Genetic Modification

Arthur was paging through a magazine, shaking his head at the corny ads. It was pathetic how he had resolved to magazines glorifying the ridiculous culture he'd been raised in for entertainment, but he needed something to take his mind off his physical. The physical was a very thorough examination done for all teenagers sometime in the birth month of their seventeenth year. The results of the physical would be distributed to modeling agencies all around the world, who would decide whether or not to ofer a deal. The better the results, the more possible offers he would receive. Their ranking was determined by a series of letters and numbers- the best being AAA-11 and the worst being ZZZ-99. The first letter signified fat mass, the second letter signified appropriate muscle mass, and the third letter showed history of diseases. The first number meant FGA- facial general attractiveness, and the second signifying posing abilities. That wasn't very important. The letters were what was important. He might get to be some type of scientific study model simply because of his ideal muscle shapes. He doubted he would get to be a model, just because of his measles and his lack of posing abilities. He was hoping for an AAB-29 or maybe even an AAB-27. That was plausible, in his opinion.

As he reflected upon the physical, a nurse entered quietly and tiptoed across the carpeted floor. Arthur looked up without showing any emotion- no surprise, no anxiety, no excitement- just a blank look. His father's words echoed in his head "Show no emotion. Remain unreadable. It intrigues them, and they will give better scores to those they are intrigued by. They enjoy those with character, because personality shows in modeling." 

Her brown eyes met his blue eyes, and they locked for a brief moment before she looked away shyly. "Your results have been returned from the lab." Arthur gave her a small smile, trying to coax the answers out of her faster and still remain a curiosity that she wanted to explore. The nurses were able to slightly influence the score, only when there was a little bit of room for flexibility in the scores, judging by the personality and the physical attractiveness they noticed. 

She looked down at her clipboard, pursing her lips as she scanned the three pages of documents for the final rating, then looked back up at Arthur. Arthur waited patiently, trying not to let his anxiety show in his face. He offered her a flirtatious wink, and she looked back at her clipboard, blushing the slightest bit. That would be good for Arthur.  She found the results, and stepped forward, clearing her throat to give him the news in the formal and straightforward tone she had been taught to use at all times. 

"The rating came back as an AAC-28," she said softly. "You have already received several offers from FSS, offers rating in the thousands per year. Your family and you can look it over and decide which one to accept," 

Arthur nodded. About what he had expected, but they had taken off more in the sickness category. Oh well. It was the AA that mattered, and he had passed that with flying colors. Several offers was pretty good, especially for the first thirty minutes. It was entirely possible that he would get some more in the days to come. His father had gotten only one offer in his first day, but after a week or so a modeling agency had contacted him with the deal of a lifetime. But that didn't matter now. He had what he came for, and now he had to leave gracefully and without incident if he wanted to keep his reputation at the office up to par. 

He stood up and smiled at the nurse, running his fingers through his blond curls. The nurse smiled back gently, and he noticed that she herself was very pretty- but by different means. Instead of having the blond hair and green-blue eyes considered to be the definition of beauty, she had black and straight hair and deep brown eyes. She was beautiful in her own way, much more beautiful than the pale blondes that he saw displayed on popular magazines. 

He walked out of the office, thinking about her beauty- not in a romantic way but in a practical way. Why wasn't she considered beautiful? Why weren't all types of beauty accepted? Why was beauty the most important thing? Wasn't intelligence, kindness, and gentleness much more important than rigid muscles and symmetrical faces? 

As he was lost deep in thought, he accidentally bumped into a Reject. Rejects were those who were so ugly they were rated at least NNN-66. Sometimes they could just barely fail, and even one letter above N or less than 6 would save them from such a horrible fate. Rejects were assigned the dirtiest jobs- scrubbing toilets, cleaning the garbage, sweeping the streets, and scraping mold. This reject was dressed sloppily- in baggy cargo pants filled with holes, a faded Cardinals baseball cap left over from the Scavenge, and a baggy red T-shirt. 

As Arthur lay on the ground, the Reject leaned over and extended a hand. He helped Arthur to his feet gently, showing unusual strength in his grip. Another model passed, rated at least ACC-13. He sneered at Arthur and tossed a rotting tomato at the Reject, who ignored it and helped Arthur limp over to the park bench. There he gently rolled up Arthur's tight jeans and, without saying a word, disappeared into a local medicine shop. 

Arthur waited on the park bench, not sure what he was waiting for. A dirty Reject who might come back with a dirty bandage to fasten onto his road rash? The storekeeper to come back and wash out the wound? He started to sit up, slowly swinging his legs over the bench to leave. 

Just as he was about to push himself up into a standing position, the Reject reappeared with a First Aid kit. He gently pushed Arthur's legs back onto the bench, then knelt down and started to clean out the wound. Arthur gritted his teeth against the searing pain, but knew that it was either now or later. He let the Reject bandage his leg and help him to his feet. 

"Thank you," Arthur stuttered shakily. 

Another group of aspiring models, from well-to-do families, rode past on their bikes, throwing out insults that gradually escalated. When neither the Reject nor Arthur responded, one of the teenagers stepped off his skateboard and came over. He shoved the Reject, who fell to the ground and hit his head on the park bench. Arthur lunged to stop him, but with his leg still in severe pain he was unable to. The group cracked up laughing, throwing out a final round of insults. 

Arthur tried to help the Reject up, but he shook his head and waved Arthur away. Unsure what to do, Arthur obeyed and walked away as fast as he could with his head down. At this rate, it would only take him five minutes to get home.

He reached his home, a beautiful manor tucked away in the country and surrounded with apple trees. His father, a model for an up-and-coming Building Ideal Muscles magazine, had done quite well for himself and established a custom manor on the most beautiful section of the country with easy access to the city. Arthur was used to coming home to servants who catered to his every need and activities to suit his every whim, but he had nowhere near as much kindness and love for others as the Reject who had helped him and then wouldn't allow him to risk social rejection for his sake. 

That Reject had been so considerate, more considerate than any other model. Yet he was a REJECT, the lowest of the low, a failure as social standards go. No one would dare to be seen with him unless they were of the same rank. Yet people who had the best deals, who were the best as far as social standards went, had acted quite rudely to him and had no compassion. 

Maybe society had misunderstood what BEAUTY meant. Maybe beauty wasn't defined by facial structure, defined muscles, green-blue eyes, and curly blond hair. Maybe beauty was something no one could see. Maybe beauty dwells in the heart and not on the face. 

He was still thinking about this as his father strolled into the kitchen, carrying several sealed envelopes. His father, Edward Jr., started breaking them apart, then held one out to Arthur. 

"Look at this, Arthur, a deal by Butterfly Symmetry Inc. They want to make a deal with you for $200,000 PER SHOOT, offering almost monthly shoots! This is incredible! You need to take this one. You could do better than I ever hoped to do, maybe even move into a bigger mansion and settle down, all for posing for a few hours a month." 

Arthur pondered this, glancing down at the table. As he did, he noticed an envelope with an old red seal. He paused for a second and picked it up, sliding his fingers over the back of the cream-colored envelope. It was an offer by the Society for the Protection of Rejects, for only about $22,000 a year to help change the social standards of beauty so that these wonderful people could be accepted into society again.

"Dad, I want this job," Arthur declared, his voice shaking as he pushed it toward his dad. 

His dad glanced at it, then shook his head. He was trembling in rage with the mere THOUGHT of his son throwing a 200K deal away. "You will do. . . WHAT?!?!" he exclaimed, in a mixture of shock and anger. 

Arthur took a deep breath, then repeated what he had said earlier. 

His father shook with rage, and pointed to the door. "Then you can get out of this house and never return until you've gotten some sense back." 

Arthur stood up, grabbed the envelope, and walked out the house quite calmly. He had made up his mind. That Reject had changed his life more than any deal had, and he wasn't sorry at all to leave his past life behind and change society permanently so that man could be appreciated for his incredible kindness. 

*** 

FIVE YEARS LATER

Arthur waited outside the loosely hung red ribbon, holding a pair of scissors. A handful of businessman waited on the polished marble steps as speakers blared music. Groups of Rejects and their children roamed the ground, playing games and talking with others. Arthur's best friend and fellow entrepreneur Mark Roberts picked up the microphone signaled to their resident DJ, Orange Juice, to turn the music off. Orange Juice obliged, flipping a switch sending full power to the microphone. 

"Good afternoon, everyone," Mark began, his voice booming across the parking lot. "Today we are proud to announce the opening of the Center for the Inclusion of Rejects! We are pleased to have all of you here to witness the opening of a business that will fight for your rights and change the social conventions to include you! We are on your side, and we have established a business to prove that and take our protests against social injustices to a more formal and political level. In this ceremony, we will engage in a typical ceremony to celebrate the opening of this business- the ribbon cutting. Mr. Arthur Jones, CEO of the Center, will cut the ribbon. I turn it over to Mr. Jones to say a few words." 

Mark passed the microphone to Arthur, who waved to the crowd and smiled at them. "Well everyone, I do believe that Mr. Roberts has covered most of the content to be discussed before the opening, but let me again extend my heartfelt thanks for all the construction workers who spent long hours laboring on this magnificent building, our monetary donors, our sponsors, and everyone who has had a part in this business. Without you, today would not have been possible. With that said, I now present to you- the Center for the Inclusion of Rejects!" 

Arthur dramatically slipped the scissors over the thick red ribbon and closed them, listening to the sound of metal sliding through the fabric. 

As the Rejects flooded through the door, pointing in awe at the magnificent granite columns and the many offices of those who were going to fight for them, Arthur closed his eyes and offered a prayer of thanks up to whatever god or deity was up there to hear him for the fulfillment of his dream and the opening of a new chapter in history.  

AN: This is the first draft I ever published, so review hard in the comments so I know what I need to change and get some good feedback!