You arrive at the southern gate to Ratmeat.

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Two guards wearing gull skull pendants nod their heads and motion with their trash spears for you to walk inside.

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The streets of Ratmeat look cleaner than the ground on the valley, in that the garbage has been trampled flat to make a path. A couple of children kick around a patched-up beach ball to your right. It's been a month and you still can't believe there are kids here.

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You head over toward a building cobbled together with scrap metal, pipes, and rotting bits of wood paneling. The top of the building has been painted with alternating colors of red and white, and a sign hangs over the door that reads "Ratmeat Diner".