Our world is black with the blood of us all. We didn't intend to go this far. Maybe someday we can reconcile our arrogant conquest with the will of this angry god. Until then we sleep in the splatters on this wall.

"Who is our enemy?" I ask as I meditate. Mr. Gregory is a crooked little man, coming barely above my head as I sit. His eyes are orange inside the brown pupils, an effect of his battle with a Viscus a long time ago.

"I applaud the curiosity, but I abhor your question." He speaks like a frog from a grim fable. "Your enemy is not something I can tell you. You must decide yourself."

I stare into his discolored eyes. "Because we all must choose."

He nodded. "Because every man must choose."

I stand and continue meditation as I listen. "Tell me again why."

He began his tale.

When the world was still ruled by science, men reached the pinnacle of invention, and moved on to answer the questions of religion. There came a time when peace and prosperity was reached. Every man's needs were met. There was no reason to steal or murder. You could have whatever you wanted.

But because man needs something to seek, he became restless. His needs and wants fulfilled, men assumed they would reach their downfall, dying fat slovenly shells. But they underestimated the human soul. When the path was opened to them, they discovered there was nothing to distract them from bettering themselves. Men sought strong bodies and able minds. But more so than even these, man sought moral integrity. And as more sought these ends, the philosophers and scholars came to their final decision:

In answer to the age old question, Man Is Good.

Thus, in our arrogance, we began searching for the soul, the thing that made humans good.

One scientist believed he found it. He claimed the spirit of man lay inside portions of our body. Seeing no folly, he took his brother, a willing subject, and sought to make him a pure creation. Melting down his body and adding modern miracles of science, he created a liquid. This liquid was then made into the lifeblood of a new body, made of modern invention: The first Viscus. He kept the name he'd had as a human, ironically Adam.

Other scientists found this process fascinating. Others created new shells for this new kind of lifeblood, stronger machines. Viscera were thought of as the perfect androids, the thing man had wanted for millennia.

Bicyn was born soon after. Bicyn was not like Adam. Adam had been created willingly. Bicyn was created by force. He had been a brilliant general in his younger days. But he had grown old. He was senile. So the scientists wished to preserve him before he died.

Bicyn destroyed the hospital he was reborn in. Then he destroyed the city around it. When he finally gained soon kind of sanity, he rebuilt it. Then he created the army. And then more humans died.

That was long ago. Since then we have lost so many things: animals have gone extinct, the flow of time has become insignificant, the world has moved on without remorse. And now those of us that survive are trying to find a way to destroy the Viscera.

But we still are mortal. And we live in a world where mortality is optional. But it comes at a price. By many account, a Viscus is just a different kind of human. But for the first time in a long time, people were being killed. So we must decide if it is worth it, if what they offer is truth. They say Man Is Good. It is written on their banners. We say Man Must Choose.