IN these postmodernist, post-Existentialist times of decay we, the last of the sentient men, wait in the nude. For we have been stripped of nation—mere colonies of Zion. We have been stripped of faith—not a belief in God, but a belief in Man: the ideal in Man, the hope in Man, the faith in Man. We have been stripped of culture—once a vital source of identity, tradition, beauty and promise; now dead, massacred like the Romanovs, its remains defiled by today’s canaille. And we have been stripped of brotherhood—who is there to listen to us? Who is there to listen to?

God died of old age, but Man was murdered. And not at the twilight of his life, but at the beginning of his greatness. The Enlightenment had left him fatherless—free to create, conquer and progress, yet vulnerable. And if it hadn’t been for the parasite that had steadily and shamelessly slithered its way into Man long before the death of God (the parasite that would go on to claim his life), he would have had the chance to…