Keagan and Eone emerged from the Elders’ nook to find the junk tunnel crowded with people. They had been listening.

Never had Keagan seen such an extraordinary group of human beings. He could see the underlying physical sameness of the clones, especially the piercing blue eyes … but these people had done everything they could to make themselves as different and unique as possible. The Perfect were all alike – in appearance, dress, style and behaviour – but the Refuse were individuals. He gazed from person to person: from the woman with tattooed zigzags on her face, to the man with colourful, decorated teeth; from the girl with a red Mohawk, to the boy with plaited hair down to the small of his back; from the girl with piercings in her nose and lips, to the boy with shaved eyebrows. And that diversity extended to their clothes and accessories, which featured hand-coloured fabric, shiny bits of metal and painted pieces of plastic.

Just as Keagan was fascinated by this strange group of people, they also seemed enthralled by him. They stared. A few of them reached out to touch his hair, his hands, his sewage-soaked clothes.

‘So different,’ he heard one of them whisper.

‘Are you really going up there?’ a middle-aged woman with a purple comb-over asked Eone. All the attention turned to his friend.

‘Yes,’ answered Eone.

‘Why?’ asked the young boy without eyebrows. ‘Befour’s revolution might work.’

‘It won’t,’ said Eone sadly. ‘There are too many of the Perfect. And once they’ve been attacked, how do you think they’ll respond? Do you think they’ll let the rest of us live down here in peace?’

‘THREE!’ The call sounded through the junk.

A young girl, panting and coughing, came scrambling out of a small side tunnel. She was like a little ball of soot, all grey and grimy. Her eyes darted from person to person until they locked onto Eone.

‘Befour …’ she said, between breaths. ‘Has three hangers-on.’

‘Three?’ asked Eone. ‘Only three followers?’

The girl nodded. ‘Others were too scaredy about going up.’

‘Well done, Scruff,’ said Eone.

‘If there’s just four of them,’ said Keagan, feeling a tiny bit of optimism, ‘what can they do?’

‘Ah,’ said Scruff. ‘They has metal coverings.’

‘Metal coverings?’ asked Eone. ‘You mean armour?’

‘Sort of,’ the girl answered. ‘Metal and machinery and tech and … and … stuff.’

‘Befour is always covered in things like that,’ said Eone. ‘It’s part of who he is.’

‘Different,’ insisted Scruff. ‘More! Big! It’s … it’s …’ She shivered and went silent.

Eone frowned.

‘Whatever he’s wearing doesn’t matter,’ said Keagan. ‘We should get going. We might be able to stop him before he gets up to the city. Then we won’t have to go up.’ And I can go home, thought Keagan.

The crowd followed them through the junk tunnels, over the wall and out into the sewage system.

Keagan groaned. He’d only just started to dry out. And he still smelled.

‘Why is Scruff’s name different from everyone else’s?’ asked Keagan, to distract himself.

‘She was a baby when she was dumped,’ Eone explained, her tone sombre. ‘Most of the time babies will arrive with the Perfect who saved them. Babies dumped on their own don’t often survive the drop. But this baby arrived wrapped up in layers of scrappy material, with a mountain of soft food scraps. We had no idea what her individual number was, and she was so cute and scruffy … we ended up calling her Scruff.’

Keagan imagined a baby being thrown out with the garbage. He clenched his fists and swallowed hard.

As they neared the location of the ladder, they heard shouting.

‘HELP ME!’

Eone sprinted off, Keagan trying hard to keep up.

Ahead they could see someone splashing about in the sewage.

‘Jayone?’ said Eone. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yeah,’ spluttered the young man.

Keagan guessed he was the same generation as Befour. While Befour’s head was naturally bald and smooth, Jayone’s was shaved, with visible stubble.

He was lying in the fetid water at the bottom of the tunnel, a pile of scrap pinning him to the ground.

‘Dump chute opened up above me,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t quick enough. Mech-suit slows me down.’

‘Mech-suit?’ asked Eone, as she and Keagan examined Jayone.

Sure enough, he was encased in mechanics. It was like an exoskeleton made of junk. As he tried to get up, they could see that the mech-suit was tangled in the scrap that had fallen from the chute.

‘Help me!’ demanded Jayone.

‘Not so fast,’ said Eone, crossing her arms. ‘We need some information first. What’s Befour’s plan?’

‘How should I know?’ snapped Jayone.

‘In that case, you can stay right where you are,’ said Eone.

Jayone looked up. The other Refuse had arrived and were gathered around, many of them pointing and smirking.

‘Okay, okay,’ Jayone relented. ‘Goin’ to the Perfect World, ain’t he. Gonna show ’em what for.’

‘Well, duh! We know that already,’ said Keagan. ‘But what exactly is he going to do? It’s not like he’s got an army.’

‘Said he didn’t need one,’ said Jayone. There was pride and admiration in his voice. ‘Told us he could do it on his own. Told us he just needed a distraction.’

‘What is he actually going to do?’ asked Eone. ‘What’s his plan?’

‘Um … don’t know,’ admitted Jayone. ‘Wouldn’t tell us. Then he left us behind.’ A slick of black goo floated through the stinking sewage, right past his face. His eyes widened. ‘Now get me outta here!’

Eone turned to the gathered Refuse. ‘Help him up,’ she instructed. ‘Take the mech-suit off him and make sure he doesn’t follow us.’

As Jayone protested, Eone and Keagan moved towards the ladder.

‘Can we come with you?’ asked a young man whose clothes were covered in squares of white plastic.

‘No,’ said Eone, turning back. ‘We need to do this carefully. Befour’s already gone up. And a whole crowd of people will draw too much attention. It will be better if the two of us just sneak up.’

The young man nodded.

‘We’ll wait here until you come back,’ called the woman with purple hair. ‘Be safe!’