I’m Mallocrest. Don’t ask me about the name. I didn’t know my mother or father, and I have no idea what race I am, though I look Hungarian. That’s right. Even though it’s against the law I talk about race. Truthfully I concede that there are only two tribes left in this world—the legal and the illegal. The legal are those joined to the genetic combo supporting the Regime of Ourselves, and the illegal are those who aren’t—whatever race they are. That is how we are marked, and nothing else matters. Everything else is loyalty to arbitrary factions, each seeking the affection of Desiderasha for themselves.
I’ve been traveling eight hundred miles over the wastelands to get to the World Communion of Individuals where they are keeping my beloved Enta, and finally after cresting this hill, I see it before me. It’s monstrous. Forty more miles away and it’s still monstrous. The Desiderasha. Home of the WCI and the beast that cannot die.
Man’s greatest creation, she is a biomass that serves as a city and sends havoc throughout the earth. The arrogant rulers who made her claimed she would be the protector of all humankind, giving us all equal place in nature. In its early days the rulers walked her halls, but I’ve heard said they have grown into her, grotesque, malformed upper bodies protruding from her chamber walls. Hundreds of them, all feeding for the people.
Everyone is commanded to support her. You can be any way you want so long as you live in her bosom and contribute to her design. Almost the entire world has accepted this pact. They bring their families in and engage the biosubmitters to influence her realm of protection, building their biochambers for their faction and anyone who joins them, taking away protection from all other factions. She is fickle. She will favor a faction for a time, devouring the children of its enemy. And their elderly and feeble. Sometimes even the strong. But sometimes she will also harvest a few from her pet division.
Forever they fight amongst themselves, feeding the biosubmitters to gain favor and power, and ever stronger she becomes from their nourishment. From this strength, she produces children. Form of men, scale of snake, claw of bear, they leave her living walls to hunt for the heretic and non-believer. They pervade the already suffering wastelands to kill anyone they find or to bring them home for more biofeeding of Desiderasha.
Those of you who would lament this state of horror, make no mistake—her creators and the rulers say you are to blame. For if you don’t commune with Desiderasha you have no right to complain about her offspring. If everyone would come in, she would not have to send them out. This is what commands humanity in this emptiness of time.
This is what I face, standing on this hill, my semi-auto rifle and a few handguns. I don’t know how to gain entrance to her without feeding her and making her stronger, and I don’t know how to get my Enta trapped inside. I don’t even know if she will let me remove her from the beast. I cannot kill Desiderasha. I cannot engage her biosubmitters. I cannot ever win. I can only weaken her foundation by stealing away her subjects one at a time until someday there are not enough to sustain her, and she shrivels up and dies.
But that would take a hundred lifetimes, and as time grows empty I am filled with despair for humanity, and it is too overwhelming. I put all my hope in saving just one. Just one, my cherished Enta, and maybe the final war of all wars will have one less lamb to slaughter.
I start down the hill.