Son of Deathstroke

The Calls

This is what happens when people (*Cough cough* cookiethife Taalina ReadAtMidnight247 *cough*) constantly pester me for a one-shot. The lesson: persistence pays off, people.

That being said, this is set a year or three before the main plot because REASONS.

xXx

Deathstroke had taught his apprentice a lot. But what stuck with the pre-pubescent protege the most was how to use others' identities and accompanying phone numbers to fulfill his goals. The main reason for that was that it didn't only apply to work.

"...hello?" The man on the other end of the phone sounded absolutely dead tired.

"Hello, this is Jake from State Farm."

"...I don't know any Jake from State Farm."

"I'm a representative calling to let you know that the network has been hacked. The full extent of the hack hasn't been fully assessed quite yet, but if you can tell us your basic account information, we can more easily find out what's missing or copied from the database. Do we have your compliance, Mr. Wayne?"

There was an unusually long pause. "...yes?"

"Excellent! Now bear with me here; this will take some time..."

xXx

"Oliver?"

"What's up, Bruce? Are we saving the world again?"

That took him aback for a moment. "No more than the usual, Ollie."

The millionaire on the other end of the line chuckled. "So what is it, then? Having a spiffy party?"

"No, I just need a bit of a... strange favor."

"Name it."

He cleared his throat quietly. Bruce's voice was hard to impersonate. "Just some information on your employees."

xXx

"Oliver Queen speaking."

"Mister Queen, have you had the displeasure of meeting Bruce Wayne?" Despite how it may have sounded, the raspy, old-ladyish voice he was using on the millionaire was fairly easy for him. "He is by far the worst man I have ever met in my life, and I cannot abide a man who associates with a disgusting dirtbag such as Mr. Wayne running the company that provides so much to our beautiful city."

"Woah, ma'am, slow down." He sounded confused. "...how did you get this number?"

He could barely stop himself from laughing as he continued, "I am telling you, young man, if you associate with that scumbag Wayne, I can promise you that you will lose all support from me and my friends, and I will unleash every form of bad publicity upon you and your business!"

"Ma'am, ma'am, please, calm down. I can promise you that there is nothing of that sort to complain about in my company."

"Young man--" He stopped speaking. He had started laughing, and at this point, his cover was absolutely blown.

"Who is this?" Oliver had clearly caught on to the shenanigans.

"It's Nobody!"

"I don't know who you are, but I'm fairly sure you aren't Odysseus."

"Of course you get the reference." Still, he didn't use his real voice, instead, donning a nasally, obnoxious tone. "A rich jerk like you knows everything."

"Okay, I'm going to hang up now."

"NO! Please, sir!" This time, he just sounded like (what he guessed to be) a slightly older version of himself. "I just wanted to talk to the famous Oliver Queen and--"

"Goodbye." He hung up.

He looked at his computer and did a fist pump. The conversation had been just long enough to clone the millionaire's phone.

Time for some fun.

xXx

Group: Meetings Peoples

Me: Meeting tomorrow @ 7 pm

CEO group: Why are you texting us this instead of calling?

Me: feeling under the weather
Need to give my voice a break for 2morrow

CEO group: This is rather unprofessional of you.
We will have some words about this tomorrow.

"They will. Without Ollie even there. And now to fabricate some tax fraud... hmmm, this guy looks like a cheater of the federal government."

xXx

"This is Tony Stark."

"Sorry, wrong number!"

xXx

"This is Tony Stark."

"Oh, sorry, wrong number.

xXx

"Tony Stark here."

"You owe me a Ferrari."

"What? Hello? Hello?"

xXx

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet."

"Are you aware that Superman is capable of completely destroying this planet if he decides to? Heck, he could do it on accident! Miss, if you think that this man is totally benign, I'm sorry to inform you that you are wrong."

"I believe you have the wrong reporter. Let me hook you up with my editor. He'll know who you want to talk to and-- hello? Hello?"

He changed his voice to a coarse growl. "If you know what's good for you, you'll drop the case."

"Sir? Sir?"

xXx

I took a page out of cookiethife's book for this one.

"This is Jimmy John's. What can I get you?"

"Yes, Jimmy, I'd like thirty of those catering thingies you do. Send it to Barry Allen's place. I don't really care when. Just... sooner than later."

"Again, Barry?"

"Psh, yeah. Of course. A guy's gotta eat."

"What meat?"

"I don't really care. Assorted, I guess."

"Anything else?"

"Nope, that'll do it."

"I assume you'll be paying upon delivery?"

"Yessiree."

"See you then."

"See you."

xXx

He wiped his eyes, trying to catch his breath. "Hoo, boy. That's fun. Now, let's see about that Prime Minister Challenge I heard about in some dark, unreliable corner of the Internet..."