Smith is on the line for you.” The Controller picked up the phone. “What is it?” “The scrap girls I sold you. I’d like to get them back.” “We agreed at the time of the sale that there would be no returns.” “Yes, I know, but all my best girls are suffering from breakdowns. No matter what my clients ask, all the girls talk about is a killer, a destroyer, blood and fire and death. Clients are demanding refunds since they aren’t getting what they paid for.” “Prophecy is about interpretation, Mr. Smith. It’s your job to interpret what the prophet sees. And we all know how fluid interpretation can be if one looks beyond the literal.” A pause. “What if the girls are saying what they’re really seeing for my clients?” “It’s unlikely.” Another pause. “About the girls …” “The scraps you sold me have already been used and are no longer available. Good day, Mr. Smith.” The Controller hung up and stared at the phone. Then he pressed the office buzzer and waited for his assistant’s response.
