Doɴ’т ιɴтerғere wιтн мy plαɴѕ, pierssureshotnivans.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝To what do I owe the pleasure?
The BSAA so rarely send their own men.❞
A serpent’s tongue traces over his jagged teeth, as bright & white as any keen politician’s. He sits in his chair now a throne, devoid of a name, but his title is infamous. The universe, a picture of an artificial galaxy with a sun burning, lingers behind him, more authentic than any priceless painting in the Louvre. He crosses his legs, a foot bounces impatiently. Old habits die hard. The Illusive Man knows what he has done, taken people from their homes for the sake of experimentation. A grizzled captain, included.
❝The tragedy of Edonia is still a sharp sting, I’m sure. How about a name, son?❞
They say once you knew a person’s name, you could CONTROL them.
Of this, he is certain.
Doɴ'т ιɴтerғere wιтн мy plαɴѕ, ssamuraiedge.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } – ❝You’re awake.❞
Nearby, a clock ticks. Tick, tick, tick. As steady as water droplets escaping a leaky faucet. The room is sterile, immaculate in conception & design. All white, befitting for a madhouse where patients cackle like hyenas. This place, on the other hand, is much more cruel. A lab with iron shackles, meant to keep a guinea pig in place. He takes his time in studying his prey, blue eyes as cool as a glacier scanning poor Atlas. The Illusive Man huffs & puffs, prepared to blow this man’s house of cards down.
❝How does it feel to know that you’ve been chosen for a special project, Redfield? The pursuit to genetic perfection is a rigorous, hazardous road. This is all for humanity.❞
oғғ-coмм.
All set up now.
Like for a starter!
So many tales she had heard about Cereberus and it’s illusive leader from it’s brightest and best protege. Miranda, the ever loyal dog at Hades side - but she was not him, despite the fire that burned beneath pretty porcelain skin - instead, she was Persephone claiming the throne of the underworld for herself. Yet the tales had piqued her curiosity, wanting to seek out a worthy opponent. Stepping over ants grew dull, and the Illusive Man could provide a much more substantial form of entertainment.
If he was as smart as he was wealthy, then he would know better than to turn away Umbrella’s only daughter. Dressed to the nines, the click of her heels against the floor when she walked, far more unsettling than it had any right to be - remaining otherwise silent, as dead as the night. A smirk formed ever so briefly as she looked upon the man she had sought out. How pretentious. A lone chair in a room full of stars, ribbons of smoke dancing amongst the black.
“At last we meet. You are a difficult man to find, I do hope it will be worth my time.” No name to call him by, instead she offered an upturned nose as she walked - coming to a stop before him, and taking a moment to look upon the fabled man her newest dog had spoken about.
His spine was made of iron that threatened to gather rust. Bright, blue eyes burned with the might of Gods { behold! a man who played God’s game! } that lounged on Olympus. He stood tall, a skyscraper who had yet to crumble from failure. Two fingers struck out, akin to flint on the verge of igniting a S-S-SPARK. There rested a cigarette, a stream of smoke creeping past the dragon’s lips.
An omniscient gaze landed on fair Persephone with her golden mane & hawkish features. Centuries ago, she could have been a queen who ruled alone, ridding herself of a husband through shrewd means. In the land of Gods & monsters, these two are pariahs who renounced humanity long ago.
A ghostly, politician’s smile twitched onto his lips as he stepped forward. Cerberus was a leash wrapped ‘round his reddened, swollen knuckles. Miranda Lawson had been a phantom, the sands of time slipping through his fingers. She barked & wagged her tail for a woman entombed in ice, a natural in the realm of business.
The Illusive Man had every reason to be mindful. To be wary.
He believed not in daemonia nor witchcraft. Only progress.
Canting his head at a crooked angle, half-lidded eyes roved over a fair, plaster cast face. Alexia Ashford wore a death mask. There was nothing natural about this woman. An ethereal beauty ne'er satisfied by desire, but sated by power.
❝The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Ashford. You’re not here to discuss the infinite possibilities of the universe, but business. Humor me: wha do you seek?❞
Inhale. Exhale.
‘Neath the нαlo of a street lamp, I turned my collαr to the ＣＯＬＤ
&& damp when my eyes were stabbed by the flash
of a NEON LIGHT that split the ＮＩＧＨＴ && touched
the sound of sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.
 | Title: Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums Artist: A Perfect Circle Album: eMOTIVe Played: 0 times |
TO DO.
New theme, new icons, new tags, verses page, promo. I will see what I can accomplish this evening!
I warned you. Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers… and of you, if necessary.
