When I got back to Gustave’s workplace, I told him I wanted to continue the procedure.
“Are you serious about this? I hope you’re not wasting my time.” Gustave questioned me.
"I'd give it my all."
"That's only part of the equation." He said before turning away to gather his belongings. “We need to go.”
The genetically superior can easily reach success, though the system never guarantees anything. After all, there is no gene that determines fate.
I followed Gustave to the house of a man I had never met before. He entered the house, and I followed close behind.
“This man has credentials unlike any other’s. He could even live forever.” Gustave looked around for the man. “His heart is a thousand times stronger than yours could ever be.”
I just trailed behind him in silence.
Gustave continued as he searched for the man. “He was a great runner. He could’ve even won who-knows-how-many medals—that is, if he could still run.”
Finally, the man appeared. He was in a wheelchair. His striking eyes were fixed on me.
“This is Lorenzo Niccolo De Sanctis.” Gustave introduced the man.
“We look nothing alike.” I told Gustave.
“Your face doesn’t matter.” Gustave replied without even glancing at my face. “Your DNA does.”
I leaned in and whispered. “Well... how am I supposed to explain the accident? It’s not like he can just get up and walk overnight.”
“That’s exactly the point. He had the accident back in Italy. As far as this country is concerned, it never happened.” He whispered back.
I turned to Lorenzo. “So, you’re a foreigner.”
“It doesn’t matter where you’re born. They’d never question that.” Gustave said in a manner-of-factly tone.
Lorenzo seemed to be willing to lend me his identity, and so the process of becoming him began. We started with mannerisms. I was taught to imitate the behavior of the elite and erase every trace of the janitor I used to be. Then came the dental work. Gustave had to reshape my teeth into the “perfect genetic specimen” expected of the superiors. He cut my hair and groomed me until I looked less like myself and more like Lorenzo. Once the person in the mirror no longer looked like Marcus Sullivan, I thought that was the end of it.
I looked at Lorenzo’s portrait and let out a small grin. “Well, I guess that’s it.”
“No. There’s one more thing—your vision,” Gustave replied. “Lorenzo’s eyesight is exceptional, well beyond 20/20.”
My eyebrows were slowly drawing closer together. “I can wear glasses,” I immediately suggested, before he could bring up that dreadful procedure.
Lorenzo leaned forward on his wheelchair. “I thought you were serious.” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head deliberately.
“I am—and I am not doing that.” I also leaned forward. “No.”