In his home of bone, in his halls of skin, behind his walls of flesh, he hath taken all I had. I walked, and under my feet the floor did quiver. I looked, and beheld that I trod upon the bloated belly of one even more wretched than I. Once I had the faith of an innocent. He did ravage me, and took my faith away, into his cathedral of flesh, where the soft and dripping walls swallow all sound. Even the sound of my screams. It fed him. And he grows. Like gel-sacs of rot on decaying wood, he grows.
— Vampire The Masquerade: Redemption
Your time is running out. This place is a womb, where we grow our future. Your weapons fail, your ammunition runs low, and you've yet to see our most beautiful creation. All you have is your hatred, and your... individuality. Now don't you wish you joined us? Would you then feel so alone?
— The Many, System Shock 2
Oh, this is just wrong... I'm coughing up blood that ain't mine!
"Do you have the stomach to battle in the belly of the beast?"
— Promotional poster for Abadox
A few modern Tzimisce, having grown up immersed in science fiction and horror, use victims and Vicissitude to fashion quasi-organic manses. Breathing walls, venous corridors that throb and pulsate, "doors" fashioned from viscous membranes, and "bas-relief" ghouls eternally bound into the furnishings adorn such manses.
—Vampire: The Masquerade - Clanbook: Tzimisce