Overdeveloped Amateurs (Bonus Inside)

Leo lowered his hands. “My mom sent me a letter. She said the dog died. I couldn’t feel it. The emotional dampeners they inject into our hypothalamus… I tried to cry. I just… produced saline.”

Priya spoke, just above a whisper. “I don’t want to do this.” overdeveloped amateurs

They reset. Panting. Not from exertion—their augmented lungs could process oxygen at Himalayan efficiency—but from the sheer, crushing weight of being too much . Leo lowered his hands

They sat. Cross-legged. Like children in a library. overdeveloped amateurs

“My viola,” she said. Her eyes were wet. “I had a Stradivarius replica. My fingers can’t fit in the fingerboard anymore. I tried last week. I broke the neck.”