Genetic Broken Uprising

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| Arrothon's 'wise' king |
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"It's not right!" First nearly shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls of the long, dimly lit hallway as they left the dining room. His face was flushed with rage, and his eyes were wide, shimmering with a potent blend of anger and disbelief. He stomped ahead with a sense of urgency, his footsteps resounding sharply against the gleaming wood floors.

Each step seemed to cut through the ambient murmur of the servants still lingering in the dining room, where they moved quietly among the tables, their subdued chatter and clinking of dishes forming a stark contrast to First's heated outburst.

"Why would someone, especially Father, do something like that to anyone?!" First's voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions, the question hanging in the air like an unanswered accusation.

Santa, who had been walking beside Mos with a nonchalant air, glanced over at First. His shoulders were relaxed, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his ripped jeans. "Probably because they deserved it, First," he replied, his tone lacking the urgency or empathy that First's words demanded.

First whipped around, his sudden motion halting his brothers in their tracks. They stood frozen, their gazes locking onto him as he turned with a seething intensity. His eyes narrowed into piercing slits as they focused on Santa. "Deserved it?!" he spat, his voice dripping with revulsion. "How could you say that?!"

Bible crossed his arms letting a slight chuckle escape his lips. "You're being naive, First. Mutants are dangerous and you know that. We've all seen what they're capable of. How can you defend them when they've caused so much harm?"

First shook his head, his black hair falling into his eyes. "Not all of them are violent. You're focusing on a few bad examples. The rest are just trying to live their lives. We can't paint them all with the same brush."

Mos, always practical, chimed in. "They're a threat to society, First. We don't have time for this. You caring for them could put all of us at risk. People are scared for a reason."

Boom let out an exaggerated sigh, his lips curling into a half-smirk. "You're always playing the moral high ground, First," he said, his voice laced with both boredom and irritation. "It's getting old, you know? Do you ever stop to think how annoying it is? We've got real problems to deal with—like keeping Father's image intact, not defending a bunch of mutants that everyone's already scared of."

First's hands curled into tight fists at his sides, the muscles in his arms tensing as his knuckles turned bone-white against his skin. His full lips, normally a soft contrast to his sharp features, pressed into a thin line of frustration.

"You think I don't see the risks?" he said, his voice low but simmering with controlled anger. "I see them just fine. But you all know damn well this isn't right. This kind of thinking—this fear—it's what leads to discrimination. And we've seen where that goes."

Zee stepped forward, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the hallway as he fixed his stern gaze on First.

"It's not just fear," he said, his voice steady and firm, carrying the weight of experience. "It's reality. Mutants can't control their powers. They hurt people without warning, and it's not something we can afford to ignore."

First's eyes flared with frustration, his body tensing as he shot back. "That's because we humans hurt them first!"

"You're too soft on them. Why do you always have to defend the outcasts?" Santa asked, his tone filled with genuine curiosity as his chestnut hair fell slightly over his brow.