More of the Same

[Jay Omega]

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"A nation that can't control its energy sources can't control its future."
-Barack Obama
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Outskirts of Sortavala, Republic of Keralia, Russia, Earth*
Thursday, January 31st 2019
1627 hrs, Local Time
*=All languages translated to English for your convenience.

~It had been several days since Mikhail Kuznetsov had anything resembling proper sleep or a decent meal; his alien captor made the cruelest taskmaster seem a doting lover by comparison, and pushed him to the point of exhaustion. The barn had nearly burned down twice when Mikhail had fallen asleep where he stood and dropped his torch. Not that such things seemed to matter to the being who called himself Quadshot for Mikhail’s benefit. So long as the monstrous alien thought he had an ounce of energy in him, Mikhail was made to work at stripping the crashed pod while the four-armed creature reassembled the parts into several arcane configurations. Occasionally the thing would go out to hunt, often returning with an elk slung over its shoulders, though once it had come back with the carcass of a brown bear draped across its frame.

  Mikhail had expressed surprise at first, but Quadshot had simply shrugged in his unsettling way and replied: “Everything on this planet is so weak.” Mikhail had butchered his own food before and wasn’t bothered much by the savage way Quadshot skinned and cleaned the animals, but watching him eat had been disconcerting, to say the least. The sight of all those pointed teeth tearing raw flesh from the bone would haunt Mikhail’s nightmares for years to come, and knowing that Quadshot often consumed more than two-thirds of an elk in one sitting didn’t help his peace of mind. At least the work kept his mind occupied for the most part; his neck still bore the marks of Quadshot’s displeasure at Mikhail’s single moment of inattentiveness. His focus was interrupted by a noise from the alien which the translator device vocalized as “satisfied grunt”, and Mikhail carefully shut off his torch before he turned around.

  What he saw was definitely something to grunt about, but whether in satisfaction or something else was questionable from Mikhail’s point of view. A small spire built from scrap metal and various components of the crashed pod; he had no clue to its purpose or workings, thus it was simply a piece of decorative art as far as he was concerned. The blank look on his face apparently needed no translation, because Quadshot sneered in his direction and pointed at the construct with his lower left hand. “It’s a hyperluminal beacon,” The alien said, as if that explained anything. Noting Mikhail’s continued lack of understanding, Quadshot tried a different tactic. “This thing will put out a signal I can use to contact my promisor; she’ll want to know I’m still alive. I’ll have Jay Omega’s head soon enough, and she’ll want to collect.” That made a little more sense to Mikhail, and he nodded in understanding.

  ”Of course; Ee Tee phone home.” The words slipped out without thought, and Mikhail was surprised by the alien’s reaction; he laughed his sinister sounding laugh. “Yeah, something like that.” Quadshot then took a length of loose wire dangling from the contraption, crossed the barn and began to rig the spire up to the pod’s waning power source. After a moment or two of unutterable curses from the creature, he stepped back to admire his handiwork for a moment, then returned to the beacon and pressed a few buttons on the small control panel. The ensuing high-pitched mechanical whine as the unearthly electronics sputtered to life set Mikhail’s teeth on edge, and the sensation only worsened as the whine climbed higher up the audio scale, settling just this side of the edge of hearing. The air around the beacon began to warp slightly when the pitch of the whine changed.

  With a continuous shower of sparks, the remaining internal components of the pod began to overload one by one, until the power core itself gave up the ghost, and the high pitched whine thrummed down to a sputtering stop. Quadshot made an angry noise which his translator vocalized as “vile invective”, and rounded on Mikhail. “Human, what does your planet use for power?” The alien demanded to know. Mikhail knew enough to skip right to the most powerful energy source he knew of, “Nuclear energy,” Mikhail said immediately, “We have others, but that is most powerful. There is a power plant in Saint Petersburg, not far from here.” Quadshot tilted his head while he looked at Mikhail consideringly, then the four-armed alien reached out to pick up his headwear from his workbench, which he settled in place atop his skull. “Well then, it looks like you and I are going to this Saint Petersburg for a little shopping.”~

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"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake."
-Napoleon Bonaparte
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Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, United States, Earth

Tuesday, February 5th, 2019

0049 hrs Local Time

~Stalking through the halls of the Myrtle Beach Convention Center, Jay Omega once again thanked all the deities he knew of for his cybernetic upgrades. Though mostly inert while inside the buffer zone of an arena - and completely offline during matches - the picotransistors that were spread throughout his body were currently very busy repairing what little damage they could. Originally constrained to the artificial lattice that made up half his brain after he had been bonded to the sentient suit of powered armor, the technology had become intertwined with all of his cells when Jay had been cloned from a previous incarnation’s remains after an ill-advised suicide several years ago. That version of him had died as well, having been shot into a star as punishment for trumped-up war crime charges for his part in the Ochvesz-Nidokarin War, but that hadn’t stopped the Director from resurrecting him yet again.

  Being brought back to life had been something Omega was eternally grateful for, though he could have done without being merged with the interdimensional warrior known as The Omega Man - not actually the man’s name, it was a fair phonetic approximation of Yii’Ohm Ehgham Ahinn. Jay was also grateful for the fact that the Director had seen fit to allow him to retain the molecular technology, otherwise Omega would likely still be stuck in the infirmary with the medical team needlessly worrying over him. After all, a Hardcore match such as the one he’d just gone through with Samuel McPherson was trivial in comparison to any number of bouts he’d competed in before the cybernetics and superpowers. The brutal match against Dusty Spears - held inside a construct called CJ’s Cell during the waning days of the XWCWF - stuck out most prominently in his mind.

  That match had ended with a dislocated arm, three broken ribs, and a broken piece of announce table stuck in his bicep, but most importantly, a victory for Jay. That had been the course of his career for the most part; snatching victory from the jaws of defeat in one Hellacious match after another, and Omega wouldn’t have it any other way. There was not a man alive who instilled fear in Jay’s heart, and he was more than willing to take on all challengers with the intent of teaching them why he called himself the King of Pain. If James Wolf wanted to place himself at the front of that line - despite having done nothing to prove his worth - then Omega was happy to oblige the fool, despite the assertion his first title defense would be against John Rabid. Before all that could happen, though, WCF’s Golden General Manager had booked him against Michael X.

  Choosing to attack The Omega Man immediately after his victory had been a terrible miscalculation on Wolf’s part, but Jay was professional enough to keep his personal feelings on the matter separate from his upcoming match; Michael X wasn’t James Wolf, and it wouldn’t do to expend his anger on an inappropriate target. Especially not when there were plenty of reasons to visit violence upon Michael in his own right. Omega pushed through the exit before him and stepped out into the parking lot, doing his best to ignore the temperature. Even still, Jay wasted no time in threading between the remaining parked cars to reach the sidewalk, where the metaphysical Faraday cage ended and felt a surge of vitality as his cybernetics and superpowers began to reactivate, the microscopic machines in his body beginning repairs on the trauma he had sustained on the cellular level.

  Once the cybernetics were fully online, Omega pinged Erin with his location and waited for the digital sophont to arrive with the Suit. It wasn’t very long before the mottled black-and-green power armor arrived, settling to the ground with a solid thunk as Erin cut power to the repulsors. The interlocking armor plates along the back rearranged themselves along cleverly concealed tracks, and the underlying hatch opened upward with a hiss of depressurization. Jay gripped the edge of the hatch and used it to hoist himself into armor, and took a moment to settle his junk properly before sticking his head and arms into their respective places. The hatch sealed shut behind him, and the Suit’s inner layer compressed to fit his form while the armor plates slid back into position. Once sealed, a small spike extended from the helmet’s interior and inserted itself into the port at the base of Omega’s skull.

  ”Symbiosis achieved,” Came Erin’s voice in his head, “Welcome back, Pilot Jay; I’ve missed you.” Jay smiled slightly in spite of himself, “Yeah, and I’ve gotten used to you cyberloving me from inside my own head,” Able to measure his biometrics, Erin was well aware of Omega’s acceptance and amusement, and couldn’t help but tease him a little. “What can I say? You complete me.” Jay rolled his eyes, but his smile grew a little larger. “Careful now; people might start thinking there’s something to Thievin’ Stephen’s accusations of robo-boning.” Omega activated the thrusters and leaped into the sky, gaining half a kilometer in altitude before turning Northeast; heading back to the empty plot of land a short distance outside Myrtle Beach where he had left his alien wife Tasha and their still unnamed, unhatched hybrid child waiting with the shuttle, along with their girlfriend Darkmaw to watch over them.

  The W.E.I.R.D. on Jay’s left forearm chirped and Erin activated it remotely, routing the call through the helmet’s comm system, the caller’s identity displayed on Omega’s HUD. “What’s up, Whittaker?” Jay asked Whittaker, the other artificial general intelligence in his party, who had taken up residence in the main computer banks of Omega’s captured starship, the Independent Support Vessel Khybaris. “Got a possible connection to that signal I picked up a couple days ago, Cap’n,” Answered the A.I. in his synthetic Southern drawl, “Them Russians are pretty damn good at keepin’ their secrets, but I managed to get my metaphorical hands on some interestin’ footage that got leaked onto the ‘Net before they managed to scrub it.” Jay was reasonably close to his destination, so he opted to wait until his concentration wasn’t required for flying.

  ”All right, link up with the shuttle and queue it up; I’m almost there.” Indeed, less than a minute later Omega began his descent, though his landing was a bit heavier than Erin’s had been, as he lacked her fine control. Darkmaw stood at the head of the open cargo ramp waiting for him, having been alerted by Whittaker of Jay’s imminent arrival. Erin popped the hatch as soon as the flight systems cooled enough, allowing Omega to disembark the Suit to wrap an arm around Darkmaw’s waist once he reached the top of the ramp. The two humans headed through the shuttle to the cockpit where Tasha waited, while Erin brought the Suit up into the small cargo bay. Once Darkmaw and Jay had settled into the pilot and co-pilot seats respectively, Whittaker began the footage he had loaded. Obviously captured by a security camera, the video was grainy, black-and-white, and silent, but those factors had little impact on the content.

  A large biped with four arms made a mockery of a Russian security force; moving too fast for the low-quality camera to properly follow as the inhuman thing darted about a room, slapping full grown men aside with hands the size of frying pans. One poor fellow was knocked off-screen by a powerful kick that surely liquefied some internal organs. The footage ended when the alien grabbed a soldier by the head and shoulder with its two right hands, tore the man’s head from his body, and threw the two pieces in separate directions; the body knocking the camera offline. The cockpit remained silent for a few moments after the video stopped while Omega and his partners came to terms with what they had just witnessed. “How in the Nine Hells is Quadshot alive and on Earth?” The Omega Man asked, knowing that no answer would be forthcoming. “Where was this? You said probably Finland somewhere, right?”

  The image on the viewscreen changed from a still frame of static to a young man with sharp features and fair hair and eyes standing in a field of white. “Close to the border. This came from Saint Petersburg, Russia. Specific’ly the Atom Red nuclear power plant.” That raised Jay’s hackles; why would the alien bounty hunter attack a Russian nuclear plant? He asked the question aloud, and Whittaker’s digital avatar shrugged. “Couldn’t say, Cap’n. Maybe he needs a fuel source, maybe he’s buildin’ a bomb. Maybe he eats the shit, for all I know.” Darkmaw shook her head at the suggestion, still somewhat unfamiliar with Whittaker’s sarcastic streak. “No, my former Shiplord was strictly a carnivore.” She unnecessarily answered, bringing a small smile to Omega’s face, though he didn’t point out the suggestion wasn’t serious. “Doesn’t really matter why, we can’t let him just run around doing whatever he wants."

  Jay blew out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair "I’d say this is definitely a job for the Guardians, but there aren’t any Guardians anymore, unless you count Alex and me.” Tasha reached out to lay a hand on his arm in reassurance. “You defeated him without the aid of your companions before, I am certain you can do so again.” Omega patted her hand and gave her a soft smile. “Last time I had a little help from a space dragon if you’ll recall, and Grimmauld doesn’t seem to have brought Quadshot to Earth, so who knows where he is.” Jay’s eyes lost focus; his gaze turning inward for a moment of reflection before he shook his head to bring himself back to the here and now. “I guess I could give Alex a call if need be, but I don’t want to go off half-cocked; let’s see if we can somehow pinpoint Quadshot’s location, so I’m not running all over Russia looking for him.”

  Whittaker acknowledged the request and severed the connection, while Darkmaw began the pre-flight checklist. Tasha came forward into the cockpit, laying a brief kiss on the pilot’s cheek before she sat on Omega’s lap. “Perhaps Messer Tesla can build something to help find Quadshot. I assume your nuclear devices have a distinct energy signature?” The assertion brightened Jay’s mood somewhat; of course Nicky could build something to find whatever Quadshot took. Until then there was little he could do, so Omega relaxed into the co-pilot seat as the shuttle rose into the air, snuggling Tasha and their developing child closer to him. Jay turned his thoughts to simpler matters, namely his upcoming match against the athlete formerly known as Mikey eXtreme, rebranded as Michael X once he had become the Dark Prophet of the short-lived Church of Singh.

  Omega had found himself across the ring from Michael before, typically managing to come out ahead, but the man seemed… different now. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how exactly Michael had changed, but it was more than merely his moniker; The Omega Man had noticed a fundamental difference in the way Michael carried himself now and something about it set his Omega Sense tingling. Jay determined he would look into what had changed within Michael somehow, but for now, he would enjoy this time with his unorthodox family. Moments of peace were typically short-lived in his experience, and Omega had learned quickly that it was best to enjoy such times while they lasted. The trip back to his private island would be a short one, and there would be much work to do once they arrived, but perhaps Jay could set aside some alone time with the ladies before preparations began.~

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"All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle."
-St. Francis of Assisi
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*Welcome back, True Believers! First off, I want to apologize to Alex Richards for breaking his camera last week; I didn’t realize it wasn’t waterproof. Probably should have figured, since he’s still rocking an RCA camcorder from 1987. Or was. Whatever, we’ll make sure he gets an upgrade at some point. Now, you know how we do with them fade ins, so let’s do one of those and focus our peepers on the Emperor of Entertainment, the King of Pain, The Omega Man, the one and only(except he isn’t), Jay Omega. Clad in his ring attire of black utility pants, a form-fitting gray sweatshirt, and a ruddy red leather vest, Jay stands centered in the screen at the edge of a helipad, his stance at three-quarter profile. The side of the mountain this level of his palatial Fortress of Ball-itude is built into plunges out of view in a sheer drop for several hundred feet before a spread of verdant green slopes from the mountainside out to a strip of white sand that separates the island from the deep sapphire waters stretching to the horizon.*

Jay Omega: Yo yo yo, what’s good in the hood, homefries? I wanna preface this promotional video by thanking Sam McPherson for actually having the intestinal fortitude to show up for our match; I half expected him to forfeit, to be honest. Wouldn’t have been any shame in it; I understand that I’m an intimidating competitor, especially in the Hardcore division I am now champion of. Of course, intimidation only works on those intelligent enough to understand when they’re outmatched, which explains why James Wolf made the idiotic mistake of drawing my ire immediately after I reclaimed my rightful place as Hardcore Champion. Wolf further proved himself a fool with that little display he put on about incinerating a bunch of seized ganja.

*Jay chuckles to himself, then reaches into the right pocket of his pants, producing a trio of sandwich bags containing three markedly different strains of cannabis. Omega takes one and displays it for the camera, allowing us to take in the bright green hue of the buds, the fluffiness of the leaves, and the way the coating of THC crystals sparkles in the sunlight.*

Jay Omega: This is Emerald Brainmelt.

*Jay holds up a second bag, these nuggets a dark green with streaks of purple, seemingly dense and heavy.*

Jay Omega: That’s some Bomb Mama Chron.

*Omega holds up the final bag, the little buds of cannabis so coated in a thick blanket of THC crystals as to appear white.*

Jay Omega: And this is Snowflake Crash. These are just three of the strains grown in a constant rotation on my island. To think that I care about some kife-ass bushweed seized in the States is laughable. I grow far better stuff for my personal use. And that’s all the time I’m going to waste on Wolf. The main focus of this video is my match at Monday Night Slam! against Michael X.

*Jay stuffs the three baggies back into his pocket, then produces his black cigarette case and gold Zippo lighter. A flick, a spark, and a flare later, and Omega puts the implements away with a burning blunt between his lips. The Omega Man takes a deep haul from the spliff, then takes it from his mouth and uses it to gesticulate while he speaks, slowly exhaling smoke as he does so.*

Jay Omega: So Mikey eXtreme is all grown up now, having gotten a bit more serious about things, eh? That whole Church of Singh deal seems to have helped Mikey plumb the depths of his madness, and find some dark power within himself. I understand that in my absence, Ol’ X has managed to claw his way to the peaks of nearly all the mountains of the Dubya See Eff Championship landscape, having been a dominant force in pretty much every match he’s been in. Do you know how that makes me feel?

*Jay turns his head to look at the camera directly, a broad smile spreading across his face.*

Jay Omega: Well, if you know anything about me, you know that I get super excited about the idea of a good fight, and Michael is definitely of the right mindset to give me a fight worth getting excited over. This is honestly the first match since my return at One that has actually had me interested; all the lead up to this point has been unsatisfying trash that I’ve practically toyed with before I’ve destroyed them. But Michael X? He’s definitely going to take more than one punch, man. I fully anticipate this match getting bloody and brutal, and believe me when I say that I’ve got a surprise for Mikey in that regard.

*Omega’s smile becomes secretive and he quickly quirks an eyebrow before hitting his spliff.*

Jay Omega: That will be revealed closer to the match, though. It is a surprise, after all. What isn’t a surprise, is how confident I am that I’m gonna walk out of the Cameron Indoor Stadium with yet another win over Michael to my name. I get that he’s changed a fair bit since the last time we scrapped, but does he really think he’s improved enough to overcome the awesomeness of the Emperor of Entertainment? I didn’t cut to the front of the line for the Hardcore Championship because I look good in gold, though I most certainly do. Nah, son; Jay Omega is hard as fuck, and that’s a lesson Michael X has learned the hard way every single time we’ve come across each other in the ring.

*A stiff breeze picks up as Jay flicks the ash from the end of his blunt, the wind snatching it away in an instant. Omega fills his lungs with potent smoke and holds it for a moment, then exhales into the wind; the thick stream of smoke sheared apart almost as soon as it leaves his mouth.*

Jay Omega: Despite the fact that I’ve come out ahead in every encounter, despite the fact that I fully expect to come out ahead once more Monday night, despite the fact that this is ostensibly just more of the same, I still find myself getting excited. Because a madman like the Dark Prophet is an unpredictable variable. This is a guy who has committed fully to the Church of Singh’s philosophy of self-reliance and success at any cost, so I can count on him to provide the kind of scrap that makes competing in this sport such a great time for me. And if by some dark miracle Ol’ X manages the upset, and somehow picks up the Dubya at Slam? Well that’s really no skin off my nuts, because according to the law of averages, with the number of times Mikey and I have squared off, he should have won at least once by now, right?

*The Omega Man shakes his head with a small smirk playing about his lips.*

Jay Omega: Well, that would imply that Michael is on my level, and let’s be honest here; I can count the number of people in the Dubya See Eff who are on my level on one hand and have fingers left over. And Michael X’s name doesn’t appear anywhere on that very short list. Now I’ll always acknowledge the possibility of a fluke; anything can happen in the Dub. But it’s far more likely that things will progress along the same lines as they always have: Ol’ X and I are gonna have a Hell of a good fight, but I’m ultimately going to be the winner, because I am the ultimate combatant. Nothing Michael can say or do is going to change that, and nothing in his repertoire will be enough to overcome me.

*Jay crouches down and places a hand on the concrete of the helipad, easing into a sitting position with his feet dangling over the thousand foot drop. With a few concise motions of his left hand, Omega redirects the drone camera to hover over the drop, now facing him head on.*

Jay Omega: Ol’ Mikey X could be Wrestler of the Week fifty-two times a year, and it wouldn’t make a difference when you put him in the ring against Jay Omega. Wrestler of the Week, Champion of the Year, it all pales in comparison to the King of Pain; a title that can only be earned and can never be taken away from me. Michael thinks his madness will shelter him from my onslaught, believes the darkness within him can withstand my burning illumination, but I’m the brightest star in the Dubya See Eff Galaxy and I will shine in every dark corner. Michael X cannot hope to withstand what I’m bringing to the ring Monday night, he can only hope he’s able to walk afterward.

*Jay shrugs offhandedly and hits the blunt in his hand.*

Jay Omega: Nah, that’s just hyperbole; I’ll leave him able to walk. Otherwise who would I count on for a good scrap now and then, Zombie McMorris? Ell Oh Ell. Jayson Price? Come on. See, there just aren’t enough people on the roster who can even come close to hanging with me in the ring, which is why it’s important for me to really latch on to those few who provide me with more than just a momentary distraction from the rest of my crazy life. I mean, I still know I’m going to win, but at least I know it’s gonna be a good workout before I do, ya dig?

*Omega checks the screen of the weird device strapped to his left forearm, then takes another lungful of smoke from his burning doobie.*

Jay Omega: Well, it’s almost time for me to head off on a rather important bit of business, so I’m gonna try and wrap this up. I’ve covered pretty much everything I can think of, to be honest, though there really wasn’t much to go over that hasn’t been said before. I’ve beaten Michael X at every turn, regardless of what he called himself, what he believed in, or who he hung out with. Monday night is just going to be more of the same for both of us, if a little more fun than we usually have. I’m going to put Mikey down for that three second tan, and the only person who thinks otherwise is Mikey himself. I know Ol’ X thinks he gon’ give it to me, but he’s the one who’s gonna get got. And if you wanna know just how badly, then you’re gonna have to tune in Monday night to find out. That’s all folks, I’m outta here.

*The Omega Man makes the universal cut motion, and the scene fades to black.*

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"They’ve promised that dreams can come true - but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too."
-Oscar Wilde
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K'vrgian Hive Farsense Brood Droneship, 10 Kiloparsecs From Earth, Intergalactic Space

Friday, February 8th, 2019, Earth Date

Local Time Unknown

~As Queen of the Farsense Brood, Krrrczkt’nktk knew everything that occurred aboard her hive within moments of it happening thanks to the network of drones under her command. When the pheromones exuding from the forward sensory array shifted subtly for a moment, the Queen took interest; it had been a long journey across the Vast Dark, with nothing to do while most of her Brood hibernated. Any distraction at all was a welcome one, even if it was just a momentary flicker of data. It was an old signal, certainly; to have traveled this far from its source it had to have been broadcast quite some time ago, even accounting for the faster-than-light nature of the signal. Mildly intrigued, Krrrczkt’nktk adjusted the droneship’s course and began to wake up her drones. They would hunt at the first Lifeworld they found, then continue until they reached the signal’s source.

  If this galaxy had sufficient resources, Krrrczkt’nktk would inform the Central Hive, and a Grand Swarm would be dispatched to harvest all that could benefit the Hive. If the resources were ample enough, Krrrczkt’nktk could even be given the privilege of establishing a new Colony. The signal she had detected implied intelligent life as well, which meant there were be fresh drones to be had; a resource the Hive could always use more of. As more drones roused, Krrrczkt’nktk grew sharper in sense and began preparations to activate the droneship’s dormant starwake generator in order to traverse the remaining distance to the galactic edge as quickly as possible; the forward sensory array already tickling with minute traces of life at the extent of its normal range. Perhaps being assigned this relatively small galaxy to scout wouldn’t be the waste of talent she had initially assumed it to be.~