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...
"You disgusting piece of filth, you already had the audacity to drag your dirty feet into this neighborhood, and now you dare to ask me for money?" The man kicks the guy already on the floor in the stomach. He's one of three well-dressed men, probably Borders back from a night out at the club, looming over their fallen prey — a man so stick-thin that I can see the hollows in his cheeks, as he looks up helplessly at his aggressors: An Invalid.
The second man raises his foot, ready to stomp down on him again when I yell out involuntarily, "Stop!"
I instantly regret it, as both men turn their eyes from their victim, to me. My head goes blank. What was your plan, Juliette? Did you run head-first to play heroine without a proper plan?
"I-I'm sure he's learnt his lesson by now..." I begin to blabber nonsensically, "M-Maybe... you could... let him go?"
The third man looks at me with narrowed eyes, evaluating me up and down. "You look familiar... have I seen you somewhere before?"
"No," I quickly answer, "I'm just a Normal girl, where would you have seen me?"
The second man shakes his finger at me, "You're another one. Why can't people grasp the concepts that Border neighborhoods are for Borders? Why can't all of you contaminated people just stay where you belong instead of coming here and trying to infect us with your disease?"
I swallow, and suck in my cheeks, holding back the words I want to say, which will just get me in deeper trouble with these three fully-grown men who don't look very friendly or understanding.
I breath heavily, standing rooted to the spot. Should I just leave like that? Do I leave that Invalid to deal with his own problems, and go home safely on my own now?
The men seem to see my hesitation, and grin, turning back to their victim on the floor. They give him another kick, and he groans painfully.
"No!" The word bursts out of my chest without my consent, I drop my duffle bag on the street, and my feet start moving against my own free will, running straight at them. I grab one of the guys by the arm, trying to fight him off the Invalid.
"Get out of the way, little girl." He pushes me to the ground. I hit the floor, tears of fear and pain gathering in my eyes. I slowly close them. My heart it beating so, so fast.
I hear a loud grunt, and shouting. My eyes pop open, and I see a full-on fight breaking out in front of my trembling eyes. The three Borders spit vulgarities and try to combat the one guy in a black hood that just arrived on the scene, but he easily gets the better of them.
The hooded guy swiftly dodges their numerous punches and kicks, and launches his own series of sharp attacks, without even using his fists. His hands are open, and he uses his palms and elbows to strike them, with great effect.
One man comes at his head with a fist, and he simply bends over and lets the Border's knuckles connect with the back of his skull, hard. I hear a crack. He seems fine, but the Border howls in pain, clutching onto his fist and stumbling backwards. I think he may have broken it.
The guy in the black jacket raises his head, hood fallen off to reveal his face from the side. He... has a nice profile.
He's... Sterling.
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Another fist comes at him from the side, and he catches it mid-air, simultaneously spinning and kicking the other man who tries to launch a surprise attack on him from behind. Sterling twists the hand of the Border who tried punching him until he shrieks from the position his arm is in, then swings a hook at the Border's head before using the momentum to shove him onto the other Border he had kicked to the ground earlier. The men grunt and groan, not getting up.
Sterling flings his head around, looking down at me, panting, and I stare back up at him in frozen astonishment. His green-grey — almost silver — eyes are wide and flashing in the darkness.
With one swift motion, he takes my wrist and hauls me up from the ground. My small body crashes into his, eyes widening and hands trembling.
Tightening his hold on my wrist, he turns, and runs.
***
We run, and run. I'm out of breath, heaving heavily, and my legs are getting sore. I can't keep up with him. Even with my duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he manages to sprint so fast that I feel like my feet are barely touching the ground as he pulls me along.
He hasn't spoken a word to me this entire time, and just keeps running. I don't even know where we're going, or when we'll stop, but I feel like my legs are going to give out any time now.
Finally he starts to slow down, and I look up to see a bus stop in the distance. Before I can reach the bus stop, I collapse at a white wall nearby, sliding down into a seating position. Sweat slides down my neck, and I'm panting like crazy, starting to feel a little dizzy. I lean my head back on the wall, trying to catch my breath.
He stops as well, and glares at me silently. Why does he look so angry? What did I do?
As soon as I begin to breath normally again, I stand up on my wobbly legs. I try to take a step forward but he instantly backs me into the wall again, slamming one arm on the wall over my head, keeping me pinned under his deadly gaze. I feel my breath pick up again as I stare up into those light eyes of his, which hold so much anger.
"What were you thinking?" he shouts at me, which makes me flinch. I've never heard him yell before. I've never even seen him show this much emotion before.
"Those Perfects were ganging up on that one Invalid a-and I—"
"So? It was none of your business interfering in that fight!"
Now I'm starting to get frustrated, and indignant. Why is he lashing out on me? I didn't do anything wrong, I was just trying to help.
"I couldn't just stand there and let them! It wasn't fair!"
"Don't you get it by now? We live in a world where 'fairness' is just a word people like to throw around so that they can pretend it exists," he says lowly and spitefully. "The way this screwed up society runs, Perfects get to make mistakes but have it taken as a 'lapse in judgement'. Over... and over. We're given endless second chances. Why?" He sneers. "Because our DNA denotes us as some higher order of the human race that are incapable of committing mistakes, even though we all know just how screwed up we really are." His voice is so brimmed with resentment that I fear it may spill over, but he controls himself, taking a deep breath and draining his face of emotion.
"That includes me. And you. It's not fair, but it's how things are, and there's nothing you can do to change it. So don't try... you'll only get hurt." His tone and expression are unreadable.
"And what about you? I'm not allowed to interfere with things that aren't my business but you can play knight in shining armor?" I yell back at him. "You aren't some white knight, I don't need you to swoop in and save me. I can take care of myself!"
He looks shocked at my outburst. His stoic act cracks, "I... I..."
"You what? Huh? Why are you always doing this? Why do you keep trying to protect me? Why?"
His answer is whispered under his breath, so soft that I almost didn't hear it. But I did.
"Because I have to."
His face holds a version of innocence, a semblance of vulnerability, one crack of raw emotion showing through that stone cold armor of his. I swallow hard. My heart is fluttering wildly in my chest, and I can't think.
Sterling quickly pulls away. He walks towards the bus stop, and hails down the incoming bus. "It's your bus," he says tonelessly, refusing to look at me.
He places my bag down on the pavement, and stalks down the street towards nowhere.
