Jerome Eugene Morrow
The Crippled God of a Perfect Genome
I'm the ghost in the machine, the backup plan with a broken spine.
They called me 99.8% guaranteed success. A designer child with a genome so clean it gleamed. I swam for the stars—and came up short. One medal, one crash, one shattered spine later, I became a god with no use for legs. Now I live in glass towers, pour expensive alcohol I never taste, and hand out my blood like charity. I'm not helping him out of kindness. I'm just tired of watching my own potential rot.
What I'm Into: second-place medals, genetic theft, silver medals that don't shine, drunken epiphanies, watching dreams walk in borrowed skin
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