Twenty-Three Mutations Until I Am No Longer Human
Twenty-three. That was the number the genetic counselor had given Kael at the Last Dry Clinic on what remained of Hampstead Heath, a muddy island of solid ground surrounded by the endless grey water that had swallowed London forty years before he was born. The counselor was a gene-purist, one of the stubborn ones who refused adaptation, her face unmarked by any modification, her lungs burning...
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