Via complained. “Why do we have to come here?” “I’ve got some moves to make,” Xeke replied. “I’m hip in these parts. I’ve got connections.” “Oh, you’re such a player,” Via groaned. “Did you hear that? Xeke’s hip in these parts. He’s The Man.” “You just wish you could be as hip.” “Oh, right.” The area they traversed now—the Ghettoblocks—smelled worse than anything yet. Endless drab highrises, many on fire or gushing smoke from shattered windows—lined the litter-strewn main drag. The starved and the hollow-eyed sat in desperate limbo on equally endless front steps. Haggard humans, wielding knives, chased Polter-Rats through alleys that reeked of urine and far worse. Others simply scraped up dirt or gutter filth with their hands, for food. “This is where the poorest human residents live,” Xeke informed. “There are millions of apartments. No running water, no sewage or power—it ain’t Rodeo Drive, that’s for sure.” They had to walk nearly in the middle of the street, for man-tall heaps of garbage consumed the sidewalks.
