Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. and bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervously polite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailty that he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all, marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, "He'll be okay. Let him alone." "But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time." "Hell," the old man said. "Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waiting for the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough." Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. about all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere to go, like they say. You read the books." "But he's unhappy." "Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? What do we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed or we'll be late." Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposeless noises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say. Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in the same old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all the way to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or with eyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retire into limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? One thing—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pants off Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget his They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. "Relax," Wayne said. "You're not going anywhere tonight." the movies." He could feel them watching him, waiting and yet still he didn't the glaring wonders of escape. He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strode under a sign reading Wayne grinned down. "Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey." Finally he said, "So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kid breaking out tonight?" The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward the incandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting and scary. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed to shrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a pea among bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggy head. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fear the way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'll show you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat until Slumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind. He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale, secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pitted potholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells. Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breath through the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling with the shadows of mysterious promise. a bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoaked shirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grub a dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in a doom. "I gotta hide, kid. They're on me." Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. The teener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the air Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonder Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless, until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. He held his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved in laughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yell Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying in pursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness and Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirty fed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. She sat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttons Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk at his lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentrated Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled his Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt the life-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots. "You, baby," Wayne gasped. "I gotcha." her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gave a squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked. plaster, a whimpering whine. "No use running," Wayne said. "Go loose. Give, baby. Give now." cracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into the "What's that, baby?" "I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know the difference." "I'm gonna bruise and beat you," he said. shuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging and "Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh, God, I'm so tired waiting and running!" "I can't," he said, and sickness soured in his throat. "I can't, I can't!" He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. studied Wayne with abstract interest. "No, sir." "They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton?" "Yes, sir." killed her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing can be done for them? That they have to be executed?" "I know." "Too bad," the doctor said. "We all have aggressive impulses, primitive needs that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in all of us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around, Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter, Seton?" "I—felt sorry for her." "Is that all you can say about it?" "No, sir," Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. "I'm sorry I punked out." open some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But there was no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and his poker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him.

<question>:
Why doesn’t Wayne like his parents?

<options>:
A His parents broke out when they were much younger than the age he is now, and he is embarrassed by this.
B His parents want to keep him from breaking out, knowing that the horrors Wayne will face are too much for him.
C No reason. Wayne is a bad egg and enjoys tormenting them.
D He feels that they are soft and stupid, that they’ve given up on what life has to offer.

<answer>:

D