Approx. The author
It was a difficult and time-consuming job for me, because I had to create a coherent story and at the same time fit real science fiction into it. And as we know, science fiction is scientific because you believe in it.
So I had to believe, and for this I had to go through a lot of material on how a person of the future might look like. After all, not only our external and physical parts are changing, but also our internal ones. The way we think, that's how we exist. Therefore, in this story, I pursued the goal for myself to understand, not even my future son or grandson, but my great-grandson. As if my ancestor existed in the world of the future and at the same time I can confidently say: Yes, that's how it will be!
 I am not a man of science, although I am not indifferent to it, but first of all a writer by profession. More precisely, the screenwriter. The main difficulty was in working out the character. I see him as a simple and rather dumb guy who has his own charisma. Charisma is probably like that of any provincial "bati", whose home clothes are family pants and a white T—shirt. But one cannot ignore the fact that even such a simple character will change greatly under the influence of time, and therefore, in order not to overdo it, the story turned out to be so short. I wanted to reconcile the scientific part with the dramatic part, and I hope I succeeded.
According to the classics, in my addresses to the reader, I wish him a pleasant reading. I hope and believe that you will like my text. And you will come up with a conclusion for yourself. This is the main value of a literary text.
I also express my gratitude to my friend Daniil Limarenko and my teacher Natalia Ivanova Bykova, without whom I would not have written this text
Thanks for reading.  
Dictionary of Fantastic Terms:
HIPDI (from the English Human Intellectual and Physical Development Index) is an advanced IQ test that identifies the estimated intellectual and physical abilities of a child.
The GENE INVESTIGATOR DATABASE (Allele Database) is a government–classified information database about all citizens of the country, which includes not only data on property, offenses and personal life, but also allelic information about a person, up to the fifth generation of an individual. 
A GENE INVESTIGATOR is a profession of the future, which implies two complete educations (Education in the field of criminology and education in biology, cytology or medicine). A gene investigator is attached to an institute or university, and is required to perform work related to the illegal transfer, distribution and creation of human and animal genetic material. Also, the gene investigator must have a doctorate degree.
The GENE REVOLUTION is an event in world history when modification and modification of the human gene code became available to the masses. The revolution began with the loosening of the prohibitions of genetic experiments on humans. This event is also associated with the beginning of the second Cold War, when world powers threatened to create chemical weapons, from which there would be no salvation and/ or treatment. 

 
Pain is the first thing that pops into my head. The blows of a gray fist strike sparks from my eyes, and my tongue keeps trying to jump out of my mouth.
–That's enough,– said a deep voice. – Will you tell me everything now? 
Grey silhouettes from the surrounding darkness stared at me, naked and exhausted. Only a cat or someone who has been implanted with a feline tampetum would be able to figure out who it is. That's what I refused to buy at the time. And then there was an action, you fool. But they did not seem to be stingy, and implanted them. How did I understand that? Eyes. The eyes glow with a bright green fire. 
My head hung down on my chest like a split watermelon on a rope, my hair was matted with blood, and my red lifeline stretched out of my mouth.
– You know, guys, – I smiled cheerfully, – Progress goes on and on, and the fist remains the best flash drive for the human brain. Ironic!
They decided to turn the flash drive in different directions at the port, and I found myself up to my neck in my own blood again.
– That's enough, you'll kill him again. 
The silhouette crouched down in front of me.
– Let's not bicker, okay? You know yourself, for the sake of a provincial employee of the institute, no one will go to dig up the forest.
I smiled.
– Then give me some water... otherwise my jaw is falling off… From your friendliness…
***
For you, I'll start the story from the beginning, otherwise you can get confused. It's probably worth starting with how my day starts and how I exist in it. In the cinema, this is called an exposition. 
The Institute of Cytology and Genetics in Novosibirsk is my workplace, my shelter, my bread. Here, young and not so young minds comprehend the basics of genetics and the human body. Institutes are now places akin to a monastery, and institutes where cell biology is studied are the temple of God in the flesh. People with the highest IQ go to such places, because people of average and lower levels should not be allowed to use DNA modification and transformation technologies. Although with the modern development of genetic modification, the concept of the average has greatly blurred, because even from the womb of the mother can grow into a child prodigy. If, of course, the genmats allow it. The average IQ of a person for two thousand eighty-fifth year is one hundred and fifty units, but this applies only to the current generation, while I, a person who lived before the gene revolution, can only enjoy my average IQ of about one hundred units. Sometimes I'm afraid to approach the sandbox with children, afraid to see not a shovel and a bucket there, but exponential calculations. 
My day begins with the fact that I protect myself from the light of a light bulb turning on. 
– Ivan, did you sleep in my laboratory again? – a woman 's dissatisfied voice rasped
– It's not my fault that when the institute was allocated a budget, they bought you the most comfortable sofa in the office.
Yes, the time is like that. Today you can raise a child with better muscles than an athlete, but money for a couch in the office is a big deal. At the same moment, my body mechanically reaches for the sink to cheer up. There, in the time-stained mirror, I see my face puffy from cigarettes, and bags under my eyes the color of tobacco smoke.
– Thank God that at least you don't drink here!
– After my wife tricked me into inserting hamster hepatocytes, alcohol no longer brings me joy. Damn hamsters, how did I know that their livers absorb alcohol better?
– Oxidize, not dissolve… And not alcohol, but ethanol! Doctor of Science, damn it… 
– By the way, I was wondering how your lot is doing in the gene bank? Has there already been a man willing to accept the most harmful genes in Siberia?
- No! Get on watch, I've got my hands full!
– Vera Evgenievna, what is the problem? I understand no more charm in me than in a bottle of vodka, but why such tension? 
– Oh, Vanya, the inspection is coming today and…
I kicked my foot in frustration. Verification! How could I forget! I immediately threw myself on my shoes and ran to my office. 
I never spend the night in my office, because it is difficult to be there horizontally, and vertically it is even worse. The security system is broken and until it is fixed, I spend the night at the Institute five days a week. That's where the budget was supposed to go, not on the couch. 
I open the door to the office. The smell of stale waste paper hits my nose. My hand squeezes into a small refrigerator and throws it on such a sealed sandwich, without slowing down, I immediately turn on the kettle and pour myself half a glass of coffee, and then with an elegant movement I send the sandwich spinning in a ballet step, right inside the microwave.
While the food is waiting in the wings, I dive into folders, mostly those that have not turned yellow from my lack of interest in them. I find the right things. Unlike all employees of the institute, only in my office there are folders with the title "Case P-017-324: Repainting officers' bloodhounds in blue" or "Case C-017-324: Leg muscle building in an ostrich in a zoo." Sometimes imitating violent activity is much more difficult than doing it, just because you don't understand what you should be doing at all.
Suddenly there was a knock on my door, and the kettle screamed as if warning me. Outside the door, I heard the dean's voice, this thin voice I recognize from many, but with it there was another, more monotonous and strict. All cases are closed, and they were closed months ago. Turn off the lights, as they say. But then the microwave timer made a "ding" and a shelf marked "Capercaillie" caught my attention.
I opened the door and a gray face appeared in front of me, with huge bags under his eyes and in a pitch-black suit. He held out his bony hand to me, and there was a sound in my ears that stretched like the rubber of flesh.
– Hello, Ivan Abramovich, nice to meet you.
– Likewise.
– This is Valentin Viktorovich, Vanya, – the Dean mumbled from behind, – the head of the Cytology Laboratory at Lomonosov University. Moscow!
– Oh, Moscow? Moscow is what we love, Moscow is what we respect!
– It's nice to hear, – said koshchei, – I really wanted to look at your reports, Ivan Abramovich. Shall we sit alone? I heard the kettle boiled at your place, and there are hardly more than two people here.
The dean left resentfully, as if he had not been invited to a nice tea party. 
The inspector leafed through my documents for a long time, and I was even shocked at the freedom he takes in this regard. It feels like he's getting under my clothes. He noticed the icon on my desk.
– Are you a believer, Ivan Abramovich?
– My wife brought it to me to keep. But, yes, I am a believer. – All I could read on his face was the emotion: "This is the news"
– It is rare in our times to meet people of your profession who believe in God's plan. Do you contact him often?
– When it comes. 
– Hmm, I see. And what are you not eating? Breakfast is getting cold.
– Thanks, I'll have some coffee for now.
– Ivan Abramovich, how long have you been working as an investigator at the Institute?
– Well, as soon as the program was launched, I've been working so much, it turns out since two thousand fifty-ninth year.  
– Hmm... were you a policeman or a doctor of sciences before? By the look of you, I would have given you a timely..." he ran his beady eyes over my beard, crumpled hospital gown and coffee trail on my shirt.
– The answer... But I'm a man without prejudice, and suddenly you surprise me. 
I took another sip of coffee and swallowed loudly. I sustained a theatrical pause of three seconds, because that's how much my brain needs to decide to lie. 
– A policeman.  I lied.
– That's what I thought. Can you answer my question then? Since you are a believer and one of... Russia's foremost genetic investigators, do you believe that we are created in the image and likeness of God?
– You are asking seditious questions, Valentin.
– Viktorovich. – He corrected me.
– ...Viktorovich. I do not know by heart that we were created in his image, but this image," I pointed to my beautiful face, "is blurred over the years, and his love for us is also strong.   
– An amazing answer even for a... policeman.
He smiled at me with such a cardboard smile that it can be seen that the hearing and smell modifications work well in him and he seems to see well how nervous I am. He took out sheets of paper from his briefcase, and as soon as I found my name in them, my heart sank right into my stomach.
– You know, I would be very surprised if a former doctor of sciences in genetic engineering received such results on accreditation, but this is standard practice for those who came from the police to gene investigators, and not vice versa. For some reason, physical standards are easier for scientists than scientific work for police officers. 
I was silent. I always do this when I'm afraid to answer someone. I think I can come up with a smart answer, but to give smart answers, you need to be at least not an idiot.
– Ivan Abramovich, I see that you are working. The last case you closed was in March, and you are sitting on those cases that it seems you will never be able to solve, this is commendable. A gene investigator has less work than a regular one, but still. Let's do this. The month has just started, and therefore we need results. I will approve your retake if you solve one of these cases. Otherwise, in our database, you are the leader in the number of... grouse. This needs to be corrected, or I will transfer not only your cases to another institute or university, but also I will not approve the accreditation. Did you understand me correctly? 
I gave him a curt nod.
– Okay, then I'll go. There are several other people here who need to be reminded of their duties, and it's obvious that I'm embarrassing you with my presence and I can't give you a quiet breakfast. Goodbye. And Ivan...
– Abramovich. – He ignored me.
– ... Think again about the answer to my question. Otherwise, there will be more difficult questions in the future, and you have already failed the simplest of them.
The door closed, and the sandwich went cold, as did my desire to eat it. 
***
I leave the institute, grabbing a folder between my hands. The cold Siberian wind blows against my sides, even in an expensive coat. My gaze rises to two monuments that stand level with each other, both geographically and in importance. The first is a monument to a laboratory mouse. Rodents have suffered a lot in the entire history of their species, but in recent decades, even to me, a former guard, it seems that more than one living or non-living organism will not be able to endure this. The second monument stands to the scientist who was able to conduct many gene tests on himself. Maybe he felt sorry for the rats, or maybe he felt sorry for the whole world. His monuments and busts stand on every corner, his research has advanced humanity for decades in development. He is an icon of the new age. Has the scientist become a new god? I once read that man differs from God in that God cannot be known by sensory experience, which is why he is God. It seems that a man of science cannot be known in any way at all.
I would like to know what the father of the genetic revolution would say to the fact that his monument is consecrated by the signboard of one of the many plastic surgery clinics and a billboard marked: "Hoplotype is NOT a VERDICT!" and a postscript at the bottom "We change the hoplotype by conspiracy."
I'd rather keep silent about what happened in world history, for your own good. But I will say this – the person has become different. No better, no worse. After all, I am also a "scientist", therefore, observing the ethics of the word, I say: the person has changed. And for better or worse, you will decide for yourself in the future. 
Probably, if there is such a thing as a soul, then it has not remained unchanged. Although only the unemployed ask this question, and I have only started working now in the last two months. By taking away negative qualities from a person, we can also take away positive ones.
So, for example, in the study of two thousand sixty-fifth, when humanity was able to cure HIV with the mass introduction of the CCR5 gene, it turned out that such a procedure can cause a person to have high blood pressure, of course, this manifested itself closer to old age, and in the beginning no one took it at the expense of HIV treatment, but when A large percentage of people who used the new treatment died from a sudden stroke, and everything became clear with subsequent research. Someone will say that these are terrible consequences of human mutation, and someone will say that this is a meager price to pay for life extension. 
But when people with an early stroke began to appear before the age of thirty, society had questions. Which could only be answered by their smart children, raised by a new method. But they decided to keep silent.
***
I was not very warmly welcomed at the Rubin cryobank. Due to the fact that my face is haggard from cigarettes, I am initially mistaken for an alcoholic, and only then for a genetic investigator. The head of the embryonic laboratory met me. 
– Could you have come even slower? Not two, but three years before the theft?
– You can, of course, you can. If the police hand over the case to me immediately, and not after a year and a half of investigation.
– And what did you do for the other six months?
– ...I was preparing.
Russian women in dressing gowns. The only thing worse is the Russian women at the checkout. For some reason, they reproach me faster than I open my mouth. Is it really the smell of tobacco? It can't be.
I go into the vault, and the first thing that comes to mind is the blueprints of the old cryogenic chambers that stood like a small safe in each office. After the Crisp gene revolution, gene chambers became like a bank safe with whole centimeters of steel and a combination lock, but with only one difference, that you need to wear a special vest to keep from freezing to death. 
– What are you going to watch here? Looking for fingerprints?
– Yeah, and also a saliva trail and an eyelash for the DNA trail. And this is not a joke. What is your name?
– Margarita.
– Margarita, let me do my job and leave, the more you belittle my mental abilities, the faster they fall and the more stupid I will be when examining the crime scene. Agreed?
I wanted to ask about the gene numbering journal, but she immediately threw it on the nearest table with a contemptuous tone, marking her departure. It's easier for me. Although which one is easier here. Two years. Two years of this case! What can I do? So I found an empty place where the lost genetic material was located, checked it in the investigation folder. Yes, he's not here! Well done Vanya, great job! Even though I've looked all around for the sake of decency, what am I looking for here? People pass here more than a thousand if not ten thousand times a day, in two years, and the air has crumbled to dust. I took the gene numbering journal and began leafing through it listlessly: "Valeria Andreyan is missing." Among the notes about sales, redistributions and implementations to anyone, I can't find any clue.
...Or couldn't find it.
"Egg cell A-134-544: Vera Evgenievna Fartova – in storage."  I frantically shove open the drawers and find the capsule – empty. Vera Evgenievna, I'll buy you a second sofa in your office. 
***
Unfortunately, for Margarita, I was delayed so much that I already began to prevent doctors from taking the necessary genes for transplantation. Either by not letting them take them away, or by pulling them out of your hands altogether. After a ton of time and another ton of insults against me, I found at least four more eggs, which are recorded in the database in storage, but in fact are missing. It turns out that either these cells have been cloned and they are in another place, or they do not exist at all. Margarita ignored my requests for help and let me into the cloning lab, she obviously liked me very much. I had to forcibly pick out a young graduate student, disrupting his first-ever gene modification. He was shivering in the safe, but he still explained to me from his personal database which genes are currently being cloned and which are not. Thus, with the missing hematoma, I have three thefts.
 – Kid, didn't anyone try to buy these genes? No attempts have been made in two years?
"I don't know about that. But t-t-I can definitely say that they probably weren't bought because they are very d-d-expensive.
– How much do they cost? 
– Category "A"... a big HIPDI indicator, somewhere... p-p-p-p-five hundred thousand.
 Yes, if it weren't for the law on the mass distribution and regulation of genetic material, then you could just be and get rich. But long live the strict state apparatus, the sale can be made only once in a lifetime, and there is also a bank margin for storage and resale. Only in some cases can a person sell their genetic material more than once, such as blood donation.
So someone stole an expensive genome and was able to replace its encoding, despite the fact that now the code fits directly into the DNA. They couldn't just sell it on the secondary and black market, otherwise they wouldn't have let me in here. 
– Well, have you been able to find something? M-m-m-can I just p-p-p-go?
I shove a tablet with bank data into his icy hands. 
– Yes, even more than planned. You can go, just close the door.
***
I went back to my office and put my head down in the papers. I clung to the bait, but the line may break at any moment. Before leaving the clinic, I tried to find out from the staff if there had been any layoffs from the bank, but there were none. If it had been a former security officer, then everything would have been much simpler, but who would resign from the gene bank attached to one of the best clinics in the city? I would also like a free muscle modification for security personnel and a large salary. But you can't quit so easily from there, you are, consider, next to the private information about each person, and this is how to know about each person's underwear. 
In general, my only guess turned out to be a fake, and I have to think about what to do next?
***
For the next week, I went through option after option, but it was no better than sorting candies by color. I tirelessly flipped through the database of gene investigators, trying to figure out where the missing egg could be, but even with a complete search for the human gene code, I did not find any documentation about transplants or newborn children with a distinct trace of the DNA of the women to whom the cells belonged. This process is especially difficult for my small brain, because my first education was as a welder, and my first job was as a security guard at the institute before the gene revolution. After all, the database of gene investigators has information not only about all human genes, but also their connections with other genes, and this, I tell you, is not a column to count! There are such complex connections that an unprepared person seeing these tables will think that it is easier to find the stem in a stack of needles. 
My mind was blurring into one big white spot, but I had to move on. Sleep was disrupted, and instead of sandwiches, I ate only coffee. It's not often possible to get a lead in a stalled case. 
My wife came to work for me and when she saw my condition, she said she was ready to accept my dismissal.
– Come on. When you were a guard, I didn't complain, and Icq loves you, even though he sees you once a week. 
– God grant that it is so.
– Come on! Don't talk about yourself! Well, this job is not for you, Vanya, when you got a job for it, you moped so much, it seemed to me that your eyes would fall out until you wrote these dissertations correctly, and when I read them myself, I did not understand how you even agreed to transfer to this investigator!
– Dude, why are you telling me all this? I have a good salary now, ICQ has benefits for gene modifications. Why are you doing this?
– My soul hurts, Vanya, oh it hurts. I feel that it is necessary to give up all this.
I should have listened to her then. If I had known where this was going to take me, friends, I would have written a letter of leave right now in front of her, as if in spirit, and, throwing off my bathrobe, would have gone home to look into my child's eyes.
But I stayed and continued to work.
***
Surprisingly, I got a lead where I could not have expected it in principle. 
Once again, I walked down the corridor of the institute to the toilet, scaring the students with my even more terrible appearance than before. I heard not only another joke in my direction from the students, but also an interesting conversation. 
– So what?
–What's that?" Mom keeps asking for grandchildren, but I don't want to! Well, we agreed, I gave her my egg, and she gave me the money for the mortgage. I'm finally going to move away from them...
- the gene passport is just in the toilet, yes ... and who will fertilize.
– Stepfather…
Awful. Sagan was right to say: "We live in a society dependent on science and technology, in which no one knows anything about science or technology." I'll see when this aunt allocates modification or elimination of sudden pathologies for this child. I wonder if at least my stepfather has normal sperm cells? Otherwise, HIPDI will be nowhere lower. Maybe even like mine.
Sperm cells! Precisely! I returned to the office as if stung. I took out all the missing sperm files and started scouring there. I found the same grouse, and also a plague from the police station! Are they all lazy bastards there, pushing everything on me? Spit. I scooped up all the papers in my briefcase and drove to another bank. Upon arrival there, I was already given a slightly more restrained welcome, probably because I started with the words: "Gene investigator Berdyugin, hello. There is progress on your case." 
  And everything is exactly the same as with eggs. The recording is being stored, but the genetic material itself is not here, and the group is also high-quality, very expensive DNA. I have entered the numbering of the DNA of the genetic material into my database and I have all the names, places of residence, place of work and a whole list of cured pathologies from the ancient times of their great-grandmothers. This is the modern reality, they know about you as much as your body functions, everything goes into the national database.
And so I went to the city in search of information.
The light from neon lamps and advertising signs contrasted with the gray houses and black asphalt. People did not get out of the general atmosphere, it seemed that they were deliberately trying to match the mass advertising clutter, but this does not make them look pretentious or superfluous, they are rather so beautiful and happy that such potbellies like me, who lived before the gene revolution, become very uncomfortable among beautiful and genetically improved young people or very rich adults who could afford complex cellular surgeries. 
The first address. A woman, an athlete, an extreme athlete. He tells me that he is registered with the regulatory special forces. Not surprising. The amount of dopamine in the human body has become greater and is better monitored by the state, and all those who engage in extreme sports break their dopamine system and therefore are immediately registered as potential gene terrorists. But the woman turned out to be a pretty nice person, even though her house was full of mechanics and motorcycle parts. She spoke so pleasantly and kindly that it seemed as if I was eating a pack of marshmallows at a time. And is this the most dangerous person for the state? A girl who loves motorcycles and tea and cookies?
The second address. A man, a priest, a theologian. At one point, religion faced a more serious problem than GMOs, and for a long time fought against GMH (Genetically modified human), but as a result, the church was able to intertwine this with the divine plan and describe it as: "... Uniting not only the mind, but the bodies of all people on the planet." Therefore, the forgiveness of the sins of human cells inside another person, as well as abstinence from modifications, has made the Church one of the main regulatory institutions of modern times for the purity of genes. It all seems nonsense, but when the church is the best supplier of the purest DNA donors in the country for the state, nonsense turns into a business. The priest was the one who has the purest cells in the country, maybe even the cleanest, and the loss of such genetic material does not surprise me much.
I have a pretty positive attitude towards God, but it's amazing that he evolves along with the human body. I think, God, you are already there for something more than just an image of a person.
The third address. A girl, a musician, a composer. In her house, the echo only goes like that, the ceilings are so high that my ego immediately falls down. There is not a single wall that is not covered with certificates and letters of thanks. It has all the necessary modifications for auditory sensitivity and responsiveness. She is distinguished by the hyperelasticity of neurons, which she has developed over the years of practicing music since she was a baby. When I knocked on her door and she went to open the door for me, it was probably the only time in a long time when there was no music playing in this house. The world has reached the point where music is coming from cars, whose full range cannot be fully heard unless you have a modification to the middle ear that allows you to hear higher frequencies. And it would be fine if only the musicians made such an improvement for themselves, so now, when a musician releases a song with this very range, be ready to become an outsider in your group, because you don't hear the most "hype" and complex notes.
God, when there was rap, everything was easier. 
There were other interesting "personalities", but in general, the ones already described are enough for a complete picture. I asked everyone the same question: "Has anyone offered you money for your eggs or sperm cells bypassing DNA regulation?" And all, as one, they answered me positively, someone did not immediately due to oddities, but in fact each of them told me about a scientist, an elderly researcher who, for good money, was ready to take their genes bypassing accounting, but they refused either because of family, parents, or religion (It's just that you can't give a gene to a person for money, but you can give it to the state and even godly, also for money. Ironically). After listening to their testimony, I realized that I could make a sketch, but it would not be enough. Even based on the sketch, I will have to search for him for several days, and if he is hiding, which is most likely, it may take weeks or months. I don't have that much time.
– Eyes.
The girl said in a low voice, playing the piano.
– Excuse me?
– He had eyes of different colors. They are very beautiful, despite the fact that he is very old.
Heterochrony! That's it! It's amazing that he didn't fix his eyes, because this is the easiest thing to do! A scientist with heterochrony. It should have been a rarity before, and now it's a relic at all. Of course, kids ask to change their eye color in the laboratory of a kind genetic surgeon, but heterochrony disrupts the body's work, so they always offer to cure it, not add it.
There is! Oleg Limarenko, eighty-three years old, a former employee of the clinic for the genetic modification of embryos, and here are all the addresses where he was recorded. I'm almost pushing through the smartphone screen, typing all the addresses and running right on the trail. You're mine!
***
Rain. And acidic. I open my umbrella and walk down a deserted street. I did not find anyone at his apartment, it is closed, and the neighbors say that he has not appeared for several years. He was at previous jobs for a long time, too, and at the registration sites, they only report updating the information of his gene base, but in general, no traces of an illegal mutation or something like that were found on him. But the last and most terrible option remained. The hangar he bought decades ago, information about which can only be obtained if you request all the documents for the property, which I have every right to do. That's where I went, out of town.
Here I am passing closed glass greenhouses that go over the horizon from a bird's-eye view. Agriculture has developed enough to allocate entire kilometers of land for its work. It was getting late and the light that gently crept out of these greenhouses illuminated my face while I was sitting inside the bus. And here is my stop, and then a half-hour walk. I manage to think about what I'm going to say to this person. Fortunately, as a genetic investigator, I am given a service pistol that is tied to the police station closest to me, and I can not worry about my well-being. But I also care what I see there? Why does this person need so many cells to create children? Of course, IVF technology allows you to raise children in such numbers, but in fact, you still need a woman for this. It turns out that the old couple wanted strong children for themselves? No, something doesn't add up. The old man has two Mondays left, and he decided to think about the offspring who will go to an orphanage with such expensive genes? I want to find out how deep the rabbit hole is.
I can hear the sound of drops hitting metal. Here it is – the hangar. As in the old fairy tale: "In the black black forest, there was a black black house ...". I reach for the gun automatically, but decide only to put my hand next to it. As I get closer, I knock on the hangar gate, but there is no answer. I put my hand on the door. It's open. A rusty creak announces my presence. And then a blow to the skull, and darkness.
***
I'm waking up. Tied up, and in his teeth a piece of rag, the taste of which looks like they were scrubbing the floors. My eyes are also blindfolded, and all I can hear is the hum of low voices.
"What are we going to do with him?"
– Yes, we take him down and that's the end of it.
– Guys, this is Genka.
That's how people in my profession are called in everyday life.
– It's not working.
– Oh, whatever. 
Apparently, the bandit spat out my ID card from the brother's hands.
– Ugh, so this is the one, the amoeba, on whom we blamed everything. Did you fucking decide to dig up this case? You were sitting straight, didn't you, that you suddenly blew up?
– The chair was kicked out from under the back seat, so I got up. 
Then they fell silent for a second, but as soon as they opened their mouths, the temper did not decrease. They even hit me with their crimson fists a couple of times.
– You're a normal bazaar, do you understand? Let's decide what to do with you.
– You don't need to.  A voice filled with sternness and old age entered the conversation. – Go away. I transferred all the money to you.
– Doc, what about you? We're working here to cover your skin.
– I haven't needed anything for a long time... anyway, it was only a matter of time before he came. And you go, I have nothing to hide anymore. I'll untie him myself.
Muttering to themselves, the repeat offenders left, slamming the hangar doors. They untied me, and under the cold blue light I saw the face of an old man with a green and blue eye. 
– You'll have to forgive them, they protected me from you, and I was just waiting for you.
– Have you been waiting? Were you waiting for me to get nailed?
– I was waiting to show you the fruits of my labors. Follow me.
I was not walking through a hangar, but through a laboratory of the latest type. There was equipment here that I had only seen on videos on the Internet. Suddenly, my eye noticed a small, faintly noticeable marking on the equipment: "Lomonosov Moscow Institute." Yes, they will give me bonuses for two years of salary for making this equipment public. There is even a technique for molecular origami so that biopolymers can be created. Some things are obviously woven from organics, but don't worry, there is nothing exaggerated or clearly stand out here, rather my grandfather was just experimenting with materials.
Rows of flasks and tubes were built around me, through which a liquid unknown to me pulsed, and inside the flasks themselves there were eggs or even whole embryos. The picture is not pleasant. In a compartment with biopolymer lamps, a terrible, even Gigerian atmosphere was created. We enter the usual corridor of an already homely sterile room.
– At least tell me where you're taking me, and where are all the children you raised?
– Interesting guesses, but all in good time. Better tell me, what is your name?
– Ivan.
– Nice to meet you, Ivan. I won't introduce myself, you probably know my name. Ivan, do you know about such a thing as HIPDI?
– Of course I know. This is an advanced IQ test that calculates not the IQ coefficient, but the estimated intelligence of a child based on the genetic code. He has a fairly large margin of error, and he is only a selection regulator to calculate children with genetic abnormalities.  
– Think right. We came.
The door opens and I see a small room, and in it there is a small cot, and in it there is only one child. There was silence in the room, like in a church, and I decided to break the silence.
– Where are the other children?
"There's only one kid here, and that's him.
This child slept in some kind of unnatural sleep, at the same time sensitive and at the same time deep, catching my every word, it clearly wanted to wake up only when it was convenient for its body. And this child was incredibly beautiful, like from the cover of a magazine for moms.
– Have you ruined so many potential lives to raise one single child? Couldn't you properly study for an IVF specialist? Where is the woman who raised him? 
– She's in the hospital. Postpartum depression. And no, not a single potential child was ruined. All the genetic material that my "workers" stole was put into use and successfully worked out.
– I don't understand you… What are you trying to tell me?
"I thought you were smarter if you could find me." All the stolen cells are here, in this child. For his birth, I crossed four whole generations of embryos. I crossed several children... into one.
He stroked the child's head, and I had a lump in my throat. It seemed like I was going to lose consciousness.
– You're crazy! Do you even know what you've done?! You violated…
The child began to cry, but the old man was not confused.
– I asked you about HIPDI, and do you know how many units this child has? Five hundred and sixty. The maximum margin of error during adulthood can reach forty points on the classic IQ test. His intelligence exceeds the human average by five times.
– How so, this is complete nonsense!
– Nonsense, but if you raise this child correctly, the nonsense will turn out to be a reality. Even without these indicators, he will grow into a superman. Hyperelasticity of neurons, improved myelin layer, muscles received additional protein, an increased number of telomeres, and this is just the tip of the iceberg, I improved even those genes that were already considered the most expensive in the country. 
– What difference does it make if you have violated the law of God, not the state!
– God's? The world is changing, and we are all moving away from God. How many more theologians will chant that we are created in the image and likeness, but constantly strive to move away from this imperfect likeness? Do you have a child? 
I didn't say anything.
– How will he look at you if he realizes that it depended on you whether you would make him smarter or stronger? How? You can hide behind God as much as you want, but children don't see him, unlike adults.
I heard a baby crying and hoped it wasn't grief or a cry for help.
– If you take this child to an orphanage, he will lose all this potential. None of this will make any difference. Man has a terrible tendency to deteriorate. It can be grown into something more. A person will be able to think more clearly and productively. Perhaps there will be no need for wars and states as such if the human being is ruled by the calculation of the smartest organism, which will then lead us to a more exalted state. Through science, we will come to the purity of the soul.
A writer once made such a statement: "God is dead," he was in a hurry.
– Then you answer my question. If you created the perfect person, why did you remain imperfect yourself?
He just smiled at me and said
, "Ask God."
He walked away from the child and slowly walked towards the exit. 
– Now it's up to you to decide the fate of this child, unfortunately, if you came here, I can't hide anymore. I do not know what they will say from above, in every sense, but everything is decided for me, and you yourself will have to make a choice for yourself or for your profession. Remember, he can grow into anyone, but only this child has the potential to move the sky above our heads.
And he left. Leaving me with this miracle. I stared at this child for a long time until it opened its eyes and looked at me. I will never forget those eyes, so bright and full of life. They reflected not light, but reality itself. It's like I'm standing on the threshold of something unimaginable. Will I be able to cross this threshold?
***
I was hit in the teeth again, and gray faces watched me from the emptiness of the unlit room. 
– And what did you do with the child?
I smiled a bloody smile.
– What do you think?