Captain Omega Volume III Commander McMouse

By Scot Savage

With Captain Omega missing in action, Commander McMouse risks everything to try to find him.

With a help of a disgraced, bumbling detective, McMouse finds that the trail leads to a villain in E-Space!

Before he can do that, McMouse must enlist information from Bolo, the UnUltimate Male of the universe... a bounty hunter that hates Omega with a vengeance!

With the deck stacked against him, can McMouse prevail?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781387238590

Book preview

Captain Omega Volume III Commander McMouse

Captain Omega Volume 3:

Commander McMouse

A Novel

Scot Savage

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Copyright © 2008 by Scot Savage

ISBN # 978-1-387-23859-0

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Scot Savage

Scot Savage Enterprises Designs

Printed in the United States of America

¹⁰ ⁹ ⁸ ⁷ ⁶ ⁵ ⁴ ³ ²

Dedication

To Nancy H. and Pam F., the old office gang!

CHAPTER 1

Today, I am a very small man.

Then again, my height or, should I say, my lack thereof, has always been a consequence in my life.

Ever since I can remember, I have always been short.  I guess it had something to do with the fact that I was born six weeks premature. Under normal circumstances, I should have been stillborn, but thanks to my natural fighting spirit, along with superior, state-of-the-art, modern medical technology, as well as a dedicated, kind-hearted doctor who was too stubborn to allow me to die, I pulled through.

It always seemed that when I was growing up, I was always the shortest of my pals. It was always that way throughout school and, later on, at the academy. All my life, a day didn’t go by that I had to look up to at least 90% of the people I interacted with.

When I was a kid, my folks brought me to a special doctor. I forget his technical title, but he was one of those guys that studied bone structures and all those special glands that make people turn from child to adult. After a whole shit load of fancy tests (and peeing in cups), he determined that I would not get any taller than 5’-4 (but I showed that quack, I’m 5’-7 1/2).

The doctor confirmed (as my parents tried to tell him before) that my being vertically challenged (What a joke! He just couldn’t get it in him to call me short. The word never bothered me), was due to my premature birth.

On the positive side, the doctor determined that other than my lack of growth, I was in excellent physical and mental condition. Most others in my situation would experience weight gain problems that could lead to unhealthy hearts, kidneys or even suffer degenerative brain damage. Oh, yes, I still had my great mind (or so I thought it was great up to now). Thank God for that! If it weren’t for my ability to make snap decisions under pressure, I wouldn’t have my primary edge over my fellow people.

In a way, my physical shortcomings are a blessing in disguise. Thanks to my biological limitations, I was smart enough to realize that I had to push myself harder, both physically and mentally, or else my peers would take advantage of me. Now let’s think logically: Who’s more likely to get the crap beat out of him? The big guy or the little guy?  Common sense dictated that I should use my spare time to work out and sharpen up my skills rather than sit around and goof off.

The hard work did pay off. It was only a matter of time before I could hold my own against anyone who tried to walk all over me. It was my natural spunk and scrappiness that got me in the Federation Academy where I earned a commission by proving I was officer material and, eventually, given a special branch to command.

Of course, that was all in the past and now its twenty-two years and a receding

hairline later…

Once, I was just plain, little, Brian McMouse.

Now, I’m Commander McMouse of the Earth Federation—not too shabby for a man who just turned forty a few weeks ago. I should be going through a mid-life crisis. I should be worried that I haven’t been married and had kids just like almost every other normal person I know. I made the service my life.

I made it my family, but right now, I have other, more serious matters to worry about—such as feeling sorry for myself that I am a small man.

Perhaps, I should rephrase that!

When I said small, I wasn’t referring to my physical height. I got over that problem years ago. Heck, when I first enlisted, the Federation doctors offered me genetic treatments to take care of my lack of height, but I turned them down. I wanted to get along in my life with what the good Lord had given me, and if He wanted me to be tall, I would have been born that way. I was put on this Earth to be short and stocky for some reason (I haven’t figured out what reason).

Anyway, another reason I turned the treatments down was because they scared me (I kept quiet about that reason) because it was a small part of the original intention of an experiment to create those series of genetically perfect humans—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Of course, now that I think of it—perhaps I was too hasty to turn down those hair restoration treatments.

Anyway, I feel small because after twenty-two years of shining service, I’m about to fail.

Up until now, I’ve always prided myself on the fact that I always got the job done.

You see, I happen to be in command of a special infantry/reconnaissance division. Until a few weeks ago, I always took care of my people and managed to bring them home where they belonged. If that meant getting them back from some dangerous, uncharted sector, I did it. As long as the people we were looking for were somewhere out there, we found them and got them back. The trouble now is that the man I need to bring back may not be out there anymore.

Here I am in my small, but comfortable living quarters that the Federation has so kindly assigned to me. I’m just sitting around like a bump on a log. It’s about 02:00 and I can’t sleep even though I’ve been on my feet busting my ass all day. Logically, I should be tired, but I’m not.

I look at the bottle of scotch my dad gave me the last time he came to visit. I pour myself a shot. I’ve been drinking quite a bit this evening, but I’m not drunk. Why not indulge myself? I’ve earned it! I’m not on duty now. Just to let you know it’s not like I’m trying to drown out my sorrows. I’m just in the mood for a few drinks. And brother, do I like to drink! There isn’t anyone who can out drink me on this entire base—except for—him!

There I go! I’m letting my thoughts wander and my emotions sidetrack me. I didn’t get where I am today by letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment. I do my utmost to go by the book. I like to think myself as a team player. The man I’m searching for would think less of me if he knew that I wasn’t going about this logically. I have to follow procedures. I may feel like a failure but I’m not going to give up on this one yet!

I knock all the clutters of paper off my couch until I see the file disc. And after a few seconds, I just look at it—hoping, somehow, it could talk to me. It took a long time before that suck-face, Lt. Col. Badger, gave me the clearance to look it over. I know that he’s only doing his job by following procedures, but these people can be a real pain in the ass.

I load the disc in the computer and bring up the file I’ve brought up, at least, a hundred times before. I know it still reads the same as the last time I looked it over, but there has to be a clue in here somewhere. There has to be something I’ve missed. I know this whole report by heart. I could recite it word for word. I can do it forward and backwards, but I still have to go through it all over again.

The report is from First Lieutenant Algeron Lefetscew-Smythe, currently assigned as a wingman for the Gold Platoon to fill the vacancy of First Lieutenant Nathaniel Hawk who was tragically killed in action.

And that’s another thing! Badger seems to be more worried about keeping this mess hush-hush, rather than trying to find out who killed him. Then again, maybe, he’s investigating the case as a classified action.

Classified action my ass! It must be the asshole’s favorite phrase.

Never mind!

I need to stick to the problem at hand. Badger, is the least of my worries. The real problem is my ineptness to deal with the present situation (which is a kinder word for failure).

Either way I cut it, Smythe's report reads the same, but better to go through it over again on my own rather than make poor Smythe constantly retell the story. Again, I read about the mysterious black cloud of unknown origin, just suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

What the hell was it? What could it all mean? Is this what really happened or is ol’ Algie just trying to pull our chains? The thing here is that Algie's story is so ridiculous, that it has to be true. I mean, that if Algie was going to make something up, I think that he'd come up with a better story. Then again, what could Smythe hope to accomplish by making up a story?

The answer: nothing.

Poor Smythe! His first assignment as a member of the Gold Platoon and he runs into a major complication. Of course, it’s a complication that he can’t be held accountable.

For now, I have to take this report as true, inconsistencies and all. And that puts me back to where I started—nowhere!

Why do I even keep going on? I could just write this setback off and

chalk it up to experience. Hey, one personal failure won't hurt the rest of my career (or my life), especially after an abundance of successes.

So why can’t I let this one go? Why do I let this case keep eating inside of me? Because, deep inside, my boy, you know you can’t just give up.

I just have to accept the facts for what they are. One minute a man is here, and then the next, he just vanishes without a trace.

Shit happens! What can I say?

I shut off the power to the computer terminal.

Once again, I'm disgusted because I've given up for the time being, but then knowing I’ll be back at it sometime within the next twenty-four hours, even at the expense of giving up all my free time.

I sit on my sofa and find my drink.

In a few minutes, I’m lying down and my eyelids are starting to close.

Before I fall asleep, my mind wanders to when the real start of where this mess all began a few months ago…

CHAPTER 2

At that time, the Federation, once again, in its ultimate wisdom, decided to cut back on military spending in the pursuit of more humanitarian obligations. It was a nice gesture—in principle. Don't get me wrong, but those crybaby bleedin’ heart liberals back on Earth have no idea that without strong military support, the influence of the Federation wouldn’t have gotten past Mars.

Dumb assholes!

Anyway, in order to save some money, High Command decided to combine my division with one from the Space Patrol. Now, if you know nothing about the military, putting us together is like mixing apples and oranges and expecting them both to taste the same.

Keep in mind that Space Patrollers think us Reconers as muscle-headed, ass-kissers; while, in return, Reconers think Space Patrollers are wussy, little arrogants that fight from the distant safety of their ships.  I was really pissed over this merger business and I fought against it all the way.

Hey, I prefer to run my men alone and now I have to delegate some of my authority over to the Space Patrol leader that was assigned to me? I mean, when it all came down to it, which person was really in charge? Who would make the final decisions? Protocol officers weren't much help in this matter either. Their answer was always the same: it depends on the situation.

Well, I found out that it wouldn't be too awful because, at least, our squad would be assigned to the crack outfit of the Space Patrol known as the Gold Platoon. Their leader was a man whose name was known by many near and far.

He was called the Ultimate Male—and his name was Captain Omega!

For once, I can honestly say, that Thaddeus Omega is, to say the least, unique in almost every way.

A long time ago, Federation scientists began to embark on a project that would change what we know about genetics. They (and don't ask me who exactly they are because I don't know) wanted to make the most genetically perfect human. Guess it sounds like something out of Captain America or Hitler's master race. The purpose here would be that these people would be created for the benefit of mankind, rather than conquer them. These beings were to be virtuous rather than selfish. They were to help those people who were not as blessed as they were.

Now, for a while, this so-called business was all official government hush-hush. They didn't want it going around to the general public that the very government everyone loved so much, were creating people that were supposed to be superior, in every way, to everyone else.

Back in those days, we normal folks wouldn’t have understood the purpose and we would have felt threatened by these beings (or, at the very least, insulted). Of course, this experiment wasn't going to change things overnight and it wasn’t as if genetic supermen were, all of a sudden, just going to start crawling out of the woodwork.

First of all, the lab boys needed genetic material. So, from all parts of the universe, human and human-like donors were being sought out for samples of their DNA. It took years of careful selection before the scientists got the samples that were appropriate.

They weren't just looking for people with great physical appearances, great bodies or at the physical peak of health, but also people of vast intelligence, knowledge, wisdom, intuition, compassion, charisma and spiritual well-being. The names of the donors were kept top secret in order to protect them. How would you like to go about your life with the fact that other not-so-honest people knew that your genetic make-up could fetch top dollar on the black market?

One day, you're walking down the street minding your own business, when all of a sudden, some mad scientist grabs you, straps you down to a table and then begins to vivisect your poor, sorry ass (not to mention the wacko probably didn't bother to sedate you first)!

In recent years, the names of these donors have been (conveniently) lost forever, but some of my private sources say that the DNA of these donors is still locked and stored away in some top secret lab on some God-forsaken planet no one’s ever heard about.

`All we have about these supposed donors is pure speculation, although some evidence may give a clue on two points.

Point #1: On one of my first missions with my new colleagues, the Gold Platoon, I met a man who called himself Major Todd—the very hero of the same name who supposedly disappeared on a space expedition hundreds of years ago.  It is rumored that Major Todd may have (unknown to even himself) been a donor. There could be some truth to this, as through my own personal observation, that the good Major has many similar physical, mental and spiritual characteristics as Captain Omega.

Point #2: The next piece of information is only known to a handful of individuals and myself (because Omega was kind enough to give us the details of one of his many exploits). It turned out that an intergalactic assassin named the Deadly Zemacroyd had, through the use of a time scanner, discovered the identity of one of Omega's distant ancestors. Zemacroyd, who wrongly believed that Omega was responsible for the murder of his family, hatched a most devious plot of revenge. Zemacroyd merely didn’t want to kill Omega outright. Instead, Zemacroyd traveled back in time in order to kill Omega's ancestor; henceforth, preventing that ancestor from having children (and his children having children—and so on—and so on) and thereby preventing Omega’s birth and wiping him out from all known existence. This plot failed because Omega and his ancestor joined forces and defeated Zemacroyd. Omega proved to Zemacroyd that he was not responsible for the death of his family. Omega showed that his master, the Dark Lord (who had put Zemacroyd up to it) had twisted the facts.

Anyway, the ancestor turned out to be John Bystander, codename: Mr. Hitman,

a top secret agent for the now defunct United States government (way back

when good ol’ mother Earth was divided up into many separate countries).

Not even Badger and his top-secret cronies know about this tidbit of information—and believe me, it feels great to know something that Mr. Need-to-know-basis-I-know-everything-and-you-don't doesn't.

Because of this case, I made it a hobby of mine to track down the genealogy of Captain Thaddeus Omega. Much to my disappointment, I couldn't find much because most of the ancient records were lost (or destroyed) in that big intergalactic struggle to get the great Federation off the ground.

There wasn't much mention about Bystander's ancestors or descendants because they mostly lived normal and uneventful lives, which were not worth noting down for posterity. The only reason I could find anything on Bystander was because of the great reputation he left behind (and even then I still had a hard time finding information about him).

My first major obstacle was that John Bystander wasn’t the subject’s original birth name. It was changed by the then-government to protect his family. Thanks to a lot of digging by a friend of mine, who pointed out the name/identity switch, I would never have found any information at all. Fortunately, for my research, the Federation wasn’t concerned about protecting a man that died hundreds of years ago and that served a government that was long defunct. All it took was patience and plenty of spare time to fish through all the thousands of files on the database.

It seemed that Bystander was born John Bissetti, a child of Italian-Irish ancestry sometime in the second half of the twentieth century.

A broken home and a rough neighborhood forced young Bissetti to be streetwise and, from those streets, he learned to be an accomplished brawler.

In his young teen-age years, he made decent money running errands for certain alleged crime bosses. Although he disdained the company and employ of the mobsters, he performed the services as it was the only way he could earn good money in a short period of time, so he get out of his neighborhood and become a decent, legitimate member of society.

Unlike his peers, who blew their money on booze and fast women, Bissetti put most of his money away in the bank or made investments. Unlike his fellow errand boys who went on to work as soldiers for the bosses, Bissetti went to college where he discovered he had an uncanny knack for finance and number crunching. This ability earned him a master's degree in accounting.

Unfortunately, Bissetti was too good with his numbers and news of this came back to the very mobsters in which he used to be a lackey. They wanted Basset’s talents for their own criminal purposes.

So, unable to escape his ties with organized crime, Bissetti was

recruited and persuaded to balance the books for a crime boss named Big W. It was mere child’s play for Bissetti to launder Big W’s dirty money into legitimate sources.

At first, Bissetti played along. He did it not only because he valued his personal well-being, but also because he believed that Big W was only a small-time, local operator. Bissetti believed that if he played his cards right, he could buy his way out of Big W’s grip.

What Bissetti didn't know, was that Big W was ingeniously masterminding a plan to wipe out all contending crime bosses so he could gain control of all the rackets and be undisputed boss of the entire Mid-west United States.

Bissetti’s plan to get away had backfired. Big W had suspected Bissetti's intentions and he wasn't about to let one of his best assets get away, especially when he would gain real power and needed Bissetti’s talents to stay on top.

Big W figured that because Bissetti was safely tucked away in a cozy office, his boy was getting soft and needed a reminder of the real crime world he used to be associated.

So, Big W sent Bissetti on an errand with a top enforcer so that Bissetti could be re-enlightened.

The original plan (which Bissetti had no clue), was that the enforcer was to shakedown a merchant who was late in his protection payments. Big W figured that when Bissetti saw this, it would be enough of an intimidation to keep his boy in line, once and for all.

What Big W didn't know was that his top enforcer's occasional bouts of instability were not so occasional after all. Other soldiers complained about the enforcer's unnecessary violence, but Big W wrote it off as exaggeration. This enforcer was one of the main reasons Big W got into power. The enforcer helped so much that Big W figured he deserved some leeway until he could work out his problems on his own.

However, Big W's tolerance of the enforcer would prove to be bad judgment. Instead of merely roughing up the merchant, the enforcer got carried away and gunned the poor man down which made Bissetti see how evil Big W really was. Even loyalty and obedience wouldn’t insure future survival! 

To make matters worse, an innocent bystander walked into the shop just after the poor merchant was killed. Not wanting any witnesses, and before Bissetti could do anything, the enforcer gunned down the poor man as well.

Unfortunately again, the bystander was the son of a high-ranking police officer. Not even Big W’s ownership of the local police would keep this incident quiet. The high ranking police chief, who was on Big W’s payroll, knew Big W’s people were responsible and demanded  the murderer of his son—and no amount of money was going to make up for it1

It was a matter of honor. They wanted the killer and they wanted his head on a pole!

In his long range plans, Big W didn't want to lose his police protection and it would be better for business to hand someone over. At first, Big W was going to set up one of his lesser-valued flunkies as the sacrificial lamb. However, a rival accountant on Big W's employ who hated Bissetti and wanted him out of the way in order to move up the ladder, falsified Bissetti’s journal entries to make it appear that Bissetti was stealing money.

The deception worked and Big W wanted to punish Bissetti for his disloyalty. Big W believed this was the reason Bissetti wanted to leave the business and Big W couldn't think of better poetic justice then to give Bissetti the release he craved so badly.

Big W fingered Bissetti as the killer and set him up to take the fall. He knew that once he named Bissetti to the police, they would be vengeful enough to gun Bissetti down rather than arrest him (as was the fate of most in Bissetti’s position). At the time, it was an efficient solution in order for Big W to have his operation back to running normally.       

The official report was that John Bissetti had died on arrival to the hospital due to fatal gunshot wounds to the chest.

What no one else knew was that government agents had taken Bissetti’s comatose, but still quite living body, to a special top secret facility where they patched him up good as new.

This agency offered Bissetti a new identity if he agreed to become one of their operatives. Since Bissetti had no family ties and refusal would mean certain death by the hands of Big W, Bissetti accepted.

From that day on, John Bissetti died and was given the identity of John Bystander, Vice President of accounting for an envelope manufacturer. Actually, he was being trained by the organization, which was designed to deal with criminals and terrorists who were either too powerful or too well connected to be touched by conventional law enforcement agencies. He earned the code name: Mr. Hitman. 

Shortly, after dealing with a few minor cases, Mr. Hitman was offered the opportunity to settle the score. He was assigned to take down Big W and his organization.  

It didn't take long for Mr. Hitman to crush Big W's organization to the point where it could never be rebuilt again. Not long after, he put away a few more evils away in his illustrious career.

He even crossed paths with a rival super-agent known only as The Reaper, a being that could heal his wounds at will. Although Mr. Hitman lost the fight, it was still a classic battle and he was the only known person to walk away from a Reaper engagement and lived to tell about it.

After he retired from active service, he married his administrative assistant, Sabrina Jones, and eventually settled down to a wealthy, if not normal, family life.

What was most remarkable in these facts was that Mr. Hitman was part of a special foursome (that occasionally got together) that was known as Striker Force. This taskforce was called in from time to time when one lone operative just wasn’t enough to complete a special mission. The other members of this group included Steve Monroe alias Superspy, who happened to be a distant cousin to Bystander. The rest were Dr. Q, a telepath, and master of telekinesis and a mysterious independent, freelance agent known only as The Phantom Stalker. What is most unusual is that when Omega went back in time to save Mr. Hitman, the Phantom Stalker seemed to know all about Omega, considering that Omega wasn't even from the same time period!

Anyway, getting back to the chase—Bystander had kids and his kids had kids—and so on.

Eventually, one of Bystanders descendant's DNA was used as part of the experiment to create the super beings I mentioned earlier.

The end result was six humans who were considered to be the most perfect humans that could possibly exist and still be called human.

One of these enhanced humans was none other than Thaddeus Omega and, ironically, the word Omega means the last and that is exactly what it meant.

Omega became the last of his kind because one of the geneticists had secretly furthered experiments on one of the six, making him a super, super human being and, technically, no longer human. This being, who later became known as Myrrocky Mammoe Mammu, discovered the identity of his five siblings and considered them a threat to his ultimate perfectness. He sought out and killed or physically altered his four brothers before being stopped by Captain Omega.

So like I said earlier, the mold is truly broken and Omega is really one of a kind. 

Besides being the last of the Enhanced Humans, Omega was given the prestigious title of Ultimate Male (or Stud of the Universe) by the mysterious Celestial Elder, a being of great power—an almost god-like entity. This title meant that Omega is the ultimate mate for any or all females of the human (or human-like) species. Somehow he can alter (either consciously or unconsciously) his body chemistry and pheromones to adapt to make him attractive to any woman.

What's even more special is that the woman in question does not have to be physically attractive, nor do they have to find Omega physically attractive themselves. Omega can somehow see through a female's physical limitation and find a special quality inside that he can find desirable (and vice versa). So, in Omega's case, inner beauty can be just as effective as outer beauty.

Of course, being the Ultimate Male can be just as much a curse as a blessing. Omega can be so desirable that it puts a damper on many physical relationships that he hopes to have. A mere kiss from Omega can cause a woman such physical pleasure that it overloads her senses and causes her to harmlessly pass out. That can put a dent on any hopes to have a more physical relationship.

A woman must be of strong body, mind and soul if they hope to experience the full pleasures of Omega. Unfortunately, women of those standards are few and far between. This has caused Omega to quest for his ultimate partner, his true love and the woman he could call his own forever.

So far, the only woman I know of whose in that class and can come close to going all out is a mercenary pirate Queen named Xenopia. But much to Omega's surprise (and, maybe, delight) Xenopia has no intention of settling for just one man, not even the Ultimate Male.

It would have made things interesting if Omega ever met the Ulitmate Female or Studette of the Universe. Omega insisted that there has to be one because the Balance of the Universe dictates it.

But such cannot happen now!

And why is that?

Because Captain Omega has disappeared without a trace despite the Federations extensive attempts to find him.

In a way, I feel indirectly responsible.

Years ago, when I first learned that my recon group would be forced to merge with his Gold Platoon, I got really pissed off. I wished that he would just disappear for good. I mean, where did the Federation get off having a man of my experience sharing my command with some up-and-coming hotshot?

When I first met Captain Omega, I thought he was nothing more than a stuck-up, arrogant, prima donna who believed he was God's gift to women (now I know that because he has the title Ultimate Male, the claim has validity). Here I was, co-commanding my squad with someone who was over ten years my junior—and out-ranked me!

Let’s keep in mind, that Omega was a naval captain in rank, not the army equivalent. He had a full eagle rather than two silver bars. At such a young age, that gave him the equivalent of a full Colonel to my Lieutenant Colonel. If he didn't goof around so much, he could, technically command a star destroyer. At that rate, he could make Rear Admiral before he was thirty-five!

At that time, I believed that sooner or later, I would have it out with this hotshot and have to put him in his place. But much to my surprise, Omega knew which boundaries he should and shouldn't cross. He never undermined my authority. He never made me look bad in front of my men. He always consulted with me before making a major decision.

After I got to know him better, I found out that, deep down, Omega was just like everyone else. I couldn't help but like him (and believe me I tried hard to find reasons not to like him). In all my years, I've never known a finer pilot, a finer officer, a finer person and a finer friend.

Not to say that Omega didn't have his faults. There were only two things in which Omega was guilty.

First, and foremost, he is a womanizer! Often, his skirt chasing sometimes interfered with his official duties. But, on the lighter note, he was kind and compassionate to any women willing to throw themselves at him. He is affectionate to all females—dumb or smart; short or tall; beautiful or not-so-beautiful—hoping to find that one perfect mate. But like I said, most women would harmlessly pass out from his charms before anything serious could happen to them.

The second thing that Omega is guilty of is of being a glory hound. Many a time, he has taken it on himself to go on missions alone. He prefers to take on all the risks himself even if it means disobeying orders. Of course, if a situation was too above Omega's head, he is not too proud to ask for help. And when he gets that help, he makes sure that he doesn’t hog all the credit and all involved got a portion of the glory that they are due.

In a way, Omega has unknowingly used his ultimate powers to have a sort of physic bond with me.

Somehow, I know (or can feel) if he's in trouble and needs my help. Somehow, I can figure out where he is