Power тo мιѕcoɴѕтrυe. Wнαт нαve тнey doɴe тo yoυ? ♦
Cᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛᴏ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, raachni.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Impressive.❞
It’s the first word to leave his lips, akin to a scientist
studying a specimen. Akin to a worshiper falling to
his knees before the Holy Ghost. Awe infects his
tongue, but his voice sounded jarbled from the start.
Synthetic. Fabricated. As though he’s not really there.
Never has been, never will be.
He bows his head in reverence. Authority commands
respect. He admires the Rachni: their colony, their
legacy. Arms fold behind his back, his spine stiff.
Rigid. The Queen is much more authentic than he.
❝Your Highness, humanity is in your debt.❞
Shepard continues to amaze.
♦ Synthetic.
Time is a warped thing: seldom static, always fluid.
Compact, at times. The universe is bold, a vivid
medley of cause & effect. Statuesque, he remains
seated in his throne, legs crossed with poise. He’s
ruthless, because he must be. He’s cold, because
his body’s been hollowed out.
He feels immortal on this slice of Elysium, watching
the species slaughter one another so maliciously. He
studies them in the grand paradox of a Roman senator
witnessing the fall of gladiators.
A hand swipes aside a screen. Ashes flutter down to
the ground. He misses the rain, but humanity had to
leave her crib to explore the great unknown. Fire light
years away flickers on the panel. The room is dark &
cool, reminiscent of a cave. No escape. This is Hades’
domain.
A ship explodes. It’s a supernova of color. Lives lost, all
expendable. He ordered them to death. They’re nameless,
soulless. They sacrified themselves for Cerberus. For
Humanity.
His smile is a muscle spasm.
He’s given up his name.
Who am I, who am I?
I am, I am–
No one.
 | Title: Ballad of a Politician Artist: Regina Spektor Album: What We Saw from the Cheap Seats (Deluxe Version) Played: 0 times |
But I am, but I am;
But I am not a number, not a name.
But I am, but I am;
But I am a carefully laid plan.
Cᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛᴏ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, arielshepard.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Shepard.❞
His face is a marred network, swirling with faded scars { Blessed Prophet became his savior! } & the jarring marks of INDOCTRINATION. He stands before this holy woman, this altar most virtuous & rare, as a ghost of an advisor. The Crucible Blast has hollowed him out, left a phantom in the place of an enigmatic man. Together, they survived the unthinkable. Yet, she exceeded expectation. She controlled, she conquered. She brought them salvation.
A cigarette dangles listlessly between his fingers. Crisp, blue eyes possess an ethreal glow. He dares to look upon her visage, his heart emitting a steady thrum. She is infinity. She is sacred & profane.
I am, I am, I am–
He knows not himself these days. A hiss of static infiltrates his mind, rattles his skull. He winces. The Illusive Man, now Cerberus incarnate, has been tamed by a mental leash. He does something unimaginable: his lips twitch into a smile. Jack Harper no longer exists, never was, never will be.
❝Your Imperial Majesty, I assume you’ve called me for a reason.❞
Faith is funny, strange, frighteningly beautiful. It can make a man rise or fall, but here he sees a phoenix who has risen.
Yoυ’re мαĸιɴɢ α нαвιт oғ coѕтιɴɢ мe мore тнαɴ тιмe αɴd мoɴey, apocalypsemother.
Cerberus resorted to the unthinkable: experimenting on CHILDREN. Innocence & childhood were a lost cause. The only thing that mattered now was p r o g r e s s. A projection flickered: the image of a young girl soon followed. On the other side, she would see his image all in blue. The ethereal shade gave him a mystical, whimsical look. It was deceiving. Everything involving the Illusive Man was.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝You’ve shown remarkable progress.
My scientists say that you will become a legend in time.❞
Better than Shepard? Or his downfall?
I ѕнoυld нαve ĸɴowɴ yoυ’d cнoĸe oɴ тнe нαrd decιѕιoɴѕ, baneofcolumbia.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Wipe away the debt, DeWitt.❞
Like a phantom in the night, the Illusive Man appears. Shrouded in blue static, he strays from all things tangible. He is merely a projection, a shell of a man that once was. His pace commands attention, an authoritarian air clinging to his visage. He sizes up the merc. Booker DeWitt, a man of sorrows & self-loathing. It’s pathetic, but that’s what makes a dog these days.
❝A lab of Cerberus scientists has decided to go rogue. They’ve been conducting experiments on humans. Go investigate. Show them what it means to cross Cerberus.❞
Too ιdeαlιѕтιc ғroм тнe ѕтαrт, hxdesdog.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Miranda, you know what must be done.❞
Cerberus was revered in myth for its three-heads & vicious, snapping jaws. Fear kept the masses alive, kept humanity rejuvenated. This, the Illusive Man knew. In the vast universe, humankind had to fight for dominance amongst the species. If that meant being ruthless, then so be it. TIM, however, preferred the term ’ PRAGMATIC ’. For everything a reason.
His jaw twitched, the only sign of his agitation, his mounting frustration that he keeps in check beneath a frigid layer. He is a glacier, an impenetrable fortress ne'er to be unraveled. Hades sits in his throne, the very vision of power.
❝Take down the salarian diplomat. He’s becoming suspicious.❞