And so I am dogged to my end, having left the committee, conceiving my duty:

"Is it I? Yes it is –

Tasked with driving this vital disassembly."

Though we're amassed in this space, ofttimes I pass into private reveries

Concerning my path to this station

And my peer-turned-huntsman's to his

"What will the end of evil look like?"

I ask my accomplice Dr. Coehn

"Our better treatment of each other."

"But do you also concede," I say, "that with no people at all, this landscape's improved?" This point he struggled to disprove, and thus young nihilist I planted the seed

"Your tool for peace is laid before ye:

The murderous, hateful human gene"

Years on, his work now to my horror, I attempt another display to reverse him

"Consider a virus that can end all life

Here, look, it's in your hand!

Feel the cool, fragile capsule in your palm:

Its gentle pressure sufficient to wipe us out

Would you close this hand into a fist?"