Christopher Ash, soon-to-be Warlock

"Either my phone's been hacked, or there's some kind of new and unavoidable robo-call..." As compromised as the FCC is under the current administration, you can't deny the possibility. You hit the button, determined to at least screw with whoever is doing this, if there's even a human on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Ash." The voice is feminine, breathy, seductive. But cold in a way you can't put your finger on. You aren't sure if it's computer generated or not. If it isn't, then being addressed as mister by whoever's voice it is sends a thrill down your spine.

"That's me." You've read that if you say "yes," they can put it into a faked audio log and sign you up for expensive, useless services. You don't really understand this, but you don't understand how your microwave works, either. You just push the button and have faith that the burrito will become hot.

"That was a greeting, not a question." She lets out a burbling giggle. Like a brook that's almost freezing, but still liquid enough to bubble over the rocks. "I've called to talk about your future. I have new employment for you."

"Well, sorry, uhhh, ma'am, but I have a part-time job already, and I'm in school full-time, so..." and you're not doing that great in school, anyway. If you don't have the aptitude for a trade, and you aren't brave enough for the military, you guess you just...go to community college. That's what you did, anyway. You signed up for some classes. You're indifferent, and so are your grades.

"Again, that was a statement, not an offer, nor a question. And you may call me Queen. Or Mistress. Or Lady of Ravens. My true name is not for you, but rewarding service will be yours."

You're heard enough of this. You try to cut the call off, since her voice is giving you the willies the more you listen to it. Nobody who sounds like that should be so interested in you. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and all the rest of your hair, too. Your phone, suddenly, starts running a current through your hand and up your arm. Your body seizes up tighter than a frozen lock, and all you can do is grit your teeth and emit a high-pitched moan. The pain is intense - not the worst thing you've ever felt, but the lack of any clear end-point is terrifying. Will your phone just run out of batteries eventually?

"Mr. Ash, I have selected you to be my dark knight in this accursed world. I rule the dead, and you must maintain that boundary well. I have little interest in the living, and so you may do with them as you please. I give you an armament of ice and shadow, I give you powers borne of darkness, I give you the magic that your fellow mortals have forgotten. In return, I demand service. Do not refuse me. I will make you more than you are so that you can do more than you were capable of. And after your ****, which will hopefully be after a long and eventful life, you will come to me. At that time you will find out in full measure whether I am pleased or disappointed.

"Ghhreeeee-" The phone hasn't let up, and neither has her speech.

"Oh, be silent. Worse awaits you, and worse yet will you inflict on your enemies."

"I don't have any enemies!" you protest, as normal feeling returns to your nerves, replacing low red agony. You feel afrightening heat in your bones that rapidly turns into a painful chill, and then a calming cool. You feel better. Better than you ever have.

"My enemies are now your enemies." She sighs in something like pleasure. "They are wonderfully abundant. Have fun, little man, and find out what power can do.