Disclaimer: I own nada; I own only those who you do not recognize.

Chapter One: Where to begin?

"Stupid piece of… work, God damn it!" Omar Quaalude [1] snarled as he smacked the offending laptop in front of him. The thing never worked when he wanted it to; it seemed like it acted up to deliberately to mock him, to remind him that he wasn't as young as he once was.

At the age of forty, Omar knew that he was still fairly young. In the world that he lived in, it was a completely different story. His world was compiled of fierce competitiveness, of obsessive fans that would declare themselves as being his soul mate, of people just went to his concerts just to scream obscenities at him, where every move he made was closely scrutinized by the tabloids and the people which read them, he was considered to be almost past his prime. Just thinking about it made him feel quite older than his years.

He thought back throughout the entirety of his career: Angel's unplanned pregnancy of their eldest child so early in their career, the annoying tabloids that didn't understand the meaning of 'Not interested' (Jessica Snow especially. She downright pissed him off). The few times he had been sent to jail. The near falling out he had with the band. And then…

And then, there was him. The man who followed them for years without anyone's knowledge, the one who hid in the shadows, watching, monitoring Angel's, his Angel's, every move.

The laptop's fan turned on, signaling that it decided to end its torment and let him do as he planned.

"Yes! Thank you, oh Great One," Omar mockingly bowed down to the cheap machine in front of him.

Opening up the word program he had installed, his fingers were poised, ready to start the task that lay ahead of him. He started to think of what he was to say, of how to address the people who would be buying this, of how he was to be honored that fans actually still gave a damn about him, both then and now.

"Shit," Omar muttered; nothing came to mind. Absolutely nothing. He had no idea how to start this thing.

"Daddy?" A whisper.

Omar looked over his shoulder to his youngest child. She stood in the dining room entrance, a small little girl of five years in her nightie. He smiled inwardly to himself; she was very striking in resemblance to Angel. The only noticeable difference was that of her hair. She didn't have her mother's platinum locks, or Omar's own flaming red hair; instead, she was in between, a strawberry blonde.

"What are you doing up? It's after one, Lexi" he gently chided his youngest.

"There's a monster under my bed," Alexia replied, her tone, nervous and soft. "He's big, an' scary', an' he smells bad."

"Oh, really?" Omar questioned, appearing quite interested and concerned in his daughters' plight. A voice in the back of his head said: "Kid probably shoved some peanut butter sandwiches under the bed and forgot about them."

"Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?" She pleaded, her eyes carrying the wounded puppy look.

He nodded his head in agreement; with the birth of his eldest child, he had started to "grow soft" as Dizzy had said, jokingly, Stretch laughing in agreement.

Turning the laptop off, he left his space in the dining room to follow his daughter to his and Angel's bedroom. Passing the first bedroom after the stairs, he looked in. Teal wasn't home yet. There was going to be serious hell to pay when she got home.

Gently Omar opened the door to the master bedroom. All that could be heard was the soft, gentle breathing of Angel, mixed in with the faint sound of traffic.

Alexia crawled into the bed, Omar following suit. He pulled the sheets over them, his daughter snuggling up to both parents.

After a couple of minutes of asking for a drink, and Alexia's favorite stuffed human [2] and rabbit, she fell asleep.

Omar couldn't sleep. Not if he wanted to. He had no idea of what to say in his introduction, and it bothered him greatly. On most occasions, he could come up with anything without trying. But this was an entirely different matter. It would show the world that he's like the rest of the people out there.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, gazing at his daughter. She appeared untouchable, lost in her childish fantasies and fears and innocence…

Inspiration struck.

Omar sat up. He knew what to start his story with: his childhood.

He thought back to his earliest memories; of his father, the crazy, seemingly bipolar man. His mother, the kind, gentle woman. And his brother, the one to never back down from a fight, who had died in a motorcycle accident shortly after Omar had entered junior high.

This was the medium Omar was to start with; childhood. Everyone has fond memories, memories that they don't like to think about. (Besides, every biography he had fallen asleep while reading started with their childhood… he was off to a good start.)

Omar got out of bed and headed back towards the laptop left in the dining room. He knew exactly where to start: the working of his family.

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Short, I know. But I feel that writing more than this into one chapter would not work so well. Updates will not be frequent; with school, midterms, and work, there is not enough time in the week to do too much. But I'll try to write it in bits and pieces.

[1] This is a reference as to when Omar, Dizzy and Stretch attempted to enter Nuke York when they encountered the guard. Omar refers to himself as Chief Inspector Quaalude, so I'm assuming that it's his last name… Or Goodchild, if you take into account the gag artwork in which an artist claimed that Omar was based off of.

[2] This thought sort of occurred to me randomly. Children have favorite stuffed animals, but in their world, with everyone being either anthromorphic or mutants, what would they have? What would children like to sleep with? So, I came up with the idea that instead of stuffed animals, there would be stuffed humans. But I decided to keep stuffed animals as well.

Writing as Omar I find is rather interesting, yet somewhat of a challenge. I kinda have the feeling that my portrayal of him is somewhat accurate, but I feel that his personality reflects mine more than his. As the story progresses, I hope to have it sounding more like him.

Naming the children was a bit of an ordeal. I knew what I wanted to name the eldest child, Teal, almost instantly. It's a name that is not common, and to me, it sounds unique and sort of different, such as Omar's is. Coming up with Alexia's name was a bit trying. I wanted a variation of a name that could be shortened into a common name. Eventually, I fell upon Alexia, and decided to use it.