A mashup I created using the Imagine Dragons song “Radioactive” and the Daft Punk song “Harder Better Faster”. Follow me at DeclanTumbles.tumblr.com for more mashups. Now on youtube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNVbdRWnf40 so you can use an mp3 converter to download it :D
’ Infinity lies within your eyes. What do you see? ’
The timber, recondite vocalization did startle (inconsiderably) the auricomous-haired woman. For it was not oft that such a thing could occur – truly, it was an absoluteanomaly for another voice to be
broadcast within her facility. Her lithe, lightly-clad form paced. Heels
clicked noisily against the metallurgic flooring in both an audible and noticeable display of
discomfort at this fact.
“A befitting inquiry for an overseer, hm.”
Her voice reverberated within the cool,
artificial compound – she would not falter at a surprise or maintain any
inkling of fear. For she was a carrier of the Serpents of Mars and the other
branded with the name Wesker. (It would be unsurprising to those aware of that name, that she had eventually made the
ascension to live betwixt the very stars and heavens – the true, perfect
locale befitting of gods and monsters alike).
“—
What I see is not a singularity, if one were to purely
believe that the world is simply life and death… they would be wrong. The
meaning of life is that it ends but death is merely a switch, many would
consider those capable of the transcendence required to manipulate it as ‘evil’.
The reality of it is that evil is whatever distracts from what ought to be the
true path and what we call evil is only the necessity of a moment in our eternal
evolution.”
Her pacing stopped, her head finally tilted towards the communications equipment the initial inquiry had arose
from.
“To answer your inquiry bluntly: opportunity, evolution and transcendence
are what I see. Few have the knowledge of my existence and even fewer have the capability of transmission
to my private channel… this leaves me to conclude that you are likely an associate of my brother – Albert. Who are you?”
He
has his ways.
Air
pushes out his nose, the worm playing pinochle on his snout. It’s a
dry sound that would cease to exist in a vacuum. The subtle breath of
LIFE unmasks his humanity, the last fraying threads
that he stubbornly clings to underneath his Machiavellian claims.
Another prolonged sigh reveals the heart of the matter: he’s smoking
with a condensation-soaked glass in his hand.
{
coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝I’ve heard you’re good
at what you do.❞
Nameless
is he. He is an abstract concept, an idea, an aspiration
for all of humankind. He’s seen space &
knows what lies beyond. Jack is an old skin that had worn out its
use. He shed free
of his shell, crawled out as something new &
something vicious. His teeth glisten in the artificial light that
clings to his face.
❝They
call me the Illusive Man.❞
He
LISTENS. Fingers ghost
across the keys, a monotonous typing that should not concern her.
Coordinates for a time &
place,
a plan to be set in motion. He flicks his wrist, swipes away the
screen &
replaces the technological with a picture of the galaxy. In silence &
reverence,
he nods at what the woman in WHITE {
DEATH
IS PURE; DEATH IS CLEAN; IT’S A PLAGUE
}
has to say.
❝The
heroes of this mythology would argue with you, but you’re right.
Evolution is key.❞
It’s
Kafkaesque. They could be something they’re not.
A creature with sentience,
a dweller of the burrows, a dog who’s long outlived his use. He
wonders if she played an instrument. A violin, perhaps. Despite the
voluminous crackling, his voice remained strong &
consistent, unwavering in self-defined belief. Wesker wasn’t a name;
it was a legacy.
❝Your
brother &
I played chess. I owe him. What he’s lost, you’ve gained.
I’m now in your debt.❞
She is the horror that will never leave his mind, the vision that was drilled into his skull, placed there lovingly with the coldness of her cruelty, a piece of her eternity seared permanently beneath his eyelids, permanent agony, perpetual ecstasy. The Shepard took the false prophet & drowned him in the baptismal waters of Earth’s oceans, filled his lungs until they were ready to burst, removed every organ from his body & squeezed out the impurities, a long-awaited purification of his soul. She rewrote the programs in his cybernetics & realigned his teeth to correspond with ancient star maps, a delicate surgery, an artistry crafted from her hands that set him right, that made him pure, that made him obey.
Indeed, she is a living altar dedicated to ELOHIM & the Universe: alien, horrific, beauteous, & infinite. Ever inch of her was holy, from her abyssal eyes to the scars that carved deep canyons into her face, to the bejeweled talons that tipped her spindle-thin fingers, the decorations that adorned her neck & wrists made from the remains of Harbinger’s corpse. A savior who became the heavens, the entire cosmos compressed into a vessel of human geometry, yet none could gaze upon it without having their minds torn to asunder. But he does & she is amuse by the smile that crawls across his haggard features. It elicits a similar one from her, lips the color of wine & tar spreading across sharp characteristics, haunting display of emotion that grew upon the recitation of her name.
A hand rises as she approaches the Illusive Man, skeletal digits trailing across his broad shoulders as abyssal chords respond to his question, vocalizations drenched in mechanical baritone. The whispers are already in his head, her grip on his mind is vicious & permanent.
❝ Do I need a reason to see you? ❞
Nestled
in his gums is a telltale ache &
pain that ails him. Not once does he drag his fingers down his
weathered
cheeks where the scars remain, tar &
cyan frozen in place like a river that’s come to an abrupt end. The
whirring within his skull has become a creature COMFORT, a siren song
that she has orchestrated for his lonely ears.
He
gazes at her, but not upon her face. You’ve always been warned
to not look upon the sun; it’ll drive you blind or mad, but he
believes that he’s nearing dangerous territory. Insanity makes him
loyal. Faith keeps him tethered. He stares at her with an adoration &
appreciation that extends beyond religious prayer. No longer are they
separated by OCEANS, by HOLOGRAMS. She’s close &
he feels the burn, lost in infinity.
{
coɴтrol.
♦
}
— ❝Never.❞
Breathless
is his admittance, drowning
in the baptismal waters full of salt & purity. He croaks out
whatever sincerity he can muster. Vocal chords have undergone too
much. The Illusive Man considers himself the same, but he can’t
pretend that he hasn’t CHANGED. It’s a brilliant metamorphosis
that’s left his wings crushed.
He
takes a final drag &
pushes
out all smoke from his body, crushing
the remains under the sole of his boot. His cane C-C-CLICKS; it’s
nothing compared to the orchestra that plays on inside his head.
Beneath
her skeletal touch, his shoulders are a sinking
ship. He relaxes under false pretenses. His attention diverts,
fixating on the stars that twinkle brightly. It matches the
artificial color of his eyes. A ray of holy light.
She
carved him out &
put the COSMOS inside of him.
a dead man mourned naught save for his memories. but even those did elude the serpent of eden, cast out of the garden and into purgatory ( of towering buildings of grey concrete and traps of steel. ) he was forged from it, born in it and he would die in it only at the end of all days, beyond the eventual extinction of the human race – so much ants, scurrying about in ignorance to what lay awaiting them beyond the veil of ambiguity. it was the ascended, the ones imbued with crippling pain in exchange for their power, that understood the true way of the world.
a black pawn slid forward and the gilded-haired beast regarded humanity superior coolly.
❛ only in suitable company, illusive man. ❜
jack must think – and oft he does – of the harrowing chill of outer space. it was oddly poetic.
Another
ivory pawn means another sacrifice all in vain.
His moves are plain &
boring,
a ruse for the GRAND FINALE. A small tap resonates throughout the
room, as hollow as his soul. He sold his soul
the moment he knew he had a choice. Men who fancy themselves heroes
call them villains. Jack thinks himself a SAVIOR of the human race.
Never will he be a general, a mercenary’s lifestyle left his hands
calloused &
worn. Not ready to move all of the king’s horses
&
all of the king’s men, he leans forward &
waits.
{
coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Call me Jack.❞
It’s
simple when he says it, when he arches his brow &
flashes
a sliver of a smile.
It’s a glimpse of the man he once was, buried beneath the layers of
ice. Space keeps him alive, allows him to be a CONSTANT.
She was in complete & total disbelief that he was physically there before her. It was only a matter of time before he tracked her down like a rabid wolf hunting its PREY. He would have found her sooner or later, but the assassin had hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.
Her heart pounded in her chest, tears welling up in her cerulean hues as she stared at The Illusive Man. He had become a father to her over the years, yet that look in his eyes… Her heart BROKE, even more so when his arms opened up for her. She didn’t deserve a welcome like that, not after betraying his trust. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had one of his other assassins there, lying in wait to put an end to her life.
Though she was a woman now, when it came to Jack, she reverted to a childlike state, wanting to beg for her father’s forgiveness. Natalia HATED that about herself; that she loved him but hated him for what he had the Cerberus scientists do to her over the years. Yet there she was, rushing over to him and locking her arms tightly around him.
❝Jack, I’m so sorry. I– I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to be free; for the tests to stop, but you wouldn’t stop them! Why? Why couldn’t you let me stay who I am? Who you raised me to be?❞
Salty tears fell down her face, desperately needing an answer from her father figure. Would he even be honest with her? Or just MANIPULATE her yet again to get exactly what he wanted?
Smoke
&
mirrors only work for so long. Flesh &
bone make for a lasting impression. It all simmers down to POWER:
the
law of the land. Though he stands in place, he shifts his weight from
one foot to the other. His hips lack a feminine sway, but it’s an
assertive one all the same. Fingers continue to move,
the cogs refusing to cease. It would look better with a cigarette as
a meager distraction.
Tears
mean nothing to him.
{
coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Everything I did was for you,
Natalia.❞
His proud face pinches. Her reaction leaves a foul taste in his mouth,
sour &
ashy.
For a fleeting minute, he bows his head. His face is difficult to
read despite the wrinkles that lower
&
rise like the tide. It’s a father’s affliction, a father’s curse, he
now feels. He wipes the look away, similar to fog clouding the
bathroom mirror. Gone in a flash.
❝I
wanted the best
for you.❞
He
sounds like a father. He throws out the best lies he has to offer
with his eyes on the prize:Black
Widow.
She may be older &tougher;
he recognizes this. Yet, she’s not wiser. She’s a NUMBER; not a NAME.
Another carefully laid plan.
Alexandra didn’t stop her advance as she waited for the Illusive Man to respond, as he was no doubt taking his sweet time. He was the kind of man to make people wait. What did it matter that she was in the belly of the beast? He nonetheless does chime in before she’s managed to come across any adversaries yet. He greeted her by her last name; a familiar habit. It was the respect she was owed, but she would have liked to hear Alexandra pass through his lips just once. He had called Miranda by her name, after all.
Without fail, he took it upon himself to give her a lesson, with that effortless patronizing that he called wisdom. Her religious beliefs were nonexistent, an unchanging fact of her life. Why would God orphan her and make her suffer so much? What justice was there in a hungry child on the street? She found little use for God. All that she had done, she had done on her own. She owed her ascension to herself. Hell was an illusion. God was an illusion. Alexandra knew one man who would like to think he was.
“And do you know what I’ll see next?” The incident with the Collector ship was still fresh in her mind. It had been a poor move on his part to prove so explicitly how untrustworthy he was. For all that her service record might say, for all the lives that had been cut short by her hand, she did have a concept of loyalty. For Zaeed, she had let the facility and its occupants burn so that he could get the revenge he had sought. For others, she had gone to great lengths as well. In return, she expected their loyalty. The Illusive Man shouldn’t gamble with such currency, not against her.
She looked out ahead, scoping out some wandering Collectors. The hallway opened up and the ground on the right side led to a long drop. Her hand glowed purple and with a sharp wave she pulled the Collectors towards the edge of floor. Her will was strong enough to send one tumbling down. The sound of gunfire rang, unrelenting for a few minutes and then dying out completely. She continued to advance, walking along the end of the ground and peering down into the abyss. “Hell seems to go down even further,” she observed, a slight smile spreading on her lips. She can’t even see where the body had gone; swallowed up by the River Styx, perhaps. “Much be nice to get box seats to the climax while I do all the work.” Alexandra often spoke brazenly, though it would be a mistake to believe she didn’t think before she spoke. The impulsive, honest soldier was a carefully crafted facade. It gave her a certain freedom; truth and lies were equally viable and believable options.
Shepard
wasn’t Jonah. She wouldn’t allow herself to settle in the belly
of the whale. She would emerge WHOLE, covered in fluid like it was
her baptism. She didn’t believe. Neither did he. What made him quit
the cross? He never practiced to begin with. Back in the day, each
mission was a success, because of his hardwork. His endurance. Not
because of an omniscient force that guided him.
So
it goes.
❝I
can’t tell you. My words would infect
the mission with personal bias.❞
They
always said that seeing was believing.
❝Shepard,
you know that I would be down there with you. Cerberus needs me, but
humanity needs you.❞
The
puppeteer allows himself the high honor of sitting in the box office,
watching the play enfold. He’s done his part. It’s time for the
marionette to dance & she does. Lady Lazarus born anew shows off her
talent, her specific skillset that he knew would be discussed over
the course of centuries.
Here, in this game of chess,
each move matters. He doesn’t smile; it would give too much away. He
furrows his brows & pretends to be a father figure.
He
tells her how important
she is.
Her
worth
compared to his.
❝I
can only act as a guide.
I will help you in any way I can. Remember that Miranda is there. You
can rely on her.❞
His
voice remains warm. It’s a convincing act when he spins in his chair,
turns his head away. His face is hidden by the cosmic veil, by the
shadows that the lights fail to touch.
As always, when she visits - it’s business. Shades of dusk in the sky, unnatural, she doubts he’s seen the sky in years - always screens before him, luminescent like the blue of his eyes, black, black, black between the chemical light and cigarette smoke. It doesn’t choke her lungs like it should, barely registers the smell of burning. Never does. Every time she leans over, painted claws in his thighs, inhales the smoke from his lips as if it’s air.
This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Persephone dripping in maroon and gold, never deigning to let winter end. Cereberus at her heel in more ways than she can count. A proud man, a man who could tear apart the heavens if he wished it, crisp suit that restrains him; refuses to acknowledge she’s got her hands wrapped around his heart, piercing like the iron grip around pomegranates - dripping red between her fingers!
This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
The hum of her voice is saccharine, against the neon buzz in the background. Every gaze towards Little Jack HornerSprat Harper is clinical, cold, fingers dance against the collar of his suit. Picking out the lines, making her mental marks on where to dissect. He knows better than to trust her. Smart boy, clever boy, but he signed his soul away when he let her in.
This is the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
“You look tired, Jack.” Did he ever tell her the name he once had? Maybe, maybe not, but she knows - oh she knows so many things about the man no longer illusive. She stands beside him (always standing, he sits like a hound at her side thinking he’s in the throne), lips curled in mock-concern, chastising him like a child. “Why don’t you rest? You are useless like this.”
Cerberus.
A
company, an enterprise, with humanity’s best interests in mind. Jack
built
it himself. From straw that blew down. From stone that eroded. From
iron that rusted. Those loyal
to the cause followed him without questioning his motives, his
rationality. It brought him here.
Tired.
It’s
a word that doesn’t matter. That holds no meaning. It’s a mental &
physical condition that he hasn’t known in years. He gives her a dead
stare, frigid &
calculating. His pupils dilate &
it’s like the explosion of a supernova. His heartbeat hums an old
song. When she’s near, the buzzing grows louder. He remembers his
dreams. They can’t be real.
❝I
didn’t think you were concerned about my well-being.❞
He
doesn’t believe in Gods &
angels. In another universe, they’re just extraterrestrial species.
Here, while she touches him, he dies inside. He questions her
humanity &
it’s ironic. He’s not one of the devoted. Restless fingers move
incessantly when he brings the cigarette to his lips &
relishes the taste. He sighs with the pleasure that an addict has
after that first hit.
Jack’s
still human; cut him open &
he’ll
bleed.
Useless.
It’s a word that he doesn’t appreciate.
That leaves him frustrated. That leaves him out in the open to fester
& rot. Something ugly flashes across his face:
a scowl, a sneer, a combination of the two. In a flash, he reaches
for her wrist. Her claws rake over his flesh
like a sinner being dragged across the coals. Rest is optional; the
former Jack Harper needed it. The Illusive Man can live without it.
❝You’re
over-analyzing the situation, Ashford.❞
Through
the cigarette that lingers in his mouth, he musters his award-winning
politician’s smile. Wicked &
plastic.
This man incited nightmares (black, black, but in place of blue was red shining through), and like the greatest of beasts, he was powerless to stop it. The plague was upon him in a crisp suit, cigarette smoke thick in the air like a veil to be smothered with. It was nothing new. He’d been through worse. A mantra, reminder, in his head, over and over and over -
It didn’t change a thing.
The name Christopher was a painful reminder, even more so at the implication that it was ever intimate (no, only patronizing) that made him want to vomit. How he wanted to, trading dignity for spite at the man that held his life in his hands, dangling it just out of reach on a precarious thread.
It was always Chris who survived. The touch of death a curse he’d long come to accept, one he hoped would run it’s course and never return - it seemed a cruel fate that when it did, death came to claim him instead.
If only it was death, the figure in the shadows. Lifting his head as much as his body would allow, he spat at the other, brows furrowed in anger.
“Fuck you.”
Smoke
drove out the strong &
snuffed the weak. It filled his mouth, his lungs &
clung to his suit like a lover after a long departure with a
bittersweet reunion. He hovered over Redfield, pretending to be a
physician. A surgeon to peel away muscle &
turn
it into putty in his hands. This time, the pad of his thumb had been
replaced by his nail. Blunt &
sharp. More pain that way. Some
gain.
❝Powerful
words.❞
Somewhere
along the way, his cigarette had been forgotten.
A stub remained, ashes & an ember that died after a few valorous
minutes. It was a struggle that gave up too soon.
❝I’m
moved. You wouldn’t like that.❞
Saliva
landed on his collar, on his neck. Warm at first, cooling rapidly
from the crisp air that sneaked into the steel room.
As a reflex, he flinched.
Although this was brutish
retaliation, he didn’t perceive it as an insult. It was a human
response to inhuman conditions.
The
taste of scotch &
cigarettes lingered on his tongue. He tugged on short, cropped hair
much like a boy tearing off the head of a doll. Equal parts boredom,
equal parts sadism.
❝A
man named Macaulay is looking for you. Now
would be a good time to tell me about him.❞
Innovation was detrimental to the New Eden’s success, something Jeremiah Fink had in excess. Profit coming, profit going: he hardly left any room for competition, yet another LION OF INDUSTRY roared, circling the savannah as each foolish Columbian was caught up in the ever changing tide of products: everything was newer, bigger, b e t t e r. This one played to their base desires, clever fox!
“Indeed it does! We cannot have just one servicing the nation, you know. T'would be disastrous to have just a company ruling the markets. Why, there is no variety! I must commend you for standing up to Mister Fink.”
Little bird BEAMED: how she missed the world of industry!
This
extended beyond mere enterprise; it was an arm’s race &
Jeremiah
Fink was the Illusive Man’s competition. A lion could get a thorn
trapped in his paw with only a mouse
to help. Jack pretended to be a mouse, despite his filed teeth. He
planned on declawing the entrepreneur after ripping out one tooth at
a time. Fink’s name would soon be slander & the Illusive Man
would rise to the occasion. It brought a smile to his lips, cold &
without remorse.
Yes,
he was the fox
in the hole.
&
now he made his way into the hen
house.
❝I
value good
competition. He thinks he can build an empire, but he’s not helping
humanity. I am.❞
He
tried to capture the essence
of the good-hearted American boy, right down to the blue eyes. Didn’t
matter that he indulged in Vigors too much to become this. Didn’t
matter the side-effects that ate
away at his mind, that changed his body from the inside
out.
❝Call
me Timothy, Lady Comstock. Your support won’t be forgotten.❞
