Two weeks later - the basement level at the former location of Batten Manor

He opened his eyes to bright light that seemed to pierce into his brain like icepicks. With a groan he closed them again and sat up, his hand over his eyes, on top of the table in the sublevel of what used to be his home. All around him were laid out schematics for ideas that he'd tried to use to remove the nanomachine assembly units which made up the armor system inside his body.

All of them had failed.

The reason was simple - not only had the nanites become unstable, they had evolved away from their original state, like a living thing. Neither discovery was entirely surprising. The instability resulted from trying to duplicate an organic structure with an artificial process, and no matter how perfect the duplication, there was an unknown quantity to any organic structure, some ethereal quality that could not be produced by artificial means.

The evolution was no mystery either, for that matter - even though the basic structure was artificially produced and lacked that unknown quality, it mimicked the organic so closely that it behaved much as any organic entity would, adapting to its surrounding environment and 'instinctively' trying to improve it.

He'd tried various methods of removing the nanites. Shutting them down didn't work, as the programming had altered to erase that particular function. He'd tried filtering them out as well, but they resisted and destroyed any attempt at that - a few times painfully so, leaving him almost completely incapacitated for a full day once, struggling to maintain his consciousness by a thread.

Other attempts had included designing, constructing and programming other nanite treatments to remove or destroy the armor system's nanites. But no matter how aggressively programmed or robust their construction, the incumbent nanites managed to destroy each treatment, many of them almost easily. This latest attempt had actually caused him to pass out from the pain and physiological stress as the two treatments had fought each other, overriding the sensory filters that were supposed to keep such things from happening.

"Report, Di."

The AI's voice came back immediately. "You were unconscious for approximately nine hours, sir. Per your instructions, I initiated containment protocols until you appeared to be returning to consciousness - fortunately, it seems the armor system was occupied with eliminating your latest attempt at removing it during that time, and was not able to take control of your body to attempt an escape."

He sighed, nodding. "Show me de readout, den. Let's see how t'ings went dis time."

The holographic readout popped up in front of him and he looked it over. If it weren't for the enhancements to his genetic makeup, he wouldn't have survived this time - the competition between the two treatments had been fierce enough to have killed a normal person. He had gotten closer this time, all right, but he was running out of ideas. This last treatment he'd used had been nearly identical in its makeup to the original armor system, and it had been destroyed and purged just like all the rest.

Every time he looked at the readouts of each test, he saw what seemed to him to be an insurmountable obstacle. Each time he made an attempt, it wore him down a little more. The nine hours of unconsciousness notwithstanding, he'd not slept ever since the incident two weeks earlier, and that nine hours had not been exactly restful.

It was resisting every attempt, much like a living thing fighting for its very survival. And it had its claws dug in deep, refusing to let go.

With a sigh, he stood from the bed and waved at the holographic readout display, which immediately faded from sight. "Ah need a break from dis. Bring me up de manor schematic Ah was workin' on a few weeks 'go, wouldja, Di?"

"Yes, sir." The three-level wireframe appeared in midair before him, and he began to work on it.

Maybe if he put some distance between himself and the problem, he'd get another idea...

Three days later

He opened his eyes.

The first thing he was aware of was thirst. His throat, his lips, his mouth felt dry, cottony. And on the heels of that, hunger. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought that his stomach was trying to swallow up his other internal organs for nourishment.

Lifting an arm felt like an effort beyond his capabilities, and he could feel every muscle tremble in protest as he tried to sit up. Hungry, thirsty...

...and weak.

He hadn't felt those sensations in months, since installing the nanomachine treatment. He'd had to eat and drink, but he'd been forced to remind himself to do so, as the nanites repressed the sensations until they got to the point of indicating a health hazard.

He tried to speak, and his voice came out as a croak, the vocal cords moving in a throat that felt like it had been coated by sandpaper. "Di...water..."

Her cool female voice came back to him right away. "To your left, sir. Do be careful drinking it - you are quite dehydrated. IVs have been inserted to keep your body's water and nutrition levels above the minimum required to sustain life."

He managed to push himself up into a half-sitting position and turned his head. The glass filled with water, and the pitcher next to it, looked so far away they might as well have been on Mars. Still, he managed somehow to reach it and bring it to his lips.

He could almost feel the cells in his mouth and throat try to suck up the water like desert sand absorbing rain, and it was a difficult task to keep himself from downing that glass in a few gulps. Fortunately, he'd lived a good portion of his life in a place where one could count on being thirsty a lot, and one of the things he'd learned was that when you were really thirsty it was better to drink in sips rather than gulps - you could make yourself sick if you didn't, and it helped the absorption process by allowing water to stay in his throat and mouth longer.

He took a while to drink that glass, slowly and carefully. To him it felt like hours, though in reality it had probably only been minutes. With each swallow, he felt a portion of his strength returning, so that when he finally was done drinking the water, he was able to fill his own glass, pulling himself up to a fully siting position. As he did do, he looked up towards the ceiling, speaking in a voice that was slightly broken but no longer felt like someone was driving a rasp down his throat. "Report, Di."

The AI spoke immediately, a series of holographic screens appearing in front of where he sat. "Your operation was a success, sir. All of the nanomachines have been removed from your body, as well as the remains of the flywheel energy storage cells and the virus you programmed to aid in ridding yourself of both. The procedure took seven hours to complete."

He frowned, taking another sip of water. "Seven hours" Why de hell do Ah feel like Ah been on m'back fer a solid week den?"

"You have been comatose for three days, sir. I was on the verge of calling Miss Rhysata and Dr. Ibaraki if your condition had not improved in the next three hours."

He kept looking at the screens, frowning slightly. He was glad he'd awoken before Diana had gotten to that deadline. He'd have gotten an earful from the Doc for experimenting on himself without proper medical supervision, and Katt...well, Katt would've made sure he got woken up, and then she'd have killed him for not telling her what was going on.

It was nice having someone who was more or less a sister to him - he'd never had any siblings growing up, and had been more or less without a family of any kind outside his company since he'd been twelve years old. Still, he was glad she didn't know - he didn't need the headache, and she had enough to deal with herself.

Still...."T'ree days" Dis was s'posed t'take twelve hours at de max. What took so long?"

The cool female voice went on without hesitation. "Per your instructions, once the nanites were completely removed from your system, I attempted to inject you with a solution similar to the one you gave Miss Rhysata, programmed to restore your genetic makeup to its original format. Your body rejected it after approximately two hours, and I was forced to scan your system in depth to determine the cause."

One of the holographic displays enlarged as the others faded, readouts and displays scrolling over its surface and Diana continued. "It seems that the nanites were in the process of attempting to convert your genetic makeup to make your body more accessible to them in order to subvert your mental faculties. When the virus attacked, they were forced to abandon their efforts at this stage to combat the infection and repair the damage. Your DNA has been modified into a triple-helical blend of artificial and organic structures..."

He finished the sentence for her. "...dat appears to be in a perfectly balanced state of equilibrium." He studied the readouts, shaking his head slowly. "How did ya repair de damage to m'insides, den?"

"Actually, sir, I am not responsible for that. Your physical structure managed to repair itself on its own. The damage was quite extensive - it would have taken a surgeon of Dr. Ibaraki's caliber to repair it, and I estimate it would have taken at least a full two weeks of recovery time, followed by a great deal of physical therapy, before you would have been fully recovered. Judging by your current state, I calculate you should be independently ambulatory within two days' time, given proper nutrition, rest, and some basic exercise."

His frown deepened a touch. "So...yer sayin' dat de nanites've been removed, but Ah'm not back t'bein' a plain-ol' fashioned human' How de hell did dat happen?"

The AI paused a moment this time before she answered. "You are no longer in danger of the nanites evolving to the point of rejecting or consuming the biological portion of your body. As for your humanity, sir, I am incapable of determining that. Genetically, you are different - beyond that, my analytical abilities are unable to judge such a thing. As to your other question, as I have already explained -"

He waved away the AI's second attempt at an explanation. "Ah know, Ah know. We musta got dis started right in de nick o'time." He let out a weak chuckle as he sat back on the bed. "What're de odds of dat?"

The AI answered immediately. "Based on my calculations, the odds of this series of occurrences happening in such a fortuitous manner are one hundred seventy five million, two hundred twenty three thousand, five hundred ten to one."

"It was a rhetorical question, Di."