; send a ♡ to hear how my character would tell your character that they loved them without actually using the word ❛ love❜

     Witness the caged bear struggle ‘gainst his bonds. A behemoth of a man confined by iron shackles. It’s laughable. The BSAA sends out dogs in armor with guns a-blazing. Now, a weathered hound struggles to come to terms with his sacred humanity. Poor Atlas has fallen far, the world crushing his spine & turning his bones to dust. The Illusive Man watches pitiable Gulliver{ your travels lead you to ruin; this is no Odyssey } with the chains of fate keeping him trapped in one place. A red right hand waves through the air, wrist flicking in its own semblance of grace. Fingers caress Christopher’s throat where he swallows the air & gnashes with his teeth. Sometimes, it takes awhile to train a dog. To break him in. He’ll choke him out, watch that halo slip down, down, down.

     Enough is enough. Chris Redfield has devoted his life to the job, his cause, his path to self-righteousness that has lead him deeper into the dark, winding woods. Now, he gives in.

     ' You & I are alike, Chris, ’ Jack Harper says. He smiles, too close for comfort. His temple to Redfield’s, as though all thoughts can carry on this way. Can transfer to each man’s neurons. Their eyes meet: both blue, but one more ethereal than the other. Reminds Chris of innocence lost, of purging yourself of humanity for greater glory. A name carries a wicked haunt that serenades him in his solitude. Albert Wesker. A man of colossal failure. A man led astray by his grand motives. Thin lips grace a cheekbone in his whisper. ’ The only difference, ’ he muses. ’ – is that you’re BROKEN. ‘

     Not defected. No, no; Jack Harper can fix that! He can fix anything. He’s PROMETHEUS with torch in hand. Pulse quickens, breath hitches, lashes flutter. The VIRUS yearns to assume control. This, he knows. Indoctrination is the solution. The Illusive Man will make Chris loyal to his cause: a die-hard martyr reborn. Saint Christopher. What a marvelous sight to behold. There, he pinches the jawline & savors the way the soldier convulses. It’s a death grip, if he’s not careful, but he’s come so far. The Lazarus Project would bring his pet back. Again & again to suffer death tenfold.

                           ’ Do you feel the change? Witness your m e t a m o r p h o s i s. ‘

     Madness infects his voice, saturates the silken tone completely. Saint Christopher’s pupils dilate. The irises are now discolored. Mutation. The virus will destroy or resurrect him. Make him grateful for a man playing God. He tests his boundaries & pinches the poor fellow’s wrist, plucking at the pronounced vein with his nails. Seems to say: BLEED FOR ME. & with his lips ‘gainst the crown of Chris’ head, he will draw the ’ hallelujah ’ from his shallow breath.