Gemotions

He’d always known, in a certain way, that he was set apart. Other people's lives seemed so predictable, so… common. Now, in the sterile white of the genetics lab, the confirmation arrived in the form of a graph. One spike, matching his own. Another. Identical.

The technician, a bland young man, babbled something about statistical probability. James barely heard him. He was too busy feeling a lightness in his chest, a sort of silent self-congratulation. It was a secret society of two, and he held the key.

He turned to the other patient. A woman, older, her face etched with a lifetime of… of what? The ordinary? She looked at the results, eyes wide. James cleared his throat, a sound of polite interest. "Interesting, isn't it?"