Chapter Text
“I must say, your credentials are impressive, your level of experience is outstanding, and you’ve really surprised me. There’s just one last thing, I noticed that you haven’t recorded your batch number. I can just write it in right here and we can talk about getting the rest of your information for an official hiring!” The interviewer looked over his glasses with anticipation. His hand hovered over the stack of papers sprawled out in front of him, a pen in hand softly shaking as he waited.
This was it. Just like the plenty of other times. This was the final question that always kicked Logan in the ass and sent him out on the streets again scavenging for a career. No matter the evidence of his hard work, or the excellence in studies, it all boiled down to this singular moment.
Logan blinked back through his wide-brimmed glasses and steadied his composure as he replied:
“I don’t have a batch number.”
The interviewer hesitated for a moment. A small quiver of a joking smile at the corner of his lips, but Logan never broke. Logan never laughed it off and gave his batch number in the end. Logan stared dead-on at the man behind the desk.
“No batch number?” The man cleared his throat. He slowly rose from his hunched posture over the desk and rested his hands on the desk. “Y-you’re a Nat?”
Logan straightened his favorite tie, running a hand down it just to feel the fabric against his skin. He nodded stiffly as he closely watched the eagerness fade away from his interviewer’s face.
“Well then. This is all very impressive,” The man coughed in his mouth as he corralled the papers together, “however, as a pristine company, such as this, hiring a-“ Logan narrowed his eyes at the man, “an unmodified person onto the task force could lead to numerous risks. Not to mention the insurances that are required for us to provide. I feel as though we aren’t the right match for someone of your-“
“I understand,” Logan sharply stood as he interrupted, giving a short and curt bow, “Thank you for your time.”
Logan snatched his briefcase from against the chair leg and reached for the door. His anger and hopelessness were bubbling up in his chest and his poor attempts to swallow it down were not going unnoticed. As the glass door to the office swung open the man behind the desk stood with an outstretched hand.
“Before you go, I must know,” Logan turned back slightly “is everything in these documents true?” The man gestured to the papers that held Logan’s resume and small snippets of his projects he poured his time and money into. Logan gave the papers a soft glance before hardening his gaze on the interviewer.
“Absolutely.” Logan shortly replied and left the interviewer to gawk as the door silently closed.
--
Modified. perfected. flawless. revolutionary. genetically superior.
Whatever title they chose to give themselves. Logan could care less.
They were all freaks of nature but children of science in Logan’s eyes. Taking the human DNA and crafting it to our very whim was an intoxicating science that Logan could get lost in for years, in fact, he did. Just the idea of taking the DNA and erasing harmful genomes and/or adding in more desirable ones took Logan’s breath away. Yet here he was. In an ocean of these “humans” and yet, it seemed like the magic of their birth has become unglorified. As long as the science was in numbers and the occasional variable, Logan would immerse himself over and over and over and over….
It started off with simple genetic diseases and defects.
Blindness, Deafness, poor eye sight, Autism, Down Syndrome, Sickle Cell… Soon the demand grew and the options opened more; even diabetes, Alzheimer’s, cancer, deadly and/or life-threatening genetic diseases and disorders were being deleted from the genome in a matter of minutes. Lives changed. LIFE changed.
Soon it was less about the longevity of life, but the quality.
Better immune systems, stronger hearts, smarter brains, faster growth. Little changes were starting to affect the overall creation of life as we knew it. Soon the power used for the betterment of society began to chose what type of society would be born next.
Now it’s all ‘designer babies’. For a couple extra dollars, you get the child you’ve always dreamed of. Genetic charts no longer mattered. A couple with both dominant genes of black hair could easily decide to have a platinum blond child. No problem, no questions.
Everything a parent could only hope their child will or will not inherit was now like a god damn character customization screen in the hospital. Pick and choose your dream child with a press of a button.
It was no understatement to say everyone was modified in some form. Batch numbers would rely how many genes were modified, what system was used, and the approximate percentage of your genome remained untouched.
Unless, you were a ‘NAT’… or a natural born, unmodified, untouched, raw gene human being.
Logan sighed as he pushed open the doors to the main ‘baby manufactures’ of the world or as they called themselves: GENET-IX
This was Logan’s final hope in stepping foot into a modified-majority employer. Just because Logan could get sick more often, sleep for longer, take time to think, and be more likely to make an error suddenly shot down his dreams of getting a salary job. In the companies’ defense, hiring all the Gemos (genetically-modified people) made more sense. Capitalism, right?
Logan stood in the out-cove of the entrance to the business and tiredly watched people walk past him. Across the street, he made eye-contact with the convenience store cashier, who quickly looked down as they swept the store. Logan cursed under his breath and pulled a piece of gum out of his pocket.
Logan was a rare one. An unmodified that actually looked decent. He always felt like the dimples that would sometimes appear on his cheeks would give him away, but it was not uncommon for even a simple blemish to be squeezed into a Gemos genes for the sake of the parents’ aesthetics. Logan got lucky shots in the roulette of genetics, inheriting his fathers wide but narrow stature, but his mother’s dark and thick hair. He was told that he had his grandfathers’ eyes, deep and settled brown. He was often mistaken for a Gemo.
If only he could get his hands on this so called ‘public’ genetic technology, Logan felt like he could really ramp it up and go far beyond just human modification. Possibly even looking deeper at not only how to extend life, but decipher death.
Logan bit the end of the gum and slid the wrapper off, shoving into his pocket with a gruff of anger. He let the gum hang from his lips as he stared out at the pouring rain that danced on the cement.
What an awful day
Logan’s piece of gum was yanked from his mouth.
“I thought they got rid of all the smokers around here- oh my bad.” Logan turned to see a shorter man clad in black shyly offer the remaining half of his gum back to him. “Sorry. I thought that was- I just- My bad- I didn’t-“ The man stumbled for words. His early confidence drained after realizing his misunderstanding.
“It’s fine. And there’s still 10% of the population that does smoke, but it’s thankfully decreasing.” Logan took the gum from the stranger, looking it over, before deciding that it wasn’t worth the trouble and popped it into his mouth.
The stranger gave a nervous chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. Logan chewed on his gum for a bit, observing the bystanders before finding his eyes gliding back over to the smaller man. The young man hadn’t move from his original spot. After watching him for awhile longer, Logan saw the stranger steal a few nervous glances at him.
“May I help you?” Logan finally broke the silence. The man jumped when acknowledged and stood a bit taller from his slouch.
“I-um actually, I was wondering,” The dark themed stranger struggled with his words as he waved towards the doors of GENET-IX, “Do you work here?”
Logan couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow, oddly amused that the man would assume that he would have a position in the business. Honestly, Logan would have a seat in the office if he had a stupid batch number. He theorized that he was mistaken for a Gemo again. Logan sighed and shook his head.
“No. I currently do not.” Logan spoke evenly, returning to people-watching.
“Currently? Like, did you just get out of an interview ooorrr~” The man shifted on his feet as he spoke.
“I’m afraid I don’t know you.” Logan bluntly replied, extending a hand, “I am Logan Pierce.”
“Oh! Yeah, um… I’m Virgil. 10-DEX-92.” Virgil, as the stranger said, hurriedly shoved his palm against Logan’s. The icy touch of Virgil’s hands made Logan jump slightly, but he made a conscious effort to complete the handshake before warming his hand in his pocket.
“I hope that you have not been giving a batch number as a last name.” Logan attempted to tease Virgil.
“Oh! Yeah, my bad… I’m Virgil Blake.” Virgil corrected himself, shrinking into himself once more.
“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Blake.” Logan replied. “And, yes. I just finished an interview.”
“Just call me Virge.” Virgil gave a small smile, “No need to be so formal.” He mumbled afterwards.
Virgil, once again, rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes flickered from the ground back to Logan.
“Well, uh, hope you get the job.” Virgil gave a shaky thumbs up.
“I’ve already been denied.” Logan answered.
“Oh.” Virgil looked at his feet.
“Do not worry, it wasn’t because I wasn’t efficient enough in my work.” Logan tried to ease out of the awkwardness that swam around them.
“So, like… does that mean you know about genetic modification and all that?” Virgil seemed to perk up at the possibility.
“I have a doctorate in Genetic-Biologic Sciences if that’s what you’re describing.” Logan clarified. Virgil was overjoyed by the news, it appeared.
“Really?! Oh gods, yes! This… FINALLY!” Virgil suddenly squealed with happiness, his face lightening up. He made a small fist pump action then grabbed Logan’s arm and began to pull him out into the rain.
“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Logan tried to pull away from Virgil, stumbling as he lifted his briefcase to shield himself from the downpour. Virgil’s grip only tightened and his strides got wider as they crossed the street.
“I’ve been looking for someone in that field!” Virgil spoke over the roaring rain, “My friend needs help!”
“I’m sorry, what?! I’m afraid I don’t have the tools required to do a genetic modification, nor do I know the circumstances of this ‘friend’ of yours!” Logan yelled back, getting frustrated by his current situation.
Logan yanked one last time to get his arm free of Virgil’s grip. Virgil suddenly halted and spun around, giving Logan a small squeeze.
“You don’t get it… Something is going on. The big companies aren’t saying anything cause it’ll ruin everything as we know it. People are dying because they fucked up!” Virgil harshly whispered at Logan, a blazing flame of determination burned behind deep indigo eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Logan tried to get an explanation.
“We don’t know a lot other than: It has something to do with genes and…” Virgil scanned the space they occupied, “It’s killing perfectly healthy people. Just. Like. That.”
Logan’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he could really trust a stranger… let alone one that just randomly walked up to him and started to drag him around after finding out his degree.
“We’ve got all the tech you need. We just wanna know what the fuck is going on. You can just write a report and walk off. We won’t say a word, no one will know that you were involved.” Virgil finally let his hand drops, “It’s just people are dying within three days of showing symptoms. It just… It isn’t right. All the ‘big hot shots’ won’t help. They look like they know what’s up but are too afraid to say anything. We’ve had other people look at it, but they either end up running off after figuring it out or…. Dead.” Virgil stared at Logan for a moment more before busying himself with the landscape around them.
The rain slowly decreased, now a soft patter at their feet. The small covered area they found was dripping from the previous pour. Logan thoughts rolled around in his mind like a bag of marbles let loose. His eyes jerked left to right to left again. He thought of all the outcomes. He thought of all the information, although small and unconfirmed, he had received from Virgil. Did he really have a reason to say no though? What else was he planning on doing?
The interview was a flop, he had no plan, he was doomed to work at a bookstore or stupid gas station for the rest of his life all thanks to his lack of batch number. But right in front of him laid an opportunity to get his hands on something he actually wanted to do. Better yet, Virgil already saw him as a Gemo and didn’t bother to ask for his batch number before getting him, somewhat, involved…
“Very well.” Logan choked out. He stood tall and ran a hand over his tie.
“What?” Virgil was caught off guard, understandably.
“I’ll help you. Lead the way.” Logan reiterated. Virgil looked surprised.
“Seriously?” Virgil started to say, “I mean. I know I messed up the whole plead for help by dragging you halfway there, but you’re serious? You want to help us?”
“I’m always serious,” Logan offered a small grin, “I wear a necktie.”