ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Strange Days

Vignette - Strange Days
Dramatis Personae Strange
In Absentia	March 31st, 2015 Part of Future Past TP.
Location
"Hundreds of thousands will burn." "...excuse me?" Stephen Strange's face was haggard; his eyes were sunken. His usually well trimmed mustache had started to grow out of control. "Soon," Stephen continued, his voice strained, "it will start. A massive explosion -- an attack. I don't know where. So many will perish in fire. And then -- war." The talk show host stared at Stephen; the audience went quiet. Silence stretched out into an eternity. "I... was just asking you who you thought would win the Oscars this year," the host replied. There was a trickle of laughter. Stephen pressed on, his eyes focused on the camera: "If you are out there -- if you are the one who will be responsible for this attack -- if you think it will serve your ends -- listen to me. You will start the war. And then you will lose. I have seen it." "O-kay," the host replied, throwing on a crooked grin as he turned back to the audience. "Doctor Stephen Strange, everybody -- psychic to the stars!" "Please," Strange continued, his voice hitching as he rose from his chair, legs shaking. "If you are out there -- if you can hear me -- don't do this. You have no idea what you are about to start. You will destroy us all." "Alright, I think, uh, the doctor is clearly not -- feeling well, we might need -- security?" the host asked hopefully. Men in uniform were already stepping forward, reaching out to touch Strange's arms. Strange yanked his arms away, struggling toward the camera. "Listen to me! They're going to put us in death camps! They're going to kill us all! They're--" The guards seized him, wrestling him to the ground. Stephen reached up, grabbing at their chests as he opened his mouth, and-- Stephen Strange wakes up screaming. His bodyguard is in the bedroom in an instant. His pistol is drawn, searching for the threat. Stephen, soaked in sweat, sits up in his bed. After several seconds of searching, the bodyguard turns to him, brows furrowed. "What--" "A nightmare," Stephen responds, reaching for the painkillers at his dresser. The migraine is returning. "I'm fine, Wong." Wong relaxes, the pistol lowering. "You going to be alright for your Letterman appearance?" "Yes," Strange responds, slightly annoyed. "But cancel the Nicholas Cage seance. I'm not in the mood to..." He stops, lifting his hand up to the light. Clutched in his fist is a security guard's badge; the date on it reads March, 2015. Stephen stares at the badge, slowly turning it over in his fingers. "Sir?" Stephen's voice is unusually soft: "Get me Xavier's number."