BabyTrait

“Thank you for calling BabyTrait. How may I assist you today?”

The large monitor flashes with a pop-up box, accompanied by the sound of a baby’s high-pitched giggle. Evie adjusts her headset as she looks up to click on the request.

“Yes, ma’am,” she continues. “Our first plan, Infusio Infantis, implants desired traits through injection form into the designated, fertile carrier of the baby. Our second plan, Crescere Infantem, is the process of creating a baby from scratch in an incubator. The first option has an 80% chance of all desired traits being implemented into the baby. The second option has a 98% chance, at a higher base cost. Both options allow for the percentages of traits to be altered, which determine overall cost.”

Her eyes trail over the screen, examining the sliders.

Plan Crescere Infantem:

Sex: male — 100%

Eye colour: blue — 100%

Hair colour: blonde — 100%

Projected adult height: 6 ft 2 in — 100%

Body type: mesomorph — 90%

Intelligence — 95%

Athleticism — 100%

Her eyebrows lift slightly. Seeing maxed-out sliders never fails to jar her—proof of how much people are willing to spend. She says goodbye to the woman on the phone and double checks the request before clicking the approve button. After a moment, the front door’s motion-activated greeting sounds off the baby’s giggle, followed by footsteps.

A man in a business suit and a hat approaches the front desk. She immediately puts on her customer service smile and voice.

“Good afternoon, welcome to BabyTrait. How may I assist you today, sir?”

The man reaches into his suit pocket and swiftly pulls out a photo, holding it up for her to see. She leans forward slightly, studying the photo. It’s of a beautiful woman with sleek blonde hair, eyes like the ocean, a pearly-white smile, and a slim figure. After a moment, she recognizes the woman. She’s the face of almost every makeup brand out there.

“Is it possible to use her as a reference?” he asks, still holding the photo to her eye level.

She nods hesitantly. “Yes, it’s possible. However, this’ll be a reference for the baby’s adult appearance. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Precisely. And I can input my—the desired physique and traits it will have, correct?”

She nods once more. “Yes. You’ll be able to adjust the sliders to your preference for your baby.”

“Perfect,” he says, tucking the photo away as if it’s precious. He straightens his tie and flashes a smile which doesn’t quite reach his eyes. A shudder of unease passes through her. They've gotten a myriad of requests, various reference photos ranging from family members to celebrities. Yet, his eagerness and request feel off.

“Alright then. I will definitely be sending in my request soon—photo attached,” he chuckles, pointing his finger at her. She chuckles along uncomfortably.

“We look forward to your request, sir. Take care.”

The man whirls around and takes out his phone, pressing it to his ear. He sits in one of the comfy chairs, taking out his laptop. As Evie types, she strains her ears to eavesdrop. Screw customer integrity.

“Yeah…it can be done. The tech can make more than one just like her,” the man murmurs. He pauses, listening. “We start a few now, see where it takes us. Try out different settings.”

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. Something twists in her stomach, tight and punishing. The model’s face swims in her mind—sleek hair, perfected smile—soon replicated for success. Her eyes meet the man’s for a moment before she forces her gaze back to her screen. The letters blur and distort as she types. Only fifteen minutes. Her much needed break awaits.

───

“It’s really fucked up.” Evie paces back and forth, a cigarette burning between her fingers. Her coworker Leo shrugs and blows out a plume of smoke.

“Yeah. I can’t argue with that. But a request’s a request. What they do with the baby is out of our hands.”

She huffs and takes a long drag. “It’s unfair. People come to us for help because they have no other option. Still, there are those who can’t afford this wish.” She looks down at her feet, pulling her lip taut with her teeth. “And then there’s the people with too much money—the ones with bad ideas and bad intentions.”

Leo hums. “Don’t you think it’s just as bad when a request comes in for a 6-foot male with an athleticism slider at one-hundred percent? It’s like a steroid baby.”

She stays silent. His question is too complex for an answer—if the desire for a baby to be a brainiac or an athlete is just as immoral as turning them into carbon copies of models as a business plan. As she takes another drag, her sleeve slips down, and his gaze fixates on her wrist. He gestures to it.

“Hey, what’s this all about?”

She stiffens, covering it up with her other hand. An angry red rash covers her skin, dotted with pus-filled boils. “Oh, this? I wasn’t paying attention and I burnt my hand making pancakes.”

His eyebrow arches as if he’s about to shoot her another question. Instead, he scoffs lightly. “That’s a serious burn then. You’re irresponsible, you know that?”

“And you’re too nosy, you know that?”

He snorts and stubs his cigarette.“We should get back now.” He pauses. “You gonna make it through the rest of your shift?”

She stubs hers too, popping a mint into her mouth. She nods, trying to reassure both of them.

“Not everyone has bad intentions. Some people really do want a baby to care for,” he adds before walking inside.

She watches him go. Her throat feels dry from smoking but tight from how his statement resonates within her.

“You have no idea,” she mutters once he’s gone.

───

Evie is accustomed to late-night shifts. Everyone else has gone home to rest and spend time with their families. For her, the lab is her sanctuary. She’s in charge of the incubators tonight—inputing requests to a tee, observing the liquid serum materialize and slowly take shape. She observes the fetuses at different stages, how limbs sprout and facial features emerge. She begins the next request, one for a set of twins.

Plan Crescere Infantem:

Sex: female — 100%

Eye colour: green — 80%

Hair colour: red — 100%

Intelligence — 90%

Musicality — 85%

Additional Features:

Freckles — 75%

Dimples — 70%

She clicks the “create” button, hearing the baby’s giggle sound off, feeling the vibrations from the machine’s whirring. Her mind wanders to what the twins might do with their musical abilities— whether they’ll start a band or join a symphony—if she’ll hear about them in the future and remember her role in creating them. Pink liquid begins to drip into the two incubators, glowing and bubbling under the orange burn of the heat lamp. The twins could also become unsuccessful, untalented laughing stocks, only famous for their lack of musical ability. That would be her doing, too.

No. Not her fault. That would be due to traits gone awry.

She glances down at her wrist, trailing her fingers over the rash, gently pressing the pustules to feel the pressure. There’s slight warmth under her fingertips. She presses her fingers to her neck and forehead, making sure it hasn’t spread. She’s safe, for now. She trails her fingers down to her belly, gently rubbing it.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Lily.”

She exits the lab, checking the coast is clear before entering into another old, unused room. It’s stocked with outdated machines and tech, with wires strewn about and cracked screens shoved in corners. Hidden under a cardboard box is one of those machines. She plugs it in, watching the screen flicker a few times, scan lines running horizontally. She inserts an empty test tube and opens a file named “discarded.00” and enters the password LILY. The file loads. Its contents are untouched and unedited since she found it.

Plan Infusio Infantis:

Sex: Female —100%

Eye colour: blue — 90%

Hair colour: blonde — 90%

There are no outstanding traits, just simplicity. This baby can be anything she wants to be.

Evie clicks on the “create” button, a distorted baby’s giggle crackling through the speaker. Her legs bounce as she waits for the serum to fill the tube. The pink liquid drips for far too long. She ignores the warning on the screen as always, convinced it doesn’t apply to her:

CAUTION: INFUSIO INFANTIS IS NOT COMPATIBLE WITH A PERSON(S) DEEMED INFERTILE OR UNABLE TO CARRY AN INFANT. USAGE MAY RESULT IN UNPRECEDENTED OUTCOMES.

Finally, the machine fizzles out, the screen flickering. She removes the tube and unplugs the machine, hiding it back under the cardboard. She heads to the staff bathroom, where she locks herself in a stall, taking steady breaths. It’s not the first time she’s done this, but her nerves are a cord ready to snap. She fishes out a syringe from her coat pocket and empties half of the serum into it. She holds the syringe between her teeth, rolling up her sleeve to locate a vein. She takes a shuddering breath and then inserts the needle into her arm, a wince escaping her.

───

“We’re so excited to bring them home,” the woman beams. She turns to her wife who shares the same elated expression. “This was the better choice over adoption. Haven’t seen an agency in moons. They’re all hours away.”

Evie nods absentmindedly. Leo stands beside her watching as the babies are carried out in their carriers. The couple coos at the babies—the twin girls with tufts of ginger hair, olive-coloured eyes squinting at the light, and a constellation of freckles.

“Have you picked out names for them?” Evie asks curiously.

One of the women nods. “We have. Daisy and Lily.”

Lily.

The rashes under her sweater feel like they’re warming up, spreading across her skin. The bumps seem to fill with more pus, expanding, taunting her. She gently scratches the wool, urging the sudden itch away. The utterance of the name alone makes her feel stripped bare, as if something sacred has been pulled from her core. She tells herself it’s just a coincidence, not a personal attack or revelation of her secret. She takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

“What lovely names. We hope you have a wonderful life with your babies.”

The couple leaves, the giggling baby over the speaker at the front door wishing them goodbye. Evie takes a few steady breaths, itching at her belly now, the warm itch slowly subsiding. Leo sits at his screen, watching her.

“You’re always itching. You should get tested for allergies.”

She halts her movements, fingers now tangled in her hair and scalp.

“It’s not allergies. I just have sensitive skin. I’m fine.”

It’s the best response, allowing him to think he’s being too observant. She notices the way he’s always studying her. It’s not hard to notice how makeup barely softens the raised bumps on her face, how she constantly pulls her sleeves to her knuckles when they slip down. She doesn’t smoke anymore either, standing at a distance during their breaks. And when they make eye contact, she wonders if he realizes the eyes that stare back don’t seem like hers. Her brown eyes sprout blue rings near the pupils. For months, she’s been snipping blonde streaks that invade her chestnut hair.

The sound of Leo greeting someone is muffled to her ears until she recognizes the familiar, unsettling cadence. The same man, in the suit and hat, whom she overheard with the business plan. He leans in, resting his elbows on the front desk.

“I just wanted to check in on it. See how fast it’s growing. Should be done soon, right?”

“Yes. It takes between four and five months for the baby to be fully developed,” Leo responds. “I could check on the progress of your baby if you’d like—”

The man waves his hand in dismissal. He reaches in his jacket pocket. Evie flinches slightly, as if preparing for a gunshot. He holds a new photo of a model with a bronze tan and flowy hair the colour of polished gold. Her stomach lurches with a sickness but not from the form growing inside of her.

It. It. It.

The woman in the photo—a commodity, a feast for the eyes. Evie can do nothing to interfere. No one under BabyTrait can. They take orders and play god with sliders and percentages.

She stands to her feet, dizziness and pressure behind her eyes making her blink rapidly.

“I-I’ll be back," she mutters to Leo, if he’s even listening. She grabs her purse and her legs carry her to the bathroom, where she barely has time to lock the stall before the bile in her throat erupts. She hovers over the toilet, relieving herself of the nausea but not the helplessness she feels. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, studying the clots of blood amidst her vomit.

“You’re fine. You’re gonna be just fine,” she whispers, rummaging through her purse. She fishes out the half-full syringe, screwing off the cover. She places her foot atop the toilet seat, one hand on the stall to steady herself. Hiking up her pant leg, she locates a bulging vein between the boils and rash and pierces it. Sweat beads on her skin as she empties the serum, digging the needle deeper. She yanks it out, stumbling to put her foot on the tiles.

“It’s okay,” she huffs between breaths. She flushes the toilet and leans against the stall. She presses a hand to her belly. “I won’t reject you, Lily.”

───

Evie is a dead woman walking. A zombie is what Leo called her, in the nicest way possible. She can’t afford any sick days from work when paychecks help yield baby necessities that she’ll need. Her expected due date is in two weeks, when she can take a few days off and go to the faraway hospital.

She stands at a machine, inputting a request for Infusio Infantis. She silently wishes for the carrier to have a better experience than she is right now. She catches a glimpse of herself in the reflective surface of the machine—sickly skin, a mess of hair that looks like a bad bleach job, her brown eyes splotched with blue. She runs her tongue across her yellowed teeth, feeling the gaps where two fell out. Her lips twitch in a resigned smile. Lily is searching for nutrients. It’s alright. Teeth are replaceable.

It’s difficult to ignore how her body burns hotter than usual, like flames ticking her insides. She tries to, but she can’t ignore the sensation of a cold, wet patch that forms between her legs. She rubs the spot, watery blood staining her hand.

She didn’t plan for today to be the day.

She makes a beeline for the old storage room, shutting the door and rummaging through the cabinets. An old first aid kit sits on the shelf, which she grabs and flings open: gauze, antiseptic, scissors, and tweezers. It has what she needs. Her insides jolt with sharp pain, causing her to wince.

“Lily, why now?” she whimpers, taking heavy breaths. “I had this planned. Somewhere safe—” she cuts herself off with a strangled cry. It takes a moment for her to garner strength to take her blood soaked pantyhose off. With trembling fingers, she grabs the tweezers.

───

When Leo opens the door, the grisly sight before him makes his stomach lurch. He can’t ignore the blood smeared everywhere, how the stench of copper invades his nose. He can’t tear his eyes away from Evie, her body pale and weak. Yet, she garners enough strength to cradle the lump in her arms. She stares back at him, frozen, breathing heavily.

“Jesus—Evie, what the hell did you do?” His voice shakes as he takes a careful step closer. “We need to get you to a hospital right now.”

“No!” She tries to scoot away to shield herself and get as far as she can. One hand slides in her blood, squeaking on the tiles. She clutches the disfigured form in her arms, teeth gritted.”I-I can’t go there. They’ll take her away. Please, Leo.”

He shakes his head with disbelief and sternness, crouching down to her level. “Evie, you’re fucking bleeding out. I’m getting you help!”

A few of their co-workers crowd outside the doorway, led by the trail of blood and the commotion. They become an audience for someone they’d never checked in on before. Their gasps and chatter make her recoil. She can hear the distant sound of the baby’s giggle at the front desk, as if laughing at the consequences of her sins. Machines whir in the lab, creating what she’ll never have. Her lips quiver. She glances at Lily—she’s without a proper face—only an unmoving blue eye and a few strands of blonde hair poke out from the raw mess in her arms.

“Don’t just stand there. Call for an ambulance!” Leo snaps at the onlookers behind him. He turns back and reaches out to her.

Evie’s mind flashes with customers, how their loving arms cradle their babies before her eyes. And she pictures the man, his grimy hands only reaching when they’re ready to do his bidding. She makes a strangled noise, clutching Lily to her chest.

“Just let me hold her. Everyone else gets to hold theirs.”