Alten sat on the bed, his mind in a haze of confusion, despair, and most of all fear. This man, this refugee, he said so many things, so many things Alten knew he could not let himself believe. These markets, these streets, they should not exist. He was told all refugees had mutated, died, or been accepted into the protection of the domes long ago. Who were these people, really? If not monsters then rebels? He had heard rumors in asia of a group of dome raised children who destroyed their home city, and set forth to do the same to the other domes. They could be terrorists, or he could of been right, they could be monsters waiting to tear off their flesh masks at the first sight of weakness.<br/><br/>A quick glance at his leg brought the realization that to even the weakest predator, he was easy meat. He tried to shift the leg on the bed, that same hot fire searing up his body, making him cringe and grit his teeth. When he looked up, it was at the creature they had seated in the chair. His eyes fixed on her for a long moment, a sigh escaping his lips. He didn't know the creature, or have any reason to trust it. But, his eyes said what he did not, 'what did we get ourselves into?'<br/><br/>When the woman began to tear apart his pant leg, revealing the long jagged gash in his flesh, the white ivory of bone glistening under the cut, Alten almost passed out. He wondered if the woman, should his monster theory prove correct would eat the meat first, or go straight for the bone and the marrow it provided. He sat in silence, looking down at the wound, and not for the first time, cursing his existence.