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Genetic Personality-Tuning

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Doctor Pratchard gives a slow, shaky breath as he and several scientists, his friends and co-workers, stand side-by-side in front of the hover-cam, which would relay the feed into a small room filled with investors and Nanotrasen personnel. Pratchard nods towards the camera to signal that they're ready. As if synchronized hundreds of times before, Pratchard and his team immediately turn around inside the white-tiled lab in [REDACTED]. Pratchard removes a pen from his lab coat and picks up a clipboard off of a nearby desk, looking towards the hulking Unathi before him clad in only a pair of white shorts. Writing down observations beforehand and what the plan is, he finishes with his signature along the bottom of the page, looking up expectantly towards the Unathi.

"So, as you know by now, my name is Liam Pratchard, Lead Geneticist of [bEEEEEEEP.] If you could, would you please state your name for the record?"

The Unathi in question glares down at Pratchard, not especially impressed by his team, or being put on show like an animal. If this didn't work, he'd more than likely resort to violent means to make them pay. Regardless, he opens his jaws to speak. "Attimusss Vin'Drahl." Would be the only words out of his mouth, laced with distaste and malice. Expecting this, Pratchard gives off an imperceptive smirk, and re-adjusts his glasses. "Right, now, Attimus-" The Doctor is immediately cut-off by a harsh hiss and a rattling of heavy scales, accompanied by a molten glare down at him. "Jussst. Vin'Drahl." would be the fiery tone of the Unathi in question. The Doctor clears his throat and nods quickly, rectifying his mistake. "Err-...Vin'Drahl...we are here in this lab to conduct a personality experiment. What I mean when I say this, is that by manipulating the cortex inside of your brain, or more specifically, your frontal lobe, the way you perceive situations, for example, will be drastically changed."

Looking up at the Unathi and ignoring the camera behind him, Pratchard presses on. "Since the other sections of your brain, the Temporal, Parietal, and Occipital lobes are for the most part, unrelated to emotions and/or personality traits, they will be left alone. Now, in order to begin the procedure, you will step inside of the Genetic Modifier, as would a Proto-Human, and you will be susceptible to multiple rays of tiny, pocketed radiation signals. Although controlled, it's still dangerous should you be exposed for too long, which is why this procedure will be quick and hopefully, painless." Speaking with more confidence, the Doctor gives a confirming nod over to one of his associates, who would be sitting at the Genetic Modifier's console.

"Attimus Vin'Drahl. You have signed a personal waiver claiming that you are responsible for any and all mutations that may occur, and if the procedure itself, paid for in your name, is to fail and cause your untimely demise, it is of no fault of Nanotrasen. Despite this, I'm going to ask you again. Are you prepared to step into that chamber, and come out a new Unathi?"

The room is heavy with the feeling of anticipation, that much Attimus can tell. He sizes up the eggheads around him in turn, before giving them a challenging sneer. "Correct." Nodding slowly, Pratchard gestures to move backwards into the chamber, and snaps his fingers towards his assistant and colleagues, who move about in a bustle to situate themselves at their appropriate stations. Attimus slowly steps back and stares down at the rather nervous-looking female assistant as she locks the glass dome around him, letting nothing but a faint shadow emphasize the 7-and-a-half-foot-tall Unathi.

Quickly rushing back to Pratchard's side, his assistant nods that everything is in place and good to go. Adjusting his glasses again somewhat nervously, Pratchard signals the affirmative for his crew to begin. With practiced, yet somewhat nervous movements, the Lab crew gradually locks onto the Subject's brain, sending forth tiny bursts of micro-radiation inside of his head. For about ten minutes this operation continues, the quiet drone of the lab and frequent reports of the Lab team being all the noise there is, hardly a breath out of place as they could only hope the operation itself would be a success.

It's only until a full twenty minutes pass that Attimus begins to feel anything inside of the Genetic Modifier's tube. He was told of the side-effects that may occur during the radiation exposure. His frontal lobe would be subject to mutate, as would his entire body, not just his head. Fortunately, the effects were either non-existent, or they affected his memory in some way, because in just a few more moments, the lock around the tube imprisoning him is unlatched with a quiet hiss, and his capsule slowly opens. The first thing he sees as he opens it is the camera floating above and behind the Lab Team, who were all standing side-by-side with their hands behind their backs, clearly-worried expressions on their face. They all suddenly looked a bit shocked, and the female assistant lightly gasps. Why? Was she afraid of him? Did something happen to him? He felt confused. He suddenly forgot how to control his legs, and he fell to one knee, slowly raising a hand to hold his head...but as he looked at his digits, he halted. His previously-ebony claws, they were now white.

As if seeing Vin'Drahl's new change as he stared at his own hand and fell to his knees, Pratchard tentatively takes a step forward and in a somewhat quiet voice asks, "...Attimus?..." Attimus' attention was quickly focused on the Doctor. Pratchard could see the confusion on his face...Gods dammit. Was his intelligence salted? Did they target the wrong area? What if his- This mental train of thought was quickly broken as Attimus rises to his feet and turns his hands over to look at the back of them, as if inspecting himself for any other abnormalities...Wait, he didn't snap when his first name was used? The Doctor asks himself internally, before quickly looking at Attimus again. "Attimus, how are you feeling?" He asks, looking up at him.

The reply is short, yet in his usual gravelly, rumbling voice. "Good." Yet...there is an absence of something...Maliciousness? Anger?

His toes...The claws along them were also white. Slowly looking over at Pratchard, his gaze would tell him all he wanted to know. Pratchard then looks around for a few moments, before picking up a small mirror. Walking up, he nods as he hands it to Attimus. Raising it, he curiously inspects his facial features. He blinks as he gazes into his own eyes, what was once a muted shade of dark brown, now was a piercing, azure blue. They were like two twinkling diamonds amidst the sky. The second area of his face was then focused on; his horns. They too, had been turned completely white. He was aware that such a drastic change in his appearance should bother him...It would have bothered him, but strangely...It just doesn't. He lowers the mirror and hands it down to Pratchard, who accepts it, and looks up to Attimus hesitantly.

"The experiment, then...Would you say it was a success, Attimus?"

Looking down at his hand, he forms a fist and eyes his white-clawed digits, slowly closing his eyes as if to preserve this moment. He wasn't a rage-conducting berserker anymore. The hostility, he could feel slipping away. Looking back, he remembers the rat gnawing on his utterly broken, sob-weakened body all those years ago when he was abandoned as a hatchling. He grabbed the rat in his fist. He felt the burning rage, the anguish of being left alone, to be unwanted, the fiery coals of his hatred utterly smoldering over every part of his body...Until they're replaced with a cool, blue warmth that spreads across his form. It doesn't want to be hateful. He doesn't want to be hateful. It's just a waste of time dwelling on the past and what happened to him...He slowly unfolds his fist, and lets the rat scurry off, watching it run away.


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Changing someone's personality through genetic modification is impossible. Just saying.

Not entirely, we have certain genetic predispositions to certain personality traits. And mental disorders caused by chemical imbalances would also have their roots in genetics. All of which could be altered through genetics.

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