Her father was an angry man,
     at world his fists did shake.
So once in charge of firm,
     devised a plan to undertake.
He felt the human race at end,
     a dead monstrosity.
A sprawling cancer killing Earth,
     that grew chaotically.

His plan faked evolution,
     on a truly epic scale.
And into human's status quo,
     drove coffin's final nail.
Enhancing this, upgrading that,
     her words sometimes unknown,
Though sentiments aloud and clear,
     doth chill me to the bone.

And when the dreaded virus made,
     its entrance onto scene.
His wealth and expertise were called,
     to fight and contravene.
Attention turned to curing curse,
     a worthy noble cause.
Yet Devan's manic methods,
     gave the world a need to pause.

And whilst his progress steady,
     though not fast enough to matter,
Alternatives began to rise,
     and his world began to shatter.
The wolf remained in sterile cage,
     from virus now protected.
Yet through the bars, his claws still sharp,
     wrought havoc unexpected.

With each attempt another made,
     to heal the planet's scar,
His anger rained upon them from,
     his feted repertoire,
Fake reports and corporate spies,
     she paints a picture horrid.
As from Earth's great society,
     young Devan disembodied.

A group of laureates banded strong,
     their focus on a cure.
A drug so highly theorised,
     its purpose oh so pure.
Yet side effects invented,
     with a source ne'er gained attention.
And such their bravest efforts,
     history offers but a mention.

Another tried a different tact,
     their goal inoculation.
Prevent the virus spreading forth,
     their plan gained reputation.
Yet Devan's firm would rule them out,
     his foot on dirty roach.
Their vaccine never left the ground,
     discredited approach.

Red Cell was the only one,
     who posed him any threat.
Who buried deep inside his brain,
     and soaked his dreams with sweat.
The two became embroiled,
     in a global civil war.
A battle Earth had never seen,
     the likes of which before.

It started quite humanely,
     as the virus, slow, progressed.
Patent wars, smear campaigns,
     they fought from East to West.
Whilst Devan tried to cure the world,
     with tuned biology,
Red Cell taught machines to think,
     advanced technology.

Now hunkered down in ground below,
     his desperation grew.
To overthrow the human race,
     to start the world anew.
And he the god of fledgling race,
     from heaven clearly sent.
Yes he with mind beyond compare,
     entrusted to augment.

Yet lonely he became and when,
     the months turned into years.
Began to see the dawning of,
     the darkest of his fears.
It grew just like the sunrise,
     which peaks horizons point.
And gainly floats to planets top,
     a crown to then anoint.

His legacy, his legacy,
     of his and his alone.
His blood must flow inside the veins,
     transfused from heart of stone.
From scientists and physicists,
     he found a woman fit.
That met his strict criteria,
     that to him would submit.

Yolanda's eyes begin to fill,
     these memories take their toll.
The beastly things he must have done,
     an ogre, demon, troll.
"I was born, but as a girl,
     could never be the one."
I understood entirely,
     her father craved a son.

And several years later,
     the son he dearly sought,
Was gifted him, a prophesy,
     fulfilled with god's support.
"I heard his cries," she whispers now,
     "I knew I'd been replaced."
And overtime his memories,
     of her became erased.

"I loved my baby brother,"
     she smiles at road ahead.
The light now fading gently,
     as the sky is underfed.
"Mother used to sing us songs,
     with words so very sweet."
She sings a dainty melody,
     and taps her tiny feet.

"Mother loves you very much,
     how much you'll never know.
Love that fires the golden skies,
     and melts away the snow."
And then her tune more morbid grows,
     and words replaced with humming.
Foretelling of the darkness,
     that she never saw was coming.

His wife, her mother, at his hands,
     experiment became.
As desires to augment her,
     left her broken, bald and lame.
Insanity took over,
     she whispered all day long.
Pleading her repentance,
     for the things she had done wrong.

"At last," she says, "she passed away,"
     in eyes I see relief.
A loving smile frequents her face,
     but lasts a moment brief.
And once again expressions change,
     like the turning of a beast.
That with young children used to play,
     until good nature ceased.

Her tears do not surprise me,
     there's more from whence they came.
She's only scratched the surface,
     waved the fuse atop the flame.
She wipes aside her fragile state,
     and sharply she exhales.
Intent on recollection, and
     recounting of her tales.

"Unlike me, Abednigo,
     was not a healthy child.
He never even saw the sun,"
     in shadows domiciled.
His illness made her father mad,
     he felt that he'd been cheated.
That a cripple would take up the throne,
     where he himself was seated.

So the boy was frozen, agèd four,
     until there came a time,
Suspended in a vile puss,
     a wicked kind of slime.
Veraksys had been freezing folk,
     since long before the fall.
To use them as insurance,
     as a future wherewithal.

And then her father too succumbed,
     and issued one command.
Yolanda should protect the boy,
     there would be no countermand.
To stay there by his side until,
     a cure for him was found.
A lifetime as a carer and,
     a lifetime underground.

Occasionally a klaxon roared,
     Yolanda's only cue.
A phial would present itself,
     she knew just what to do.
Administer injection,
     record if he should change.
Compile her research and note,
     the things she saw as strange.

"My father died when I was eight"
     I quickly do the math.
I can't believe he'd leave her here,
     that wretched psychopath.
She stops the engine, eyes to floor,
     "I've been here ever since"
And now into her life at last,
     I more than have a glimpse.

She changes tone, "We're here", she says,
     and looks me in the eye.
"Time for you to see the truth,
     your family didn't die."
A button she depresses and,
     the doors make way for man.
The dust begins to clear,
     blown by nature's Geisha fan.

The landscape dense and dark around,
     the buildings crumbling state.
Predict the sights I'm seeing,
     and the image they conflate.
A sound behind alerts me,
     a crash of stone so brittle.
Each concrete structure slimming down,
     on diet, by sculptor's whittle.

The smell not quite what I'd expect,
     you can't escape the dead.
But something rather different,
     is the odour in my head.
Laying in a pile high,
     as if composed of copies,
A replicated rancid mess,
     a mound of human bodies.