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 look up at the building that stands before me, glowing in the darkness, the muffled sound of music pulsing within the walls audible. This is the address I was given. A warehouse party. Of course. Tucked into an area of urban decay, hidden deep within arenas of concrete and metal, it's the perfect place for the kind of mayhem unique to Marco; The kind that makes me sick to my stomach.
A big but unstable-looking steel door separates me from the pandemonium within, as well as the one thing — the one person — that keeps my own inner chaos at bay. With one forceful action I kick it open.
"Where... the hell... is Marco?!"
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I'm answered only by a pumping bass and cheers of the crowd. Bodies are packed like sardines, swaying and grinding to the beat, some practically having intercourse out in the open. At this point I'm too frantic to even roll my eyes at the lewd sight, and instead head straight for the nearest henchman I recognize, grabbing him by the collar, "Take me to Marco or you won't have any teeth left to say no."
The stocky guy over six feet cowered like a deer in the face of a lion as I stared him down, instantly complying and guiding me towards the bar in the sectioned-off VIP area, a lot less crowded than the rest of the place.
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I spot Marco, sitting on a barstool with an empty glass in hand, throwing his head back in a bark of laughter at something one of the numerous guys surrounding him said. To think, I used to be one of them, young and naive, trying so desperately to get in good graces with the big boss. The idea makes me feel nauseous and I have to stop myself from a physical expression of disgust. I keep my face completely stoic, staring cool daggers into Marco's skull.
He finally notices me, and raises his glass up. "Nite! My man! Come on over, join me," he motions me over but I stay put in my spot a good ten feet away, my arms crossed rigidly across my chest.
"Cut the crap, Marco. I don't have the time or patience for any niceties. Where the hell is she?"
His amused grin doesn't waver at my hostility. In fact, it grows wider. He chuckles, then places his glass down on the bar surface, ice cubes clinking. "If you want your girl back in one piece I suggest you willingly comply with whatever I say, Nite." His words make my jaw tense and my hands ball up into tight fists. "First, have a drink! You're much too tense, amigo. This is a party!"
