They have met a lot of mutants, mostly the kind that can't hide what they are, since those are the kind who tend to run in the same circles as Wolfgang — unstable living arrangements, taking whatever jobs for cash they can get. The last shelter had a policy against them, which may or may not be illegal. There weren't any in Wolfgang's immediate family — though who the hell knows, their sisters were at about the age those things tend to show themselves when Wolfgang left — but most back home got tapped for the IDF right away. Most make it a career, because who the hell else wants them? — Wolfgang's never thought much about it, except to note the general injustice of treating people badly because of something they were born with and can't help.
They shake their head, in the process getting most of the hair out of their face. They look down at the table, their face still faintly red. “Met a lot,” they mumble.