Christ, it’s a good thing the Suns ain’t breathin’ down my neck.
With an expression that could have easily been seen as an ‘Oh, it’s you’, Booker shoved himself up to step in view of the comm link, already shaking his head.
“I’m tryin’ to get outta the damn Suns an’ this is what I get?”
Sure, he stayed in for the benefits, but a job at C-Sec could bring more peace than running cargo on Omega every solar week. That and he wanted to avoid sudden news like this. Booker was ready to slip out of the group for good this time, though it seemed like each chance he had was just another reason to stay put.
“Why’s is such a shock to you ‘bout human rats in Cerberus labs? Ain’t you ever hear the rumors?”
Mercenaries have an appetite for destruction, an insatiable blood lust. Credits can fill the void temporarily, but they’re big spenders. Quick to throw away their credits at Purgatory or any other low-key bar. A drink to silence the screams of the dying, another drink to forget it ever happened. He remembers those days, of wars waged over petty means. Booker DeWitt & the Illusive Man aren’t so different after all.
Despite his claims, he doesn’t quite seem human. His blood’s been replaced by ice, his eyes prosthetics that are as omniscient as the Gods of olden days. Golden days. Mysticism ruled the masses then. War rules them now.
❝Cerberus could protect you. I could protect you.❞
Charisma rolls off of him in waves. He will always be an enigma, the stuff of legends that’s forgotten over time.
❝I’ve heard the rumors. My suspicions were confirmed. Ignorance is not bliss. If you do this for me, think of what you can gain.❞
He flashes an icy stare, immobile. He strikes with the Hand of God & that’s the Illusive Man’s ignorance coming back to ruin him.
