~Jay Omega relaxed comfortably in his seated position at the edge of the bamboo patio of the Golden Rumor Bar, now closed for the evening. Jay had himself a blunt burning as he watched the waves in quiet contemplation, wondering just where the Hell he’d gone wrong in the last few months. The scuff of bootsole on wood caught his ear, and Omega shifted slightly, silently inviting Alex Richards to join him.

  “Still mad about the card?” asked Alex, taking Jay’s silence for the affirmative it was, “Yeah, I’m more upset about the title match, to be honest; I just don’t understand what happened. But as long as you pick yourself up and keep fighting, you’re never truly beat, y’know? And that’s bad news for the Disintegrators, because I’ve got a lot of fight left in me.”

  “Save your strength, dude,” Omega replied, handing Richards the blunt, “These two don’t even count as enhancement talent; this is basically the equivalent of a pity fuck, and I ain’t havin’ it. I ain’t even gonna promote this squash; anything and everything I could ever need to say to Steele and Mustang was said last year, when Omegadon and I obliterated them. It ain’t gonna be any different with you by my side.”

  “I get where you’re coming from,” Alex said with a nod of commiseration, “But I seem to recall you saying something about getting fined for not airing promotional material.”

  “As if I care about money,” Jay said with a dismissive wave, “But don’t you worry, I’m gonna air a video. It might not do us any favours, but it’s not like our XWF careers could get much worse, now is it?”

  “So what, you gonna do another dance video?” Richards inquired, “I could run the backdrop program again.”

  “Thanks, but no,” Omega answered with a shake of his head, “I’ve got something else in mind; I’m gonna go for a walk, I’ll be back in a bit.”~

*Welcome back, True Believers! You might have noticed the grayscale tone of our latest adventure; the lack of saturation is a metaphor for The Omega Man’s perceived level of necessary effort. Speaking of Los Hombre Omeguloso, he ought to be filling your screen right about now, as we fade in to find him strolling along a moonlit beach; azure water on the right of the screen lapping at the white sand.*

JAY OMEGA: The Disintegrators are going to get fucked. Again. That’s all there is to it, and that’s all there is to say about them. But that’s not all I have to say on the matter. No, I’d like to have a few words with Warfare General Manager, Peter Principle.

*Omega looks out over the Indian Ocean for a moment as he collects his thoughts, then returns a steely gaze in our direction.*

Jay Omega: I know what this is, Petey; you’re just trying to provide an opportunity for Alex and I to look good. But it’s the sort of bone you throw some fresh faced rookies, not a pair of old hands like Alex and I. We don’t need, or want, your pity, and we don’t need to be spoon-fed fluff matches in order to pad our win-loss records. If you wanted to give us an easy match, you could have at least thrown together a random pairing of people who have actually set foot in the ring some time in the last year. To my knowledge, Steele and Mustang haven’t been booked since the last time I destroyed them. What’s next, Salt and Pepper again? Fuck that noise. I didn’t sign a contract with the XWF so I could eat squash all day; I came here for the competition. How many times do I have to say I don’t care who wins or loses, as long as they earn it? I don’t give a shit if I take nothing but straight L’s for the next ten years, so long as the fighting is good; I’ll just steal Mark Flynn’s defunct “Free Win” moniker, but I’ll show up and put in the work. If I wanted to feel like fuckin’ Superman, I would have stayed in space; plenty of races out there would struggle to arm wrestle a child.

*Jay pauses for a moment to light himself a blunt. Yeah, he smokes a lot of weed, in case you hadn’t noticed.*

JAY OMEGA: Why do you think I came back, after all? It wasn’t because I missed Flynn’s charming personality, or Charlie Nickles’ unique fragrance. Sure, I can prove myself the best in the galaxy on other planets, against disadvantaged races, but I feel no shame in admitting that I’m far from being the best human; I’m clearly not Corey Smith. But I don’t need to be the best; that’s not what drives me anymore. I’m just here for love of the game, homie; I’ve done everything I wanted to do in this industry years ago, and nothing’s gonna top winning WCF’s War event and snagging their World Championship at the same time. Anybody else here outlast more than fifty competitors in a match that ran for two hours? Nah, didn’t think so. So forgive me if I don’t get bent out of shape about not taking the tag titles off the Just-Us League. What does grind my gears, though, is getting thrown a pair of prelim bums who couldn’t wrestle their way out of a wet paper bag if Da Bing Bong Twinzz ran in with a pair of scissors. I don’t play MMO video games to slaughter NPCs, I don’t go to strip clubs to pick up women, I don’t shoot fish in a barrel, and I don’t put in serious effort against people who couldn’t lace my shoes on their best day.

*Omega attempts to take a draw from his blunt, realizes it went out while he was talking, and relights it. His lungs filled then emptied once more, The Omega Man continues.*

JAY OMEGA: How often must I proclaim my warrior’s soul? I crave the challenge of battle, and I have no fondness for fools who could never hope to match me, let alone beat me. Hear my words, and mark them well, Pete; don’t take me lightly. Give Alex and I good competition, and if we lose, so be it; we’ll lose with dignity. But don’t give us opponents who are softer than baby shit, that’s just an insult to our integrity, and while I can’t speak for Alex, I ain’t partial to bein’ insulted, ya dig? So shape up and do a better job, Pedro, because the last thing we need is a series of unfortunate accidents backstage, right? For legal purposes, I mean you should make sure all the venues we visit are completely up to code; I am, of course, in no way insinuating that I might orchestrate hijinks of any sort. Furthermore, I accept no responsibility for the actions of others taken on my behalf. I am definitely, definitely not going to anonymously offer people money to fuck with you until I feel you’ve gotten the message; I want to make it perfectly clear that I will not be doing that. Okay? Okay. Good talk. Welp, that about wraps it up, so I’m gonna do something more interesting and enjoyable than wrestling the Disintegrators, like learning needlepoint, or having my colon irrigated. See y’all in Seattle.

*Jay gives the signal to cut, and the scene fades to black.*

~Having seen Jay walking back along the beach, Alex had boarded the Joint Venture, and  begun making preparations to cast off; he was just detaching the last mooring line as Omega stepped aboard and retracted the gangplank. Richards gave him a casual salute in greeting, and made his way to the bridge, talking over his shoulder as he went.

  “You’re just in time,” Alex said, climbing the ladder to the upper deck, “Got us a gig a few minutes ago; something more your speed. A supposedly simple smash-and-grab rescue op over in Somalia; some trophy hunter’s wife and kid got picked up while they were on safari, and he hired us to get ‘em back.”

  “Works for me,” Jay said with a shrug, following his friend’s example, and heading to the bridge, “It’s about time we see what kind of cool shit Nicky put in this thing. How much you wanna bet there’s a secret launch bay for a jetski, or a one-man submersible, or something?”

  “If there is, I call dibs on first use,” declared Richards, “I’ve never driven a jetski OUT of a boat before.”

  “Is that why you’re not allowed to set foot anywhere on Cozumel?” Omega asked with genuine curiosity; despite their long acquaintance, he and Alex had lived very separate lives, for the most part, “Because that seems excessive for a simple crash. At least Germany had good reason to declare me and Steve persona non grata.”

  “You two, and half a dozen other guys, heh,” Alex chortled, fondly remembering an XWCWF Renegade Championship match that had caused millions in property damage when it had migrated to the autobahn through an unlikely series of events, “But no, Cozumel had something to do with a riot and a bunch of circus midgets. Sorry, dwarves. See? I can be sensitive.”

  “You know what?” Jay queried rhetorically, “I’m not gonna ask. About any of that. Let’s focus on this gig you got us; I assume there’s some sort of mission briefing, details to go over while we travel?”

  There was indeed. At a top speed of just over a thousand knots, it was still a three hour journey to Mogadishu; plenty of time to pore over the information and plan their assault on the jungle compound located a few miles outside the city. It wasn’t going to be an easy fight, but Omega wouldn’t have it any other way.~