A League of Our Own

They created us for war. They bred it into our genes, honed our bodies, and did it all before we were puked out of our surrogate mothers' wombs. Sure, you've probably read the old newscasts. A corrupt military contractor hired poor women as surrogates for their batch of Frankenkids, a generation of super-soldiers in the making.

The story had the public cover as a pilot study in fixing those hereditary disorders that had plagued our ancestors for generations. It took a good two decades of being raised by adoptive military families before the truth of the story managed to leak out. At the time, we were just a bunch of military brats eager to strike out on our own. By that time, however, the military had moved beyond the need for genetically improved troops. Wearable electronics, exoskeletons, powered armor, advanced robotics, improvements to training, and better coordination had acted as more economical force multipliers than a generation of now obsolete experiments.

We had bodies with more muscle mass, greater stamina, and faster healing rates than your average couch-jockey. The same neural pathways that lit up when normal humans were pissed and planning violence were much, much more efficient in us. There wasn't much we could do that a robot couldn't do cheaper or faster. The public hated us for a good amount of time, seeing us as some sort of sinister eugenics conspiracy to take over the world. We were unemployed, desperate, angry, and eager to do what we had been bred and conditioned for: crushing the opposition.

Sure, some of us fell to violence. Honestly, who wouldn't? Even those of us with pleasant childhood memories found it hard to relate to their biological or adoptive parents anymore. Some of us joined the service like our "creators" had originally intended for us, where we found our usefulness limited to shoving crates around with the same robots and machines that had put us out of a job.

It was about when the first of us got discharged that began to change. A big-league ballplayer was outed as one of us, having genetic modifications they said gave him an "unfair advantage" to the regular saps who won the genetic lottery that was "all natural" birth. Instead of slinking away in shame, he started a new league, for those who had been augmented. We joined first out of curiosity, and then passion. It was good old fashioned competition, and the pay was great. Even the people who had jeered us and looked down on us years before now looked at us in amazement as baseballs flew farther and faster than they dreamed possible.

Given how much drugs that non-genefixed professional athletes used, I'm surprised no one thought of an augmented league earlier. So, yeah, having a league of our own is good. There's enough room for all of us here, no matter how we were born.