He was such a nice boy, Dimitri. His parents had died young, but his aunt and uncle took him in, raising him as their own. Well, almost as their own. When it came to scarce resources, like their time and love and food, their own children got first priority. But Dimiri didn't complain. He was grateful just to be taken in.
He always did as he was told, we neat and tidy, never talked back, and hurried straight home.
But being good wasn't enough.
When they came for him, they grabbed him just like any other child. Easier, perhaps, since he was so willing to do as he'd been told.
After the Great Worm Cult's brainwashing, he didn't even recall his own name, just the nickname Dima. And, in some ways, maybe he was a little too eager for the hypnotism to work. Maybe he was a little too eager to be accepted and appreciated, no matter what he had to swallow to do it.
Dima isn't a child anymore, but his memories of a life before the cult have faded to only the most vague idea. He's wary of the people of machines, and doesn't question that sometimes you need to consume others in the name of survival. Surely they'd do the same if he ever fell into their clutches. After all... doesn't everyone?