Where did the world go?

Like what?

AN / I'm not going to bore you guys with the unnecessary details of work again.

Work passed uneventfully. When Peteren returned home, Tunx lifted his food packets at him. One contained 3 carrots, the other two small potatoes. He frowned. This was less than a normal food pack. Did it have something to do with his offense? Were the dominas monitoring him this closely? He shivered at the thought. He grudgingly shook his head. "Keep them both. Carrots for breakfast, potatoes for dinner." Tunx nodded and put them in his cabinet.

"We have a free day tomorrow." He commented. Tunx nodded. He returned from the cabinet with a tray he had gotten off the heating tube. It had the potatoes, which were mushed up, and day old raspberries. They didn't have a fridge, like the dominas, so food didn't keep all that long. He ate his food without complaint, then handed the tray back to Tunx. He got up and got undressed, then lay down on his bed. It was hour 17.68. I could sleep, he mused. Or I could sleep heavily. He decided upon heavily. He closed his eyes and heard Tunx start tossing the ball to himself. Catch, throw, catch, throw. He fell asleep to the steady rhythm.

When he woke, the lights turned on. Past hour six, he reasoned. He checked the clock. Hour 20.12 the next day. Wow, later than he expected. He sat up in his bed. Tunx waddled up to him, holding the carrots. It was a distressingly meager plate. "Crap." He muttered. Tunx looked up at him, surprised. He tilted his head, questioning. "I forgot. I don't get food today, 'cause it's not a work day." He took the carrots anyway and ate them. "No breakfast for me tomorrow, then. That's gonna suck. Day after free is the worst." He flopped back down into a laying position. "It's always worse labor, too. I'm gonna get stuck with pipe duty. I know it." The only thing he hated more than piston duty was pipe duty. It was furiously scrubbing pipes, burning your hands, and trying not to get blasted in the face with hot air. A dangerous game, as hot enough air to the face could blind you. Or worse.

"Leon wanted me to go to him at hour 10." He said aloud. "What to do until then?" Tunx eagerly held up the ball. "Catch?" Peteren asked. Tunx nodded furiously. He smiled slightly, but stopped himself. He scolded himself. Tunx was a slave. He couldn't let him indulge in such frivolous things. He had perhaps already crossed a line by teaching him how to throw and catch. But that was for convenience, he argued. No, he replied. It was for Tunx's enjoyment. You have to stop treating him like a friend. "No." He said, harsher than he meant. He wasn't sure if he had been saying no to Tunx or himself.

Tunx's face dropped. The excitement that had been present in his eyes left him. He hurried to the corner and sat. Peteren turned over on his bed, facing the wall. He forcefully shut his eyes. Tunx is my slave. He told himself. I shouldn't feel guilty. He could be your friend, though. Part of him said. Slaves aren't meant to be friends. He argued back. We aren't even the same species. We can't talk. But- No. Tunx is a slave, nothing more. You can only think of him as such. Fine. But don't be mean to him.

He opened his eyes to find the lights turned off. He hurriedly sat up and looked at the clock. It was hour 9.37. Tunx still sat in the corner, his eyes cast down. "I'm going out." He said briskly. He dressed himself in his own clothes, the hoodie and pants, and left the room quickly. He felt bad for leaving Tunx, but he shoved it down. What containment did Leon say he was in? 35? No, 37. Or 38? One of the two. He walked slowly towards the back of the block. It was quite a ways away, so he never really went. The further you went, the dimmer and dirtier it got, as the people near the back were generally troublemakers, as people were sorted in accordance to their disciplinary records in school.

Many people were milling about the streets. A diverse group, to be fair: he saw many different skin tones, as well as eye colors and hair colors. As expected, no one had white skin anymore. The dominas certainly were not happy with that fact. The dominas all had white skin; it was illegal for them to interbreed with someone of another race or skin color. For what reason, he didn't know. He just knew it didn't seem fair.

He made his way to the back of the block slowly. He still had a little time.

When he arrived at the back of the containment block, he stopped and looked around. The lights were dimmer and the streets dirtier. Pieces of trash littered the streets, along with some people wandering around. Some people owned their own clothes, some just wore their work suits. One man was sitting against a door, containment 43, and humming a tune. It wasn't random enough to be being made up on the spot, and since not many people knew music, Peteren paused and listened for a few moments. He eventually departed, and headed to Leon's room.

He stopped in front of the door. He stalled outside, checking to make sure it was the right one. Domus 37. He hadn't been to another persons containment before, so he wasn't sure what to do. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. He waited for a few moments, nervous, until the door opened. Leon stood there, smiling. "Peter! Welcome." "It's, uh, Peteren." He said quietly. "Okay, Pete." Leon replied. Peteren decided not to start an argument with him, though he resisted the temptation to call him Leen. Leon ushered him inside.

His containment was much nicer than his, albeit dirtier. It had drawings on the wall, beautiful ones of people and of the park. The cabinet had stickers on it, many of them that must have been collected over the years. The bed was rotated 180 degrees, but other than that, it had the exact same layout. Bags from old food packets littered the ground, and his work clothes lay on the floor rather than in the closet. Is this what my room would look like if I didn't have Tunx? Peteren wondered.

Three other people were in the room. One was Buck, with his orange hair and blue skin. He was leaning against the wall. A female sat cross legged on the bed. She was tall and slender, though looked young, and a look upon her face that warned him to be careful around her. He guessed she was about 14. She had darker brown skin and long dark brown hair frizzy with curls. A tuft of it stuck out at an odd angle, hanging over her face. A person older than her, maybe 18, sat next to her, their legs dangling off the side of the bed. They had short cropped black hair, and striking yellow eyes, with a turquoise skin tone that was neither blue nor green. He couldn't tell if they were a boy or a girl. They, like Leon and Buck, were more muscular.  

"So, Petey." Leon said. "Don't call me that." Peteren said. Not in a snapping way, more pleading than anything. "Okay, Pete. Is that better?" Peteren nodded. Leon pointed at the young girl. "That's Quail." He pointed at the other person. "That's Sim." Interesting names, he thought, but didn't comment. He turned to Peteren. "These are my friends. Buck I've been with forever, Sim and I met when we got stuck on piston duty, and Quail... Well, lets just say that no creeps are gonna bother her on the streets anymore." "Speaking of which, why is he here?" Asked the young girl, not accusing, but curious. "We got arrested the same night. Jail buddies." Leon replied. Peteren didn't quite remember it going like that, but he didn't protest.

"Hi." He said to the room. "I'm Peteren."