Faux

one

Before even my alarm clock rings through the house and disturbs everyone who are still in cradles, I was fully awake and alert on my bedroom. I stare in the darkness for already an hour and wish that I should have made my standing in school better. I hate school, it is hell. We are dragged into memorizing full volumes of tomes in one night, asked with questions that tortures us, and all that school is. My mother used to tell me that I should know how to be good, and how to be smart. I am. It is just that they expects so much.

          My father is a teacher. He teaches three-year old kids at school with mathematics and science and mathematics and back to science. This is how our lives started. The beauty of our nature is not ourselves, but the beauty of ourselves is because of accuracy and equal nature. He will never let me forget that. He is smart, kind, strict, and nerd. He always remind me that it is not important to value our hearts, but rather it is to value our mind.

          I am smart too. I can read fast, calculate quadrillions in a second, but I don't know how to mark myself. I don't know how I would make others remember me. As I am. And that is the difference between dad and me. Making himself marked on people's mind is nature.

          I tried many ways to mark myself. I make my class reports into one with special effects that would fit in the display of a hologram. I memorized all the scientific names of all existing species. I acts how a witty person moves and behaves. I talk how they do. But it all wasn't effective. I asked my dad how to. And he answered calmly, just do, don't try.

          School and I had been enemies. And one thing I hate most is how it recognizes life value. It kills human. It kills those inferiors. After science dominated politics, us, the transhumans were born. Created. They believe that war will just be lost if all posseses power to living. We were taught, focused, and raced to save our specie. And to identify your power, you will depend on how intuitive you are. And it will decide if you will live or die.

          Marking. It is the measure of your brilliance. And it is what I cannot do, to mark me. When we reach the age of three, we need to go and be educated. After ten years of full education, you should have not the least amount of marks. The teachers are the one who gives the mark. It is a metal crafted into a pentagram, which if seen infront is a beutiful star. It is the size of a peble, and weighs so light, that I even wonder if it is metal. But when you look on the other side of the star, it is a mess. A complicated fabrics of wires and electrodes that will define you. And to get this, you need to opose a teacher, the most intelligent person after scientists, of course. Once decided, it will be injected to your face, starting from the left lower neck, and as you collect them, they will be placed right after the other string upward around your forehead and down to your right ear. And once you complete the spaces, you will be a scientist.

          My dad is considered as a scientist. A scientist made things complicated and doesn't care if anybody follow or understands what he thinks. But dad never wanted leaving all the others behind. He wants them to follow too.

          For ten years, I had collected seven marks on my face. It started from my left lower neck to my left ear. So few compared to dad's fifty. And it is because I don't want to oppose the one which is superior to me. And that is my weakness. Opposing a teacher is considered as a harsh idea, but for dad, it is life.

          Today, everything will change. All the students who will finish their school will be given the chance to have a mark. And the number with the four lowest marks will be assigned to a power, which we will use in a month, while the scientist observes us. And you need to belong to the ranking, top three hundred. And we are thousands.

          I clutch one of the pillows and placed it between my thighs. My mind resembles a large machine which was tortured, and if it failed, needs to be shut down.

          I still have an hour to lie on my bed before my clock sings. The wind outside brings a chill to my bones, and sends me to fear. My hands searched for the trails of marks on my face. What if I am one with those lowest four marks. Snides. The highest of the four, is the power to counterfeit or reverse. They are the one who can easily shift a power to its opposing nature. Most dangerous. Next is the Imperious, who is so intimidating, but is actually really weak. The third  is the one I hate most. Faux. Imitation. Copying a unique identity. Evil. Fourth is Dominion, more on physical. Not to worry.