The year is 2055 and nanotechnology and gene editing technology have made incomprehensible strides. The government has begun to allow small scale human testing after most of the population began petitioning for general use.
A 66 year old man stumbles out of bed and wanders to the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of coffee from the previous day and adds his creamer. He limps over to the recliner in his living room and turns on his floor to ceiling telescreen.
"People took to twitter today in a firestorm as president Barron Trump, took aim at transgenic activists saying they "are attempting to overturn the balance of nature". The old man shuts the telescreen off and sighs. He goes through his mail for the day: hospital bills, junk mail, but there is one piece of mail that catches his interest.
"TO MR. JOHN CORSICO, TRANSGENOMICS INC"
He opens the letter and it begins to read: "Congratulations, Mr. Corsico your experimental trial has been approved, please come to our facility at 133 SHANKSVILLE AVE, SAN FRANCISCO, CA, on the 24th of May. Be prepared to stay until June 25th for the duration of the treatment." The old man slumps over in relief, maybe he had received a reprieve from his death sentence six months prior.
An exhausted John Corsico makes his way into the waiting room of Transgenomics headquarters. It had been a long flight and he was already suffering from compounding physical ailments. After some cordial chatting with the lady at the front desk, a doctor comes out to greet John.
"Hello Mr. Corsico, how are you feeling today?", he says with a wide smile. "Not too great, actually." The doctor chuckles and says, "well maybe we can do a good job of fixing that. Come with me." He leads you down a maze-like series of hallways. This place looked pretty big on the outside but it looks even bigger inside. They walk further into a series of what look like laboratory warehouses and finally into a well lit room with medical equipment.
There is a large cylindrical tank which John eyes suspiciously. "So Doc, what am I getting myself into here?" "Well Mr. Corsico, he responds, we do genetic reconstruction here. The first three test subjects have been a resounding success. After ten we will get wider scale approval for human testing. You see that tank over there?", he points his thumb back to the cylinder. "You'll be hibernating in there for four weeks, under an induced coma of course, while our nanomachines and stem cell therapies repair and reconstruct the broken cells in your body. Afterward you will stay here for a few days of observation and psychometric testing and you'll be free to go."
"First things first we need to draw blood samples and get some baseline data."
John Corsico had been through this rigamarole dozens of times. At this point it was like a shift at his old job. Poke this, prod that, move your head and cough. The doctor left for a moment to look at his diagnostic screen and a quizzical look grew on his head. "One second John, I need to go talk to someone." The doctor hurriedly marched down the hallways looking for someone leaving John to his thoughts.
Maybe this was a joke, he thinks, maybe I'm a dead man... He lays back on the examination table and closes his eyes. I've lived a decent life, I guess...
After thirty minutes or so the doctor returns with a hesitant look on his face. John had also seen this before. Doctors had a "bad news" face that was transparent as cellophane.
"So John... Good news and bad news. We hit a snag with your genetic profile. Some of your genetic code is so systemically damaged we need to "fill in" some components from samples that match yours. This process is a little more unpredictable than the normal treatment. We can do it with your go ahead, of course, but you may have some characteristics coming out of the treatment that aren't what you remember. Different colored eyes maybe, different genetic "switches" if you will."
John is again relieved, he was being taken on a ride he felt. "So what's the problem?" The doctor puts his palm on his forehead and rubs the bridge of his nose. "There's no telling how you'll come out honestly, just that you'll come out. The A.I. that controls the nanomachines makes judgments and alterations based on what will be the most optimal outcome for the patient."
John rubs his chin and ponders, I guess I have nothing to lose, do I?
"Where do I sign?"