[ WP ] One which worships technology , one which strives to be the perfect combination of technology and organic material and one that only allows organic evolution . These three factions debate which faction the Earth will belong too .

`` Our minds and abilities sprang from the chaos of nature. From it, we were fashioned. Does it not seem prudent to recognize that which spawned us?'' 
 
 Brown cowls bobbed up and down fervently; nothing else could be seen within. Among the grouped Orgo Organicus representatives, a voiced boomed throughout the massive hall. 
 
 `` Indeed it does, master Synther. Furthermore, the Ordo Organicus believes that, though human ingenuity has propelled our civilization forward in unimaginable ways, the technologies that warp and alter our essential forms are deviations from the forces that strove to create us.'' 
 
 The blue-grey Synthesis delegation whispered amongst themselves, hairless heads shifting this way and that. One stood, azure eyes surveying the two factions seated before him. Faint, glowing lines at the corners of his mouth swelled in luminance as a flanged voice glided outwards. 
 
 `` Now, see friends. Gaze upon us. We bear the beauty of that which Nature has blessed us, as well as the modifications dictated by necessity and aesthetic choice. 
 
 Is that not what this entire debate is centered around? Choice, my fellows, is what humankind has always desired. The choice to live, to explore, to expand and to improve. Remaining within extremes has wrought calamity time and again. Do you not see the freedom and beauty that lies in choice? The choice to combine that which we are arguing over at this moment.'' 
 
 Through the glass high above the vast chamber a monstrous galaxy turned. Its faint rainbow lights danced into the hall, flickering across the stoic Ordos and the shimmering Synthers. The speaker for the Synthesists felt his words fall upon closed ears and minds. His deep, blue eyes appeared saddened. He lowered back into his chair as a member of the Technocon arose. 
 
 An inhuman thing looked over the gathered factions of humanity. It bore human eyes, organic things that peered from deep, hollow sockets. The face was a jagged thing of metal and angles, curving at the top. 
 
 A metallic, mouthless skull emanated a voice, one that offered no distinction of timbre and gender. 
 
 `` We have made our choice, Synthist. We have chosen to transcend the crude foundations that birthed us. We thank the chaos of organic evolution, but we do not accept it. The Technological Consortium adheres to the decision that natural evolution is far too weak for the minds of Man. We have conquered the very thing that gave us shape, and we are now our own creators. Gaze upon the image of a being that is its own master!'' 
 
 Where before there were deep purple robes covering the entirety of the Technist aside from the head, there was now a bipedal being of dark steel, flowing from sleek to jagged, gentle hues to radiant luminance. 
 
 The Ordos balked. The Synthists withdrew into thought, some eyes betraying hints of despair. 
 
 The bare Technist surveyed his opponents. He rose a fist to the galaxy above. 
 
 `` We will not indulge formalities, here. We have attended this meeting for a single purpose: to declare unending war upon the both of you. For too long the Consortium has endured your petty bickerings, your ridiculous attempts to hinder the *natural* evolution of mankind.'' 
 
 Venom coated the final words, as the Technist's milky eyes bore into the Ordos delegation. 
 
 Rising in anger, the Organics began to depart the hall, returning to the thinking ships that had bore them beyond the stars. 
 
 The Synthists had blinked and phased out of the cavernous place, arriving at their hybrid homeworld. 
 
 Wheeling above, the galaxy spilled its radiance into the hall, across the Consortium's representatives. They remained in the building, watching their newly declared enemies depart the hall. 
 
 Across the cosmos, preparations for the War for Earth began.
