I want the Illusive Man to be that man who still celebrates the Fourth of July no matter the year or century. On that day, he will sip beer & transform into Mitt Romney, thanking America & humanity for freedom. Fuck yeah, America.
It’s voyeuristic: the way he stares. A lack of emotion
violates what he tries his hardest to defend – beloved
HUMANITY. He’s not smiling. His expression remains
unreadable as an apathetic mask of scrutiny. Finally,
there’s a shift. The wrinkles give him away, creasing his forehead & the right side of his mouth.
Exasperation brings out his hands that once rested
against his back, his spine nearly caving in from the
WEIGHT. The burden. He wonders how soon until
Christopher b-b-breaks.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Then you know what it means to
shed blood & for it to stain your hands. You’ve seen
your men die, Christopher, just as I’ve seen mine fall
& rise. How many sacrifices must be made to save the MANY.❞
They’ve both fought wars that left them bloody, raw & oozing. The Illusive Man & Booker DeWitt are more SIMILAR than the latter will care to admit. A mercenary life shapes them for better or for worse. In another tear, the Illusive Man could have been his Comstock. The self-righteous Prophet who aspired for God’s glory.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝I do wonder, Booker, if your
daughter possessed the same survival skillset.❞
Jack smiles & it’s common. The enigmatic type that
holds a thousand secrets & mysteries written underneath
the layers of his thick skin. Elizabeth is alive& the dear
Lamb’s his calling card for Cerberus. A glimpse into a
better tomorrow & a more powerful humanity. He likes to
play games, speaks in the past rather than the present,
with a LIE on his tongue. He hears the guns a-bazin’ &
only sees Booker’s face illuminated. With deliberate hesitation, he waits to end the call.
“Mythology. You were interested in mythology when the conference was about biomedical advancements in the space age.”
She drinks her coffee- cinnamon and cream, flips a page. She’s become a myth among the community in and of itself.
“You said you wanted Vitruvian’s partnership into this new endeavor. I think, after that first drink, you just really wanted to meet me.”
Jack’s finger lingered on
a PASSAGE where Sonia fervently read about Lazarus from the
Fourth Gospel to the vagabond student, Raskolnikov. Sentences blurred
together, a black hole on a aged, yellow page. He smiled, as
though a grand COSMIC joke had been told to him. The smile reached
only the corner of his eyes.
He looked at her, this
porcelain doll with her scientific mind & her deadly
charm. Something was off. They were both off & it was
alright.
❝Thy name was Ozymandius. Those were my
words.❞
He
recalled the myth of a MAN who tried to cheat D-D-DEATH!
His smile grew bitter, sardonic even. It a poem he loved &
a poem he knew intimately. How soon, then, until the mastermind was
decapitated?
With
a click of his tongue, his thumb pressed into his lips. He tasted
salt,
the kind that came from the ocean.
The kind that oozed out of hard earned sweat &
angry tears. He chose a bold statement.
❝Biomedical
advancements are inspired
by mythology. We humans strive to achieve for the impossible, the
stuff that comes from legends. Those scientists were so
self-righteous,
solely invested in proving theories. They couldn’t see the bigger
picture. You can, Doctor. That’s why I like you. How could I resist?
You are
a legend. You are mythology.❞
