You had been working at this compound since it first opened after the war. A civilian contractor, your job was to help keep all the basic plumbing in the community running and efficient. It had been a year now, and most of the tanks in the place knew you by name... and knew that you hadn't committed to an adoption yet. Of course, you didn't need to... but you were one of only a handful who hadn't already locked in their choice. That meant that the closer to the "open adoption" day you got, the harder it got to do your job without one of the girls trying to sway your opinion.
Of course, they weren't going to get much of a chance yet today. The sun was going down, you were already a few minutes past clockout, and you were heading home. The dusty roads that ran between the rows of prefab housing were fairly deserted: most of the tanks were inside, playing cards or watching television, maybe starting on dinner. A few houses had radios running, but most tanks didn't care enough about politics to bother with that: music was nice, but the evening news report didn't really concern any of them. The United States had taken a very progressive stance on the treatment of thanks from both sides, and the rest of the world had largely followed suit: there wasn't much tension about their future livelihood anymore, not like there had been in the days just after the war had ended.
The perimeter shack where you would clock out was in sight now at the far end of the dusty road. Streetlights turned on with only a bit of flickering: this place wasn't built to last, but it would last long enough. Just one more month until businesses and corporations would be allowed to adopt in large quantities in exchange for providing food and shelter, and many businessmen were salivating at the idea of a big Wolverine or speedy Leapord working in their factories or mines. Not the brightest future for the girls, but the fair treatment laws meant it would at least be a decent living.
