The Oracle's Angle
"And with that, it's time for the show to begin in earnest! Once again, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Symphony, and welcome to the new world!!"
The feed flashes to static and holds on a blank white screen.
Calmly, methodically, the figure that had been sitting in the armchair gets up, walks his way over, and taps a button on the side of the box. With a quiet whine, it dies, the screen fading to black.
"This is… Horrible…"
The owner of the almost sultry voice, a beautiful woman with a blue cardigan and shoulder-length beautiful black hair, stands a few feet off from the armchair. Rich brown eyes flick from the television to the man she'd entrusted her services to, still standing, clearly in thought.
"Didn't think I owed enough favors for this kind of shit."
Sitting at a table, the older man that speaks up doesn't even look over, staring at an empty glass, a few dregs of alcohol still clinging to the bottom. His voice is slurred, but not because of the drink, more because English clearly isn't his native tongue. Cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and an amalgamation of tinkertech keeping his face together make it hard for the man to clearly show his displeasure of the situation.
Then, standing alone in the doorway is the final member of Oracle's trusted circle. Well-kept dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and vaguely Asian features. The youngest person here, and also the one that looks the least interested with what's going on.
Finally, Oracle turns to face the three of them, his expression determined.
"Seraph. You're needed in Central London, near Buckingham Palace. You know who you need to talk to and what you need to say. If you see any survivors, save them if you can."
Shaking somewhat, the woman nods, but the man's violet eyes have already turned from her and to the man in the doorway. What comes from his lips next isn't English, clearly an Asian language, rapid fire and almost authentic in its own way. The man in the doorway unfolds his arms and replies with a few words, tone terse and clearly annoyed.
"What's the devil got for us?" the older, blond man asks, having just now refilled his glass.
Oracle frowns slightly, his determination lessened.
"Spreading his power over such a large area only lessened the casualties somewhat, and he's not sure if everyone will be so lucky as to be rescued in time."
The blond scoffs, picking up his glass.
"That's what you get for relying on luck, kid."
Another string of Asian comes out of the younger man's mouth, his annoyance growing, and Oracle shoots something back, voice almost soothing. Without responding, the Asian man turns on his heel, leaving through the doorway.
"Don't know why you keep him on."
"He has an incredibly useful power," Oracle states bluntly, turning fully now to the blond, "And he's adamant in staying in his own ways. I wouldn't take on anyone that felt the need to roll over and listen to my orders absolutely, after all."
Blue eyes roll in their sockets as the man takes a long drink, nearly draining the glass in one go.
"So, what am I doing, boss-man?"
The leader of the group raises a hand to his chin, rubbing it. Less out of thought, and likely more out of habit.
"You will be watching over me, Simulacrum, and getting prepared to do the thing which I laid out for you yesterday."
There's a light clink as Simulacrum's glass touches the table, now empty once again.
"What, you really think those heroes are showing up? You said your power wasn't working right when it came to them, last I checked."
Violet eyes flicker slightly as the younger man turns away, glancing in Seraph's direction. She's still shaking, still unsure.
This was a great risk.
But…
"I believe in them."
At the word 'believe,' the woman stops shaking, looking up and at Oracle with glistening eyes.
"I believe in them because there's no other choice," the young man continues, turning back to face the television, "Richard won't see reason at this stage. I would like to save him if I can, but even that would require overpowering him. He knew I would react like this. He knew he could outmanoeuvre me."
And I handed him the keys with which to do it.
That was the worst thing of all, wasn't it? He'd been outplayed from the very beginning, and he never even realised.
Because that was the flaw of his power. He got the answers to the questions he asked. The perfect answers.
But ask it just the wrong way, and…
"Well," Simulacrum states gruffly as the sound of a chair squeaking against the floor sounds out, "Guess this is it. You better get going, angel. Time's wasting."
Indeed. It was.
Now was the time to act. To save London.
… To save Richard. That damnable fool.
You better show, Mr. Everett, or all those lives will have been thrown away for nothing.
