Saturday


    8/2/25


    "Showtime, showtime, showtime!" Yelled the towering figure walking through the inter-car doors of the N train, he was quickly followed by two of his friends and a massive speaker blaring a skull-thumping EDM song. The men were tall, dark skinned, and muscular, with typical street performer confidence. They quickly ignored the silent groans and eye rolls of the cart''s passengers and began their routine. They danced and flipped dramatically throughout the carts, expertly using the poles for leverage and building momentum with the movements of the train car. At least, I only have two stops left. I decided to put my book away and fish out my earbuds, opting for some noise cancellation to help me think and parse out the plan for today''s meeting.


    "This is...thirtieth avenue, the next stop is... Astoria Boulevard..."


    "Stand clear of the closing doors, please!"


    Ok, two stops left. Then a 30-minute walk to Alton''s house on 49th street. I resolved to watch the scenery of Astoria and the uptown skyline behind it roll by as I desperately tried to put my thoughts coherently together. Life has honestly been so chaotic as of late, and my behavior is not helping the situation. Between the usual stress of work, my relationship, and maintaining a social life, I usually have my hands full. But for some godforsaken reason, my monkey brain decided to tack on the stress of highly unethical and experimental gene therapy and collaborating with underground biohackers?


    What the actual fuck is wrong with me?


    I''m not going to stop, of course, I have the potential to achieve something truly special, the potential to properly take my life and body into my hands and sculpt myself into the best version of me possible. I have the potential for true happiness. Yes, it''s going to hurt, it will be dangerous as all hell, and I have a very real possibility of permanently destroying the body I''ve worked so hard to achieve over the years. But for me, the possibilities outweigh the risks. I''ve always been content with death after all. Worst-case scenario, my death can be a learning experience for someone in the future. Maybe the biohackers will write about me, perhaps a sad lonely girl will get to become herself due to my sacrifice one day. Hopefully, I''ll be there with her.


    "This is the last stop on this train...everyone, please leave the train...thank you for riding with MTA New York City transit."


    The automated message quickly snapped me out of my reverie as the train finished pulling into the busy station and opened the doors.


    ----


    Alton''s house was a modestly sized duplex in a late 20th century fashion, with exposed red bricks on the facade. It was surrounded by multiple blocks of the similarly quietly wealthy homes that were popular in "suburbs" like Astoria. The neighborhood had been gentrified twice over the last 50 years and it showed. The main drag of Ditmars Blvd was adorned with every kind of upscale restaurant and shop, and surrounded by well sized single and dual family homes, all in the millions of dollars, despite their former working-class nature. The people who lived here either bought their house in the 20th century for a reasonable price, or recently for at least triple that.


    He answered the doorbell soon after I rang it, in what I''ve quickly come to learn is his trademark little smirk.


    "To be honest, I wasn''t quite sure you''d come, the business card usually scares new people away. Please come in, it''s sweltering." He opened the door wider and gestured inside as he finished. I was immediately confronted with the comforting scent of frankincense and pine.


    "Thank you, you have a lovely home, I honestly didn''t know what to expect. The card definitely threw me off for a hot second. It''s human, I''m guessing?"


    "Wouldn''t be interesting if it wasn''t, now would it? It''s cultured from stem cells obviously, I''m not a monster." He was wearing an expensive looking pair of dark blue sweatpants with an old white college T-Shirt, emblazoned with the oxford logo. I looked around the foyer and noticed the large shoe rack and his bare feet on the wooden flooring. Must be a shoes-off household. I began unlacing mine, in compliance with the hint.


    "Fair enough, it''s certainly a power move to use that for a business card. Is that your alma mater?" I respond, pointing at his top.


    "Oh, this old thing? Yeah, never finished that degree, but It made my father happy that I carried on the family legacy, fortunately for me, he died before he could complain. He turned and started leading me into the living room. Obviously satisfied with the conclusion of the mandatory small talk. "Could I get you some water, tea, wine?"


    "No, thank you, I''m okay for now." I reply promptly, taking in the room. The living room and connected dining room were spacious by NYC standards, with cream walls, plentiful art prints and well-matched furniture. He seems to be a bachelor, but he certainly doesn''t live like the average one.


    "Suit yourself, now what can I do for you, Vi? You must have a good reason to have come all this way." He spoke while plopping down on the softly cushioned gray couch and motioning for me to join him on a matching armchair cornering him.


    I took a minute to gather my thoughts and sit down as indicated before responding.


    "It''s simple really, you''re one of the best in the area as far as I can tell, and I''d like to learn from you. Maybe I can help, if you have anything you could leverage my talents for in return. I''m not looking to make any crazy edits, but I definitely would like to learn as much as I can. I spoke as confidently and eloquently as I could, despite the lies.


    He stared me in the eyes for what felt like minutes, parsing me and my statement before replying. "No you''re not. You want more than that. You are clearly smart and ambitious, not just some vain young girl looking to be a little prettier. Please don''t bullshit me in my own home. I invited you here as a gesture of goodwill, if you can''t trust the man handing our home-grown human skin business cards with such things, who can you trust?"


    The cold sweats started immediately as he spoke, he''s intense and calculating, clearly heavily analytical. But he did have a point, if I''m going to seriously pursue this, I can''t do it alone, and his information is held hostage in return for my honesty. I took a deep breath and stared him in the eyes. "Look at me and tell me what you see, be honest, and don''t hold back."


    He smirked his smirk and took me in for a minute before grabbing a cigarette out of his pack on the coffee table, lighting it, and leaning back on his couch. "You''re in your late twenties, intelligent, insecure, and you''ve clearly had work done."


    "What else?"


    His smirk deepened and his brow twitched. "You''re trans, aren''t you? It''s difficult to tell, you are attractive, but the hints are there now that I''m really looking."


    "Ding, ding, ding, I respond quietly."


    "So what? You want to grow yourself a uterus? Swap your Y''s for X''s? You can speak to me, I know my country has a...reputation, but I''m not of such a mindset."


    "Oh god no, I''m not fucking insane!" I let emotion return to my face and mannerisms as I continued. "I want to start small, single gene edits, but if that works, I would like to move on to more complex edits. I''ve done some research, and I''ve decided that BMP4 and GDF11 are good candidates for high-level experiments. I know light-activated CRISPR could be used to selectively control gene expression in certain areas."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    BMP4 (Bone Morphogenetic Protein 4) is a gene that controls bone formation, maintenance, and density. While it is primarily responsible for early development, I''ve read that under-expression in adults is attributed to reduced density and length, especially in areas such as the face and shoulders. Which is why I quickly narrowed down my search to this gene as my principal interest. GDF11 (Growth differentiation factor 11), on the other hand, has a role in skin and muscle regeneration, making it quite useful for use as an anti-aging treatment, and reducing my overall muscle mass. I''m pretty sure that selectively modifying these genes with light-activated CRISPR would allow me to reduce the expression of BMP4 in the face and Increase GDF11 expression in the same area, effectively shrinking my facial bones, and preserving my youthful features as I age. All with theoretically little to no impact on the rest of my body. I intend to target other parts as well, of course.


    He leaned over and subtly lowered his voice. "No offense, love, but you are bloody insane. Sure, you''re not talking about whole chromosome replacement, but these are major ideas you are toying with. You do realize the risks with doing something as serious as editing your bone density, don''t you?"


    "Of course I do, but I frankly don''t really care, I''m at the end of what I can accomplish otherwise, and it''s not enough for me. I''m unwell, this could help, and I can do it, it''s that simple for me. I''m not scared of cancer, disease, or death."


    He knocked the ashes off his cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the coffee table and looked at me sternly. "What about the people in your life who do care Vi, I''m sure you have plenty of loved ones, do they even know what you''re considering?"


    I leaned over and returned his crippling stare. "Of course they don''t know, but at the end of the day, they''ll lose me if I fail, and they''ll lose me if I don''t try. So in my eyes, I really have no choice. I''m willing to be a guinea pig if it means that I can potentially help myself, and others in the future. Fuck the ethics, we have the technology, if someone is willing to use it without hurting others, what''s the harm?"


    "What happens if you succeed then? Where will you stop? You''re already attractive enough, I''m sure most people don''t know of your past self, from what I''ve seen, it''s difficult to stop once you''ve started."


    I took quite a while pondering this. He made a good point, I honestly don''t know when, or if I''d actually stop. I intended to burn that bridge when I got to it. I decided to open my mouth and let the honest part of my brain speak for me. "I''ll stop when I think I''m happy, I''ll stop when people tell me I''ve changed as a person for the better, my mental state affects not just me, but the people I love when I''m alive as well. I can''t keep coping like this, they don''t deserve that." At this point, the tears came out hot and fast on their own accord. I rarely cry, but the most sure fire way to get me in the mood is thinking about my actions actually impacting those I love. I am so perfectly fine with hurting myself. I''ve been doing it my entire life, but I cannot bear to hurt others.


    Alton graciously allowed the conversation to drift off as I composed myself. While uncomfortable with the premise of my ideas, he has clearly been weighing them on their merits and potential ramifications. After an eternity, he lowered his head, put out his cigarette, stood up, and quietly reached his hand out to usher me to follow him.


    I composed myself and followed. When he spoke again, it was quiet and curt. "If you''re going to do this, I won''t be able to stop you. I hardly know you, but I can''t sit idly by knowing someone could hurt themselves unassisted. Plus, this could help not only us, but others as well."


    I followed him downstairs to his finished basement, the vibe of the room was dramatically different from that of the lovely home above. While not a stereotypically sterile laboratory, the effort was clearly made to make the setting professional, and reduce the risk of compounding variables. The walls were stark white, with similarly light epoxy flooring. The handful of stainless-steel benches around the room were outfitted with various pieces of equipment such as microscopes, centrifuges, hot plates, and others I couldn''t name, but the overall effect was certainly that of a semi-professional research facility. One bench stood out due to its familiarity, located next to an industrial server rack, it housed a large expensive looking PC, and four monitors.


    He noticed my attention on the server rack and responded to clarify. "The model is housed on site for safety, nothing in this room is network accessible. It''s called Clara, I''ve always been a Doctor Who fan." He punctuated that last statement with a gentle smile and continued. "I''m free on Tuesday nights, you can come here then to work, I''ll advise you and steer you as needed, but you are responsible for your materials, and equipment damage. In return, I get full ownership of any intellectual property that you produce in this regard. You should have everything you require here for the basics, but there''s room for more equipment as required, you will be responsible for those bills. Do we have a deal?"


    Holy fucking shit, this is happening, its actually happening, and he''s helping me! I allowed the joy and exhilaration to overcome me internally for a hot second before responding. "Deal." Fuck the IP, I''m not here for fame or money, he can have it also, I just want my life back.


    "Have you had your genome sequenced yet?"


    The question took me by surprise. Why haven''t I done that? It''s relatively cheap and easy, the obvious first step in such pursuits. My excitement must have gotten ahold of me before I could think of it. "Actually, I haven''t, can we do that here?"


    "We could, but it''s not worth it, there are economies of scale for that, I''ll send you a place that can do it quickly. Text me so I can have your number, I''ll send you a link tomorrow."


    I turned back to look at him properly, he looked...calm, earnest, downright dedicated to this, to me. "Alton, I don''t know what to say, this means so much to me. The fact that you''re willing to do so much for someone you just met with lofty ambitions, it means so much to me, thank you."


    "This is not charity love, this is an investment, I can tell you''ll achieve something. I will be the one to reap the benefits when you do. If that''s a sacrifice you''re willing to make, I am more than happy to work with you." He punctuated his statement with a wink, and began walking back upstairs. "Unfortunately, you cannot stay for much longer today I have things to do. Please reach out to me when you have the sequencing results, and we will begin there."


    ----


    "Where the hell have you been, Vi? I''ve hardly seen or heard from you the last two days! I''ve been worried sick! We''re not fucking roommates." Harley was on me as soon as I walked through the door of our apartment. Fair enough, I have been MIA, I probably should have made up an excuse or something to explain my absence. Luckily, she wasn''t home last night due to a work trip in Jersey.


    "Shit, sorry I forgot to text, I had some drinks with a coworker in Queens and crashed at her place since it was late." The lie came to me quickly and naturally, I''ve been known to do similar things in the past, so it did add up.


    "Yeah okay whatever." She responded flippantly, turning back to face the TV. The conversation having ended unusually abruptly.


    I recognize this behavior, peak Harley exasperation with one''s behavior. I muttered a quick, "god fucking damn it." Under my breath and braced myself for the onslaught that would surely follow my prying into her mental state. "What''s wrong babe?"


    She looked back at me, paused her show, and gave me a dismissively hurt face before replying. "I spent all night in fucking Jersey thinking of you and wanting nothing more than to cuddle up in bed and watch some shitty show together. That kept me going pretty much all week, to be honest. You''ve been so distant recently that I barely feel like I get time with you, even when you''re next to me. So I was excited to finish work and spend the weekend with my Girlfriend. But lo and behold, when I get home she''s nowhere to be found, no note and texts unanswered. Now you''re here and half the weekend is already gone, not to mention the fact that you were likely to spend the last few hours that we would have had left tonight on your fucking computer, basically ignoring me. I feel unloved Vi, it feels like you''ve discarded me for whatever new hyper-focus you''ve found. Just like you always do. You''re here with me when I''m needed, but when I need you, you''re off doing your thing. That''s what''s fucking wrong."


    Great, great, there goes the positivity and optimism I''ve been building up all day. Ruined as usual by the struggles of maintaining a relationship under massive amounts of stress and depression. Fucking typical. "I''m sorry I can''t always be here when you need me Harley, unfortunately I have my own life to attend to at times. Sure I could have skipped out on my plans last night, but I really didn''t think I had to, you certainly made no mention of any of this until just now. So how the hell was I supposed to know what you were going through? I can''t read your fucking mind from across the city."


    She responded to me with a criminalizing stare and a curt reply. "You shouldn''t have to be told to pay attention to your partner every once in a while."


    "Why the hell do you need so much attention Harley? You''re a fucking adult, learn to self soothe." The cruelty came out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I immediately felt terrible on behalf of the subconscious workings of my brain. The premise of the question was accurate, the wording was certainly not. Fuck


    The face she gave me was nothing short of outright disgust, I don''t blame her.


    "Because I have nobody else Vi, just you, and you barely seem to give a shit. Fuck off and speak to me when you''re ready to be a real partner."


    I took her cue and gingery stepped into the guest bedroom, resolving to give her the space she needs, and to allow myself the time to figure out how to dig myself out of this hole.