Out With the Old...
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"I feel the need to endanger myself every so often."
-Tim Daly
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~Registration was the bane of Jay Omega's existence. Most of the worlds taking part in the Galactic Combat League were advanced in both technology and society, which allowed Jay to foist the minutiae of filing the proper forms onto Erin. However, some cultures held fast to their ancient traditions, which apparently included standing in line all day, waiting to fill out paperwork by hand here on Utvar Prime. The twin suns had only been above the horizon for little more than an hour, and the heat was already stifling; by the time he got around to actually fighting, Omega was likely to drop dead from heat exhaustion before he even threw a punch.

  Time passed at a crawl, and boredom seemed to be the order of the day; there was nothing to do but patiently shuffle forward a few feet at a time as the hopeful competitors in line ahead of Jay completed signing up for the day's event. A stir in the crowd drew his eye, and he watched as a pocket of clear space opened up in the crowd, moving along with the hulking creature who strode confidently to the front of the line. Covered head to toe in a suit of powered armor, dull greenish-gold metal plates over a scuffed, dark gray exoframe, a matching trident strapped to its back. An imposing foe, to be sure.

  "Yi, that's Elaks of Murtish," Omega hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until the young but seasoned Jedarran male beside him responded, "He's won the last four Callings. He's said to be invincible, but I know the secret of his armor. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing."

  "No worries, protect your sources and all," Jay replied easily, "So fancy-pants power armor like that is allowed in this competition, eh?"

  "If you're not familiar with the rules, you should probably leave now," the Jedarran sneered at him; young males of the species were often territorial and hot-tempered, "I don't need some bumbling amateur getting in the way of my victory!"

  "Thanks for the advice, kid," Omega said with a smirk that caused the Jedarran's cheek fur to bristle, "But I'll take my chances all the same."

  Jay had known that personal arms and armor were permitted, but the extent of what qualified had been vague. The defending champion's kit had looked pretty high tech, and this was one of the planets in the League that didn't have any strict rules about killing, so Omega decided to shave the odds a little in his favor. A quick message sent from the Wearable Espionage and Information Retrieval Device strapped to his left forearm, and Erin had his Supersuit prepped and en route in the Starlight Lost; he'd find out for sure in a minute or two, when he got up to the registry desk.~

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"Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him."
-Revolution
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*Welcome back, True Believers! Boy howdy, it's been a while, hasn't it? Been keeping the home fires burning while Los Hombre Omeguloso was out kicking names and taking asses in the greater galactic 'hood? 'Course ya did; ya wouldn't be True Believers if you didn't keep the faith! So let's reward that faith with a feast for your eyeball-mouths and a solid kick to your eyeball-balls in the form of an epic Jay Omega promo! Said promo begins the way all of them do, with that classic fade in. Let's watch!*

*We fade in to find everyone's favorite Red Eye Jedi, the Greco-Roman Han Solo, the space-faring, reality-hopping, galactic gladiator and semi-heroic person for hire, Jay Omega, standing in the center of our screens. The setting consists of a brightly lit room, the walls gleaming white tile with shining chrome panels inset, with a massive trophy case dominating the view. On display are a number of accolades as varied in appearance as they are numerous. The blunt burning away in Jay's hand finds its way to his mouth, and he reaches into the case to extract a particular memento; a fist-sized circle of stone with a bunch of weird, squiggly carvings on it.*

JAY OMEGA: What up, Whiskey Dick? Shit, that's rude of me, sorry Bobby. I just have this thing where I give people nicknames. You don't mind if I call you "Whiskey Dick", do you? Don't bother answering, I'mma do it anyway. Sure, it'd make more sense if your name was Richard, but bourbon is a kind of whiskey, and you're kind of a dick, so it still fits.

*Omega hits the blunt and exhales in our direction, away from his precious trophies, then hefts the championship seal in his other hand.*

JAY OMEGA: See this, Whiskey Dick? This little trinket is awarded to the winner of the Calling; a gladiatorial free-for-all on an alien planet. The details of that fight ain't really relevant, but I did have to put down the guy who showed up to defend his claim to the top spot. And that's relevant, because I find myself in a similar situation. Here I am, my first match back under the banner of the XWF, and not only am I in a tournament whose winner will be crowned "King of the XWF", but my first round opponent is none other than the man who won last year.

*Jay contemplates the stone in his hand, turning it end over end in a moment of silence, then hits the blunt again and sets the seal back on its pedestal. Omega's gaze lingers on his prizes, and his words are delivered to us over his shoulder.*

JAY OMEGA: I was thinking of going the Mark Flynn route, and pulling up Whiskey Dick's stats over the last year, mock him for being a piss-poor representation of the word king. But seein' as how I ain't even been here for the last year, I figured that'd be a little hypocritical, even if this will be the first time Whiskey Dick's competed in the XWF since Bad Medicine back in November. Congrats on beating Mastermind, by the way. I don't know who that is, but based solely on his name, surely he's an incredibly dangerous, highly intelligent foe, capable of adapting to any situation with split-second reflexes. Truly an impressive victory, I'm sure.

*Jay turns to face us with a small smile that clearly calls bullshit on his previous statement. Another lungful of smoke is blown in our direction, and Omega emerges from the cloud, motioning for the camera to follow him as he walks past. Trailing along in pursuit, we accompany The Omega Man out of the suite, into a hexagonal corridor similar in general decor to the room we just left.*

JAY OMEGA: If your inconsistent history is to be believed, Whiskey Dick, then this tournament bout was inevitable. You're intent on keeping that crown on your head, and I'm intent on prying it from the mangled meat sticks I'm gonna turn your hands into. We were gonna clash in the ring sooner or later, Whiskey Dick; more's the pity for you that it's happening in the first round. You ain't even gonna have a single Dubya to brag about, nothing lending weight to your compulsory claims that winning a tournament last year somehow assures you'll win again this year. Plenty of different variables in the mix which make that certainty a little less certain.

*Jay takes a left at the intersection, and the camera floats through a cloud of smoke to find Omega leaning against the bulkhead beside a metallic door.*

JAY OMEGA: I mean, there's a bigger pool of participants, some fresh blood who didn't have a chance to take part last year, the fact that ol' Whiskey Dick seems a little out of shape, and one other snag in the Bastard King's plan to preserve his rule; this time around, the bracket lineup includes none other than the baddest ass in the galaxy, an absolute unit in interstellar bloodsports named Jay Omega.

*Jay enters the room, followed by our view a moment later. The interior of this room is entirely matte black, with a grid pattern of softly glowing blue breaking up the monotony.*

JAY OMEGA: I know plenty of people would fumble embarrassingly when faced with Whiskey Dick, it's the kind of situation that can ruin someone's night. But with proper pacing, and moderation applied just so, I'll show y'all that The Omega Man can hand out an enthusiastic pounding, even with Whiskey Dick.

*A sly wink and a cheeky grin are leveled in our direction, then Omega turns away from us, striding deeper into the room.*

JAY OMEGA: That's all I've got for now. See y'all soon with my next approximation of promotification; later! All right Erin, run program "Bourbon Street Blues".

*A wrestling ring shimmers into view in the middle of the room, followed by the outline of a man beginning to take shape in the ring before we fade to black.*

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"Everyone has the fire, but champions know when to ignite the spark."
-Amit Ray
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~Events had not progressed the way Jay had hoped. It turned out that projectile weapons were banned from the Calling; thrown weapons were acceptable, but nothing that functioned like a gun. Which unfortunately meant Omega had to forgo his power armor, since it was practically made of guns. It also precluded the use of his alien-crafted Virfneb Caster and human-copied Tesla Caster firearms, essentially limiting Jay's weaponry to his limbs, and his natural talents with them. Granted, this was neither the first, nor would it be the last time Omega found himself outnumbered and unarmed; truth be told, he preferred it that way.

  All told, there were about fifty or so combatants spread around the arena, a sandy, open space reminiscent of the ancient Roman Colosseum, ringed with stadium seating. Small drones flitted about between the fighters, all waiting for the flare that would signal the start of the competition. Those who answered the Call would fight until only one could stand, and whether those who fell ever rose again was of little concern to the rulebook. Jay ran a practiced eye over the assembly of warriors, assessing strengths and ferreting out weaknesses; more than half the people there looked like they'd be good for a decent scrap.

  Omega's gaze came to rest on the fighter standing directly across from him, took in the being's armor and noted the faint blue glow of plasma energy surrounding the tines of its trident, the energy crackling off the whip loosely held in its left hand. The returning champion, Elaks of Murtish. The figure stood motionless, every defining feature hidden behind armor plates, yet Jay still got the sense Elaks was watching everything. No, not everything; a tiny shift of motion, and Omega understood Elaks was watching two specific fighters, the Jedarran male he'd spoken to in the registration line, and The Omega Man himself.

  Anticipation rising, Jay clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked, then took a deep breath and bounced on his toes a few times. A warm tingle crept up his spine and pulsed into his brain, bringing a smile to Omega's face. Conflict was imminent, with no guarantee of victory; The Omega Man was in his happy place. A brilliant orange flare leapt into the greenish sky, followed by a wordless roar as many of the participants let out battlecries, and all surged forward as one. Crashing together in the middle of the arena, the fray was joined.~