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Moiety
Chapter Thirty-One: The Good of the Many
For the good of the many.
This is what the Illusive Man believes in.
Every back-alley deal made, every lie told, every credit stolen, every life snuffed.
For the good of the many.
"I wish you could see it like I do, Shepard," he says through broken vocal chords, the cold tile of the Citadel's deck beneath his reaperized cheek.
Beyond the blood-scuffed leather of Shepard's boots, his line of sight catches the brilliant blue orb of Earth.
"Beautiful," he whispers.
He believes it still, even as he's always known – in the end – he would never be of the 'many'.