Flashback : The Picking of Levon

“Attention, everyone,” barked a man in military uniform. “The results for your tests to be traded to the alien world are out. Here are the names.”

Levon sat in the front row, bracing himself. He already knew his name would appear. He had made sure of it. The average IQ of humanity was 140. Out of 25 examinees this time around, 6 were considered brilliant and expected to score over 200.

But Earth’s government never played fair. Those who scored above 200 would be hoarded as Earth’s “geniuses.” The aliens required 180+, so Earth sent only those in the lower range — sacrificial pawns, not prodigies. Scoring under 180 meant prison for “sabotaging the pact.” Unless, of course, you were rich. The elites’ children never faced consequences. Humanity’s greed was immortal.

But as the officer’s voice droned on, Levon’s thoughts slid further back—back to the exam room itself.

He remembered sitting at his desk, staring at the pages of the IQ test. He could have scored a perfect 220. Everyone knew he was one of the six likely to break the 200 mark. But across the room, an examinee trembled, his shoulders shaking, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Forgive me Maya, forgive me Elise” the man whispered.

Levon kept staring at the man for a long moment. What’s the point? he thought. I don’t really have a purpose here. Life feels like a joke. Every day, the same routine, the same hollow achievements. We’ve solved hunger, we’ve cured diseases, we’ve stretched human life until death itself feels like an inconvenience—and yet somehow, existence is emptier than ever.

He sighed inwardly. Sometimes I wish I’d been born in ancient times, when people thought buying a car was a milestone. Competing in schools, climbing ladders, arguing whether BMW or Mercedes was the better brand… He smirked bitterly. Imagine stressing over a car. I’d kill for that kind of drama. Instead, here I am, about to be flung across the universe like a parcel, because Earth has to keep its alien bargain.

Maybe if I had a family. A friend. Someone to anchor me. Maybe then this eternity wouldn’t feel so bland. But I don’t. All I have is the ticking of centuries, and the empty promise that there is something for everyone. He exhaled, almost laughing at himself. Maybe I should just go. Maybe the alien world will be better. Or worse. Maybe I’ll be special there. Or maybe I’ll be the idiot outsider everyone laughs at. Honestly? Getting picked on sounds less boring than sitting here, waiting for nothing.

He bent over his test, racing through the questions. When he reached the last page, ready to sign his name, he paused.

“Psst.”

He looked up. The sobbing man stared back.

“Swap papers,” Levon whispered.

The man froze.

“Now — before the robot sees.”

Hesitant, the man slid his half-finished paper across. Levon grabbed it, scanning the answers, then continued. He made sure the score would land exactly in the 180s, locking in his own name. Then he mouthed to the man: Write your name at the end.

The man nodded, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Lowest place, and first of his batch to be sent off: Levon Cho,” the officer announced.

Levon barely flinched. He knew it was coming. But deep down, a dull sadness throbbed. He could’ve been among the elite. Instead, he traded it for a stranger’s tears.

The rest of the results blurred past him. Five scored over 200. Ten were traded. Five chosen. Ten spared.

Levon knew the truth: had he scored over 200, the man would’ve been ruined — thrust among the geniuses, only to be destroyed when he couldn’t keep up. That’s why Levon had set him at 192.

“Those who will be traded, hug your loved ones. Meet at the lab in two hours. Humanity thanks you for your sacrifice.” Said the general.

“Sure they do,” Levon muttered. He had no one to say goodbye to.

But at the lab gates, someone was waiting.

“What are you doing here?” Levon asked.

The man rushed forward, tears streaming. “Thank you. You saved me. You saved my wife and daughter. Thank you!”

Levon stiffened, then reluctantly returned the hug. “Take care of your family,” he murmured.

The man pulled back, smiling through tears. “Thank you, friend! My name’s Simon!”

Levon walked on, hearing the words echo after him. For the first time in years, a faint warmth stirred inside him. He had done something right, something different.