of specific. Also, that's not the way I remember it happening.

Jay Omega: Remember it anyway you want, Hank, but Flash versus Dune at WAR Twenty Fifteen was a blatant work, and a show of disrespect to the entire company, plain and simple.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Well, since we're on the subject of Joey Flash--

Jay Omega: Nope. Trust me, I already waste far too much energy just hating that conniving sociopath. The entire roster is going to verbally suck his dick, but I'd rather say as little as possible about him. Just the thought of him makes me want to strangle a kitten or something. Uugghh, now I don't even want to do this anymore. Fuck it! I've had enough! Tell Flash he wins!

*Acting like the rage-quitting, spoiled child he's so often been compared to, Jay turns to his left, and storms off screen in a huff. The scene then fades to black.*

*For about two seconds. We cut back to Omega jumping back into the middle of the frame with an overly condescending expression on his face.*

Jay Omega: Sike! You a fuccin' faggot for real, Ella Mafayo!

*Jay lets out a fake laugh that is clearly modeled after someone who is mentally handicapped. Then stops with a distasteful grimace and a full-body shudder.*

Jay Omega: Gross; now I feel like I need a shower. Movin' on, Hanky-Spanky.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Please don't call me that.

Jay Omega: No problemo, Brown Noser.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I think I prefer "Hanky-Spanky", to be honest. Next on the list is Zombie McMorris.

*Omega clutches at his ribs and falls to the floor in a fit of laughter.*

Jay Omega: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! Hold on, hold on. Let me... heh heh.... let me just...

*Jay climbs to his feet, wiping a tear from his eye, and seems to regain his composure.*

Hank Brown(offscreen): So, about Zombie McMo--

Jay Omega: Pffffhahahahaha! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Just... just go on to the next one, hahaha-hehhehheh.

Hank Brown(offscreen): Okay, uh, Koola.

*Omega blanches and does a double take, looking at Hank with an expression of surprise and genuine concern.*

Jay Omega: Did you say "Cooler"? Of the race of frost demons? Frieza's brother?

Hank Brown(offscreen): Uh, no. He's a loud mouthed brawler from Cobbtown, Georgia.

Jay Omega: Frieza's planet of origin was never revealed; it it entirely possible that his family came from Georgia.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I don't think it is, actually.

*Jay shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.*

Jay Omega: Whatever, I'd just knock him into space with a Kamehamehadouken and deal with him later, when he comes back with the Big Spaghetti Star.

Hank Brown(offscreen): I don't... I don't know what you're talking about.

*Omega offered a nod of commiseration.*

Jay Omega: Well, at least you can admit your failings, Hanky-Spanky. NEXT!

Hank Brown(offscreen): I don't think I want to do this anymore, actually.

Jay Omega: Man, I forgot how lame you were before the cybernetics. You probably can't even squirt a perfectly mixed margarita from your fingertip, can you? Fine then, Hank; leave. I don't need you anyway, I have a holodeck now.

*Contrary to his words, it is Jay who leaves. Again. That's a reference, because he's known for leaving, get it? GET IT??? SUBTLETY!!! As Omega walks of screen, the camera zooms in on the poster promoting WAR until the still image fills the frame. The scene then fades to black.*

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

*The video feed begins with a slowly revolving WCF logo on a black background. After three revolutions the logo fades, and "Chewy" by D.Holic begins playing. A pinpoint of light rapidly expands to become a mixture of WCF stock footage, interspersed with shots of Jay Omega and his erstwhile tag team partner Steven Osbourne in various situations, and various night clubs. First we see Joey Flash being pinned by Grime, the referee's arm counting the three almost in slow motion. The screen revolves to the left, and we see Osbourne and Omega raising a pair of crystal tumblers together in celebration before draining the contents. The footage drops downward to bring us back to the ring, where a bruised, battered, and bloody Jay Omega stands in victory over Thomas Bates, Zombie McMorris, and Dan Van Slade. The screen spins to the right, and we see a buxom redhead pour an ice cold drink on Steven's groin; his expression one of shock, Jay's one of hilarity. The screen scrolls upward, and we see Adam Young standing in the ring having his hand raised in victory while Joey Flash stands on the floor outside.*

*Rotate left, and we find Omega and Osbourne on opposite sides of a hot tub, a quintet of lovely ladies between them. The two men salute each other with double finger guns and cheesy grins. The screen drops again, showing us Jay Omega, Jeff Purse, and Alex Richards celebrating in the ring with the Trios Championships after defeating Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, and Doug Murdock. Swivel to the right, and we find a plump, warty-faced woman aggressively pursuing Steven's "attentions", while Osbourne himself tries desperately to extricate himself from the situation. Jay sits to the side of the screen in conversation with a tantalizing blonde woman, his back to his friend's plight. The footage rotates up, displaying a widely grinning Logan standing in the center of the ring, holding the WCF World Championship after pinning Joey Flash. We turn left again to find Jay and Steve watching some unseen footage on a monitor, then both men wince sympathetically in reaction. Rotate down once more to show the final seconds of the previous year's WAR match, specifically Jay Omega hitting Wade Moor with Ride the Lightning. The screen "shatters" with the impact and the shard graphics fall from the screen to once more reveal the WCF logo revolving while the music fades out.*

Jay Omega
Y'know, this weird bromance you guys have going on is way too reminiscent of the rampant homosexuality that Beach Crew was known for. Which is fine; I don't care whose muffin you're stuffin' so long as everyone's legal and consenting, but you don't have to be so in-your-face about it.

Steven Osbourne
Not that I'd know anything about rampant homosexuality - at all - but I'm pretty sure that is not a thing Beach Crew were known for.

The sumptuous specimen of a sexual superman had a solid point. And what he had said was true, too. Though there was no small amount of speculation about the goings-on behind closed doors, there was no actual--

Jay Omega
Yeah, don't care. I actively avoided learning anything about Beach Crew. Why, I just learned the other day that Jared Holmes is an atypical retro-progressive gentrifying pseudo-hipster Millennial twat waffle. See, I just thought he was a twat waffle beforehand; I didn't know all that other stuff. And I think I would have been just fine if I had continued not knowing it.

Truly, a perfect example of Omega's strategy in all things, if ever there was one.

Jay Omega
I can take that money back, Luke; you know you couldn't stop me.

I wisely decided that perhaps I could stand to be a bit nicer to the man who was actually paying me this time. Steven sat forward in his seat to take a Mojito from the table in front of the two men, and sipped at it through an orange bendy-straw.

Steven Osbourne
So Jay, you told me over the phone that the idea for this episode was going to have a different premise than the other ones. What's the deal?

Jay Omega
I'm glad you asked, Steven my friend! In previous episodes, we'd show some footage, then talk about how it related to what was currently going on; sometimes we'd do a full review of Slam, sometimes just the particpants of a specific match. But this time, since it's WAR, ain't nobody got time for that. So instead, we're just gonna go through a bunch of headshots that I've got back here. Luke, since you're the best backstage nose in the business, you get to tell us who the Hell these people are, and Steve, you're going to equate them to some of the women you've slept with. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to...

Omega reached back and tugged down the silk covering the easel, revealing a piece of white poster board with the show's title written on it.

Jay Omega
Clubbing With the Cockblockers, Episode Six: All's Fair In Love and WAR!

Steven Osbourne
Because no one saw that coming.

Jay Omega
The ladies say the same thing about you.

Steven Osbourne
Not all of them!

Omega reached behind him and pulled the title card off the easel, setting it on the floor behind the booth. Doing so revealed the first photo in what I anticipated to be quite a few, and I immediately recognized the features of Adam Young.

Jay Omega
Oh for fuck's sake.

Steven Osbourne
I tried to hook up with this chick in camo once. She had a tattoo of a rebel flag on her meat curtain. She wanted me to get a matching tattoo on my Big Stevie! I'm not too proud to admit I bolted. I mean she was easy but sometimes a sure thing isn't worth it. That's why she reminded me of Adam Young. Sure anyone can win against him but what's the point?

Jay Omega
Well, anyone except Joey Flash, apparently.

Omega removed the picture, revealing the face of Lilith.

Steven Osbourne
I was banging this girl who made me think of Lilith. Now only did we donkey fuck in front of the Dad's Cookie factory, which by the way I was into just another excuse to get women to call me Big Daddy, but she brought a duffel bag of stuffed teddy bears with her. That wasn't the weird part either. Later I learned she's actually an extremely successful litigation lawyer in real life.

Jay Omega
She sued you didn't she?

Steven Osbourne
I thought ripping the heads off of the bears was foreplay. She sued me for emotional damage.. and WON! So I guess she wasn't really like Lilith then. But hey if she's good at something you wouldn't expect maybe Lilith is too. I mean it certainly isn't wrestling she's good at, but there might be something.

Lilith dropped to the floor faster than her panties did for Logan, leaving a horrifying shot of Oblivion on the easel.

Jay Omega
Any stories about girls who remind you of Oblivion?

Steven Osbourne
No.. that guy scares the shit out of me. Women who remind me of him would probably cut it off.

Jay Omega
You're telling me the "great" super sexy boogeyman slayer wouldn't fight Oblivion?

Steven Osbourne
I'd wrestle him. But in a dark alley? Absolutely not. Oblivion is so much tougher outside of the ring then inside. When he gets in that ring it's like he loses some of his killer instinct. Hmm... maybe I should have banged that chick out. She probably would have purred like a kitten in the end.

The muscular, minge-moistening, mustachioed Osbourne sipped from his Mojito in a manner most masculine, while Omega reached up to take down Oblivion's picture, revealing Jeff Purse in his wake.

Steven Osbourne
I've probably hooked up with a million babes with handbags dude. So that's my Jeff Purse reference.

Jay Omega
That is so lame. And unoriginal.

Steven Osbourne
Well there have also been millions of chicks who told me not to touch them. Is that any better?

Jay Omega
Not for you.

Cliff of Doom was the ridiculous name of the scrawny man who replaced Jeff Purse's portrait, and Omega rolled his beady little blue eyes, then narrowed them at me. I apologized for my words, and added that I sometimes couldn't help myself, since I had disliked him for so long.

Jay Omega
That doesn't make it okay, Luke. I'll let it slide this time, but seriously, stop with that shit. Now, Steven: Cliff of Doom.

Steven Osbourne
There was this blonde dude I once met.

Jay Omega
Dude, eh?

Steven Osbourne
You know I call everyone dude!

Jay Omega
And that isn't going to fuel people calling you gay in the slightest.

Even in anger, Steven's features remained fetching; the blood rising in his cheeks gave him a rugged look.

Steven Osbourne
I could walk out right now dude! Besides she wasn't hot, she wasn't a babe, she was just kind of average. But it was last call and I wasn't getting any action so I figured what the hell I'd throw the dog my bone. Turns out she was a teacher who had a life long goal of being a butt slut. So I helped her fulfil her dream by fully filling her ass. She gave me her number but I never called. She wasn't anything special. You know.. kind of like Cliff of Doom. Who randomly decides to be a wrestler in the middle of their life and thinks they are going to succeed? Worked out so well for that Stryker guy, didn't it? What a loser.

Seemingly mollified for the moment, the veritable vision of vascular virility sipped again at his Mojito, and grumbled under his breath as Omega reached up to grab the picture of Cliff of Doom. Omega paused with his hand on the picture, and looked over at Steven suspiciously.

Jay Omega
So, did you spend the last month trying to hook up with people like some of the competitors in War or something?

Steven Osbourne
It's called research Jay. And I mean.. no. Totally not. These are all stories from my many many conquests over the years. I can prove it too. Pick a random name and I'll bet I did the horizational polka with someone like them at some point.

Jay Omega
Alright.. fine. Brian Paine.

Steven Osbourne
I met this girl in a hospital. She claimed to be a candy stripper but I think she was really a patient.

Jay Omega
The correct term is candy striper.

Steven Osbourne
She's definitely more the stripper type. Anyhow we got to fucking like wild monkeys and it turns out she had, like, seventeen different personalities, and I fucked all of 'em. None of them lasted long enough but it was still exhausting trying to keep up with all of them. She kept calling me for a while afterward, but I knew none of her personalities were really gonna stick around long enough to commit, so I didn't bother.

Jay Omega
That was too easy.

Omega removed Cliff of Doom's photo, revealing Kevin Bishop underneath.

Steven Osbourne
Man.. let this be a warning. I was nailing this broad and it turns out she was like a super carrier of STDS. I woke up the next day and my junk had turned green.

Jay Omega
That's disgusting. And double disgusting because you're making me think of your junk.

Steven Osbourne
It was like she gave me the plague or something. You know.. like Kevin Bishop is the Plague.

Jay Omega
I don't think that's how he works.

Steven Osbourne
Well I beat the plague with penicillin. So the plague ain't so difficult to defeat. Logically, anyone with that name shouldn't be much harder.

Bishop's picture was done away with, which left us looking at WCF World Champion, Thomas Uriel Bates.

Jay Omega
I'm gonna count this as shooting on the champ, though I'm not dumb enough to shoot on just the champion and challenge, since they're sort of irrelevant to the match at hand. So. How about we think outside the box, Steve, and you tell me about some chick who reminded you of good old TUBA.

Steven Osbourne
That's easy. I was at a Double-You En Bee Ay game, and I thought it was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel; I do like fish tacos after all. But it turns out most of the chicks there were also there to pick up chicks. And they wouldn't even let me film them! But it wasn't a total loss; I met this six fot eight center from one of the teams. I don't remember which; I wasn't really paying attention to the game much to be honest. Anyway, because she was so big she doubted I could pleasure her. Normally I'm not a minute man but I made her scream in forty-five seconds just to prove a point.

Jay Omega
I don't know about that. You're always a minute man from what I've heard.

Steven Osbourne
Hey! I don't have to be here you know. But she was a real doubting Thomas... just like Master Bates is. And she was easily proved wrong, just like Bates always is. But why did you want me to talk about him anyways?

Jay Omega
Because you have to think of every angle if you want to win WAR. These other guys... they don't know what this match is like. I do. How many people in this match have won WAR? To my knowledge, just Jeff Purse and myself. But it wouldn't matter if this were an all-star WAR winner's WAR, because only one man is repeating this year... The Omega Man.

Omega reached back to take down Bates, showing us the smiling face of Bruno Armstrong.

Steven Osbourne
This one time I tried to hook up with Chelsea Armstrong... and she kicked my ass.

Jay Omega
Heh heh, yeah, I remember that.

Steven Osbourne
Take it out on Bruno Armstrong for me will ya?

Jay Omega
I'm pretty sure they aren't related. He probably wishes they were, though; maybe he might have inherited some wrestling talent. But I was going to eliminate him anyways if he got in my way so sure, why not?

Steven Osbourne
Sweet!

Omega pulled down Armstrong's picture, revealing what would turn out to be the last of the bunch; Joey Flash. Omega's face twitched as he sat down, but he remained otherwise composed.

Steven Osbourne
CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!CUNT!

Omega quickly grew as annoyed of that nonsense as I did, so he smacked Steven in order to finally shut him up.

Jay Omega
What the hell were you doing that for?

Steven Osbourne
Joey Flash would have been very impressed with that.

Jay Omega
That's not a good reason for doing it. Although I think he would have thrown a few 'fuccin's in there as well.

Steven Osbourne
You want me to start over?

Jay Omega
No! I don't fucking want you to say or do anything that has anything to do with that overrated prick.

Steven Osbourne
So you're going to beat him?

Jay Omega
I would pay Seth to let me beat him. In fact, I did; I bought him a helicopter in exchange for a spot in WAR, so I could have the pleasure of beating Joey Flash. But for serious, do you have any tales you can relate to him?

Steven Osbourne
Nope. It's impossible to really plug a bitch like that, 'cause there's already something stuck up that cunt, if you follow. Besides, when someone's ridng their own dick as hard as Joey Flash is, there's no room for my Big Stevie. Anal's not even an option, since his head's so far up his own ass, his burps smell like farts.

Jay Omega
Okay, okay, wow. And I thought I didn't like the guy. Well, that's about all the time we have, folks. Be sure to tune in to WAR this Sunday, and watch The Omega Man make history. But for now... catchphrase?

Steven Osbourne
Catchphrase.

Omega looked off to the right and signaled with his hand, ordering another round of drinks, then shared a glance with Steven.

Jay Omega
Ladies and gentlemen of the Dubya See Eff--

Steven Osbourne
Especially the ladies--

Jay Omega
We are the Cockblockers, called such because we're the two most cock-blocking...

Steven Osbourne
Boot-knocking...

Jay Omega
Panty peeling...

Steven Osbourne
Girlfriend stealing...

Jay Omega
Party crashing...

Steven Osbourne
Hater bashing...

Jay Omega
Dope smoking...

Steven Osbourne
Hole poking...

Jay Omega
Man whores to have ever graced a ring. And if you're not down with that, we've got two words for ya...

Steven and Omega shared yet another look, and spoke simultaneously.

Jay Omega & Steven Osbourne
Not gay!

The two men gave each other a high five, and I stopped recording, ending the feed.