In a futuristic society where people are differentiated and valued based on the purity of their genes, can a person define for themselves who they really are? Or does The Gene Test provide the answer for them?
Depression... Addiction... Criminality...
Educators really annoy me. Especially Principals. Principals are the worst. Or just Perfects in general, I guess. They all annoy me to no end. What annoys me the most is that I'm one of them.
Being serious though, how do you become an educational director when your IQ can't be more than 80? It really eludes me. She probably just got the job through connections. Most things in life come through connections. Almost everything, actually.
I turn on the faucet, splashing cool water onto my face. Raising my head, I look at my dripping face in the mirror. The scars have healed and the bruises faded, any trace of that fight completely erased from my skin. I stare at myself, seeing my hooded grey eyes, sharp unshaven jaw, disheveled hair and the hint of my tattoo poking out on the left side of my body.
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I don't look like a Perfect; I don't look like an heir to one of the largest conglomerates in the country... I look like one of those gangsters you see on the dimly-lit streets in the bad parts of the city (granted, a devilishly handsome gangster).
What kind of person am I? Am I just a thug? No, I'm supposed to be a member of the superior race of human beings who are incapable of having any flaws. But honestly, I'm no better than one. I beat people up. I use people. I give ultimatums, with threats attached. I hurt people.
I even get people kicked out of school.
As I glare at my reflection, I recall the memory from back in Lucinda's Lair...
***
I stood opposite the Principal's desk, in front of the chair she had offered, not bothering to sit down. She gave me one of her smiles — a hideous expression, looking as if she's stretching her stiff face as much as it can go — waiting for me to give my testimony.
"I was the one who started the fight," I spoke detachedly. "He was making me angry so I kicked him in the chest."
She furrowed her hairless eyebrows that were obviously tattooed on, questioning, "Did he provoke you?"
I stopped a second to think. "Well, not exactly. His face just annoys me."
"So, what you're saying, Mr Crawford, is that you broke out into a fight with Mr James and beat him to that state, simply because you don't find his face appealing?"
"Yes," I answered simply.
"Well, I can't say I believe you, Mr Crawford." She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back on her throne.
I breathed a sigh of irritation. "You can watch the security footage from the camera behind the school, facing the basketball court. The whole fight was recorded. I know you keep tabs on all the security cameras in the school."
Her face remained impassive as she turned towards her computer and flipped through the security footage. Even as she watched the tape, her face was devoid of any emotion — Not like it was a feat for someone with that many fillers in her face. Once she had finished watching the tape, she looked up at me, lifting her eyebrows in question.
