# OCTRANSFUR 2024

# Day 1. Loop

I'm bored.

I guess it's time to put out the sign again.

SCIENTIFIC MARVELS! FREE TOURS! HELP WANTED!

I'll tidy up the sales floor while I wait for someone to take the bait.
Not much passing traffic this far out of town. I like it that way, of
course; fewer prying eyes. But it does slow down the process
sometimes...

Sometimes I feel like I never get anything accomplished. But then I look
around at all the gadgets in the sales room, and it reminds me that I
really am good at this. The holographic displays, the antigravity pack,
the scent synthesizer, the nuclear power microplant... I like to invent
a little bit of everything. It keeps the mind fresh.

A car drives by outside without slowing down. Rats.

Of course, the *really* important stuff is in the basement. The military
projects, the fusion research, the hypnoprojectors... and the genetics
lab. That's where my biggest breakthrough is. All that's missing is a
subject...

This car's stopping, I know it, I just know it... Rats.

I've tried focusing the hypnoprojectors on the passing traffic, of
course. That would really speed things up. But the speed limit is just
too high... a car only needs eighteen seconds to pass through, and if I
turned up the power enough to hypnotize someone *that* quickly, well,
I'd probably incinerate the driver's brain. Which would be rude *and*
counterproductive.

Still. If I could just find a subtle way to mount the projectors higher
up, so line-of-sight would be longer... no. Too risky. Patience is a
virtue. And I should at least *try* to be a little bit virtuous now and
then.

Yes! This car *is* stopping! And the driver looks like a college student
looking for summer work! Yes, he's carrying a resume! The mind-reading
antenna should lock on while he's walking up the ramp... yes... single,
no close family ties, probably won't be missed! Perfect!

"Come on in, sir! Welcome to Kitco! I'm Kit Taylor! How can I help you
today?"

Two things always happen right after visitors come through the front
door.

First, they see me. And they must come to terms with the fact that
they're looking at a three-foot-tall humanoid fox in business attire.
They must turn over all the possibilities in their heads... am I a kid
in a costume? Am I a marketing robot? Have they inhaled too many exhaust
fumes on the road? It usually takes them at least thirty seconds of
stammering and small talk before they even start to decide how to deal
with the situation.

Second... well, thirty seconds is *plenty* of time for the
hypnoprojectors to really get to work. And that's *so* very helpful.

All I have to do is compliment him on his thoroughly average resume,
show him a few gadgets while his mind slips into neutral, get his
signature on the waiver... and lead him downstairs to the genetics lab.

And, specifically, to the 3000-gallon plexiglass tank with the
fascinating equipment surrounding it and the hatch standing invitingly
open.

Just step on in, please, sir... Steve, is it? I'm terrible with names...
Anyway, we'll do a quick medical scan to make sure you're healthy enough
for the job. Perfectly safe, that's right. Just stay right there...

Normally, when the hatch closes and the tank starts to fill up with blue
goop, even the hypnoprojectors can't stop a subject from getting a
*little* concerned. I at least have to smile soothingly, tell them that
the goop is superoxygenated and safe to breathe. Sometimes the subject
even manages to distrust me a little and tries to hold their breath for
a few seconds. That's fine, that's fine. It's a lovely thing for them to
concentrate on, while the nanites in the goop work their way through the
skin and into the blood vessels.

Stephen, here, though... the hypnoprojectors make such short work of
him, he's passed out before the goop even reaches his belly button.

So... now for the fun part. So much to learn from every subject! So many
interesting decisions to make! Like, what to turn him into? I skim
through Pete's resume again, looking for inspiration. Wow, this is just
*relentlessly* average. Well, he's from Canada, so... maybe a beaver.
Have I done a beaver yet? I scroll through the list of templates on the
computer console... dozens and dozens of shapes to choose from... Well.
I haven't even made a template for a beaver yet. How exciting! I spend
the next hour doing dozens and dozens of Internet searches, looking
through every beaver-related resource I can find... encyclopedia
articles, trailers for documentaries, dam-building videos, mascot
costumes... picking out a skeletal detail here, a fur texture there, a
dam-building video showing so many fun movements and little behavioral
tics...

Just one big decision to make, that will have a profound impact on the
rest of Keith's life... am I making him a lab assistant, or just a test
subject?

I look at Dave's unconscious form in the tank... I consider everything I
know about him, and try to treat the decision with all the gravity it
deserves...

It takes around three seconds.

Sorry, Dale. I'm just not getting "assistant" vibes from you.

So, a four-footed beaver template it shall be... barely any larger than
a genuine beaver. That's a pretty small braincase... it will require a
lot of mental simplifications. But let's face it... I'm not starting
with a sterling intellect here.

Building template... building template... building template... no matter
how much computer power I throw at this, it still takes several annoying
minutes...

Template ready. And... START.

The machines around the tank start to hum just a little bit louder.

That's it. There's no dramatic noise, no sudden lurch of movement, no
cracking bones, no tail exploding through the skin. This is science, not
magic, and not CGI. It will take at least five minutes for anything
visible to happen at all, and at least four hours for the process to
complete.

And that's okay. I could look at this all day.

And I do.

As the sun goes down, the cycle completes, and the goop drains from the
tank, and the hatch swings back open. And I grab several towels, and
spend ten delightful minutes thoroughly drying off my new subject's fur.
I'm sure I could automate this part... build a dryer into the tank...
but why? It's part of the fun. Part of the ritual.

And soon, my new beaver is bedded down in his cage next to the other
subjects, and I have a late dinner and a good night's sleep.

I should wait a while before I put the sign out again. A month, at
least. It doesn't pay to draw too much attention to this sort of thing.

But, barely a week later...

I'm bored.

# Day 2. Video

Suppose that you are a college student looking for a summer job. And
suppose that you find yourself passing a bright red commercial building
with a tasteful little KITCO sign, and there's a help-wanted sign out
front. And suppose that you stop in. And suppose that, once the
hypnoprojectors have had time to do their thing, you find yourself being
quizzed by an adorable little fox-lady about whether there's anything
you've always wanted to be.

First, thank you very much for your contribution to science.

Second... the course of the rest of your life is going to really depend
on what sort of answer you give.

Because if you mumble something about always liking raccoons... well,
there are a million directions I could go with that. Some much more
invasive than others. And I'm going to try to pick something that really
works for you. And at the end of the summer, I'll even change you
back... assuming that I still like you, and that I don't like you *too*
much.

But if you should find yourself saying that you've always been a fan of
Rocket Raccoon, and that you've seen the Guardians of the Galaxy movies
five times each... well, that's a very different matter.

Because there's video. And when there's video... well, that's a very
different matter. Because now there's a *target*. A very specific
target. And in my head, it's not about "hmm, what sort of change feels
right today?" No. It's about "how close can I come to hitting that
target?"

And once I put you in the tank, and once I feed that video into some
very elaborate computer algorithms that I've spent far too much time
on... well, let's put it this way.

If there's a hair on your adorable little body that doesn't match the
screen, then I'm not done with you yet.

But that's not all. Oh, no. We've barely gotten started.

If there's a step you take, a facial expression you make, a little
twitch of impatience, that doesn't look like it came straight from that
video... then I'm not done with you yet.

If your voice doesn't sound *exactly* right... if every flarkin' word
and phrase and sentence you choose isn't perfect... if every pause for a
breath and every sigh of impatience isn't convincing... then I'm not
done with you yet.

If you don't know *everything* about *everything* that Rocket has ever
appeared in... then I'm not done with you yet. And if I have to trim
away some of those boring human memories to make room... then it's your
fault for loving a character with extensive lore and an adorably small
skull.

If you don't have the *perfect* set of outfits and the *perfect* gear...
then I'm not done with you yet. That has nothing to do with genetics, of
course. That's just because I'm a *professional*.

(No... I won't give you guns that kill people. I'll give you guns that
*humiliate* people. That's *much* more fun.)

And what about your personality? Well, I probably won't change it. Not
directly. But you'll be getting a wonderful little dopamine hit every
time you do *just* the right thing... and brains are remarkably
receptive to that sort of reinforcement. So don't worry; before long,
you'll be an absolute natural.

And if you think you'll want to change back at the end of the summer...
if you think that you'll ever want to be anything other than the
glorious new creature that you are... then I'm not done with you yet.

So if you don't *want* to be the perfect embodiment of that video...

Choose your fantasies accordingly.

# Day 3. Myth

From time to time, someone comes through my door who genuinely, truly
wants to be something else. They take one look at me, realize that I'm
wearing a costume, and their face lights up like it's Christmas morning.
They're telling me their dream form before the hypnoprojectors even have
a chance to properly kick in. There was one dude who had a "reference
sheet" right there on his phone.

Which made it discouraging for both of us when I had to tell him "no."

I'm a scientist. I do science. True, I do the sort of science that would
make my 'esteemed colleagues' at the university do a double spit take...
but it's still science. I'm not a magician.

And that means that even after I've done years of utterly unethical
research, and spent around twelve million dollars on hardware, there are
still a lot of things that I just can't do. And there are a lot of
storybook critters that fall firmly into the "things I just can't do"
category.

For starters, let's talk about my eternal nemesis, the square-cube law.
Look, the tank only holds 3000 gallons of goop for a reason. When I
scale things up too much, it becomes an interesting race to see whether
your circulatory system or your skeletal system will break down first.
So, if you want to be a giant... well, I'm going to have to bring you
down.

Then there was that fellow who wanted to be six inches tall. I really,
really wanted to help him; that would have been *adorable*. But... I can
only pack so many brain cells into something that small, and it's not a
suitable number. If I'm going to turn you into your dream, you should at
least have enough intelligence to appreciate it afterwards.

What about dragons? Harpies? Angels and devils? Don't get me started on
flight. I'm still too upset about how the pterodactyl turned out. It
should have worked.

Werewolves? Weretigers? Were-anything-at-all? Look. If I had a way of
letting you change your own shape without instantly killing yourself in
any of several thoroughly unpleasant ways, I wouldn't need to have this
giant tank taking up so much space in my genetics lab, would I? Well,
actually, I *have* been nibbling around the edges of that problem, with
some success... oh, that got your attention, did it? Don't get your
hopes up too high; there's still a lot of limitations. I've got a great
story to tell you later, involving a certain hedgehog.

And I don't want to sell myself short. There are a lot of dreams I can
fulfill. You want to be a quadruped? Four sure! You want more limbs? I
can make you taur-riffic. Can I make you a cold-blooded kobold? Yip! A
yeti? Yes! A chimera? You'll be the GOAT!

Of course, you'll have to *find* me first...

# Day 4. Fluid

So, suppose you've found yourself driving by my establishment, and the
sign outside has caught your attention. "SCIENTIFIC MARVELS! FREE TOURS!
HELP WANTED!" You've decided to stop in and have a look at the
scientific marvels. And you're very impressed, because I'm quite good at
what I do, and also because the hypnoprojectors have done some really
amusing things to your cognitive skills. So now you're in my genetics
lab, and you're more than happy to step inside that 3000-gallon tank for
a quick "checkup".

And now you find yourself wondering, hey, what's up with this blue goop
that's rapidly filling the chamber?

Don't worry, you'll only have a few seconds to think about it. The
anesthetic will kick in momentarily. Sure, I'm immoral, but I'm not
cruel; and you most definitely do not want to be awake for what's about
to happen.

Still, it's a worthy question. What *is* up with that blue goop? Well,
you see, when it comes to transforming someone through the marvels of
science, there are two parts to the problem.

Designing a whole new species? That's actually the *easy* part,
relatively speaking. Don't worry, I've made some wonderful choices for
you. And if all I wanted to do was to create an embryo and let it go
through the usual processes, it would be straightforward enough. For me,
anyway. Don't try it at home.

But, of course, I'm after something much faster, and much less ethical,
and much more fun. I want to turn *you* into that thing. And that turns
out to be frighteningly hard, even for me. Because there are tens of
trillions of cells in your body, and they're all remarkably fussy about
who their neighbors should be, what the temperature should be, how often
the oxygen and glucose deliveries need to show up... It's almost absurd
how easy it is to kill a cell. And now throw in the fact that brain
cells are even fussier than the rest, and that I'm usually trying to
restructure big parts of your brain while keeping your memories and
personality at least *mostly* coherent... It's a nightmare. An absolute
nightmare.

The nanites really have their work cut out for them. I won't even try to
describe all the thousands of things they need access to on a moment's
notice. It just makes sense to have a fluid that has all the necessary
building blocks suspended in it. But it turns out that a normal liquid
won't work either. Yes, while your transformation is in progress, there
are lots of things circulating around the tank very quickly; but it's
also incredibly important that you *hold still*. It's hard enough to
coordinate all the thousands of intermediate steps in the conversion
process without also having to account for the subject randomly bobbing
around the tank.

So, what's called for is... well, there's no Newtonian physics term that
comes close to describing what's in the tank. Left to its own devices,
it would settle and solidify very quickly, like extremely expensive
gelatin. But the nanites aren't just swimming through it; they're
cutting billions of microscopic paths through it, to form a sort of
external circulatory system that can deliver everything to where it's
needed and keep you alive while your own vital organs are out of
commission. It's an absurdly complicated sort of matter. It just *feels*
like goop.

Why is it blue? Blue is a soothing color. It's very scientific.

# Day 5. Flight

Okay. I have to get the pterodactyl thing off my chest. I thought I'd
gotten over it. No such luck.

So... I had a subject. And I was rummaging through her brain, looking
for inspiration. Which always seems like such a good, sweet idea. Turn
people into what they want to be, right? Make them into the best version
of themselves? Yeah, but sometimes it makes me fall in love with a bad
idea. And this turned out to be one of those times.

So... this lady... Katrina... she *really* wanted to learn to fly. It
was just written all over her brain. So many memories of looking at
airplanes... reading about airplanes... dreaming about airplanes...
begging and scheming to get plane rides...

Well, let's just say that her life hadn't gone very well. Grew up
poor... had a few run-ins with the law... tried to enlist in the Air
Force, but didn't make the cut... couldn't even hold a job as a flight
attendant. And then she stumbled across my little shop.

Of course, I knew that a conventional bird design wouldn't work. Look.
If you want to fly... Gravity is an asshole. It really wants you to
suffer. And all those little body features that make your life a bit
more pleasant and predictable? Those things are heavy. Strong bones are
heavy. Fat reserves are heavy.

And you know what's really heavy? Brains. And there were so many good
things about her brain...

I shouldn't have done it. I knew it even then. I shouldn't have done it.

But I'd just watched this wonderful documentary about pterodactyls. And
I really thought I could make it work. Maximize the wing area, minimize
the weight... concentrate on brief spurts of flapping to gain altitude,
and then lots of gliding to conserve energy... make a few optimizations
here and there, and have just enough weight capacity to support a really
proper brain.

I really wanted it to work, okay?

And I tried. I tried so hard. I worked on her design for weeks. I
programmed her *so* carefully.

And I waited for a hot day when there'd be lots of good thermals, and I
took her out to the desert...

And for eight minutes... it was *wonderful.*

And then...

I don't want to talk about flight anymore.

# Day 6. Tail

Let's try a brighter subject.

I really enjoy everything I do to people. If I didn't, there are a *lot*
of other ways I could be spending my time.

And if you asked me what my favorite organ to mess with is... well, it
would have to be the brain. There's *so* much wonderful stuff I can do
there.

But giving someone a tail would be an *awfully* close second place. And
it's *so* much easier.

Think about it. Nearly every other mammalian species has a tail. Not to
mention reptiles, birds, fish... The tail is practically a symbol of
"being an animal". And as a species, humans have this odd superiority
complex about *not* having one...

Which makes it incredibly satisfying to stick someone in the tank and
stick that tail right back onto their butt.

Besides, a tail can be so wonderfully expressive. And when I said that I
love messing with people's brains... well, choosing how to wire up
someone's tail can be the best part of modifying their brain.

Brains are remarkably good at rationalizing things. You can change how
someone's arms and legs work, and they'll find a way to convince
themselves that it's not that important. You can change how someone's
senses work, and in a few days they'll barely notice. Heck, sometimes it
only takes a few minutes.

But having a whole new limb, generating whole new sensations? *That*
gets to people.

And what about movement? Sure, I can give someone full conscious control
of their tail... but really, what's the fun in that? Most of the time,
it's a lot more effective -- and a lot more fun -- to give someone's
tail a mind of its own, as it were. Make it automatically reflect
emotions.

Now you don't just have a new limb... it's *giving your secrets away.*

And it's so much fun to fine-tune it! Make the motions subtle or
not-so-subtle... make the subject aware of them, or almost oblivious to
them...

And it can *really* be fun to give someone *partial* control, like the
way we control our lungs. Sure, if you stop and think about it, you can
control your breathing... you can even hold your breath, for a while...
but the moment you stop paying attention, your subconscious goes right
back to work running things. That works so delightfully with a tail.
Yes, if you think about it, you can hold it still for as long as you
want. It's completely under your control... but it's hard to focus on it
for a long time, isn't it? The human brain just doesn't want to fixate
on one task for very long. Most of us are terrible at it. And the longer
you try, the harder it gets. Eventually, your attention is going to
waver... you're going to think about something else... and your tail
will quietly start doing its own thing again.

And when you notice it, maybe you'll sigh, and go back to focusing on
control... on holding back your instincts...

But it just keeps on being hard to do. And inevitably, you'll slip up
again. And again.

And after enough repetitions of this... well, it starts to wear on you.
And the part of your brain that loves to rationalize things goes back to
work. And you decide that you don't care about what your tail does after
all. Or maybe you even decide that you *like* it this way.

All of which makes it so satisfying to watch a new lab assistant come to
terms with their tail... and show more and more of their emotions... and
eventually just give up on trying to hide them.

And meanwhile, of course, the same process is happening with a lot of
the *other* things I've done to their brain.

So, when you stop and think about it... heads and tails are just two
sides of the same coin.

I'm not sorry.

# Day 7. Memory

Let's talk about the fine points of *properly* messing with someone's
head.

Suppose that I plop someone into the tank and turn them into, oh, I
don't know, a raccoon. Raccoons are fuzzy and cute, and they have those
adorable little hands. You just can't stay in a bad mood when you're
watching a new raccoon come to terms with life. Note to self: turn next
subject into raccoon.

But if I *only* make anatomical changes -- if I leave the subject's
memories completely unchanged -- then it literally won't know what to do
with itself. And where's the fun in that?

On the other hand, if I completely obliterate the subject's old brain,
then what's the point? I could have just gone out and caught a raccoon
in the first place, without having to spend millions of dollars on
equipment and legal fees.

... Okay, sometimes when videogame and movie characters are involved, I
go a little too far. I admit it. I'm trying to behave, I really am. But
they're so *adorable* when I'm done...

Anyway. What's the right balance? Let's talk about the different types
of memory, and how much fun it is to tamper with all of them.

First, there's kinesthetic memory. How to physically do things.
Reflexes. When you walk across the room without falling over, or you tie
your shoe and your fingers go through all those quick little motions
without you having to really think about them.

As far as I'm concerned, when you turn someone into a raccoon, you just
*have* to rework their kinesthetic memory to match. If a subject has to
take the time to learn to walk all over again, that's just cruel, not to
mention a complete waste of time for everyone involved. Sure, I like to
leave people feeling a *little* unsteady on their new feet... that's
just good clean fun. But if they aren't moving naturally after a day or
two, I screwed up somewhere.

Then there's semantic memory. Facts. Information. And here's where my
choices start getting complicated.

On the one hand... if I'm hiring a new lab assistant, there's a *lot*
for them to learn. And why go through the unpleasantness of training
them in the usual way? It's so much more fun to just load up their head
with all the skills they'll need to succeed. It saves time, and I get to
see the adorable look on the assistant's face when I assign them to a
task they've never done before... and they realize that they're a
natural at it already.

Better yet... I get *so* many college students looking for summer work
or internships. What an excellent opportunity for a win-win solution! I
just put them in the tank, turn them into something more interesting,
and fill their malleable little heads with every fact that college would
ever teach them! That way, I can pay them wages that are *drastically*
below market rates, and they still come out tens of thousands of dollars
ahead!

But, at the other end of the scale... suppose that I'm turning a subject
into something with a much smaller braincase. I'm going to have to make
some mental simplifications. And let's face it; if you're an adorable
little raccoon, you just aren't going to be driving a car any time soon.
So, I can clean out all that needless knowledge about rules of the road.
For that matter, you aren't going to be commuting at all... or holding
down an office job... in fact, your interaction with human society is
probably going to be limited to finding the best trash bins. So... your
semantic memory from your old life is going to be... streamlined. Which
pretty much means "deleted"; but "streamlined" is a much more positive
way of looking at it, don't you agree?

Finally, there's episodic memory. What you've been through. Your life
story.

When I started doing this, I was quite reluctant to muck with episodic
memory. After all, your episodic memory is a huge part of what makes you
*you*. But I very quickly realized that there are a lot of episodic
memory changes that it's cruel *not* to make.

Okay, I also discovered that episodic memory changes can be *incredibly*
fun to make. But that's beside the point.

The point is that episodic memory isn't nearly as set in stone as we
think it is. We don't have perfect memories of our sensory impressions.
Our brain takes notes. Some folks' brains are a lot better at taking
notes than others... but it's still a summary of the experience. When we
think about an old memory, we pull out those notes and play them back
through our current thought processes.

That means that if, say, some brilliant scientist has radically altered
the way your thought processes work, then those notes from your old
brain are going to play back very differently on your new hardware.
Those old memories can turn into just a bunch of nonsense... or worse.

And what makes matters worse, those corrupted memories are still
memories. No matter how often you consciously tell yourself "That's not
how it happened", at a deeper level, they'll still be real to you. Ask
any psychiatrist how much of a nightmare this can be.

So, at the very, *very* least... those old memories need to be converted
into something your new brain can deal with properly.

But, the moment I accept that, yes, I'm going to have to rewrite every
old memory in your fuzzy little head... well, that raises new questions.

A lot of us have mentally walled off big chunks of what's in our
memories. And we've done it for lot of very good reasons. Old memories
can be unsettling. They can be traumatizing

They can also be *boring*. How many memories of "going to and from work"
do you need?

And, of course, let's not forget that those old memories are of an old
life. If you used to be an extreme introvert with a huge antisocial
streak... and now you're a fuzzy extrovert who just wants to hug
everyone... are you going to *want* to think about the way you used to
be?

So, for all of these reasons... and because it's easier... these days I
typically edit those old episodic memories down to a highlight package.
Or, occasionally, a lowlight package... if I really want you to remember
that your life used to suck.

It makes your new brain so much more coherent and consistent. And it
saves billions and billions of neurons that I can reuse for more
important things, like giving you cute little behavioral tics that
you'll never think twice about.

You're welcome.

# Day 8. Unaware

And while we're on the subject of memory... and not thinking twice about
things...

I know, I know, I know. Changing people's self-image without consent is
profoundly unethical. Preventing people from realizing that I've done it
is... uniquely unethical.

And there are times when I actually feel a little bit bad about it.

But you can't possibly have *the slightest idea* of how *fun* it is.

I mean, think about it. I've just turned someone into something
completely new. That part is fun enough. But now, there are just so many
ways I can fine-tune how they come to terms with that.

I can make them completely aware of everything I've done.
Straightforward, but honestly... it's a heck of a shock for people to
deal with all at once. Also, kind of boring.

At the other extreme, I can make them utterly convinced that this is how
they've always been, and make them ignore all evidence to the contrary.
Funny... and there's a few folks who definitely have it coming... but
honestly, *also* kind of boring. Watching someone gradually realize how
their life has changed is a huge part of what makes this interesting for
me. So why would I prevent that from happening?

No. The fun stuff is in the middle. The fun stuff is making people aware
that something has happened... but not aware of *how much* has happened.
Yes, they realize that they're a lizardman... but it doesn't strike them
as noteworthy right away that they've been running on all fours when
they're in a hurry. Or just why they adore spending time in that server
room that's ten degrees hotter than the rest of the lab. It might take
them a few weeks to realize how much better their new senses are -- that
they can hear the tiny rattle of a failing CPU fan from fifty feet away,
and instantly place exactly where in the room the bad fan is. And it
might *never* occur to them that it's odd that they know exactly which
box in exactly which storeroom has the replacement fans...

They only got transformed once, and now they're getting layer after
layer of self-discovery! And I'm getting a senior maintenance tech for a
third of the usual wage! What's not to like?

# Day 9. Space

I like logic problems. If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing this. And the
most difficult logic problem I have to deal with -- and the most fun,
but also the most annoying -- is cramming as much as I can into
someone's skull.

I can certainly do better than Mother Nature can. That thing you've
heard about "we only use 10% of our brains" is bullshit, of course. But
there's a lot of design inefficiencies in the human body, and the brain
is certainly no exception.

But when I'm working on someone, there's usually *so* much I want to
improve inside their skull. Obviously, improving someone's thinking
takes brain space. Knowledge takes brain space. But I just *love* giving
people better senses. And so many of our sensory problems aren't because
our eyes and ears and nose are bad -- although they *are* pretty bad.

If I double someone's visual resolution, then sure, they'll do better on
an eye test... they'll be able to pick out objects farther away... but
their ability to function in the world gets *worse*, not better. Why?
Because the human brain uses some very, very ugly hacks just to keep up
with the flow of information that *normal* eyes provide. That's why you
remember so little of what you see. That's why optical illusions work:
because they catch your brain cheating. And why is your brain cheating?
Because evolution has the same problem I do: packing stuff into a
reasonably-sized brain.

Yes, of course, I've tried moving the brain down into the chest cavity.
Yes, of course, I've tried multiple brains like octopodes and leeches
have. With some really fascinating results so far. But trust me, you
don't want to see those results.

So for now, if I want to produce something vaguely resembling human
consciousness, I have to stick to what works. And if I want to make the
sensory processing centers of the brain better... and trust me, I almost
always do... then that takes more room in the brain. And making that
room takes some creativity. And a willingness to be very pragmatic.

Which is easy for me. After all, I've done this to myself. And when I
turned myself into a fox... well, keeping my human brain size would have
been the smart play. But it wasn't what I wanted to be.

And so I made myself the adorable three-foot vixen you see before you.
And I made myself very, very smart. And very, very knowledgeable.

And as for the memories of my previous life... and a lot of my social
skills... and a lot of my emotions... and most of my morality...

Well, I needed the space.

# Day 10. Fall

Here's some science for you: When you turn someone into a digitigrade
bipedal form, they should ideally fall on their butt exactly four times
over the next twenty-four hours.

Seriously. I've collected the data. I've run the numbers.

You might think that it would be better for someone not to fall on their
butt at all. And at this point I'm certainly able to reprogram someone's
reflexes to the point where they come out of the tank as stable as,
well, a tank. In fact, I can make it nearly *impossible* for them to
fall over, though there's a loss of free will involved that you may find
excessive.

But it turns out that, if someone comes out of the tank feeling like a
complete natural walking on those new paws or hooves, that can actually
be unsettling. It makes them wonder how deeply I've reprogrammed their
mind, what else has changed. They get suspicious, occasionally even
paranoid. And, of course, that's a completely reasonable reaction -- and
almost always justified. But the point is, they aren't having a good
time. And if one of my subjects is having a bad time, I want it to be
because I made them that way *intentionally*.

On the other hand, if someone just keeps falling down... well, they're
*definitely* going to be having a bad time, in a way that reflects
poorly on me as a designer. Worse, they could wind up damaging expensive
scientific equipment.

So... it turns out that the ideal scenario for most personality types is
to fall down once almost immediately... then again, a few minutes
later... then once more in about an hour, once they're feeling steadier
on their feet... and once more near the end of the day, when they're
getting tired and starting to take their new legs for granted. That
learning curve makes them feel uncontrolled and challenged; but it also
makes them feel like they're quickly coming to grips with that
challenge. It produces a sense of empowerment. And that results in
happiness levels that average six percentage points higher than the
"three falls" and "five falls" alternatives. Needless to say, there's a
high standard deviation; but the results are statistically sound.

What about quadrupeds? Well, I'm going to need several dozen more
subjects before I can even start to draw conclusions there. And you have
to be careful with quadrupeds. They kick.

# Day 11. Taste

Ah, yes. Taste. The afterthought of the five basic senses. Even I don't
give it a lot of thought in my designs... and I'm willing to make some
pretty debatable brain design compromises in order to give the other
four senses all the room they need.

Why is that, I wonder? I suppose it's because I'm pushing to make people
either more capable in general or better at working for me in
particular. And it's easy to picture how the other improving the other
four senses can make a big difference. But taste? Taste is pretty much
there to tell us what we should and shouldn't eat. And the human system
isn't great, but it gets the job done.

But maybe I should give some more thought to that. After all, my
assistants don't get out of the lab much... or at all... so boredom can
be an issue. And buying lots of different types of food is expensive.
I've tried just mixing different flavorings into the basic nutrient
syrup, of course; but that can get expensive and time consuming too...
Hmm... Maybe I should just attack the problem head-on. I could tweak the
brain so that the same food produces randomized flavor profiles... based
on time of day, or little variations in lighting... maybe even tweak the
sense of touch as well, so that the subject thinks the food has
different texture profiles from day to day...

Then again, I could just turn one of the storerooms into a small
cafeteria... the budget's looking pretty good this year. But then I'd
need more assistants to run the cafeteria... and I'd need to feed
\*them\* too...

Maybe the real problem is the desire for variety itself. If I tweak
long-term memory, so that people don't remember what they've eaten
before, then every meal will seem like a new experience...

No. Too complicated to get right. If I give someone an order, I don't
want them to immediately forget about it just because they've still got
a little bit of food in their mouth.

Yeah, simpler to just go back to the random-flavors idea. I like the
idea of triggering it using lighting. I can tweak the color temperature
of the lab lighting day by day... put it on a monthly cycle... but it's
so hard to get different types of lighting fixtures to produce
consistent light... subjects will notice if their food tastes different
when they carry it from one room to another...

This all needs more thought. For now, I'll just put one of the
assistants in charge of ordering groceries. Delegate the problem.

Now, where was I...

# Day 12. Experiment

Someone broke into my shop a few weeks ago.

Now, I often find myself struggling to decide how to treat someone.
Should I turn them into what they say they want to be? Should I turn
them into what seems to me like the best fit for their personality?
Should I just turn them into something *interesting*? But, if someone
breaks in... or shoplifts... or threatens me... well, then there's no
struggle whatsoever. If you cross me, all bets are off.

But it turns out that every rule has an exception. And this particular
exception broke in, in the middle of the night, while I was asleep...
bypassed all the sensors and cameras... went downstairs to the genetics
lab... deliberately set off the alarm... and waited.

That's the sort of thing that calls for a discussion. And so we had one.

Never mind how he found out about me, about what I do. It was a lapse in
judgement on my part, a poor choice of confidant... which I've since
emphatically corrected.

No, the interesting story here is about the thief himself. He claims to
be one of the best in the country. But not *the* best... no matter how
hard he tried. And then he developed a little hand tremor... which led
to a doctor... then another... and a diagnosis of early-onset
Parkinson's disease.

Honestly, Parkinson's is crueler than anything I could bring myself to
inflict on someone. Little by little, it robs you of control of your
body. And for a young man who makes a living from being in absolute peak
physical condition... it's hard to even think about.

But here he was, in front of me. And he didn't just want to be cured. He
wanted to be *changed*. He wanted to be the best thief in the world.

Which, according to him, called for two very specific traits.

He wanted to be *small*. Small enough to hide nearly anywhere. Small
enough to confuse motion sensors into thinking he wasn't human. Smaller
than me.

And he wanted to be *fast*. Not just in terms of movement speed and
reflexes, but in terms of reaction time. These days, there are some
alarms that you probably can't beat, no matter how good you are... but
all the decisions on how to respond to those alarms are still being made
by humans. If you're fast enough to be in and out by the time that
response arrives, then the alarm doesn't matter. If you're fast enough
to outmaneuver the guards, then the guards don't matter.

I explained to him what I've already explained to you -- that being
small requires some very uncomfortable compromises. And I explained that
I could make him faster, but there's a limit -- human consciousness is a
wonderful thing, but it's just inherently slow, and there's only so much
that can be done about it.

He didn't flinch.

And so I sat him down next to me in front of the computer screen, and I
came up with a very... innovative design.

He didn't flinch.

In fact, he kept pushing for more. In the end, in fact, he only demanded
one change. I had him figured for a cat person... but it turned out that
playing Sly Cooper is what led him to a life of crime in the first
place.

We finalized the design, and in the wee hours of the morning, I put him
in the tank.

Physically, the changes were straightforward. A two-foot six-inch
raccoon. Nervous system tweaks, muscular tweaks... optimizing for speed
and balance over strength. Eyes and ears as good as I could make them
without fatally compromising the rest of the brain.

Oh, and the pockets. Those were his idea. Natural pockets, like a
kangaroo pouch... but with the storage space inside the body rather than
dangling outside. You'd be amazed at how much he can store in there. I'm
particularly proud of the musculature... nothing spills as he runs or
jumps or tumbles. Oh yes, and he can drop to all fours and pretty much
pass for an actual raccoon... and he's fast that way, too.

Of course, having sharp objects stored inside your body while you're
running and jumping would normally be agonizing. But that brings us to
the mental changes.

While we were working on the design, I knew that reaction time would be
the real problem. He was looking for sub-40-millisecond reactions. Human
brains just don't do that. Even in top-tier athletic competition, if you
react to the starting gun faster than 90 milliseconds, they'll
disqualify you, because they *know* you're guessing.

I kept on making the new body's reflexes better. And I ran the
simulations, and the results weren't good enough. I made more and more
of the sensory processing happen at the subconscious level. And I ran
the simulations, and the results weren't good enough. Finally, I looked
at him, and scowled, and said that the only way I could make his new
mind any faster would be to have his subconscious make the *decisions*
for him.

He didn't flinch.

So.

His new subconscious mind is very, *very* fast. And very, *very*
powerful.

His conscious mind... well, it's still him. Mostly.

He doesn't see the world the way you or I do. Everything is heavily
simplified. Important objects highlighted, unimportant details stripped
out. Like an old-school video game.

Meanwhile, his subconscious mind is taking everything in, and making all
the moment-to-moment decisions. Like the video game engine carrying out
the player's command

In terms of mental power... his conscious mind is on par with a
six-year-old child. But it's only making the big-picture choices --
"attack", "take", "run". And the subconscious mind is constantly
figuring out the best choices to offer, and the best way to carry out
those choices.

So he's a six-year-old who's *literally incapable of having a bad idea.*

There's a lot he doesn't understand. Pain... death... the past... the
future.

But he doesn't have to understand. The subconscious is figuring it out
for him, making his life into one grand adventure. There's always some
Big Heist on the horizon, and lots of little preparatory steps to do. He
sees it as a "quest log". He's even got objective arrows leading him
towards the best destinations.

He's happy. Gloriously happy.

You could say that I killed him, of course. That once the mental changes
pass a certain point, it's not him anymore.

I told him that before he got in the tank.

He didn't flinch.

# Day 13. Image

Self-image is a funny thing.

It can be incredibly empowering. If you can truly convince yourself that
you have some positive quality, then you'll move heaven and earth to
make it happen. On the other hand, it can be incredibly destructive...
ask anyone who has a loved one with anorexia.

All of which means that, when I dunk someone in the tank and change
everything about their physical form in a few hours... I need to give
some careful thought to how to handle their self-image.

The cruelest thing to do to a transformee's self-image is to simply
leave it alone. If you still feel like a human inside, then it doesn't
matter how good your new body is, or how much you like it on a conscious
level. It will never, ever feel *right.* Yes, in theory, your self-image
would shift over time... usually... most of the way. But in practice,
our minds just aren't built to process a change this big, this fast. By
the time that the natural shift in self-image really gets started,
you've probably picked up several nasty mental hangups. It's very hard
to predict what happens in any given case; but it's almost certainly
going to be very bad.

At the other extreme, there's making someone's self-image match their
new form exactly. Making the new form feel like it's what they should
have always been. It's a lovely thought, and it makes people happy, and
it works out well... mostly... usually. What's the problem here? Well,
look. I've gotten good at this, but I'm still far from perfect at it.
There are nearly always going to be little details that I didn't
anticipate, that I didn't account for. That means that there will always
be flaws... and it's important that the subject recognize them as flaws.
Account for them. Learn to work around them. And, if someone feels like
their new body is the perfect one for them... it's really hard for them
to start picking out flaws, let alone motivating themselves to do
something about them.

So, it turns out that the sweet spot for most people is to shift their
self-image by around 85% of the way. Close enough that their new form
feels right, but not perfect. Just uncomfortable enough to let them find
the problems in themselves, and the solutions to those problems. That
way, over the next few weeks and months, as their self-image naturally
shifts the rest of the way... they feel like they *earned* that feeling
of completeness.

Of course, all of this is assuming that I *like* the person in the tank.
If I don't... well, then there are some positively *delightful* options.
For example, changing their self-image beyond 100%. Now their new body
feels wrong because it hasn't changed *enough*. They want more... and
they'll do whatever it takes to get back in the tank... Isn't science
wonderful?

# Day 14. Power

So. Why haven't I taken over the world?

It's certainly something that's crossed my mind. And no, I'm not talking
about making invincible super-soldiers. Do you have any idea how many
minotaurs it would take to invade even a small country? And let's face
it: physical strength and dexterity have been out of fashion on the
battlefield for most of a century now.

No. The effective approach would be to start bringing in local
government officials on some pretext, and changing their brains
*without* visibly changing their bodies. Tweak their personalities. Add
unhealthy amounts of loyalty to me personally. Then start working my way
up the chain of command. And of course, work on the media the same
way... on religious figures... on whoever happens to be popular...

One of my bigger worries is that someone is already doing this. But I
think my research is still well ahead of the pack. There's a good chance
that I've got the next decade to myself, if I can avoid any more stupid
decisions about who to confide in.

But honestly, running the world sounds like absolute hell to me. My eyes
glaze over when I try to follow what the local city council is up to.

There's a wonderful Spider-Man comic, where a villain named Sauron has
powers a bit like mine. Spider-Man calls Sauron out on it: "You can
rewrite DNA on the fly, and you\'re using it to turn people
into dinosaurs? But with tech like that, you could cure cancer!" And
Sauron doesn't even hesitate: "But I don\'t want to cure cancer. I want
to turn people into dinosaurs." That's my kind of thinking. With great
power comes great responsibility... so I'd rather skip the great power.

I'm having an awful lot of fun just doing what I'm doing. And if my bank
balance ever starts running low, I can come up with a medical
breakthrough or two. All I want to do is be rich enough to do what I
want, and poor enough to stay off the radar of the Important People.

If you think I'm misusing my talents... well, just make the same
discoveries I did, and then *you* can decide what to do with them. Have
fun with that.

# Day 15. Perspective

Touring my shop can be more than a little disorienting... and that's not
even counting what might happen to you in the genetics lab.

When you walk in, you're in the sales room. And there, everything seems
normal -- other than my astonishing array of high-quality merchandise,
of course. Everything is sized and positioned for humans. Which means
that I can almost walk under the tables without having to bend over. And
that requires me to make some awkward jumps and lunges to get at a few
things. It's all in the name of making the customers comfortable... for
at least a minute or two. Long enough for the hypnoprojectors to really
do their work.

As an aside, I can learn a lot about you from those first few moments.
There are some people who see that I'm three feet tall and just can't
help but treat me like a child. There are some people who are *really*
bad at acting like everything is normal. And there are some people who
assume that because I'm so small, I can't possibly stop them from taking
stuff. (Those people are some of my favorite test subjects.)

But assuming you make it past that first little hurdle, I'll probably
invite you back to have a look in the lab... the *public* lab, anyway.
And once you're in there, now you're in *my* world. Now you feel like a
giant, because everything is sized and positioned for me. The tables are
small enough and low enough that you can almost walk over them. Lots of
things are on ropes, so they can be lowered for use and raised out of
the way. (Out of *my* way, anyway. Watch your head!)

What about those contraptions hanging on the walls... aren't they out of
my reach? Nope. Everything's mounted to panels, and the panels
themselves can move and adjust and retract.

Now, if I'm suitably impressed with you -- and I don't want to just sell
you something and send you on your way, or get your signature on a
waiver and hustle you straight to the genetics lab -- then I'll make a
show of bringing you into the *private* lab. Which isn't private at all,
of course. There's nothing of importance there. The *good* stuff is two
floors below us. But it's where my assistants work, when I have them.
And assistants come in all shapes and sizes. Depending on who's on the
roster at the moment, it can be like a scene from *Alice in Wonderland*
in there. So, everything has to be adjustable and reconfigurable.
Including the assistants.

You definitely won't see the assistants themselves, though. No. They
take a break in the back room when I'm giving tours. You'll only get to
meet them once you've joined my little company... one way or another.

# Day 16. Temperature

I could go on about temperature all day. Several of my assistants would
back me up on that.

I do science. Not magic. And when I put you in a tank and convert you
into another form of life... well, pretty much any scientist on the
planet would say that's impossible. And they're *almost* right.
Temperature is a big reason why.

My life would have been so much easier if I'd been willing to settle on
a machine that scanned you, killed you, built a new you out of the
component molecules of the old one, and programmed the new you's brain
to never know the difference. But that's not the vibe I was going for.
So the tank has to keep you alive throughout the process, which really
complicates matters. For example, it means that I don't *just* turn you
from a human into, say, a giraffe; I'm actually turning you into a dozen
or so intermediate forms of life along the way. You might think of it as
taking the natural processes of evolution and speedrunning them. That
would be wrong, but it's a useful simplification. And if the thought
keeps you distracted long enough for the tank to knock you unconscious,
I'm all for it.

The near-impossible problem that poses... one of many near-impossible
problems that poses... is that the nanites are doing a *hell* of a lot
of work in there. And to do that work, they must expend a hell of a lot
of energy. And, since the laws of physics want me to suffer, a large
percentage of that energy is inevitably going to be converted into heat.

Which means that, unless I do something *very* clever, you're going to
be cooked to death in short order.

As I mentioned earlier, the goop filling the tank helps with that. It
acts as a massive heat sink. But by itself, it could only cool the
surface of your skin, which wouldn't be near enough. Oh, sure, it would
do the trick if I slowed the process *way* down... if I kept you in the
tank for weeks instead of hours. But keeping you alive in the tank for
that long would raise problems of its own. And besides, who's got the
time for that?

The nanites themselves can help a bit... when they get too hot, they
rush out to the corners of the tank where they can cool down safely. But
the nanites, as the name implies, are very small and very light. Not
particularly useful heat carriers.

But now we're on the right track. We just need something that *does*
carry heat well enough.

And the answer... well, *my* answer... is tiny little metal blocks. When
I say "tiny", I mean that they're around the size of a white blood cell.
But compared to the nanites, they're giant. And they're the perfect size
for this purpose; small enough to let the nanites drag them around, and
small enough to fit through the human circulatory system; but large
enough to hold a very useful amount of heat.

At any given moment, there's around six hundred kilograms' worth of
these blocks circulating around in the goop. The nanites set up
efficient little convoys of these blocks... funneling them into the
circulatory system, letting them absorb heat, then pulling them out.

It's not an elegant solution. But it gets the job done.

One of these days, I'm going to take a fresh assistant, fill their
impressionable mind with absolutely everything that's known about
thermodynamics and chemistry and anatomy, give them a passionate desire
to develop the perfect cooling system, and see what happens. It could
lead to a much more efficient solution to the problem. Heck, it could
also be a huge money-maker... humanity spends incomprehensible sums on
air conditioning. But try as I might, I just can't keep my own attention
focused on building a better refrigerator. Turning people into animals
is *so* much more entertaining.

# Day 17. Curse

Throughout our history, we've had an irresistible need to believe that
the universe has some mechanism to ensure that things will work out as
they morally should... that virtue will be rewarded in the end, and vice
will be punished. Some folks call it the afterlife. Some call it karma.
Some call it fate. Some call it nonsense.

I call it convenient.

Look. I normally make a point of not believing in things that aren't
tangible. But people keep walking through that door, and a *very*
significant percentage of them have a seriously negative karma balance.
28%, as a matter of fact. Now, I'm deciding that by reading people's
brains, and there's obviously going to be subjectivity in a judgement
like that... but honestly, most of those 28% are clear-cut assholes. Or
worse.

And if 28% of humanity at large is that bad... it's hard to believe that
civilization wouldn't have managed to end itself decades ago.

So, what's going on? Why do I get such a steady stream of thoroughly
reprehensible people?

I don't know. And I don't care. I'm not going to look that gift horse in
the mouth. All I know is, it's *really fun* to mess with them. It's
downright *satisfying*. It tickles whatever's left of the old me's
morals.

The *dangerous* ones wind up as long-term test subjects, of course. Once
they've been through the tank a dozen times or so, it doesn't really
matter what was in their heads to start with.

But the ones who are just annoying... especially the ones who are
*proud* of being annoying... it's just so fun to *play* with them
instead. And such a wonderful learning opportunity. After all, genetics
isn't the only field that I'm a decade ahead of the competition in...
I'm probably even farther ahead in neurology. And I got there by having
a machine that can make arbitrary edits to brains as well as bodies...
and by being willing to use it and see what happens.

Suppose I get a stereotypical he-man... someone who has a perfect body
and makes sure that everyone within eyesight or earshot knows it. Sure,
I could just fix him... make him a little less vain... but what's the
fun in that? It's much more fun to give him a body that's barely better
than average... and that won't improve significantly, no matter how much
time he spends at the gym... but give him the absolutely unshakeable
self-image that he's still a perfect male specimen.

The politician who can talk for hours about his grand plans, but
couldn't care less about executing them? Hmm... should I go with a
speech impediment, or aphasia? Why not both? But they'll only manifest
under stress, when the microphones are in his face and the cameras are
rolling...

Oh, and the racial supremacists? I have *all sorts* of fun with those.

# Day 18. Music

Here's an odd story.

I had an assistant ask if I could put a music library in his head. He
didn't like silence; and he thought it would be great to have background
music playing in his mind wherever he went.

I waved him off. Told him that if he needed music, I'd get him some good
speakers.

But afterwards, I started questioning myself. What was wrong with that
request? After all, music is just information; and I'll write
information into someone's brain at the drop of a hat. I'd filled that
assistant's head with at least a master's degree worth of science and
engineering already. Not to mention the little easter eggs I'd slipped
into his memories. So why had I rejected the request?

Well, it could certainly have turned out poorly. Some people get
"earworms" -- a tune starts playing in their head over and over, and
they can't turn it off. It sounds funny, but it can be surprisingly
damaging.

But plenty of the things I do could turn out to be damaging. That's just
experimentation. That's just science. And I've certainly never drawn the
line at intrusive thoughts; heck, I gave that thief a built-in goddamn
quest log...

So why wouldn't I give someone a built-in music player? And... when I
really stopped to think about it... why was I getting *angry* about the
concept?

And here's the funny thing: I never figured it out. I still don't know.

I wonder if it's a little leftover from the old me. I erased an awful
lot of myself when I became what I am now. But my techniques were a lot
cruder back then. Sometimes I get... echoes, for lack of a better word.
Fragments of a memory, without enough detail or context to even make
sense of what it means.

Maybe the old me had some attachments to music. It can certainly be a
deeply personal thing... there are times when your choice of music can
practically define who you are.

Maybe for the old me, the thought of imposing that choice on someone
else would have been one step too far.

Or maybe I'm imagining it. I'll never know.

It's awfully quiet in here.

# Day 19. Night

Every once in a while, I'll wake up in the middle of the night, climb up
on the roof, and look at the sky.

I don't see that much. I'm out here at the edge of town, but there's
still a lot of light pollution. And my eyes aren't that great. But it's
good to feel the wind... it reminds me that the world is a real place. I
spend *so* much time in the lab.

I wonder if the old me really understood how isolating all of this would
be. How much of a social outcast she was turning herself into. Then
again... maybe that was intentional. Having no social life cuts out a
lot of distractions. And I do get a *lot* done.

But I'll never know the answer to that. I have a lot of questions for
the old me that I'll never know the answers to.

For any subject I've ever worked on... and there are a lot of them... I
can pull up the records. Full genome sequencing, before and after
transformation. More importantly, full mental scan, before and after.
Multiple mental scans for most of them; I like to rescan my assistants
once or twice a month just in case. Which means that if something goes
wrong... or if I just get curious, or want to double-check on
something... I have a lot of data to work with.

There's just one exception to that rule. Myself.

Before she climbed in the tank, the old me deleted all her medical
records... all the old mental scans... even most of her personal notes.
Pretty much anything that wasn't directly related to the research. And,
of course, she rigged the tank computer to wipe most of my memories.

Why? I don't know. That's one of the memories she took away.

Sometimes I wonder what else she did.

I've learned so much since then, in such a short amount of time. I've
learned so many tricks. If I changed myself again, I could make myself
quite a bit smarter... quite a bit stronger... *much* better in the
sight and hearing department... and probably even a little more
adorable.

There are good reasons not to, of course. The technology isn't perfect;
far from it. There are mistakes I can make with my subjects that would
be catastrophic to make with myself.

And yet, there are a lot of things I shouldn't do that I'm perfectly
happy to try. So why aren't I even a little bit tempted to put myself
back in the tank? Part of me wonders if that's another little tweak the
old me made... to make sure that I'd focus on the work and not on
myself. But mostly... I just don't care.

And I don't care why I don't care.

There's so much more important work left to do.