A manifesto - they recall reading over the words until their mind blurred with them. Tucked deep within files stored by this vessel. Out of fear. Out of terror - the man with golden skin never wishing to forget where his brother was swept away to in the tide of justice. ( Or the sibling of a Drell woman, large eyes and deep breathing as she recites the memories of enemy bullets tearing through the green flesh and dark red blood of her people. )
These are promises of horror. In comparison, this man seems beyond warm, and beyond kind. …With… They cannot be sure, but there is an undertone to his song. And it sets the teeth of their vessel on edge.
His hands remain constantly moving, shifting. Part of them wonder if it is a distraction. Is he attempting to hide what and who he is? How small and strange they must be in comparison. Wavering in their stillness, little more than twitches to fingers and their neck.
There is no use in useless motions. Only foolishness.
In the land of Gods & Monsters, Jack Harper sold his soul. He never believed in Faust,
literature from centuries ago. He never cared for devils wrapped up in
charming ruses. Somewhere along the way, he managed to become one
himself. Civil blood stained his hands. In his fiery youth, he pulled
the trigger countless times. He laughed when he saw the light fade from
your eyes & there’d been something metaphorical about it. One life for another. One so he may live. So he would prosper from their death.
It was in the past.
❝That’s altruistic of you.❞
He shifts &
twists to make up for the wolf inside this human skin. A beast is dying
to break free. He cannot have that. So, he vows to SEIZE the day { carpe diem ! } with a ghostly smile. May all his words go up in smoke.
❝I speak of those who side with us. Who stand by Cerberus & what we fight for.❞
The
Illusive Man is as mad as Roman emperors with tainted blood in their
veins. Even Caligula would shy away from the phantom he has become.
❝My men are fond of those are complacent. I’m fond of the Golden Rule. Surely, you’re familiar.❞
She’s never been good at hiding when she’s afraid. Mask it behind another emotion, sure, but here, she doesn’t know what to cover it with, and it shows in her tense stance, her wider-than-usual eyes. This is the man behind the people who tried to kill her. She’s a little surprised she hasn’t panicked yet, although she can feel it building beneath her sternum.
“Considering Aria got Omega back from you, I’d say the opposite.”
There’s a question on her tongue, but she’s unsure if she truly wants to know the answer.
“Was him trying to kill me on purpose or … did you just take advantage of my mo—of Aria’s anger after she thought I died?”
He paces when defeat grows near. The mere mention of Aria taking back Omega wounds his pride. It’s a knife in his side, squirming in between his ribcage. It digs deeper, threatens to puncture his lung. The Illusive Man takes a deep, steadying breath.
To maintain composure, to appear sane though he is not. He is full of
false appearances, a man of smoke & mirrors.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You have her wits.❞
Jack affords a smile that costs him, thin & brittle. It’s garish, an offense to humanity.
❝’Take advantage of’ carries such a strong connotation.
Your inference is wrong. What I did had a purpose. This benefits not
only Cerberus, but everyone in mind. The costs are great, I’m aware;
we’d benefit if you were to join me.❞
Piers was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a conniving man. He wasn’t calculating, he wasn’t crafty but he certainly wasn’t stupid, either. The situation was precarious. One wrong move and the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.
Jaw set, Piers tilted his head a fraction and scrutinised the man in front of him, whose expression gave away nothing. No trace of recognition at all, but Piers hadn’t expected otherwise. But two could play the deception game.
“Finn Macaulay, sir.” Another of the men from Edonia. Under usual circumstances, Piers was, without exaggeration, a terrible liar. But this was far from a conventional encounter.
The motives of the man, Piers couldn’t fathom, but that was irrelevant as far as Piers was concerned. The only thing that mattered was Captain Redfield and come hell or high water, Piers would not be leaving this place without having first of all secured Chris’ release and safety.
If that meant taking down this Illusive Man, then so be it.
The good die young. That’s the way the world works.
Jack Harper lived past his prime & became something wicked. Despite his claims of saving humanity, he threw his own away in greater hindsight. He saw a vision { dazzling in blue } little viruses in vials to be marketed to terrorist organizations. He
saw a line of pharmaceutical companies eager for his cooperation, for
another patent from his company.
This was progress.
Ethics was a complex thing, one he strayed from. No longer could there be black & white. Blurred lines defined his agenda. He had been a good man once, but something died within him.
He
swallowed saliva that pooled on his tongue like a dog salivating in the
heat, eager for a drink of cool water. He thirsted for things beyond
his reach, beyond his control.
❝Your parents named you after a hero, Macaulay. You were destined for greatness. It makes sense for you to choose sides.❞
Upon uttering his astute remark, he flicked out his wrist, extended his hand as though to say: ACCEPT THIS & JOIN ME.
❝I’d pry for details, but that wouldn’t be fair. I gave up my name years ago. You search for something that was never here.❞
And if you lie to me, I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth.
“You speak of artistry where all I see now is murder and lies,” she hissed suddenly. The same murder and lies she had committed for years at his bidding. All were her choice and she had been willing. Until the possibility of the truth had dawned upon her. The truth that she could no longer tell the difference between it and all the lies. Her fate could be damned, she did not belong with or to Cerberus. "At least on my own, I know who I am killing and what lies I am telling.“
It was strange, hearing anger coming from her own lips. Something in hearing his words had lit up the emotion like a striking a match in the darkness. Where there had been nothing, now there was something. And she rarely exposed it.
"I know exactly how it will end. The same way as it does for everyone you deem a liability. After all, we are all expendable one way or another, even if we tell ourselves otherwise.” Anger, she could handle. What she refused to show him was the fear that accompanied the truth of their words. "The question is, how long do you feel like chasing me? You know how stubborn I can be.”
Old soldiers stuck in their ways seldom broke free from the somber spell that captured them. Cerberus’ agents were beginning to defect & here the Illusive Man thought he control them all. Could sway them all
with silken words that clung to his wagging tongue. He played the Liar’s
Game & lost, folded his House of Cards.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You could have changed the outcome. You could have saved yourself.❞
His
anger was a vicious force, scampering across his face via the slight
furrow of a brow. The sporadic twitch that made his very muscles spasm. He breathed, but forgot to inhale the crisp air. He was a man shrouded in mystery, masked by deceit.
He was Brutus incarnate.
With
his arms folded behind his back, thumb & forefinger seizes his
wrist. Pinched the nerves there so that he gritted his teeth which went
a-rat-a-tat-tat.
❝I intend on getting what’s rightfully mine. You will fall & this will end in BLOOD.❞
Heading into the Collector Base was like a trip through the underworld. There was nothing human, only abominations. The base’s architecture was reminiscent of the ship that she had been in; sharp edges and metal that made her catch her reflection when she went by. This was the mission that she had been working towards since she had sprang out of the underworld the first time, reconstructed by a man who liked to play God. Cerberus was not the benefactor she had expected, but perhaps it was the one she deserved.
The Council had turned away from the truth in the two years she had been dead and the Alliance was held back on a tight leash made by chains of bureaucracy and hesitation. It was disappointing, especially after all she had done for them. For the galaxy. Alexandra knew what was going on with the disappearance but all they could give her was her title; Spectre, and that was only due to Anderson’s trust in her. But titles didn’t wars. Cerberus offered her a blank check. At the cost of her principles, so she recalled from Kaidan’s shouting. He didn’t understand that she was giving humanity the best odds it could against the Reapers. The two of them had somehow fatally misunderstood each other. He had loved the legend, not the woman behind it. And she had loved a man who had made a mistake; a man that he never wanted to be again. In her eyes, saving Rahna wasn’t something he should have been ashamed by. It didn’t matter now.
Cerberus embraced the woman she really was. She was deadly smiles and careful calculations, the one who made the difficult calls that others wouldn’t. The woman known as ‘the Butcher of Torfan’, who had assured victory and struck back so hard that the batarians had retreated from Citadel space altogether. Alexandra didn’t just fight; she conquered. But for as much as Cerberus accepted her, she wasn’t naive of their motives. The Illusive Man played chess on an intergalactic scale, pushing forth assassins like pawns. But why would she be bitter against an ambitious and powerful man when she had pushed herself to the top, becoming humanity’s first Spectre? But she did demand respect; she wouldn’t be regarded as just a pawn. She was the savior of the galaxy.
Alexandra traversed down the first corridor, gripping her gun tightly. She had delegated Tali to go through the vent and for Miranda to lead the other team that would serve as a diversion. By her side was Jacob and Zaeed; unyielding in battle. The comm line is quiet, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was empty. There was one man who would be listening intently, if he could. She patched herself into the Illusive Man’s line, muting the conversation to other ears. A small smirk spread on her lips, “Can you hear me from down here in hell?” She was testing to see if any communication would work in here, but also she wanted to coax him out of the shadows if he was just hiding.
If this was the Underworld, then he was Hades with six pomegranate seeds in hand. SHEPARD was not his Persephone, but his
prodigy. A demi-god embarking on perilous journey after perilous
journey. She was a warrior, Athena incarnate with her shield and spear
raised high. Project Lazarus had been both a blessing & a curse.
Would she thwart Poseidon? Cast him down & lay claim to the Parthenon?It
worried the Illusive Man, you say. He experienced jarring fanaticism
for power – a word that enamored him to the core essence of his being.
Power made men. It also broke them. He would not be like the rest. He
would not become his own self-fulfilled prophecy. To say that he was
determined was an understatement.
On
his throne, he sat comfortably, but not for long. The galaxy was
unraveling to match the frayed seams of his slipping sanity. He crossed
his legs. Gone were the days where he had been known as Jack Harper. He
was an enigma, above humanity, but with a cruel god-like passion,
he aimed to advance civilization. Static crackled, accompanied by the
voice of the pariah. She’d been hardened by war. So had he.
Patience
was a virtue. His chest heaved with a sigh, eyes roving over the
hovering panels set before him. He took a lengthy drag from his
cigarette. The smoke was a warm embrace, a toxic mask.
❝Shepard.
While you’re entitled to your religious beliefs, hell isn’t tangible;
it’s an illusion. You should know that. Keep your eyes ahead. You never
know what you’ll see next.❞
Once she had been nothing more than the prodgical daughter, before Umbrella, before Veronica. Once he had been Jack Harper, before Eva, before the mercenaries. No longer human, a pretty pair in expensive finery, playing god. A sort of poetic irony in the idea that a man wanting the best for humanity was barely human himself now.
Alexia held no illusions, she had ascended into something immortal, etheral, a witch of the wild woods with the very earth and it’s fires at her beck and call.
The Ashford atop her throne had stolen not a single thing from Cerberus - they had all willingly come, like ants to the nest to bask in the glory of their Queen. It was only a matter of time until he sat powerless with nothing but smoke for company. A shame! So much potential going to waste.
All the beauty in the world could not change her stone-face, however, painted claws reaching over to caress his cheek. “You have soldiers at your door. The B.S.A.A, The D.S.O, Terrasave too I imagine. Quite the collection, but you cannot bribe them all. Umbrella fell beneath their feet, ‘tis a shame to see such happen to you too.” Dripped her hands to his exposed collar, watched the cigarette burn - orange to grey, remnants of embers left in the air - a warning and a promise in the heat from her fingertips.
“I require someone with a hand in the shadows, and you need a threat bigger than yourself to distract the cavalry that comes to claim you. ‘Tis not a partnership I seek, Jack, but your loyalty. I can give you all that you need.” Only a fool with refuse, but he was a clever man - surely, he knew Alexia would crush him beneath her heel if she wished it, terminate him when his use ran out. Better to ensure such a thing never happened than to wage war on a woman who was always burning.
He wanted her power. That much was blatant.
Bioterrorism meant POWER, a means to change humanity into something grand. This was
evolution at its finest, a way to preserve the human race. Cerberus
could have been their legacy had he not lost sight of the mission, had
his vision not been impaired by delusions of grandeur.
His head throbbed, but he dared not touch it. One last drag on his cigarette would suffice. The embers glowed &
dulled like the waning flames in a hearth. The remains fell listlessly
from between his fingers, crumbled on the ground, reduced to ash.
Alexia
Ashford possessed an ethereal beauty, an example of prime genetics, the
embodiment of sheer perfection, but Aphrodite wore a false face. All the cosmetics enhanced her beauty, though no amount of rouge could cover her tar black soul.
❝I’m… aware that the stakes are high.❞
He
stiffened, frigid to the core when her talons scrap his collar, reveal
the bone that’s strained against flesh. He had been a soldier once.
Worked for many different Queen Bees to bring in the fruit. He wanted his own empire, a legacy to behold & call his own.
❝My loyalty isn’t something that’s easily bought. What I need is a tall order to fulfill.❞
“Sounds like a bunch of pretentious bullshit to me.”
Hardly a man of great words, he cared for actions, the strength of ones heart - the finer things in life mattered little to him, if at all, simple pleasures against extravagance. The Illusive Man was the kind of tyrant he’d come to know, ostentatious and needlessly cryptic - all it accomplished was to get on his nerves. There was little that could be done, strapped to a slab like a brand new piece of meat to be prodded and poked. Whoever had made the restraints had made them well, or perhaps the assumed drugs in his system to keep him still.
“You can’t break me s-fucking-” Burning, his skin was burning. calloused flesh peeling away with an acrid smell, curling into itself as it bubbled and blistered beneath the hot end of the cigarette. Nothing he was unused to, but never was it so casual; broken bones in the midst of battle, bullet wounds and glass shrapnel, dirt and fire licking his skin but this was different. Brows furrowed, muscles tensing until they were stiff as if it would dull any of the pain. It didn’t.
You’ve been through worse, Redfield, suck it up. A mantra in his mind, over and over. Channelling the pain into aggression, into regulating his breath. “So - so fucking easily.” With the world on his shoulders, he dare not slip - he would survive this, as he always did, because the world was cruel and too many died for weary Christopher to let it be in vain.
Chris Redfield was a doubter. He lacked the vision that the Illusive Man possessed. The look on his face spoke of paternal
disappointment. He grieved for Christopher’s blindness. Saint
Christopher who had been worn down by the world much too soon. His
holiness turned to chaos, his halo choking him in the most violent ways.
A
man playing God donned his best smile, the kind that curled your lips
in an upright fashion, but ne’er dared show off how bright { how sharp !} your
teeth were. He canted his head, his lashes fluttering. Meager
observation went a long way. The screams were music to his ears – shrill & waning over time.
❝I don’t intend on breaking you, Chris. Do you prefer Chris? Christopher seems too intimate,❞ he paused after a moment of rambling. ❝—Control is the means to survival. Soon, you’ll see.❞
He
pressed his thumb into the charred, burnt flesh with his lips slightly
parted. The vibrant cerulean of his eyes flashed. The pain on Saint
Christopher’s face seemed to say: STRONGER MEN THAN YOU HAVE TRIED TO BREAK ME.
❝You’re already broken. I want to rebuild you. This is your rebirth.❞
& all his desperate screams would give way to something new. To something robbed of humanity.
“I have heard that you are the one giving dear Mister Fink a run for his money. My, my! I must commend you; a market without competition is no market at all.”
Spoken like a true businesswoman.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You hear correctly, Lady Comstock. Free enterprise captures the American spirit, the heart of the industrious man. Doesn’t it?❞
What a false smile he dons!
Devilishly charming, the Illusive Man has learned how to harness his craft & pave the yellow brick road that lies ahead. Emporia suits his divine
tastes. Indeed, Mr. Jeremiah Fink must be rolling around, grieving over
his most RECENT loss of business. The stocks are skyrocketing, but not in the Lion of Industry’s favor, but another: Jack Harper. A man shrouded in SMOKE!
