He’s seen this before - not an exact replica of memories he can’t quite piece together, but it’s close enough. His head is filled with things he can’t identify, can’t name, but remembers every once and a while - this man reminds him of someone, the intonation of his voice. Those eyes glow, unnaturally, and he’s almost thankful they’re blue instead of red.
It only lasts for a moment, as he shifts his gaze around - can’t feel anything but the ache in his body, unable to locate where exactly it originates, but his movement is restricted and he knows better than to struggle against it for the time being.
All for humanity. It sounds familiar, more so than it has any right to.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?” It’s a question he doubts he’ll get an answer to, but tries hopelessly. Wasn’t he with his team? There’s no sign of them, and he can’t remember anything other than getting off the plane with his men behind him - how did he end up in this place?
The Hounds of Hell nip at Lazarus’ heels. He’s managed to keep the rumors on the down low for awhile now. One of
Cerberus’ men slipped. A crack sullies the hull of this sinking ship. He
had the scientist executed. With his own gun. His name was Johnson.
Fast talker, but his tongue couldn’t wag quick enough to save his life.
Thanks
to Johnson, the BSAA comes sniffing around. It’s only fair that the
Illusive Man take one of their own: Chris Redfield, a man of wicked
haunt & heavy burden.
A
sigh inflates his chest, but it never quite leaves his lips. His name,
his name. He hardly remembers. It begins with Jack, but ends with an
agenda. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, diamond eyes glittering.
He scans the grunt’s vitals. Reasonably healthy. Perhaps his body will
be a veritable host for a virus.
❝Your men know me as the Illusive Man.❞
His arms hang lax by his sides, as calm as can be. The chess pieces are all on his side of the board. He’ll conquer. He’ll
smack the ivory knight right off the table.
❝You’re going to be rewarded for your… bravery, shall we say. Cerberus has a gift in mind for you.❞
It’d be glorious to witness the BSAA turn around on itself.
long, black hair obscured the child’s face as she kept her head lowered. only when his image appeared did blue eyes glance up to catch sight of him, the man she knew was responsible for all of responsible for all of responsible for all of responsible for all of responsible for all of responsible for all of this. her immensely, especially the ones that weren’t painless & no matter how much she would beg them to leave her be, they never did. she knew they saw her as nothing more than a lab rat, which caused an intense anger to well up inside her. for cerberus, for its scientists, for anyone that stole away her childhood. the young psionic, only when a few moments had eventually passed did she offer but a mere mumble. alma hated the experiments, they frightened his words were met with complete silence from ❝ —I don’t want to be. ❞
How far was too far?
He knew now the answer, only knowing when to push & push until the levee broke.
The Illusive Man canted his head at her eerie silence, the hushed whisper that came forth, akin to ash after a veritable explosion. He matched her quiet protest with his own, eyes burning with a raw intensity that would turn countless to STONE.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You have no say in the matter. Your parents signed you up for this. Think of what you’re accomplishing. What you’ll do for HUMANITY.❞
He’s an idealist. He has a vision, but it’ll sooner turn to ROT.
They do not respond. A natural, human response that they carry from memories of the stiff silence The Shepard carried when her eyes fell upon their body that very first time. A fragile CHILD born by lab, raised by scientists with no care to pain or fear. And yet it was a woman with eyes more cold than the icy plains of Noveria to release them. She who had slain men and women without doubt in her mind for the consequences, because of their risk.
Yet here the Rachni Queen stands, vessel strong - his muscles not yet atrophied from illness that allows her pheromones complete control.
”ᴡᴇ. ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇᴘᴀʀᴅ’s ᴅᴇʙᴛ.”
Humanity will come another day. When the Machines return to sing their sour note across a galaxy. And yet, they have heard the tales. Seen scars carrying light orange and strong trailing across formerly smooth skin. The Rachni are hidden, but they are not blind. They know WHO this man is as well as they know WHAT he has done.
Commander Shepard is the patron saint of their DEMISE uprising. He has ne’er witnessed such a holy endeavor. Indeed, she’s one in a million. & her sacrifices will not go in vain. He will make sure of it.
The vessel he greets personally wears a human skin. Cerberus’ scientists would have loved to pick it apart, to see what makes the body tick & the spirit so willing. Alas, there are some things science cannot COMPREHEND.
He fancies himself a creator, proud of his work, but with pride — there will be a tumultuous fall from grace. His arrogance blinds him, his reputation precedes him. The Illusive Man sins with a wicked grin, a small chortle.
The Rachni are in his debt. No one man should have all that p o w e r.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝The pleasure’s all mine. Shepard’s done more than I could have hoped for. She’s the messiah &you’re the future.❞
He plays humility’s cards down to a tee though he’s far from humble. What a crook!
