(complete) Sex, intrigues, lies - the Game is like normal politics, just that now people lose their brain over it. Macbeth meets House of Cards and Game of Thrones in a fantastic ride to the Brexit referendum battled out in the reality TV show envir...
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Covered from the raging thunderstorm over London by a May-green tree, an eye on the source of the mayhem on Parliament Hill, Nigel pulled his phone from his pocket. Hunched over it with a crooked smile, he sent a message to his private chat group. They had dubbed it UKIP (Uber-Knowledgeable Important People). Their other choice had been Cauldron & Toad. But that didn't have the same flair.
Their principals wouldn't agree of either of the choices (nor did the Professor who – in a rare flare of humor – had suggested SS what, after some poking and prodding, he had explained to stand for Suicide Squad). The principals' orders had been precise and they had delivered them not without warnings. According to them, their tern had to avoid anything that could draw attention to Operation 'Going Viral', anything flashy at all. They were just to do their jobs, in silence.
Silence never had been Nigel's thing. And the truth was, whether their principals were Immortals or not, didn't matter. The whole plan to regain world domination by means of manipulation of the popular reality TV show 'The Game' that their principals had come up with, depended on magic. Incredible, mind-blowing magic that he and his two partners understood to wave magnificently, even though the art of doing it properly had been rediscovered only very recently.
These immortal fools had approached him with their ideas. After only short negotiations they had agreed to everything that Nigel had asked for in exchange for his services. If that didn't prove how completely everything relied on his and his partners' help, he wouldn't know what else did. Their triad was the linchpin. Thus, the witches – omniscient and indispensable – were in charge; as they should be. Therefore, they could make the rules. Quod era demonstrantum and end of discussion.
Nigel: 'Eyes on first target.'
Professor: 'Finally.'
Diane: 'Where shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'
Nigel: 'When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost, and won.'
Diane: 'That will be ere the raise of sun.'
Professor: 'Where?'
Nigel: 'Upon the Heath. The Game's task set has been put up there today.'
Diane: 'There to meet with Boris Maison.'
Nigel: 'Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through the fog and filthy air.'
