The position of Chief Medical Provider, sometimes called CMPs for short, was a distinguished one to have within the Clinic. It was a rotating position, meaning those carrying the title only did so for about a year before it was passed onto another. The Clinic kept fifteen CMPs at once to coincide with the company work year, which supposedly was based off of Mr. A’s home universe.

Syn was in their eighth month as a CMP, and had just wrapped up an exhaustive day of treating new employee candidates. They were currently wearing the guise of their last patient, a drake that joined from Branch 714’s world. Drakes were a dragonoid race that had a general humanoid shape, though they possessed tails and their heads retained their ancestors features.

Unfortunately, Syn still had to attend a CMP meeting before getting a chance to relax for a sleep cycle. Their current form’s claws rapped against the metallic tile as they trudged to the conference room. Upon entering, were it not for the names embroidered into their jackets and the assigned seating, Syn would not have recognized the other CMPs since they wore different forms than yesterday.

Syn, and everyone else that worked in the Clinic, was a biomorph. Biomorphs were a race of shapeshifters that had control over every cell in their bodies and were capable of morphing their biology at will to replicate any others that they observed, and upon ingesting a genetic sample, could also replicate the internals of others. They could internally analyze genetic samples to determine disease potentials and examine conditions, which made them practically tailored to medical work. Due to the unique nature and understanding of biology, they quickly were taken in and adapted well to the PTC environment.

“Hello Sket,” Syn said as they took their seat.

Sket, currently wearing the guise of a female catfolk, gave Syn a nod.

“Hey. How many?”

“Six Newcomers. You?”

“Fourteen Returns.”

Asking ‘how many’ was code for patients seen, and the designations like ‘Newcomer’ or ‘Return’ signified what kind of patient.

The other CMPs took their seats as they came until only one seat was left vacant. The head CMP, determined by seniority, called the rest to attention.

“Let’s get things started,” they called out.

“Mir had an Emergency?” another asked.

“Indeed. Whalefolk with a sudden amputation of the left forelimb. They’re in the aquatic operating room.”

Syn cringed slightly. They hated using the aquatic operating room. Though they had the capacity to morph their form, a biomorph still needed air to live, so working in the aquatic room meant that they had to utilize a respirator. Additionally, because of the aquatic environment, they had to utilize a stabilizing cybernetic attachment to perform operations that, while temporary, was plugged directly into the nervous system. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Anyways, as I said, let’s get started.”

The meeting carried on as it always did each week, with the CMPs reviewing cases and sharing any new information on their research projects. Syn had no advancements in their own research, which was disappointing to them, so they spent the time during the exchange where research was compared trying to sift through the puzzle.

Syn’s research involved pursuing a genetic modification to enable the successful, natural unification of normally incompatible genetic sequences. In short, they were trying to enable natural interracial births. It was a unique situation that was the result of the way that the Portal Trading Company operated, and natural that romance would formulate across various races. It was also a given that, for the most part, the races of individual universes were able to mate with each other safely without resulting in unstable genetics. It was why, for example, humans and elves were capable of producing half elf offspring without issues. Likewise, races that were found in multiple universes were able to reproduce with their own, and again those similar. However, there were numerous races that worked for PTC whose genetics did not easily mesh with others, though such relations did exist.

Of course, genetic splicing and gene therapies were things that the Clinic could do to aid such unions, but the result was more unstable due to the gene conflicts and required constant maintenance. That was why Syn was working on a process that enabled the genes to work together naturally from the start.

Syn’s research was not truly supported by the other CMPs, since they saw the capacity of the splicing and therapies as sufficient to overcome the issue. Syn agreed that they worked, to an extent, but ultimately Syn wanted to eliminate unnecessary work. Syn was somewhat lazy after all and the treatments took up valuable time.

Syn had been met with repeated failures, finding no combination of science and magic that succeeded in their desired outcome. Returning to their laboratory, they checked on the latest round of test samples.

"All samples have yielded negative results," reported the laboratory's artificial intelligence.

"Of course. Thank you, ALI," Syn replied dejectedly.

Since officially it was the Artificial Laboratory Intelligence, Syn called it ALI for short, and even gave it a feminine voice. While biomorphs had no sexual dichotomy, Syn found the female side of races that did to be more pleasant to listen to.

“Shall I prepare the next batch of samples?” ALI asked.

Syn scratched at their head, contemplating if this endeavor was worth continuing after no success. They even started to wonder if perhaps there was merit to asking other CMPs for assistance. Likely they would scoff at Syn's lack of knowledge to pull off their desired outcome alone, belittling them along the way.

“Doctor?”

Syn still gave no answer. Mixing the incompatible genetic materials again would likely just result in yet another round of failures. Something needed to change the entire genetic sequences to make them compatible.

“It's that easy!” Syn said, leaping to their feet.

“Doctor?” ALI asked.

“ALI, scrap the sample combinations. We need to do full gene sequencing of all employees.”

“All employees? That will take beyond the length of your remaining time as a CMP.”

“We have that many?”

“Yes.”

Syn sat back down dejectedly.

“How many different races?” they asked.

“Over 1000. Not counting subvariants among genetically similar lineages.”

“Still too many.”

A glint in Syn's eye arose at the next thought.

“ALI, draft a flyer for volunteers. We need willing test subjects.”

Biomorph’s ethics were… unique.