The Breeders

P3XXIV

"Well, at least it's better than the cave,"  Peter mumbled to Shaw as they both watched a rat the size of a small dog run brazenly across the street.

"Is it?"  Shaw watched the rat run into a large hole in the decaying wall of one of the houses that they were be expected to live in.

Peter's shoulders rose and slumped in a heavy shrug.  At that point, the only light in this bleak situation he could see was that they weren't dead.  "Maybe, it's not so bad."

"Maybe it's not so good either," Shaw grumbled as he stepped over a pile of crumbled bricks while they followed Cornel Jaxon through the slums.  

"This small town was attacked a few years back.  It's survivors,"  the Cornel gestured around him, "moved government housing.  When we heard the fake announcement.  Your government made sure to broadcast their trap loud and clear. "  His gaze turned back to the MBs.  "Obviously it worked.  We were going to bulldoze this all down, but our Prime Minister asked us to keep it up for and Mods that may come here." the familiar nickname for modified beings made both boys heads snap to the Cornel.  "Theirs a concrete wall built around the city, and you won't be able to leave the refugees city without a pass and an escort."

Both Shaw and Peter's look soured but remained quiet.  It was obvious to both of them that they weren't considered equal to the Norms.

Byron Jaxon had brought Shaw and Peter to the ghetto to show them where they would stay after they registered the MBs to the New Anada government.

"I take it someone will be in charge of us then?" Peter stumbles over some rubble and casted it a glare.

"Correct,  and official was assigned to your sanction, and that is exactly where you be registering."  Byron pointed off to his left just as he turns that direction to head up to a homily mansion sitting on a dead lawn.  The boys follow the cornel as the dead grass crunched beneath their feet.  The decaying white house held no refinement of its early years.  As with the rest of the refugee city, it was uncared for and forgotten.

The tall doors were weathered.  The white paint had cracked a peeling off the dry, splintering wood.  When Byron pushed the door open, the rusted hinges squealed and ground in protest.

The inside of the house wasn't much better.  The tile marbled floor was cracked and dull.  A fine layer of dust blanketed it, causing footprints to be left behind as the three men's steps echoed off the bubbled sheetrock.

Byron led them up a once-grand staircase to an upper level.   The carpet was worn to the point it was thread barren.

Peter realized that this was what was going to be considered grand in the refugee city.  Dread rushed over him, not wanting to see the housing they would be expected to live in.

When they reached a set of double doors that were so warped that it could completely close, Byron pushed it open.  As a shockingly fine desk sat a weasley looking man in a cheap wool suit.

The noise from the door drew his attention up, as a wide grin spread across his face.  Crooked yellowed teeth greater them, as the man slowly stoop.

"Peter, Shaw, this is Governor Bannock," Byron gestured to the middle-aged man coming around his desk to greet him.

"I can't tell you how excited I was to get word that we were actually getting Mods."  Governor Bannock to both boys' hands and vigorously shook them.

"Mods?" Peter's gaze shifts from the Governor to Byron.   "I'm assuming that's what you call your modified beings?"

"Oh," Governor Bannock waved off, shaking his head.  "No, we don't have Mods here. Genetic modification is an illegal practice based on moral codes."