Mdg 115 Reika 12 (95% High-Quality)

Reika’s skin was perfect. Porcelain smooth, untouched by the acne or awkwardness of other sixth graders. Her hair fell in a dark, heavy sheet to her shoulders. Her eyes, when she bothered to open them, were the color of rain on asphalt. She was, by every clinical metric, a marvel of pediatric gene therapy.

The designation was . The doctors called her Reika . She was twelve years old. Mdg 115 Reika 12

The reflection stared back. Perfect skin. Rain-colored eyes. Twelve years old, and already a relic. Reika’s skin was perfect

Her mother, Ayumi, cried when she saw the results. “She’s cured,” she whispered into her phone, voice cracking with joy. “She’s normal.” Her eyes, when she bothered to open them,

She tried to remember what it felt like to be scared of the dark. Nothing. To be excited for her father to come home from work. A blank wall. To be furious at her little brother for touching her things. A dry, soundless desert.

It worked. No one noticed.

She was also empty.