Mom glanced at me, raising an eyebrow as we sat in the softly humming lobby of the Genetic Integration Facility. The walls around us shimmered with a sterile bluish hue, reflecting the digital overlays that flickered like quiet stars above each family's head—informational displays, countdowns, data packets loading. It was the future, and today was supposed to be my day.
"Felix, honey," she said gently, her eyes narrowing with concern. "Are you okay? You're shaking a lot."
I forced a smile, trying to mask the adrenaline spiking through me like a sugar rush. "I'm fine, Mom. Just... really excited."
Dad, always the more observant of the two, scratched his chin thoughtfully. He looked like he wanted to say something clever, but settled on a nostalgic grin instead. "Oh, he's just nervous," he said with a knowing chuckle. "I remember when I had my chip activated. I couldn't sit still either. I must've worn a groove in the floor pacing around."
Mom nodded, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's a big day for you, sweetheart. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. You'll feel better once it's done."
I could barely contain the thrill bubbling inside. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't scared.
I was ready.
Ready to see what kind of powers I'll get.
But to them, all they could see was a kid with twitching knees and wide eyes.
"See, Ed?" Mom whispered to Dad, not as quietly as she thought. "He's shaking so much. He can't sit still. I told you he was anxious about this."
Dad laughed under his breath and leaned forward, placing a firm but comforting hand on my back. "It's fine, buddy. Everyone feels that way. You'll be good once it's over."
Relax? I thought. I'm about to get superpowers!
But instead of saying anything, I just nodded and tried to still the bouncing of my leg. My excitement wasn't justified as it's a norm for every person. Even though every part of me screamed to jump up and down, to shout and scream and just run—because today, everything was going to change.
Mom reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from my forehead, then cupped my cheek briefly. Her smile was soft, loving.
"It's okay, sweetie. Just take a deep breath."
Yeah, I thought, barely able to contain my grin. You have no idea what's coming...
If only I'd known what wasn't coming.
The room buzzed faintly as the integration pod hissed open, sleek metal folding back like a futuristic flower. The proctor stood beside it, clipboard in hand—or rather, a hovering digital slate that glowed with pulsing glyphs and readouts. He looked clinical, detached—like this was just another Tuesday.
"Felix Reyes," he said, scanning his device. "You're all set."
I stepped forward without hesitation. I wasn't afraid. I was ready.
The pod closed around me like a womb of light. I felt a sharp tingle across my spine, followed by a pressure behind my eyes. It wasn't pain—more like a pulling, as though something deep inside me was being untangled and rewritten.
And then, silence.
The pod hissed open.
I blinked.
No immediate transformation. No fireworks. No sudden epiphany of power surging through my body. Just... the normal fluorescent light of the facility and the sound of my own uneven breathing.
A soft chime rang out.
{STAT REPORT GENERATED}
The proctor stepped forward and tapped his slate. A holographic panel flickered into existence beside me, facing the adults in the room. Mom leaned forward eagerly. Dad adjusted his glasses, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Then the proctor began to speak.
"At the age of four," he said smoothly, "a stat of 1 is actually normal. The chip hasn't fully integrated yet, and over time these stats may grow, depending on environmental influence and parental genetics. For example, a child of a bodybuilder might show improved strength over the years. A celebrity's child might show heightened charisma. The child of scientists often trend toward intelligence. Endurance can manifest if the parents have an athletic background—"
He paused, giving Mom and Dad a moment to digest that information.
Dad chuckled. "I guess we'll see a lot of 1s, huh?"
But the proctor didn't smile. Instead, he cleared his throat and tapped the screen again.
"However," he continued, "Dexterity is different. It is not only influenced by genetics, but also by cognitive wiring at birth. It governs fine motor skills, control, technical aptitude, and complex coordination. Dexterity is valuable for crafting, precision work, and most notably... corporate performance. Data entry, algorithm manipulation, desk work. It's foundational for tasks requiring precision and multitasking."
There it was.
Corporate work.
The words echoed in my skull like a cruel joke. My breath caught in my throat.
Office work.
Again.
I stared at the stats projected above my head.
=======
{STATS}
• Strength: 1
• Perception: 1
• Endurance: 1
• Charisma: 1
• Intelligence: 1
• Agility: 1
• Luck: 1
• Dexterity: ???
• Innate Talent: The Dexterity Demon
=======
Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. Not the loud, messy kind. The quiet ones that stung and clung to your lashes.
Because the truth was—I'd seen this before. Lived this life before.
I remembered the sound of customer pings at 3 AM. The fluorescent lights of the BPO floor, flickering above lifeless cubicles. The smell of instant noodles during lunch break. The quiet war of ticket escalation. The relief of closing a particularly messy case. The drained camaraderie of coworkers who lived on energy drinks and sarcasm.
And despite all that, I'd loved parts of it. It was mine. It was familiar. There was pride in solving a hundred issues a day. In knowing you were a cog, but a damn good one.
But I hadn't been born for that life. I had been shoved into it. The daily grind, the mental exhaustion, the lack of upward movement. The feeling that no matter how good you were, you were just a replaceable part of a bigger machine. I had died in that world.
And now?
Now, fate wanted to throw me right back into the chair.
I bit the inside of my cheek and looked away from my parents.
The proctor smiled politely, oblivious to the emotional crater he'd just opened in my chest. "With Dexterity, your son is poised for a secure future. Jobs in tech, administration, specialized fields—perhaps even mechanical arts or architecture. It's not flashy, but it's foundational. And foundation is what holds society together."
Mom nodded slowly. Dad placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Well," he said, "I always said stability was more important than flash."
They meant well. Of course they did.
But all I could see was that cursed numberless stat. That blank space. That hidden line of text only I could see.
=======
{STATS}
• Strength: 1
• Perception: 1
• Endurance: 1
• Charisma: 1
• Intelligence: 1
• Agility: 1
• Luck: 1
• Dexterity: ???
• Innate Talent: ███████
=======
They couldn't see it. Not the truth.
The Dexterity Demon.
That's what it said. I didn't know what it meant. I didn't feel different. There was no voice in my head, no surge of revelation. Just the lingering weight of that phrase.
Not a superpower. Not something to boast about.
But it was something. Something hidden.
There was an unspoken rule: Innate Talents weren't discussed. Not in public. Not even with family. They were rare, often misunderstood, and in some cases, treated with suspicion. The system itself suppressed their visibility. Only the individual could see it. Even the proctor, with all his tools, had skipped right over it.
So I did what was expected.
I smiled.
I wiped my eyes before Mom noticed.
And I nodded when Dad ruffled my hair.
"Good job, champ," he said. "You've got a bright future."
Sure, I thought bitterly. Bright like a monitor at 2 AM.
I stared once more at that blank space beneath Dexterity, the hidden demon crouching behind all the 1s.
And deep inside me, something stirred. Not joy. Not hope.
Something older.
Something waiting.
It didn't excite me one bit, remembering my life as a chat support.
I smirked,
The Dexterity Demon, huh...