monsters are made in their own image
Once upon a time yet to be, there were people of the land, living by the grace of nature on a remote tropical island.
They tapped into the wind, the tides and pounding rain, built simple grassy huts, turning heavy stones to mill the grain.
There was but a single village, yet they’d gather in the square to remember lessons learned and raise their spirits to the air.
Then one day ancients arrived, wearing bowls over their heads, washed ashore from a capsule that fell as a ball sunset red.
Their words had an edgy sting, and their uncaring smelled like the fabric of their capsule or a family secret best not shared.
Then a metal monster arose from the sleepy tropical sea, when the ball-headed ancients woke the gods Techno and Trizity.
Metal on flesh so long ago, then metal against metal, foe against foe scorched the earth that buried them all.
We are the last vestige of life, forgotten by monsters and time, and you left on a mission into the dark, far beyond the sky.
Now you revive the why of undoing: to be human is to conquer, a mission instilled by people who are — and made — the monsters.
