Fourth Generation

Prologue

They say we've reached the ultimate perfection. Genetic modification has been proven successful. First created to improve soldiers' athletic abilities, then to help immune systems recover after a fatal epidemic. After that they made scientists whose intellect is far more superior than those who created them.

Now, it's all an overrated play which every human is subjected to participate in.

I huff as I rub a layer of oil off my forehead with a worn cloth. My cloths are covered in grease and the bags under my eyes droop like sagging curtains. 12 hours of moving boxes and machine parts at the factory is no easy feat.

I drag my shoes in the dirt beside the busy road of broken cars and as a wasteland of homeless people swallow the side of the road.

A man in cloths much filthier than mine, and wrinkles who carve into his face reaches for my hand, "Please... can you spare some change?"

I smile solemnly, and shake my head, "I'm sorry, but I don't. We've missed one day's worth of food already."

The man nods and sinks back into the crowd as I make my way to a broken building called a school. I walk into the office and they direct me to Sam's classroom. I tiptoe to his class, passed the drapes for doors and wooden boards for windows. The yellow light bulbs flicker as teachers preach what the government wants the children to know and not what they need to know.

I knock on the door frame and a sweet voice calls from behind it, "Please come in!"

I lean and peak my head through the drape and smile at the middle-aged woman who taught me. "Ms. Bellia, it's so good to see you."

"My sweet Elysia! Please come in, you're early."

I hesitantly take a step in and her smile drops as she gazes at my factory cloths, "It's been how many years now since you dropped out?"

"About four Ms. Bellia."

"You should've stayed," she sets her chalk down and brushes off her chair, "you were one of my brightest students. Would you like to join our class for a few minutes?"

I scan the room for Sam and he smiles and nods furiously. His warm brown eyes begging me to stay a little longer so he can too. Silently I nod and take a seat in Ms. Bellia's chair.

Picking up her thin chalk near it's end she sketches on the board reading Test next Thursday.

A series of groans and complaints arise from the crowd of kids. Some begin to bargain as others drop their heads to the rotting tables. The volume continues to rise until Ms. Bellia raises her hands and shushes her students.

"Now, now children," she sets her chalk back on the blackboards ledge and wipes her hands on her brown skirt, "settle down."

The class's noise hushes to a buzz before disappearing completely as Ms. Bellia stands with her arms crossed emanating a powerful aura.

"Let's show Miss Elysia what we know. This will prepare you for your test next week." She leans on the blackboard and smirks, "Society is divided into three classes based on physical and mental abilities. The first class is known as the First Generation. They are a very small part of the population filled with the elite, high intelligence, beautiful, and talented human beings. These people usually end up running everything. Becoming president, organizing the labs which babies are made and born in, and managing the DEU.

"The Second Generation is the middle class of the genetically modified society. They possess only one desirable quality. That may be unmatched beauty, intellect, or a gift of some sort. Most of the genetically modified human population fits into this category.