Shucking scraps of meat through the openings in the grated walls was the highlight of most of Clifford's days here. Lunie considered these people dogs so they fed them like such. The banged-up gentleman, wearing a black cloth around his face to keep any bacteria or chunks out of his gaping head wound, was pushing around a cart holding a steel container of various raw meats, pumped with growth serums and antiseptics so the livers would stay healthy and get nice, big, and juicy. Yes, of course, it was degrading, it was [i]inhumane[/i]. But the people in charge couldn't care less. Once again; [i]dogs[/i].

Clifford wasn't so sure of that discrimination. But he wasn't about to bring the issue up with his supervisor.

Some of the werewolves dotting Main Holding eyed him as he slowly, calmly scooped up clumps of meat and tossed it inside. A lot of them did their best to abstain from eating the stuff, knowing full well what it set them up for in the long run. But the issue was, well... they weren't getting anything else, save bins of water. So it was either starving to death, or facing the liver harvesting music.

Scoop by scoop, he went on undeterred.