Birth Defect5 mins 556 5 mins 556
It is the year 2067. Surprisingly, humans haven't terminated themselves by clashing against their own kind. A world war three did take place in 2043, changing the future of humanity, forever. The leading trigger for the war wasn't anything new; history repeated itself. The hankering for power. World war three was like the smartphone to the telephones of old wars; pretty humongous and wide spread. Nuclear attacks were the prominent highlights used by almost one third of nations, killing off thirty seven percent of the population. The war continued for five years, pouncing away at every ounce of humanity and haunting all corners of the world to encroach each drop of freedom, love and unity that flowed through it's people.
Serbia and Iraq were the two nations that had been completed wiped off after the raging sea of the vicious war had cooled down. The rescue teams that hovered over those lands returned as empty-handed as a thirsty child in a desert. Dead bodies covered the roads like pencil-shavings cover the bottom of a bin and the houses, apartments and buildings seemed as lifeless as a fish on a plate. The UN headquarters had been completely destroyed, bullet impressions garnishing the walls like graffiti.
A few months after the war was over, all world leaders had a meeting with the head of the Illuminati, Mr. Christopher Coral in Area-51 in Nevada, USA, somehow unharmed. They came to the conclusion that the main cause for the hated, greed and epitome of cruelty displayed by the nations can only be solved through population control. It was decided that all humans, being born after 23rd April, 2049 must be neutered at birth and were allotted to go through an examination when they were twenty nine to scrutinize if they deemed fit for the responsibility of parenthood. Besides, being a single parent was illegal and the death penalty awaited whoever wished to defy this new policy. Protests and criticism flowed through but the new World Order was strong enough to bounce past it all.
Today was a tremendously prominent day for Christine. Today was the day she had anticipated for the past six years of her life. Today was the day she were to turn twenty nine and finally apply to have a child. She could remember her grandmother narrating her twenty ninth birthday as clear as the day. Though her grandmother did not have any prep-schools in her day, she still seemed to have nailed it. It was because of my love for wanting your mother, she used to say.
Christine knew she was ready. She had managed to ace her prep-class for the interview. She had wanted a child ever since she had married her childhood sweetheart, Ben. He was seven years older than her and had got an approval letter years ago. He massaged her shoulder as she checked herself out in the mirror, smiling anxiously.
"You'll do great, hon."
"I hope so. Will you come with me?"
Christine sighed as she mouthed "Home" in her watch as she watched her car fly back to her residence. She entered the building of Healthcare Department, Nevada and waited in her cube for her turn as she played a video game projecting over the room, controlled by her body movements in real life.
After a while, she was notified that it was her turn by a quick pop of her Contact Chip, stitched on her neck.
"Okay, Ms. Malsent, why do you wanna be a parent?"
"Ob-obviously because I adore children and my husband and I love each other dearly and would love to extend the family."
The men in black suit chuckled.
"Do you have the resources necessary to become a parent? Your file says you're a teacher. We're not sure you'd be able to manage."
"Well, I happen to work part time too. Besides, my husband would obviously contribute to the expenses spent for our child."
"The problem, you see, is the fact that you're not an American citizen. Why should we provide you with privileges that are ours by right?"
"I'm an immigrant...so what? Why does that matter? I am an American citizen."
"You're an immigrant, Ms. Malsent. There's a difference. You must be grateful that we're letting you live here instead of shipping you back to your gutter."
Laughter echoed through the room as tears filled Christine's eyes.
We're gonna prepare you for the worst but once you're in there, anything can happen; Christine remembered her prep-school teacher saying that to her.
"Wh-what do you want me to do?"
"Well, if you're ready for a little donation, we might try and bend the laws for you, Ms. Malsent."
"I'll do anything. I just want my approval certificate. I just want a child," Christine sobbed, her six years of anticipation wearing away like cheap marijuana.
"How about you transfer $670,000 to us and we'll see what can be done."
"I can't possibly give you that much money."
"Your call, Ms. Malsent."
"This-this isn't fair," Christine cried, now sobbing hysterically.
"Do you realise how many people would die to be in your position, Ms. Malsent? Take the deal or leave it. Unlike you, we have business to attend to."
"O-Okay, fine," Christine's hands shook, her voice heavy as she mouthed her bank details and the amount in her Contact Chip.
"Very well, Ms. Malsent."
"Can I please have my approval certificate now?"
"The thing, Ms. Malsent, is that there seems to be a little problem with your file."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Your file states that you were caught shoplifting by means of electronic manipulation of the store database when you were 15."
"That's not possible, I didn't—,"
"Sorry, but we cannot let second-degree criminals have a child. Especially immigrants," said the man in the black suit as a malicious smile filled his face, full of glee.
"No, no, no, no, no, NO! YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME. I WILL——," Christine charged forward but she was too late as the security guard sitting at the far end of the table quickly pressed a button on his wrist watch, as two astonishingly human-like yet so inhuman robots walked in and seized Christine as she screamed, shouted and cried.
Three hours later, a lethal injection was thrusted into Christine's neck for creating havoc and displaying uncontrollable violence in a government office.