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...
I widen my strides and increase my pace, practically running by the time I'm out of the building.
I manage to catch up to the disgusting black slug at the front of the building and grab his black shirt from behind, jerking him towards me.
Ignoring his pathetic protests and struggling, I pull him to the side of the building and release my hold on the fabric of his shirt.
I latch onto his front collar and slam him against the side of the building. He grunts and snarls, but is unable to escape from under my death grip, of course, so he stops trying.
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My arm moves upwards, lifting his feet off the ground. I clench my jaw tightly, straining the muscles in my neck as I glower at him. His face is so repulsive that I feel sick.
That hideous face of his twists into a smug smirk, which makes me want to just bash his teeth in until he can't move his mouth anymore.
"Hit me," he taunts, "Hit me now, straight in the jaw. I'll tell them that I got into another motorcycle accident on the way back from the first aid building."
I grind my teeth together and press him harder against the wall.
"Get out of my face, yours makes me feel like throwing up." I say lowly under my breath. "You should do something about those bruises."
I let him go abruptly and throw him to the dirt, before stalking off.
I make a big round to cool off before showing up at the meeting area by the fringe of the woods.
How could I have lost my cool like that back there? I dig my nails into my palm painfully and abuse myself mentally.
I'd spent the past six years perfecting my stoic act, detaching myself from all emotions to protect myself from feeling my own scars. I can't go back to being that volatile little boy who constantly lost his temper, couldn't control his emotions, and trembled for his mother in the dark. That boy didn't have a chance at surviving in this merciless world.
My face is blank as I walk towards the students congregated by the forest, already in their gear. That vile slime ball is here too, purposely looking away from me as if nothing had transpired outside that building earlier.
"Mr Crawford, we've all been waiting for you! Quickly, get in your gear so we can begin the next activity."
I sigh at Miss Kamilah's bothersome chiding and get geared up.
They equip each of us with a big gun, loaded with paint pellets. We're playing in our respective groups, in the usual knock-out version where the last one standing is the winner and that group receives a 'special reward'. There's a minimum distance of five meters by which one player is allowed to shoot another, in order to prevent injury.
