A/N- La doo dee dop. Howdy folks. The poll response wasn't enormous, but it was there, so the kids have names! Sorry I seemed to drop off the face of the earth.

"Semi-Genetic Corneal Dysfunction." Abby said, pretending to write something on her clipboard so she won't have to look at their uncomprehending faces.

"Semi-Corneal Geneo…" said Siam, his smooth brow crinkling. "I've…I've never heard of it."

"There hasn't been a case in over 120 years. You wouldn't have heard of it." She flicked her finger toward the wallscreen, which immediately lit up, and scrolled with facts about the extinct—or so they'd though—disease. Abby had refused the implantation of an eye click mechanism, although she herself wasn't completely certain why. It sometimes made her work harder, but it wasn't a decision she regretted.

"I don't get it." Beka said softly, her eyes unfocused as she gazed in the general direction of the wall screen. She was on heavy medication for pain, and her movements were slow, her words vague and quiet. Siam reached across the bed and took her hand in his own. She did not react, not even seeming to notice.

"Can you fix it?" He asked expectantly. Doctors could fix everything now.

Abby sucked in a breath. This was the hard part. "There are treatments."

"But you can't fix it." Beka inserted unexpectedly, her voice still quiet. Maybe she wasn't as far away as Abby had thought.

"Well…no. It's incurable, inoperable, in—," she stopped at the sight of their expressions: Siam's one of confusion, Beka's of sadness. "No."

Brady gazed eagerly up at the tall building. It was so enormous with its high, flat roof, the dorm flag whipping in the brisk wind. She felt a push from behind, and she stumbled. "Watch it, Legs!" she complained loudly, spitting the nickname of one of the more annoying kids.

The minders corralled the anxious children like so many cattle. They were all almost twelve. Not quite uglies, but no longer littlies. They were loud and aggressive with pimply skin and greasy hair. Brady knew she was one of them, and she detested it. She longed for the day when she would cross the river and trade this face for a gorgeous one.

The wind blew her hair into her eyes, and she pulled an elastic off her wrist, scraping back her hair. The thick, cinnamon colored locks would be the first to go when she went under the knife. In the middle of wondering what it would be like to be a blonde, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in the crease of her arm.

"Ow!" she cried out suddenly.

The others turned to raise their eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. Rubbing her arm, Brady bit her lip. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. A sudden, strange feeling or emotion. They seemed to come out of nowhere, and were usually over as quickly as they started.

But not this one.

Suddenly, Brady keeled over. Her head hit the grass, but it didn't matter. She was already lost in memory.

There was a bright light.

A long table, and a woman was bringing her into a room

There was a nice man in the room. He had a nice smile.

"Hello Brady, Hello Emilee," he said.

There is an awkward silence.

"Emilee." Says the tall woman who brought her here.

Brady turns to see what is happening, and there.

A little girl.

She turns her tear-stained face away from her mother's leg, and Brady sees.

Brady sees a girl with cinnamon stick hair that tangles easily. Small, watery green eyes and pale skin that never tans but burns…

"Ahhh!" Brady's eyes flew open. Her forehead was damp with sweat.

"Are you alright?" asked a minder.

Brady nodded slowly, and squeezed her eyes shut tight. She felt empty. Alone, more so than she ever had.

Like there had always been a friend with her, and now they were gone.

Then the minder reached down to help her up, and the moment passed.

Abby couldn't get that little girl's face out of her head.

The clouded blue eyes that stared blankly.

She'd sent the two babies home with their mother and father, swaddled in blankets, with just one instruction.

Pick one.

Pick one of your newborn children to give to us to…dispose of.

Pick one child to keep, and then one to get rid of.

Pick your dispensable child, and hand her over to us.

We'll take care of everything.

And Abby already knew which one it would be. The blind baby.

What Pretty mother would want to deal with a child who could not see? After all, the whole point of society was to look pretty, but this baby would never even know the true meaning of the word. So obviously Beka would keep the other baby.

The one with eyes that would recognize her by sight, because who wants a baby who won't even know when you enter a room?

A baby that will be indifferent when you lift them to look into their eyes, and search for their future.