"Its great growing mass is a large open and leaked wound. All thoughts cry simultaneously, a fused knowledge of insignificant brains. Complete worldly knowledge wraps itself in a tangled amalgam. The weight of information collapses on itself, vast and useless. This putrid mass rots inside, hurts, dies, impregnates to be born more. More fat, more muscle, more tissue. Nothing can be done. Because consensus cannot be reached. As one, you are a swollen God without purpose, without direction, without yourself..."

The creature we spend all the time inside was apparently a port machine made for the distribution of fresh fish to the market. In the end you chose to be discarded in an area full of others like you. An edible... and I asked you are you satisfied with your choice?