imperiaeHow he detests fighting this group.
Cerberus.
Not just because of the lithe women wielding swords, or themen who throw their whips everywhere in a tandem (he fondly recalls grabbingthem once and tossing the holder across the firebase; he still has burns on his hands), but because they’re human. Are or used to be, doesn’t matter. Why this cycle wasted their time starting a small revolution in the middle of a war, he knows not. They should all be fighting the common enemy, not squabbling about and squawking about trying to ‘control them’, or whatever Cerberus’ problem is, exactly.
He tries to get out of missions fighting them whenever he can, but sometimes he is not always so lucky.
The aftermath of a chaotic battle is in the air, the air that smells of smoke and burnt rubber—not that he can smell it, exactly.
Somewhere along the lines, he had dropped his gun and opted to fighting without it. Again. So he’s lost it. Again. Evacuation is late, as usual, so he goes looking for it, kicking aside the corpse of a sniper as he goes, crushing the arm of a soldier under his foot.
His rifle is not four feet away from a console of some sort—he had dropped it when an Atlas had approached up the stairs below, and as he leans down to grab it, something else catches his eye, and his ears.Crackling of an unbroken radio from the arm of a Shock-trooper, something he nearly ignores before he hears the words.
He pauses, then, hand outstretched towards his gun right before he redirects it, prying it off the arm of the soldier and holding it up to inspect it.
Cerberus.
A name with a million different connotations, but one agenda. Once a legacy destined for glory, the mutt of an organization has fallen flat. Powers slips through his spindly fingers. These days, they resemble claws. These days, he can hardly recognize himself in the mirror. He chooses to look away — to ignore the reverberating hum within his skull. He neglects his shattered psyche & instead decides to focus on the task at hand. The end of the road. Whatever that may entail.
He commands his men with an iron fist, more of a military operation rather than a peaceful,
innovative group. Cerberus’ dogs sniff out the scene, eager for the
latest piece of Reaper technology. The latest piece of Prothean
techonology. It can help humanity advance. So he argues. Shepard thinks
he’s lost sight of himself, but damn the pariah. He can manage.
Cowards hide behind false faces. The holographic interface bears his image, but little else. Corruption is like a disease, trading his blood for ice. Bit by bit, his skin chips away { he prefers the term: EVOLUTION }. And his soul with it. His body is entombed in bright blue that spams with a poor connection. Rigidly, his arms fold behind his back. Jaw upturned, nose in the air, he carries the grace of the bourgeoisie.
His wealth comes from his success, the wars he’s won. In for a pound, in for a penny. Blood for blood. That’s all this will ever be.
❝You’re the last man standing.❞
Hardly a man.
The Illusive Man wears a grimace, his displeasure evident.
❝There’s a solution to this. Hear me out. I’ll make it worth your smile.❞
False promises even the Devil couldn’t oblige.
Ａ ＴＨＯＵＳＡＮＤ ＡＲＭＩＥＳ
ｃｏｕｌｄｎ’ｔ ｋｅｅｐ ｍｅ ｏｕｔ
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ мσney
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ cяownｓｅｅ ｉ’ｖｅ ｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ ｂｕｒｎ
ＹＯＵＲ ＫＩＮＧＤＯＭ ＤＯＷＮ
♦oғғ-coм.
Half of my replies are completed and drafted. Since I tend to reply in bulk, I will be posting all that I owe tomorrow afternoon. I also have three memes sitting in my inbox that I need to get to. It’s been a long day. A twelve hour workload. Uni’s paths were covered in ice which involved a lot of graceless falling & slipping. I hope to crank through what’s owed at work tomorrow. I’ll be lurking, watching. Ciao, ciao.
“What’s a mob to a king? What’s a king to a god? What’s a god to a non-believer?”
Fandom #1 - Mass Effect