Demise

"If you're looking for several little stinky mutants, they should be right here," a refugee in rags said obediently to a city guard in armor walking next to him.

The middle-aged baker woman was following behind the guard with a depressed look.

The guard slammed the door of the shelter open and scanned the room quickly, but without seeing anything.

"Not a soul. Well?" He then looked at their guide with a pair of sharp eyes.

"But… But I just saw them going in there!" The refugee also looked inside and sweated.

"Taking me for a fool?" The guard grew impatient.

The refugee quickly knelt down. "They were here a minute ago, honest! Oh, wait! A wicked woman used to live here before. I think she dug a cellar somewhere nearby. That's where they're hiding!"

"A woman?" The guard approached the cellar entrance at the back of the shelter.