As the days passed, I stopped asking questions. No one ever offered me clear answers, and eventually, I just stopped looking for them. Several months later, my parents brought home another son—Matteo Sullivan, my younger brother. Of course, their only child couldn’t be “Invalid”, so they found one that’s not.
I wouldn’t say my brother and I were close, but we did share a few vivid memories together, most of them bitter and petty. We would compete in arm-wrestling matches, which he would always win without a doubt. He had no excuse to lose. No matter how hard I tried, they always ended the same way. Matteo loved using that game to show off his dominance and genetic superiority. It was a constant reminder that I could never be as great as him.
Maybe it was my growing dislike for this planet, but ever since I was young, I had dreamed of going to space, though I knew my parents weren’t too enthusiastic about it.
“Marcus… with a heart condition like yours… ” my mother would always remind me whenever she saw me reading anything about space.
“You’ve got to understand something, son…” my father would add. “If you ever get inside a spaceship, it’ll be to clean it.”
Well, he was right. I left the Sullivan household behind to find a job elsewhere. Twenty five years had passed since I learned the word “Invalid”, and then I became just another worker, a janitor, actually. Obviously, I would've preferred a different job, but no matter how much I lied on my résumé, it never mattered. My real résumé was written in my cells. I must’ve cleaned half the toilets in the state of California before I finally got stationed at APEXIS Aerospace Corporation. It was the closest I had ever been to my dream. Of course, I didn’t want to just stay there cleaning up after people as I watched spaceships and rockets blast off.
I found a man named Gustave, an expert in altering genetic identities. Men like him were difficult to find, but I was willing to do whatever it took. After all, I was tired of accepting my place. He introduced me to the art of borrowing genetics. Gustave handed me a pack of blood from my match and told me to test it. I injected it into my veins and waited for something to happen. Gustave began to laugh and told me it didn’t work that way.
“You fool,” He grabbed the empty packet from my hand. “You’re meant to use it, not feel it.”
I put on my coat and knew exactly where I was headed. Five years had passed since I left, and I returned home. The house was quieter than I remembered. When I stepped inside, I found Matteo sitting alone at the dining table.
“Marcus.” He recognized me without having to see my face. “Where have you been, brother?”
“Working, somewhere far from here.” I said. “Listen, when was the last time we arm-wrestled? I’d like to see something.”
He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Too long ago. Why? Miss being beaten?”
I said nothing, dragging the chair in front of him before sitting down.
“Are you sure you want to do this? We both know how this ends,” he said, smirking as he placed his elbow on the table.
It felt longer than our usual matches. I could feel my brother struggling as he tightened his grip on my hand. It was the first time I had truly seen him agonize over wrestling with me. I held my breath and forced myself to push his arm down. It worked. I couldn’t believe it myself.
Matteo looked at me with his eyes bulging. “How’d you do that?!”
I got up from my seat. “People change, Matteo.” I took one last glance at him before leaving.