Prologue: He who cannot dream. 

At any place, any time, humans seek to distinguish themselves.

This was an understatement when describing the citizens of Merigen. Based on Merit and Genes, it was one of the Five Great Nations that populated the Earth at the dawn of the 26th century.

The Merigenians disagreed. Eagles don't fly with pigeons, as they say. And for them, no comparison fitted. They considered themselves above this world and despised everything below them. So much that in their eyes, nothing else than their species - the Homo gĕno sapiens - could be called human.

Such discrimination even existed among Homo gĕno sapiens. In Merigen, a part of the population was confined and treated like rats. They could neither see the sunlight nor fight for their rights. These subsoil dwellers served as livestock and playthings for the categorised population that flourished above—the Merigenians.

Commonly called Gifted, these elitist humans lived within a ruthless merit system where the strong devoured the weak.

Such was the life in the society where the unworthy couldn't dream.

This was the case everywhere on the surface; even in a little-known sub-city, which held much more secrets than it should. Even there, some buildings dwarfed the others. These gigantic towers embodied the privileges of the meritorious, for whom the rules differed.

Nevertheless, some laws had to be respected by all or nearly so. As proof, both the streets and the buildings shared the same shiny silver coating that allowed anyone to see their reflection up close. Still ultramodern a century ago, these suburbs now dwelled the lowest classes of the categorised population.

The wind was wild that day, especially near the rooftop of one of the highest silver towers. Yet it didn't bother the brown-haired teenager casually laying there as if he owned the place. Far above it all, he gazed at the world below, looking down on the silver suburbs he was part of.

His blemish-free skin and advantageous facial traits would have stood out in a group of models half a millennium ago. Yet, in the current era, he was no match for the stylish part of the genetically enhanced population.

At that point, however, his appearance was the least of his worries. Bitter, he glanced on his left, toward the horizon, toward the inner city. With the illusory barrier covering it, there weren't many differences. Concealed or not, it was a place he couldn't access anymore.

Briefly blinking, giving the world a brief respite from his piercing gaze, he had visions of the nightmare that haunted him day and night. Of his young self drowning in a virtual lake. It reminded him how much he feared death. Pathetic.

Pissed, he readjusted his position to sit on the roof's edge, not failing to contemplate the void at his feet. This place was his blissful haven. High above the other Low-Class Citizens, with only the warmth of the sun and the gentle wind to caress his skin. Somewhere, he could chill and experience the hypocritical pleasure of feeling superior to others.

Yet he couldn't do it, not that day. As complacent as he may be, there remained limits. That day marked the third anniversary of his downfall. He had not been the same since an ultimate failure condemned him to the lowest classes of the categorised population.

Actually, much worse than that, given his particular circumstances. It sentenced him to become a leech or a sub-citizen. His descent into hell would begin the next day with his coming of age.

Staring at the void, lying a step away, Loris wondered how he got there. Was there ever any hope?

BEEP BEEP

The skin on his wrist turned silver, revealing a smartwatch. He tried to turn it off, but it kept ringing. He couldn't deny this call. Loris sighed. He wished to rest peacefully, but some higher-class citizens abused his rights. Once again.

He took a deep breath before sighing in disgust. Again and again… Couldn't they leave him alone? Due to his particular circumstances, many treated him like a circus animal, a psychological punching bag used to relieve stress. Still, a citizen had to be at least three categories above him to force a visual call. Class-C citizens should know better. Pitifully, jerks proliferated at all levels, even in the wealthy classes.

In front and against his will, his smartwatch displayed a real-time visual transmission. It was almost a gathering, looking at the many holographic teenagers that popped into existence. All shared the same mocking look. Still, they wildly varied in shapes and sizes. Some were small, like children, with heads twice as big as others who were long and thin like bamboo.

Not to say that they all exuded a natural charisma that stemmed from top-notch physical attributes and unparalleled self-confidence. Average Merigenians in themselves.

To be honest, they were worth a bit more than that as his former schoolmates, or rather, his former tormentors. But this Loris would never allow himself to accept. Not for a moment did he look at one. Especially the big-headed blond in the middle that viciously smiled at him. No taller than one dwarf and a half, this one tilted his head backwards to look down on Loris. "How is going our little prig? Not too lonely?" The blondish teen said. Then, with a flick of hand, he lifted his rising lock of hair even further and exchanged derisive waves of laughter and knowing smiles with his comrades.

Loris sighed at their holographic presence. Bully they might be, but for him, they were nothing more than sensory nuisances—holographic flies, in short.

Pissed at being ignored, the snobby blond whispered to one of his bamboo-looking comrades before opening his big mouth again. "So our little Loris is still a puny category F? That's why you didn't come to our annual party. What a shame." His hyena voice mixed contempt with sarcasm. In addition, familiar high-pitched giggle-like laughs followed each of his sentences. Truly detestable.

Loris stood up. At 6'2", he was in the midpoint of his age group; however, most of his holographic peers were much taller or shorter. But it wasn't just his height that was average; it was everything. The proportion and consistency of his muscles, head, and probably the complexity of his brain. Unlike any other Merigenians, none of his characteristics stood out.

The jeers continued. Most teenagers hurried to show off their speciality, whether it was their muscles or their flexibility. Their intelligence or their greatness. Their perception or their durability. Trying to remind him how inferior he was to them. How he could never match them.

"I don't remember calling whores." Was the kind of reply he would have given in the past. Only these days were long gone. Instead, he put in the training earplugs he always carried. Then, as if he was alone, he threw his arms at his feet, balancing on his hands to perform a handstand. With only the air to support his position, he was handstanding two steps off the roof edge. It was both a way to get some exercise and to get back into his own little world. Alone.

However, even though he ignored his surroundings, some things always imposed their existence. This time it was the wind. It shook his legs, pushing them towards the precipice. On top of that, the giggles of his toxic audience vibrated through the floor. It was not hard to guess that this sudden gust of wind had nothing natural. Still, Loris maintained his balance with disconcerting ease. Trained or not, such exercise was of no concern for his genetically enhanced muscles and Eyes-Head-Hand coordination.

While maintaining such a position proved no difficulty, the blood still went to his head. Bad news; he didn't want to end up like the holographic fools who wasted their time laughing at him. Still, he had challenged himself to stay in this position until they leave him alone.

Vertical push-ups appeared as the natural solution to get his blood flowing while upside-down. He did a few dozen before focusing on his balance again. This time standing on one hand.

Once again, too easy.

In such an era, many things had become deceptively simple. Especially since humans had been blessed with the fruits of organic science. This was one of the reasons expectations were sky high.

In the end, his training earplugs proved of little use as holographic letters appeared before his eyes. "Are you not ashamed? Five-year-olds can do better."

There was a time when he would have responded to these challenges, taking the risk of falling if necessary. But why bother? Despite all his efforts, he had never been up to the standards of those with highly specialised genes. Such was his curse in this society where genetic specialisation determined everything.

And he was supposed to be a Homo gĕno sapiens? Bullshit. According to the law, all Merigenians had to receive a substantial genetic gift. One that could only be unwrapped before birth. He visibly hadn't.

It was this simple but fundamental difference that earned him all his persecution, all his failures. According to him, at least.

Although Loris had never given a damn to these bullying issues, he recognised in retrospect their impact. The endless rain of criticism had eroded his confidence, just as rock water formed streams and rivers. Little by little, over time.

While such harassment remained illegal outside the school jungle, the penalties for it were light. A forced call in contrast was more expensive. And while these jesters represented some sort of elite, none grew a seed of genius. They were the perfect example of the Merigenian pseudo-nobility who relied on their genetic advantages to maintain themselves in the middle strata of society. Sub-shits, as he liked to call them. In Loris' eyes, none of them could reach category D. At least not until adulthood. This meant that someone else supported them.

Moreover, as this bullying session had nothing private, every second of this forced call would cost extra merits from the high-rank citizen backing them up. Beyond a certain point, real penalties will apply. And while money proved little concern for many, a civic penalty deterred most as it impacted their position on the social ladder. Only minutes to go, and he should finally be at peace.

Minutes passed, and, unfortunately, the mentioned individual showed no reluctance to lose, or rather spend, citizenship points. And as the harassment dragged on, criticisms and slurs gave way to another form of malice. They hit where it hurt, much more subtle but no less effective. Their remarks reminded Loris of his failures and how he grew as one.

It had been three years since they all graduated. And unlike him, each of them had made a place for themselves in this overly competitive society.

It started with the snobby blond. This one boasted about his rise in console video games, a niche field with few burgeoning spots since the expansion of virtual reality. Then came the bamboo-looking man next to him; he bragged about professionally competing in some unknown obstacle course sports. Nothing to be proud of.

Most of the others worked in the sporting and virtual spheres, the liveliest sectors in the nation. Not by coincidence, as linked to the Olympic Games—a multi-sport World Cup.

The Merigenians reigned supreme in this competition. They did so in all fields, in all games, whether physical, virtual or in between. So much that it had grown as a symbol of Merigen's genetic excellence. More than that, it had become theirs. Since then, only a few worthy outsiders dared to set foot on the sacred ground where the Olympic Games were held. In any case, the others had no chance of winning anything.

'The fortune of being blessed with great genes'; paradoxically, what Loris had not considered determining in the past obsessed him every day of the past three years. Ever since one failure too much had shattered his pride and crushed his boundless drive to conquer.

As Loris got back on his feet, he noticed that the enforced call had ended long ago. He was finally alone. Alone and done. With no holographic presence obstructing his vision, he could finally admire the void lying one step away—a hundred metres of height separated him from the silver streets.

About to take the extra step, one step too many, a moment of hesitation compelled him to look where he had not gazed for ages: Above him. He saw the sun, whose blinding light lulled his chocolate eyes. A light that he could never match.

He loved the stars, yet he could no longer admire them. The grandeur of heaven and beyond forced him to pounder on his unfulfilling life and decaying ambitions: is anything vainer than a life devoid of purpose? Stepping Over the World. An Olympian. Someone special. At least in the average, please. These were the dreams he could not dream of. Failing to achieve anything greater, he stepped over the void.

As his body fell, accelerating at the whim of gravity, he considered it all once more.

In the past, his insatiable urge to conquer and irrepressible fear of death drove his every action. One only manifested in crisis.

Turning in mid-air, Loris plunged towards the ever-closer pavement. His genetically enhanced skull would splatter like any other at such a speed. Yet he felt no will to live. No fear. Nothing. What is the purpose of living if you only fear dying?

Everything changed ten metres above the ground, one-third of a second from his imminent splash. His indifference, or rather his confidence, turned to despair. It was only supposed to be a joke, a test of fear. Yet nothing went as planned, and his body continued to accelerate.

The few following moments felt like an eternity. It was as if time no longer existed. Loris asked himself thousands of questions. Ten-Thousand questions. Had she abandoned him? Was it really going to end like this? It couldn't be… He should never have put his life in someone else's hands.

In a fit of madness, he curled up into a ball and spun around. On a misunderstanding, his brain might remain.

Yet, less than five metres off the ground, his body crashed in on itself. It suffered a traumatic deceleration. The pain was unbearable; it was as if he would burst like a liquid. Still, this invisible cushion allowed his dizzy head to land safely on the silvery pavements.

Flat on the ground like a pancake, Loris could not move a finger under the disdainful gaze of passers-by. And yet as a deep sleep overtook him, he shouted in a final burst of rage. "Khalidaaaaaaaaaaaa!"