P3XXIV

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"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."

Peter's eyes widened slightly at his blunt and insulting statement.  

"I'm sure you can at least understand the logic behind not wanting to create robotic creatures and force our citizens to treat them like their children.

Peter's jaw ticked, but it seemed to go unnoticed by the two Norms.  The realization hit him.  The citizens of New Anada had a common blanket view that MBs are soulless creatures that are no better than a robot.  A few from home had a view, but the desire for children outweighed the views of whether or not MBs have souls.

"I take it that our set up in the refugee camp is meant to be permanent then?"  The unamusement on his face was hard to hide.  It's even harder when he was even trying.  Next to him, Shaw cleared his throat and nudged Peter next to him. 

Bannock shifts nervously, but his dumb expression stayed on his face, "You were a prisoner before, correct?  And then even before that, you were living in the woods, correct?  Or at least that's what the intel of your group assumed."  He chuckles and gestures around himself. "Surely, our provisions for you here aren't worse than either of those situations."

"I take it you'll be staying in this house then?"  Peter looks around the room.  Except for the desk, the desk was mostly empty.  It was evident that when whoever moved out, they took what they could and quickly.

"I'll be here on designated days.  I take it you're the self-claimed leader of the group?"  Bannock raised a brow to him, only to get an irritated nod in reply.  "I see, well, good.  I want to work with you, Peter.  I want to help you and the others integrate into this new system of yours and become productive members of our society.  Could you help me?  If your group of people looks up to the two of you," he gestures to Shaw and Peter, "then they are going to look to you on whether they should follow the guidelines that are laid out for you.  I need you to help keep order."

"We aren't exactly live by the guidelines, people," Shaw's deep voice rumbles.  "It's what drove us out into the woods in the first place."

Bannock threw his hands up, "I understand completely, believe me, but surely in this camp of yours, you had society rules? That's all we expect from you.  To follow our laws.  Now that's not too much to expect, is it?"

"No," Peter agreed, though he highly doubted it was as simple as Bannock was making it sound.

"Excellent," the governor clapped his hands together, "I'll let the two of you return to your people, and Cornel Jaxon will lead you to where we are going to have you registered, and then your assigned living home."

Shaw's brows furrowed as he watched Bannock. "Then what?  Are we expected to live in this garbage for the rest of our lives day in and day out, and do nothing?"

"No,"  the short, brown-haired man shook his head.  As thin as his neck was, it made the governor's head look like a bobblehead figurine.  "When you register, you'll let us know your skill set, and each of you will be assigned a job.  Some of you may even be allowed to travel into the city and work outside of the camp."  His smile implied that Shaw and Peter should have found this to be a privilege.  "I'm sure you had jobs in your little society, or whatever you did before that."

Peter nervously swallowed as his gaze shifted around, "Will we make money at these jobs?"

"Oh yes, of course," Bannock waved the notion off, "we aren't looking for slave labor."

"The registration is downstairs," Cornel Jaxon informed them.  "The rest of your group is there waiting for you."

Peter nodded and turned to the door, along with Shaw.  On the lower level in the back of the house, they are taken to a conference room where the other serving eight members were waiting.  After everything they'd been through, they all had gathered in the corner warily watching the Norms in the room.  

"Peter," a woman about Pepa's height called out him.  The smile on her face seemed too sweet to Peter, or perhaps he was too jaded.

When he took a step forward, Shaw's hand jerked out, leery of him trusting these people, and grabbed Peter's arm.

Peter pulls from his grasp and gently patted his back, before walking up to the woman.  "Thank you, Peter.  Your compliance will make this process much easier."  She guided him over to a long table with several Norms sitting at it.  The woman took her seat, and pulled out a manilla envelope.  "Now, let's start with your full name."

Peter's lip thinned, "Peter Kelvin."

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