My name is Omega
My name is Omega Brigantia.
I was born and raised in the Spirit Science Research Institute. Raised to be the Princess, to one day lead the Institute into greatness. One of a generation, alongside the Prodigy, the Moonchild, the Prince, the Prophetess.
Only it didn't quite work out like that.
I turned my back on the Institute in 2002, fled the confines of their fetid little organisation never to return. Met my lover, discovered our shared history with the Institute. Learned how to live, how to love. How to fight.
In 2009 we found our way to the CWF. In 2010, Elisha, the so-called Moonchild, hunted us down, launched an attack on my lover that would nearly claim his life. Seven years later history would repeat itself as, in the resurrected CWF, Elisha would once more surface, and would once more go out on the hunt.
So much has passed since then, so much history, conflict, betrayal. Friendships and alliances have been made, broken, reformed. We stand on the cusp of Northern Crown, a contest of the greatest teams the world has to offer.
But first, there are other matters to address.
My name is Omega.
And this is my story.
The helicopter begins to lower, landing in a small clearing in the midst of the thick forest surrounding the land of Pierreia. We exit, one by one, stand together as the helicopter rises.
As we watch it disappear into the skies, my lover withdraws his phone, a specially designed satellite phone constructed for this mission. The screen springs to life.
It is Spencer.
Spencer: “There has been a slight change of plan. Your mission is not to kidnap Elisha. You are to assassinate him. If you refuse, we will inform the Institute of your whereabouts and leave you to their mercy. I trust that you will choose wisely. That is all.”
The phone cuts out. My lover glances at me, his expression a mixture of concern and anger.
Omega: “Well, fuck.”
There is a moment's silence. My lover stares at the phone, taking in the message. What had been a mission of justice, glorified kidnapping, suddenly became a lot more serious.
Omega: “You heard the call. What do you think?”
Zach is the first to speak.
Zach: “We can't. I mean, taking him in to face justice is one thing. But outright murder -”
Matthias interrupts him.
Matthias: “Not murder. Assassination. Justice served against a war criminal and a tyrant.”
Zach: “Does that make it right?”
Matthias: “Right? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.”
Cyprian: “Is there not a danger that what we do may be served back to us a thousandfold - the law of reciprocity?”
Ray: “Save that hippie shut for someone who cares. We need to -”
My lover raises his voice.
Elijah: “Our options are limited. We can do as the Order has requested. Or we can refuse, and be left at the Institute's mercy.
“For now, we must make our way to the Epicentre. Confront Elisha.”
Dean: “And then?”
Omega: “Let's burn that bridge when we get to it.”
And so we march. Through the forest surrounding the tiny, unrecognised war-torn state of Pierreia. Marching in silence, suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation. That this little group of crusaders for justice has suddenly become a group of potential assassins.
In the distance we can hear the sound of gunfire and screaming, as the uprisings launched by the Order reach their crescendo.
If we assassinate Elisha, the Institute will lash out.
If we kidnap him, they will lash out anyway.
If we assassinate Elisha, we violate our own ethics.
If we don't, we are placing our ethics above pragmatism.
If he is deposed, someone else will simply take his place.
If he is not deposed, he will continue his reign of terror.
My lover stops short, raises a hand. We are at the outside of the Epicentre. OSA agents surround the enormous, atom-in-ouroboros building, tasers strapped to their hips.
The Epicentre. Centre of the cult of the Moonchild, home to Elisha, Ouroboros and their associated lackeys. The place that strikes terror into so many. Now suddenly just another target.
The silence is broken by a sudden explosion just out of sight. Smoke drifts through the clearing surround the Epicentre, the sound of trees cracking. I glance at my lover. He nods, and we surge forward, rushing towards the building.
Serpico reaches the building first. He directs us to one of the doors, withdraws a small vial of liquid - some sort of corrosive acid. Smears it on the door's locks, waits a moment. Grabs the door and pulls, once, twice, finally dragging it open.
And we enter the Epicentre.
It is deserted. The walls are covered in portraits - Clyde Pierre, founder of the SSRI, and Elisha, his would be successor. The occasional depiction of Henry Benson, Ryan Sunset-Pierre, Chaolin Sahn, each with their eyes scratched out, profanities scrawled across their faces.
Zach approaches me, whispers in my ear.
Zach: “Earlier. Outside the building. The explosion. What happened?”
Omega: “To quote a childhood friend of mine: You will see. I have already seen.”
We continue on, finally reaching a spiral staircase. We go up one by one, making our way to the Star Chamber - that sacred space in the heart of the Epicentre. The door is thick, solid, a keypad placed by its side. Serpico steps forward, keys in the correct code, the string of digits needed to gain entry. There is a soft click and the door opens.
And there he is.
Elisha: “What took you so long?”
He sits behind an enormous desk fashioned from the finest mahogany, inscribed with occult sigils and symbols from a thousand different traditions. But for him and the desk, the room is empty.
As we enter, my lover charges at Elisha, tackling him to the ground. They struggle, falling to the floor, Elisha gaining the upper hand, then my lover, then back again. I jump forward, landing on Elisha's back, but he throws me off, sending me crashing to the floor.
Elisha pulls out a knife, goes to stab my lover. He rolls out of the way, as the rest of the battalion looks on in horror. I unleash my cattle prod, electrocute the so-called Moonchild, sending him tumbling to the floor. Together, my lover and I pull him to his feet.
The door slams open. A familiar, masked figure steps through. He carries a sword.
“Elisha. You are hereby found guilty of crimes against humanity. There will be no appeal.”
The figure removes his mask, to reveal…
Highlander: “The Order of the Oncoming Storm sends its regards.”
And down comes the sword.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."