One of the laborer class came upon an abandoned mansion, previously lost to time but otherwise unaffected by the world’s downfall, far enough from the beach to survive the now harsh weather conditions that coincide with beachfront property. A safe place for the survivors to rebuild and live, the society worked together to renovate it into livable property. Together, the group toiled for their futures and a safe home for themselves and their peers.

But when the time came to move into the mansion, finally fixed, an ivory tower among the desolation of a war torn nation, the locals locked those treated as laborers out. Instead, those who worked the hardest on rebuilding were cast aside, back to the temporary lodgings created shoddily in the first weeks of survival. Though the laborers saw how unfairly they were being treated, they could not fight back, for fear of losing people and knowledge necessary for survival. So instead, they improved their conditions– they worked to renovate their own lodge, to make it even a fraction of what the mansion was but at least without drafts and horrifying creaks in the night. They worked hard, for just a weak comparison to what the locals had taken from them.

One morning, another group appeared. Their leader, Bill, had known one of the locals before the war, and rekindled their friendship in pursuit of a home for himself and his people. They were also outsiders, yet somehow, the mansion had enough space to fit all of them within its safe walls. Why had there not been space for the laborers? Why did the laborers continuously have to accept their mistreatment by the controlling class?