Low On the West Side (RP 3 of 4)

*Our scene fades in on a sight both familiar and not. Unfamiliar, because we have never viewed the interior of this particular room before. Familiar, because there are only so many configurations for a bathroom, particularly a utilitarian military-style bathroom such as this one. The cinder block walls are a boring industrial shade of eggshell white, and all the fixtures are gleaming stainless steel, including the low, seatless toilet before us. The sound of soft-soled shoes crossing the concrete floor approach from the left of the screen, and a moment later the view is taken up by one Jay Omega, voted Most Likely To Get A World Title Shot just one week ago. A typical black T-shirt adorns his chest, bearing the album cover of Scanner's "The Judgement". His lower half is covered by a pair of camouflage cargo shorts for the moment, though that quickly changes as his hands move to unbutton said shorts. Thankfully the camera angle is such that Omega's lower half is off screen when he drops trou and takes a seat, leaving us focused on his head and torso. Jay gives us a pleasant smile and raises his index finger, indicating we should wait a moment.*

*Omega then reaches off screen, and takes a microphone stand from some unseen supplier. He reaches off screen again, and this time retrieves a small tray, which he places on his lap, just below our field of view. Next he is handed a large spoon, and an open can of Heinz baked beans, both of which he places on the tray. Jay then reaches for the microphone stand again, and lowers the mic to be even with his level. The Omega Man bends forward and taps at the microphone a few times, causing a piercing whine of feedback. Satisfied that the mic is working, Omega lowers the stand as far as it will go, putting the mic roughly level with the toilet bowl. Another pleasant smile crosses Jay's face as he picks up the can of beans, then he begins to stuff his face. After three or four mouthfuls of baked beans have made their way down his gullet, a rumbly gurgling noise begins to emanate from Omega's gut. By the time he's swallowing his seventh mouthful of beans, the inevitable begins to happen; Jay tilts slightly to his right, and breaks wind in resounding fashion, the noise reverberating in the stainless steel bowl beneath his buttocks. At the same time, bright green subtitles appear on the screen.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): Hello everyone, and thanks for joining me.

*Are...are we seriously going to do this? For real? I knew it was too much to hope that I'd get to narrate a serious promo for once. I am not describing your flatulence, you can go fuck yourself.*

*Omega lets rip a rapid fire burst of staccato blasts of ass gas.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): Hey, I just figured, since everyone else is gonna be talking out their asses, why not show 'em how it's done?

*Truly, a scholar for the ages. A look of concentration crosses Jay's face, and he quickly shovels another few spoonfuls into his maw.*

*Brrraapapapap brrraapp-raaap-aap. BraaaAAahtdraaatudtudtudtweeeee. Eeep.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): Before I start working my way through the list of opponents, I'll address my friend and ally, the Polar Phantasm. Polar, me hearty, I know that neither of us will hold back just because we're friends and teammates, and that we'll still be friends afterward, no matter what happens. May the better man win.

*The sound that next emits from Jay's butt is a sort of prolonged, wet, raspy fart. Almost like an uncoordinated baby blowing a drool-filled raspberry.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): And when I do, the drinks are on you.

*Omega winks at the camera and clucks his tongue, while simultaneously pointing with a finger gun. Jay then scoops the last few beans into his mouth, and sets the empty can aside, off screen. A can of Stagg Chili - Dynamite Hot flavour - is in his hand when he draws it back, and he begins eating anew.*

*Drrrrtrrubbubbubb-pap-pap-paaabpbpbp. Brraaaahhpitt-pit-pit-pffff. Pupupupaaaahp bruprupreee^eeeEE.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): I guess I'll start with the least threatening opponent out of the mix, and work my way toward the champ, which means that we shall begin with a discourse on Chase Jackson. Chase, my boy, you weren't able to hang with me the first time we tangled, and that was at a time when the rules favoured you. And if I could stomp the ever-loving shit out of you then, what makes you think the outcome will be any different now, considering you haven't done a damned thing to improve, and this time we'll be in my element? Just remember that when you fail at me this time, I'll be perfectly within legal bounds if I smack you in the face with a chair, which I may do on principle alone, you whiny little shitstain. Which superior skill of mine are you going to cry about when I beat you this time, I wonder? I've already proven that I'm both a better wrestler, and a better entertainer than you are, so really, I gain nothing from crushing you, again. You're an afterthought, Chase, and I'm not going to waste any more time on you.

*Omega's eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to stick out his tongue, fanning at it with his free hand. A glass of milk gets handed to him from off screen, which Jay accepts thankfully. He downs half the milk before he passes the glass back, and takes another spoonful of chili into his mouth.*

*Babababababababababababababababa oo-ma-mow-mow, baba oo-mow-ma-mow, oo-ma-mow-mow-- Hold up, that's "Surfin' Bird". My bad; they started out similar, but the farting went in a different direction. Uh, it was kind of like an all-tuba cross between "Surfin' Bird" and "George of the Jungle", you feel me?*

Jay Omega(subtitles): I really don't have a lot to say - either good or bad - about "Relentless" Andre Holmes. I've heard a couple of good things about this young man, though I've also heard a few downsides, too. Fierce, talented, and every bit as relentless as one would expect. But he's also brash, arrogant, and reckless. Sure, I am too, but I've got years of experience tempering me, whereas Andre has years of... well, being brash, arrogant, and reckless. Because of that, he's going to assure everyone that he can defeat yours truly - as well as everyone else in the match - to subsequently become champion without much real effort, I'm sure. Though he may be wise enough to give credit where it's due. I know I can do so; never let it be said I ain't a magnanimous sumbitch. And so, allow me to offer my congratulations... to Erin Fausse, for defeating Andre Holmes quite handily, then going on to also defeat Chase Jackson, in order to become the first female champion of the You See Eye. Bravo.

*Omega gives us a wide grin around a mouthful of chili; several beans and a glob of half-chewed ground beef fall from between his lips to land on the tray with a gooey splat.*

*Bhuuuuubbrrrubapbapbapbapbap.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): I'm just playing; Fausse is a tough chick, so there's not too much shame in both Chase and Andre losing to her. Though again, it does lead me to question what makes either of these two think they stand a chance against the likes of Crow, to say nothing of the likes of me.

*Jay scoops a trio of spoonfuls of chili into his mouth in rapid succession, forcing himself to chew and swallow as quickly as possible.*

*BRAAHP! Brrruutbrutbrufooooop. PppppffffFFFfffrrapbrapbrapbroooot.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): I mean, I'm not one to speculate, but I probably would have whooped Erin's pretty little ass. I imagine it would have been a pretty good fight, and hypothetically, we could have seen some impressive high-flying action. There might even have been some blood, who knows? But that's all theoretical. What's fact is that Sunday night, five of the... Chase Jackson and four of the top names in this burgeoning business of beating, battering, and bruising bodies will stand beneath not only the spotlights, but also the battle standard of this cartel. One of us will literally rise above the others as the representative of this territory. Now, Andre, I could sit here and throw a whole bunch of numbers and metals at ya - sixteen pounds of gold, seventy-five pounds of aluminum - but that sounds too much like math for my liking. In the end, the point I'd be trying to make would be that I know that ring inside and out. On top of that, this ladder match is guaranteed to become a chaotic mess almost instantly, and it should be well documented by now that I thrive in such an environment.

*Omega accepts the half finished glass of milk from off screen, gulps it down, then goes back to shoveling canned chili into his mouth faster than he can chew and swallow. Sauce dribbles from the corners of his mouth, leaving greasy streaks in the wake of the droplets that fall from his chin.*

*Prubbabubbubbabrahpbrahp. PrubbrAHPRAHP! BRAHTAHTahtatatatatsploosh.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): And it's nice to be in a new environment, even though it seems everybody else is stuck in the past. Why else would everyone be constantly referring to events in some other cartel as if they were relevant here and now? I get that people haven't quite figured out what 1he Wav3 was, and what it did, but come on now, this shit is getting more than a little ridiculous, coming from people who honestly should know better.

*A sheepish look crosses Jay's face, followed by an expression of intense concentration.*

*Pfffeeeeeep. Ee-ee-eeep.*

Jay Omega(subtitles): Oops; that's a little embarrassing. But hey, that's why we're doing this in the bathroom, not the hologym.

*Brrrrrttrrrttrrrrttrrrrt.*

*A pained expression crosses Omega's face, and he sets the can of chili aside.*

Jay Omega(spoken): Okay, I'm tapping out; my asshole is on fire. I thought I could do it, but this is... this is horrendous. Give me a few minutes to finish up here, and I'll meet you in the hologym to continue.

*Jay waves at the camera, then grimaces and doubles over. Horrible gushing noises come from his vicinity, but blessedly, the video and audio freeze and we clock wipe to Omega situated in the now-familiar hologym located deep within Guardians HQ. Seated on a small stool, Jay gives us his trademarked half baked half grin, and snaps his fingers; a preset audio cue that begins a waiting program. The room around Omega shimmers, and we suddenly find ourselves in a holographic recreation of the backseat of Buddy Roman's rusting blue Datsun. Images in the likeness of Buddy Roman, as well as Crow McMorris, are seated in the driver's and passenger's seats respectively, though completely immobile. Jay places his hands on the seat backs as he leans forward between them.*

Jay Omega: Does this seem familiar, Crow? About two weeks ago, you and Grandpa Dearest were on your way to a meeting with then-General Manager, Spencer Adams. A meeting which I apparently was also supposed to attend, though I must say that I was completely unaware of such an event. I should think that I also would have gotten a text message from the boss, letting me know the title belt had been stolen. But according to my phone logs, I didn't receive any messages from Spencer on the day in question. How curious. One would almost think that I was being deliberately kept out of the loop, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? No, of course not. Crow McMorris wouldn't stoop so low, would he? After all, he's a man of the people, isn't he? Then again, considering his lineage and the company he keeps, I'm surprised the public even buys into his bullshit. On the other hand, when you spew as much bullshit as Crow McMorris and Buddy Roman, somebody somewhere is bound to buy in.

*Omega shrugs his shoulders at us, and begins a careful study of Buddy Roman's face in profile.*

Jay Omega: So, I knew nothing of this meeting you were rushing off to, yet you still wound up painting me as some sort of asshole for not showing up. Seems a little unfair, don't you think? I could hold a press conference regarding the expansion of You See Eye, then say all sorts of rotten shit about Crow when he doesn't show up - after all, the man who carries the battle standard is supposed to be the cartel rep - but how you gonna show up to something you didn't know about? Dick move, unicorn. In fact, I take it as a personal insult that you seem to think I wouldn't be interested in defending this territory, that I wouldn't care about our title being stolen. For that and that alone, I'm going to make you suffer, Crow. But wait! There's more!

*Jay leans back in his seat, and claps his hand down on Buddy Roman's holographic shoulder. As he does, the scene shifts from still image to true 3D video. Buddy shifts in his seat and reaches into the murky depths of the glove compartment, retrieving a trading card which he passes to the holographic representation of Crow. The card itself - depicting Jay Omega - is irrelevant, but the conversation between Buddy and Crow is not.*

Holo-Crow McMorris: Name...

Holo-Buddy Roman: Mister-supa-dupa-unstoppable-hero-man. Power: Good at everything. Can't lose. Can't falter. Because he's so fucking good. Hates Superman, because he has a weakness to kryptonite, and that's so lame, G. Created the Earth in five days, just to piss off that gentile God. Got rid of all the Dinosaurs, so that his pet clone Dino would be worth more on e-bay. Flushed out all his organs and replaced them with gold and diamonds, just because he could. Flies, unaided, but chooses not to; because he wants to give back to the ordinary folks, like Batman and the Flash. Comes now from a mythical kingdom where all known diseases are cured. Each year in “Maratopian-land”, they invite all the dying kids from the third world orphanages to occupy human zoos for a week, just so they can be paraded to their little, spoiled Maratopian kids to remind them just how lucky their annoying asses are. Then, they send all those little dead AIDS boys and girls back home in crates marked: “broken” and ask for their money back. That's Jay Fucking Omega. The man that can't lose The man with time travel, yet won't stop “9-11”, or Hitler, or “1he Wav3”; because there's some unwritten law that dictates that he's only allowed to have fun with time travel, not accomplish anything. And that, my boy, is why Jay Omega cannot be allowed to win the World heavyweight title, because if he does; what do you suppose he'll do with it?

*Omega places his hand on Buddy's shoulder again, and the video becomes still once more.*

Jay Omega: There's just so much wrong here that I don't even know where to begin. Then again, it's all coming from Buddy Roman, so the only people who could be stupid enough to actually believe this shit are Trump supporters, Klansmen, and Wal-Mart regional managers. The only accurate part of that entire spiel was that I hate Superman. And not because he has a weakness, but because he doesn't. There's no tension to a tale of a god who can't die. I'm not even going to address the majority of Buddy's verbal diarrhea - though that's mainly because I don't talk to intermediaries - but I do find myself frustrated at having to explain - again - that time travel doesn't work that way.

*Jay shakes his head in wonder, and massages the bridge of his nose before he looks back at the camera.*

Jay Omega: For Krishna's sake, man, I know you're undead or some shit, but I think your brain might have suffered some serious necrosis. If I could alter the events of this timeline, don't you think I'd be carrying the battle standard into Election Day on Sunday? All one can accomplish with time travel is the creation of branching timelines if you try to change the course of history. And yes, there are laws governing that written down somewhere. Somewhere most people will never read them, but most people will never travel through time, either. Of course, that's all irrelevant information because - in case you hadn't noticed - I haven't had access to time travel for quite some time. You must be thinking of Bonnie Blue, who also cannot alter events that have already happened. Fuck, I haven't seen anyone be this wrong and out of sync with the times since Anthony Douglas, whom none of you are likely to know. Or maybe you will, since it seems all anyone can talk about these days is some other shithole cartel called Dubya See Eff, or something. I don't know what this "Dubya See Eff" is, but it sounds rapey, by all accounts.

*Omega rolls his right hand in a forward circular motion, and the footage moves ahead at an accelerated pace until Jay stops, and places his hand on Crow's shoulder.*

Holo-Crow McMorris: ... Reality has never touched a Jay Omega, and it never fucking will, cause he's a bubble boy; soft and gentle to the touch. Hardcore Maniac my ass; he thinks that Casey Jones gig he likes to drop means anything? Nigga, get real. If it did, how come each belt he's won, he's had to drop due to injury? United States Championship: dropped due to injury. Hardcore title: dropped due to injury. If he's this unstoppable, unkillable superhuman machine, why does he keep floundering?

*Omega places his right hand on Crow's shoulder to stop him, then facepalms with the left. When he looks back up on the camera, his expressions is such that one might believe the sheer stupidity of the spoken statement might have actually cause him mental anguish.*

Jay Omega: Ordinarily when someone says something this fucked up, I like to ask what they're smoking, and why they ain't sharing, but dude... You gotta lay off that unNatural METH, Beakman. I haven't won any titles to drop, let alone dropped any due to injury. We don't even have a Hardcore Championship, you slack-jawed fuckwit. And I'm the one out of touch with reality? Homie, you don't even know what fucking reality you're in, talkin' about dumbass shit that never happened in You See Eye. I thought you were smarter than Occulo, but I guess those McMorris genes of yours are showing through; just making shit up 'cause it sounds good to your addled brain. I'm gonna tell you this one time, and I hope you understand me; I've never claimed to be anything more than a man. A superior specimen, to be sure, but a man nonetheless. I don't know where you're getting your information from, but I hope for your sake you didn't pay for it.

*Jay taps Crow's shoulder once again.*

Holo-Crow McMorris: ... But he's not cut out for this; to born to lead like he thinks. That's the fate of a champion, Gramps. Not a fate Jay's proven to be able to handle in the past if truth be known. But one I--

*Another tap to the hologram's shoulder silences him.*

Jay Omega: I don't quite understand the context of this here statement. Is this supposed to be a reference to something before 1he Wav3? I will admit that my memories of events pre-Wav3 are kind of spotty, but I'm pretty sure there were no fight cartels; how could I prove whether of not I could handle carrying You See Eye's battle standard before I even claim it? Fuck me sideways, I totally should have actually spoken to Chase and Andre, and saved the farting bit for you, Crow, since all you've done is talk out your ass. But I get it; coming back from the dead can wreak havoc on the old grey matter. I can sympathize, I've been there. But it seems like your body is the only thing that got fully reanimated, because based on what you've had to say, your brain is still six feet under. And after the beating I'm gonna lay down on you Sunday night, your body's gonna wish it was still dead too.

*Omega snaps his fingers and stands up; the holographic Datsun and its passengers shimmering before fading into motes of light that dance away, leaving us in the matte black room with a glowing blue grid running all along the floor, walls, and ceiling. Jay turns to his left, our right, and walks away. The scene then fades to black.*


~It had been a somewhat long night, and Jay Omega was getting tired of prowling around on roof tops looking for someone he probably wouldn't even find. He had already spent the majority of his evening working his way across the grimy, graffiti-covered back alleys and side streets of Chicago's Lower West Side area. From the despondent residential neighborhoods like South Clinton Street, all the way down to the derelict and dilapidated warehouses along the Chicago River waterfront, Omega had combed the city as stealthily as he could on foot - which is quite so, it should be noted - but had failed to yield any results. His only consolation was that no one else had checked in with a positive ID on the suspect. Omega didn't actually think he'd be able to catch whomever it was the Guardians were trying to track down, but if there was someone to be caught, he wanted to be the one to do it.

  In the beginning, there hadn't been much rhyme or reason to Jay's search pattern; he'd simply wandered wherever the evening had taken him. After nearly getting mugged twice, and a close call with some Latino gangbangers, Omega had decided to take to the roofs. He hadn't abandoned the alleys completely though. After all, if the Guardians were tracking a vigilante, he - or possibly she - would likely be on the lookout for street crime to put a stop to. There had been no shortage of opportunities for heroics in Jay's evening, and he had been hard-pressed to ignore some of them. But he had to err on the side of caution this night, since he had left Erin back in Colorado and his Casters in his podcycle, which he still needed to name, Omega mused. Nothing had quite come to him yet, and Jay considered whether or not he should have let Nicky tell him whatever he had called it.

  A flicker of motion across the street caught his attention, and Omega turned to view the empty patch of grass that was rapidly filling up. Jay went prone, pressing himself flat against the shingles of the sloped roof beneath him. He inched as close to the edge of the roof as he dared, and wished he had brought his replica utility belt. Most of the tools were gag props, but the parabolic microphone was functional, and would have come in real handy right about now. Omega watched as two groups of roughly half a dozen each came together in the middle of an open field. It was difficult to tell with the lack of lighting, but judging from the mannerisms and snippets of conversation he could hear, Jay surmised that he was witnessing a meeting between a Latino fight cartel's representatives, and those of a Japanese-run cartel. Omega didn't like this; the whole situation felt wrong.

  Straining to overhear more than snippets, Jay barely made out enough of the conversation to infer that the Diablo Lucha Raza were more than a little upset by the Yakuza moving into their neighborhood. By the same token, it appeared the representatives of the Chicago Puroresu League were making accusations against the Lucha Campeonato Chicago; it seemed their battle standard had been stolen recently, much like UCI's had been two weeks previously. Curious. The conversation became much easier to hear as voices were raised on both sides. The English was heavily accented in both Latin and Oriental flavors, but clearly audible now. It seemed that the DLR enforcer - a burly, bald-headed behemoth whose torso was covered in tattoos, and whom apparently went by the name of Hernando - was quite incensed by the baseless accusations, and was making his displeasure known.

  "No, I don't give a fuck about your belt, ese," Hernando proclaimed loudly, and the two groups of immigrants spread out in parallel lines facing each other. "You motherfuckers come into our territory, and think you can--" The Japanese representative interrupted with equal anger in his raised voice. "Your territory? This entire region is unclaimed according to the zoning commission, and--" Hernando cut back in with contempt in his voice. "Fuck the zoning commission, homie; they don't control shit!" The situation was quickly going south, but there wasn't much Omega could do; both groups were likely armed, and he didn't have so much as a rock to throw. There was no way he could get his guns in time, and besides which, he wasn't sure if he wanted to get involved. Turf wars between rival cartels didn't make much difference, so long as they didn't affect UCI.

  Deciding he'd rather not see the inside of a Chicago holding cell that evening, Jay began to slowly back away from the edge, when he caught a dull glint in his peripheral vision. Omega turned his head, and could just barely make out the shape of another man lying prone two roofs over. What's more, it looked like the man was lining up a shot with a high-caliber sniper rifle. Unsure who the intended target was, Jay wasn't about to let either cartel take such an unfair advantage, and began to move toward the sniper with all the stealth he could muster. An errant scrape of his shoe sole against the shingles beneath him gave him away, but Omega was close enough at that point that he sprung forward before the sniper could react. With a swift kick, Jay knocked the rifle barrel askew just as the sniper pulled the trigger. Though the weapon was equipped with a suppressor, the sound of the gunshot was still loud and clear.

  "Betrayal!" Shouted the Japanese representative, and all Hell broke lose. Pistols were drawn on both sides, and the rival cartels scattered, firing wild shots at each other as they went. On the rooftop, Omega doubled over as the sniper spun up to his feet with a stiff kick to Jay's midsection. Rather than stick around to continue the fight, the black-clad sniper shoved Omega away from him, and took off running back toward the city center. With a muttered curse, Jay began to give chase, thankful that he was a freerunning enthusiast. The head start his quarry had was significant, though, and his garb blended far too well with the shadows. Omega wished fervently that he had brought Erin along, though the consequences of tromping around Chicago n his power armor would likely be pretty negative. Jay hit the ground and rolled, coming back to his feet in a full sprint, but with no sign of his target.

  Motion on his right drew his eye, and he spied the figure bolting along the roof of a garage. Omega sprinted toward a set of rickety steps leading up to the second floor of the building across the alley, then hauled himself up onto the roof. Up, down, and over gaps did Omega run, keeping his eyes mainly focused on his footing in the dark of the night, with only quick glances to keep his prey in view. Jay came to the end of the row of buildings he was running along, and cast about for his target. There; diagonally across from his, a man-shaped shadow detached from the murky gloom of a roof, and leaped onto the second-floor balcony of the adjacent building, before it ascended to the roof. Omega quickly glanced about, trying to determine the fastest way to catch up. A single lamp post illuminated the alley between the building Jay stood on, and the one his quarry was scaling, fortuitously near the lower edge of the roof opposite.

  Not giving himself enough time to think the idea through, Omega took off at a dead run, and angled himself toward the alley. The wooden pole supporting the light held his weight, but the metal lamp itself wobbled and gave; robbing Jay of some momentum. He still kept enough to clear the gap, though just barely. The air left Omega's lungs in a rush as his chest collided with the edge of the roof, and his muscles screamed as he dragged himself up and onto the roof. Jay only allowed himself a moment's respite, however, as he saw his target nearing the far edge of the roof. Omega pushed himself to his feet and gave chase once more. Ad he closed the gap with his prey, the figure turned around; in this better lighting, Jay finally got a good look at who he'd been chasing. The figure wore form-fitting black body armor with deep purple trim and accents around his boots, gloves, and the horned skull emblem on his chest.

  The face was obscured by a deep purple hood over a black face mask, worked to resemble a Japanese demon, but Omega was determined to find out who was underneath it. A barrage of kicks came his way from the black-clad figure, and it was all Jay could do for several moments to avoid being bludgeoned into submission. Omega finally thought he caught a lucky break in the flow when he grabbed the figure's leg, but an enzuigiri disabused him of that notion. Throwing caution to the wind Jay went into full attack mode; leaping and twirling with a wide array of vicious kicks from a variety of martial arts. This time it was the black-clad figure who was driven back under an unyielding assault. To the edge of the roof they sparred, until eventually Omega's opponent stopped, and put up his hands. "Not bad. You've gotten better since the last time I saw you." The familiarity of the voice caused Jay to stop short, his fists still raised.

  The black-clad figure reached up and drew back his hood, allowing a mane of black hair to spill out in a wild tangle that fell to the man's shoulders. He then reached for the mask, and pulled it from his bearded face, causing Omega to start in surprise. "The fuck are you doing in Chicago, Corey?" With a nonchalant shrug, Corey Black swept an all-encompassing gesture at the city. Thought I'd take in the sights, try some of their famous pizza, maybe take down a Yakuza human trafficking operation. You know, tourist shit.[/font]" Jay shook his head with a chuckle; he should have known Corey would dig out his Avenger gear after 1he Wav3. At that point, Bonnie Blue's voice rang out from Omega's Wearable Espionage, Infiltration, and Reconnaissance Device. "Hey y'all, I found the target. And you ain't gonna believe who it is." Jay gave a confused look to Corey, then responded to the check-in.

"Uh, no, I've found the target." Omega said, immediately followed by Polar saying much the same thing. Well then. Apparently things were going to get very interesting for the Guardians in the near future. They had thought they were only tracking one target, and had found three separate ones instead. But then, who had Polar and Bonnie found? He would find out soon enough. In the mean time, Jay invited Corey back to the Sloshed Pit to bring each other up to speed.~