Author's Note: So much like "Wine and Fire", I've decided to reboot another of my stories. This is a reboot of "Only Human". Unlike the one I did for "Wine and Fire", though, I intend this one to be a multi-chapter story instead of just a single one-and-done deal (although let's face it, "Lady and the Lush" is begging to be turned into something longer, am I right?). Anyway, don't worry too much if you've already read "Only Human" and think it might spoil the ending of this series. I'm not sure where I'll be taking the reboot, but it may not end up in the same place as the one-shot story.

The room was quiet, save for the furious typing of the half-dozen technologists at their respective consoles. That and the faint strains of classical music coming from the headphones of one in particular. The others tuned it out as they tested scripts and recorded bugs and defects in their assigned blocks of code. As for Jaemie, he hardly noticed the music playing in his ears. Hardly noticed the fortress of empty soda cans and takeout bags that littered his desk. His Zen-like focus remained on the screen in front of him- just as he had been doing for the past four weeks.

Jaemie was the senior developer for Stark Innovations, assigned to supervise and execute some of the company's most important tech projects. The one he was working on now involved some of the most complex code he'd ever worked on in his life. Project HPA. He'd been told that the initial program had been the invention of Stark himself, but the billionaire genius had turned it over to Jaemie's team a little over two years ago to finish. They were getting close- six more sprints on the outside.

And then they'll install it send the final masterpiece over to QC for op testing.

But not if he didn't keep on schedule. Jaemie shook his head and entered another line, hoping to have this section done in the next fifteen minutes before calling it a night. He'd been trying to sort out a solution for the error handling and security protocols on the HPA's sensitive cognitive system. AI was a tricky business. Particularly in regards to all the features that had been in the requirements.

It was all enough to make Jaemie ready to pull his hair out. He'd tried to tell his boss that some of it couldn't be done- that it would lead to a dangerous level of system instability; they'd told him to code it in, anyway. Sure enough, the program couldn't pass a basic health check. Trying to get a workaround took three months or better, with most of his previous attempts to resolve the system instability a miserable failure. All except the most recent, which had very nearly solved the problem.

Just one flaw that wouldn't iron out no matter what I did to the code.

Rather than chase that dead-end, Jaemie had just commented out all of the old code- just in case he needed it for reference- and started over with a different approach. So far, it had been working. No signs of instability. Just had to write in some non-functional code to finish it off. He yawned, glancing at the clock in the bottom right-hand corner of his monitor. Seven forty-five. Far later than he had intended to be here tonight. Fingers flying over the keys, he added the last several dozen lines of code.

Done. Finally that piece is done.

Well, not quite done. He still had to go back and delete out all the old code now that he didn't need it anymore. But he had promised Angela that he'd be home for dinner at least one evening this week. And he hadn't seen the kids since Saturday. If he didn't leave now, he'd miss his train and the next one would put him home after nine.

"The hell with this," he muttered to himself. "I'll come in early tomorrow and clean up the old code. It's not like it'll make a difference if it's not done tonight."

With that, Jaemie saved his work into the project folder on the shared drive, shut down his machine and got up from his workstation. He bid goodnight to his co-workers.

"Hey guys- don't work yourselves to death, yeah? After all, we're just programming machines."

Six Months Later

Another workday, another paycheck. The employees working the quality control department at Stark Innovations had arrived early that morning- as they did every morning- to tackle the long list of projects that would come their way. Always something new that the creative geniuses in research and development thought might be the next big hit on the market. This was the place where those aspiration dreams met clinical reality.

"So what's it today, Grant," a lanky fellow with shaggy brown hair and a day's growth of beard on his chin asked, hanging his coat on a hook.

The second man looked up from his phone, stuffed it in his pocket and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Dunno. Production hasn't dropped anything off yet. Connie must have been asleep on the job this morning."

"Even if I was, I'd still do twice the job of you two put together," a wry, female voice remarked from the doorway. The woman in question strode in and motioned to a crew of six to follow her. "I hope you boys are ready to work today, too. This one's a tall order."

Grant jabbed a thumb at his partner and retorted, "There's not nuthin' too tall for Tom to handle."

The group laughed at his jest- even Tom. He would get his stockier colleague back in due course of the day, anyway. The two ribbed one another all the time, and their antics were well-known. As were their good-natured verbal duels with the tenacious production manager. In that showdown, the two gentlemen rarely won a round. But against one another, they were fairly evenly matched.

Once the chuckles died down, the two men took stock of the large crates that had been wheeled into their lab.

"Jesus, Connie. Just what is all that?"

"Guess."

After a moment or two, he crossed his arms and scrunched his face in pure annoyance.

"Oh no. Don't tell me-"

"Yep. HPA's again."

Her answer was met with a chorus of pained groans and mutinous threats about quitting. She just let them complain until at last Tom queried, "Why are we wasting our time with this boondoggle?"

"Because that's what they want."

Grant's eyebrows drew together.

"How long did you know this was coming, Connie? I bet you've been building the units at least four months out before they were ready for QC. A little head's up would have been nice, you know."

"Couldn't do it, guys. Sorry," she apologized with a rueful shake of her head. "As it was, they made us all swear to secrecy. I had the crew working on these nights for the last several weeks because I couldn't risk word getting out on the floor."

"All right, fine. But we tested the last set what- almost a year ago. We spent a whole week on it and not one of the units passed a simple health check. No offense, but I don't want to go through that again for nothing."

"I know, I know. They told me they've got the programming sorted out this time, so give these the whole battery of tests."

Knowing that there wasn't much of a choice, the man combed a hand through his shock of red hair and sighed. He nodded to the thick manila folder in her hand, musing irritably, "I guess that's the scripts?"

"Yeah." She passed it over to him. "Good luck."

With that, the production foreman left them to it. Off to start working on the next project, no doubt. Meanwhile, Grant and Tom shared a look of mutual resignation to several days of painstaking work. Work that would in all likelihood end the same way it had before. No use in putting it off, though. As Connie said, the bosses wanted this done. So they'd do it.

They got down to the business of opening the crates, choosing at random. As the front panel of the first clattered loudly to the floor, the men got their first glimpse at the HPA unit inside. Grant shot Tom a disbelieving look.

"This has got to be some kind of joke. Connie's tryin' to pull one over on us and got one of the guys on the line in on it."

Tom shook his head.

"I know all the guys who might be willing to go in on something like this." He gestured to the HPA. "That ain't one of them."

"Well, it sure as shit ain't no damned robot, either. I mean, look at him."

"I am looking."

"Then you can't be telling me you think it's really a machine."

Eventually, Tom approached the crate and reached out to the HPA unit carefully packaged inside. He poked gingerly at its forearm. When that produced no response, he prodded at its slightly slack jaw. Still nothing, and so Tom reluctantly felt for a pulse at the throat. With a look over his shoulder, he told Grant, "Either it's exactly that, or it's a corpse."

"Bullshit."

"Seriously. Check for yourself if you don't believe me."

After several minutes of debate and probing, both men agreed that they were looking at a miracle of technology. On the outside, synthetic tissues that perfectly replicated natural skin, hair and nail; inside, an engineering marvel that translated biological systems into complex bionics. The attention to detail was astounding, and left them speechless for some time.

Grant finally found his voice, "Well, I think Connie was right. This is going to be one tall order."

Tony glanced at his watch for the hundredth time in the last thirty minutes. He'd been sitting in the CEO's office of Stark Innovations for the past two hours- which felt more like two million years- as the woman walked through a filing cabinet's worth of proposals, earnings and the like. Quite possibly the most boring aspect of business. And one Tony tried to avoid at all costs.

But Pepper hadn't been able to make this quarterly meeting with this division of the Stark business empire, and so he got voluntold that it was his business and he needed to make himself available. When she put it like that…well, you just do what you're told. Even if you're Tony Stark.

Still, two hours feels excessive, he pouted.

"Mr. Stark?"

Belatedly, he realized that she had asked him a question and had been waiting for several minutes for him to respond. Tony tried desperately to recall what she might have said, but couldn't bring the words to focus. No choice; he'd just have to bluff an answer.

"It all looks like you've got business handled, Mallory. Pepper has been keeping me up to date- she's said great things and I am sure the next quarter is going to perform well."

"Why thank you, Mr. Stark." She gathered up the reports and slipped them into a folder. "We're especially excited at the prospect of launching the new line of HPA's."

He must have let his mind wander more than he thought, not recognizing what that might have stood for. Tony tried not to sound too sheepish as he queried, "Which ones were those again? Sorry- still getting used to all the acronyms."

"Not at all. Forgive me for not having mentioned it before. That's our designation for your project, Mr. Stark. Humanoid Personal Assistants. HPA's."

Tony tried not to cringe at the title. His brainchild it might have been, but someone else must have come up with that name. Certainly nothing he would have devised. And it was a far cry from what he'd intended. 'Personal Assistants'? What he'd wanted was to design something on the cutting edge of bionic technology- push the envelope when it came to blurring the lines between human and machine.

The idea had come to him almost five years ago. A side project that he'd fiddled with off and on at first in his own private lab upstairs. Well, more like an obsession there for a while. He'd sunk a decent chunk of his time trying to get it to work the way he wanted. But then he got too busy with the whole business with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the team and had to decide to shelve the idea entirely or turn it over to his team of developers.

It hadn't been easy to lose control of the project, but he'd done the latter rather than to see it die altogether. Since then, he'd been kept loosely apprised of their progress. The first dozen generations of development had been hopelessly flawed, but these last few rounds had shown vast improvement. And from what Mallory just said, maybe they finally had something.

What a waste to market it as a 'personal assistant', though.

He supposed that was the other side of business that he hated. They couldn't just create for the sake of creating something. It had to be 'marketable'. Something that would turn a profit to justify the resources that went into building it. Even if he told them that he honestly didn't care about the money. Tony had more money than he knew what to do with, so he could certainly afford to spend it on whatever he liked.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he focused on the positive: a potential launch of his project- whatever they might have decided to call it. Tony leaned forward in his chair and circled back to her original comment.

"My project, you say. And you think we might be close to an official launch?"

"Fairly confident. I received word that production finished the build phase of the new models yesterday, and so now we're moving into quality control. Our lead analysts, Tom and Grant, should be testing them starting today."

Now that sounded a hell of a lot more interesting than sitting in this office all afternoon. Tony preferred to be hands-on with the actual creation process. He cast Mallory a hopeful look.

"If we're done here, I'd love to get down to the lab and have a look for myself at how it's going."

"Naturally. I'll have Connie take you down to the main floor."

She walked over to her desk and pressed a button on her desk phone. It rang several times on speaker before someone picked up at the other end.

"What's up, boss?"

"Connie, could you step upstairs for a minute?"

"I uh-" a shout from somewhere in the background interrupted her answer. She must have held the receiver at a distance as she yelled back, "Well get Charlie to replace the timing belt ASAP. We need that machine up and running." A second later, Connie was back. "Sorry. Bit of organized chaos down here this morning. I'll be up in a jiffy."

"Thanks."

The line went dead, leaving the two of them to wait. Fortunately, it wasn't long before they heard a knock at the door. Mallory opened it to reveal the once familiar face of the woman who had run the production floor of Stark Innovations almost since its inception. He'd hired her personally after snagging her from under the nose of his biggest rival. He beamed at her as her eyes widened in recognition.

"You're looking good as always, Doll."

"Pfft," she scoffed with a wave. "Always the flatterer, Stark. What are you doing here today? Haven't seen you hanging around this part of the Tower in months."

Once upon a time, I used to be here every day, he thought with some regret. Now I'm a guest at my own company.

"Mr. Stark is interested in seeing how the HPA testing is coming along, Connie. Would you be able to run him downstairs and put him in touch with Tom and Grant?"

"You bet.' With a tip of her head that caused her mop of corkscrew curls to bounce, the woman gestured for him to follow. "C'mon, then and we'll get you there straight away, Mr. Stark. I'm sure the guys could use some excitement to perk up their afternoon."

They couldn't spend all day wondering at how it had been done; they had a job to do. While Tom got the testing equipment set up, Grant went about the business of activating the HPA unit. Wasn't easy. The switch was nearly invisible, and he would have never found the tiny button at the base of its skull if the test script folder hadn't provided the location. But once he did find it, the unit booted up with an almost inaudible hum that quieted within seconds.

"Don't even want to think about the size of the operation manual for this thing," he muttered to himself. "Or the cost of repairs."

Not their problem; if the batch of units managed to pass QC, some other poor sap would have the painstaking job of writing the tech manual.

He and Tom put the HPA through its paces, taking diagnostic readings and making notes as they went. They followed the list of testing that the developers and production teams wanted done. Quite the list, too. Sixty pages' worth. And the whole time, the HPA just stared on, unconcerned and disinterested. It didn't even speak until they got to the interactive part of the scripts.

It took all morning and most of the afternoon, but at last they finished. Tom recorded the last test result and rubbed a hand across his face.

"Never would have believed it, but the thing passed. They must have thrown every developer at this- not to mention all of Connie's department."

"Must have." Grant checked his watch before asking, "We've got an hour before end of the day. Did you want to get started on the next one, or just wait until tomorrow?"

"We could at least get it set up and do the initial boot-up. Then we'll be ready to go in the morning."

He grabbed the crowbar and pried open the nearest crate. Inside, their second test unit waited, dormant and inactivated as the first had been. Grant shook his head with a bemused snort.

"Should've seen that coming. Of course they'd want both versions. I guess we better get it out of there."

To the casual bystander, 'it' in question appeared to be a petite woman standing 5'3" with olive skin and hair the shade of café noir. Even in her dormant state, her chin seemed to be set at a stubborn angle, dimpled with a slight cleft. Most of her facial features seemed to be influenced by either French or Creole heritage. A retroussé nose; lips that formed a cupid's bow; wide-set eyes.

Grant paid little attention to any of that as he went about getting the HPA positioned and ready for testing. Plugging all of the monitoring wires into hidden ports in its scalp. And when he'd finished with that, he depressed the power button. This time, the hum of activation was accompanied by an odd sound- almost like high voltage lines buzzing in the rain. As before, though, the sound faded away a moment later as the HPA's eyes opened for the first time.

They shrugged it off as nothing important and set down to get started.

"Who the hell are you!?" the HPA demanded in a quavering, panic-laden voice. Its head swiveled around to take in its surroundings. "Wh-where am I!?"

The frantic cries startled both men, not having expected the unit to speak. They stood, dumbfounded, as its hands reached for the wires and began to rip them out. Being the closer of the two, Grant reached out to prevent it from doing any further damage. The HPA shrugged him off with no effort at all, trying to rise from the chair. And that was when it must have registered its state of undress.

"What have you done with my clothes!?" The HPA moved fast, finding cover behind one of the packing crates, fear in its eyes. "What do you want with me!?"

The two men were genuinely perplexed at the behavior. They'd had no trouble from the other unit. Certainly no reaction to equal the panic they were seeing this time. Tom raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture and kept at a distance as he explained, "We're just running tests to make sure you are operating according to the design spec. They brought you here from production the way you are- the clothes really aren't a necessity at this point."

"The hell they aren't," it snarled back angrily. "I want them right now!"

"Really, it's just easier to run tests without them."

That assurance didn't help at all. The HPA glared at him from behind the crate and spat out, "Tests? What sort of tests? And what do you mean I got here from 'production', anyway?"

Uneasy, Tom and Grant exchanged a look. If they didn't know better, they might think the HPA didn't realize that it was a machine. It behaved as though….it thought it was truly human. Seemed impossible, but how else could they explain what they were seeing? That being said, the specs didn't mention anything about that feature in the programming. Whatever this was, it wasn't what the developers had intended.

"You think rebooting it might fix the problem," Grant suggested. "Otherwise, we'll have to log this as a serious defect and kick the whole batch back."

"I dunno. Maybe. We could try."

In theory. The HPA listened to their exchange with narrowed, suspicious eyes. When Grant tried to approach, it held him off and edged further away. "You just stay where you are and don't touch me."

"Look, I know you don't understand, but something didn't work right with your initial boot-up. We need to reset you and see if we can fix it."

"Stop talking about me like I'm some kind of machine!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but that's what you are."

They took the shortest route possible through the floor, winding swiftly through the maze of offices that belonged to executives of the various companies that made up his business empire. Tony tried to keep a low profile to avoid getting stopped by any of the others. He'd been dodging Richard for weeks and didn't have the patience to deal with him today.

To his relief, no one interrupted their journey to the elevators. From there, it was a swift ride down three floors. Stark Innovations occupied the eastern half of the floor; the other was home to several other divisions that headquartered in the Tower. Connie led them through a set of security doors that kept general visitors out of the closely guarded production area.

At the far end of the large space, a corner had been sectioned off into a separate room. The QC lab. Tony probably could have found it on his own, but hadn't wanted to argue with Mallory about needing an escort. Besides, it couldn't hurt to have Connie keeping him from getting distracted by all the activity happening on the floor. She headed straight for the lab.

When they got close, the sound of raised voices from inside drew the notice of everyone in earshot. Several heads jerked around at an infuriated shout that raised the hairs on the back of Tony's neck.

"I AM NOT A MACHINE!"

He and the production manager froze in their tracks. Tony cast her a sideways look and remarked, "It sounds as though your quality control department is already having an eventful day."

She shot him a sharp glance in return.

"Yeah, no kidding."

From inside, they heard a tremendous crash- rather, several of them- and more shouts carried over the din. Uttering a string of curses, Connie rushed to the door and yanked it open. Tony followed close on her heels. The room was in a state of total disaster. Three large crates had been pushed over. He caught a glimpse of a pale-fingered hand protruding from beneath the wreckage of one, a rip in the synthetic skin revealing the intricate machinery below. Various equipment had been strewn about. Definitely broken.

He and Connie stared at the destruction, all of which detracted their attention away from the source. It offered the culprit an opportunity to launch another offensive. Tony barely had time to duck out of the way as a rack of glass test tubes sailed directly at his head. It shattered against the wall behind him.

"Leave me alone- all of you just leave me alone!"

The speaker of those words crouched behind one of the fallen crates, but not before he'd gotten a glimpse of sable hair and hazel eyes. The latter of which held equal measures of fury and fear.

"What in the hell is going on in here," Connie demanded.

A thickset gentleman cowering behind a cabinet looked up at her. He kept all extremities out of sight- and out of range- as he replied, "The HPA has some kind of programming defect. Tom and I think it was there before we got started, but it went crazy and won't let us try to reboot."

Another projectile arced across the room with deadly accuracy, catching the production manager in the ribs. Thankfully, this one was only a chunk of the dense crate filler material and did no more than knock the woman off-balance. She let it bounce off her and set her hands on her hips.

"What sort of 'defect', Grant?"

"You heard what it said a moment ago," he told her with a jerk of his head. "It doesn't recognize that it's a machine. The damned thing keeps insisting it's human."

The analyst's opinion couldn't be clearer. He talked about the discovery as if it were an inconvenience- a mistake. He'd gone so far as to call it a defect. The very thing that Tony had been hoping to create and these two were going to wipe it out of existence before anyone even had a chance to explore the possibilities of what it might mean. Infuriated, he laid into the men.

"An android believes herself to be human and your first reaction is to log it as a defect and reboot!? Are you insane? Never mind the setback to technology and science, but did you not even think that what you were doing could be considered tantamount to murder?"

Grant regarded him as if only just noticing his presence. And then his glance slid back to the woman on his right.

"Who's the suit, Connie? He's not one of those activist wackos, is he- whining about the 'rights of machines'?"

Connie sucked in her breath with a hiss, wincing and pinching the bridge of her nose. Her voice carried a thread of exasperation as she told him, "Actually, this is Tony Stark. He came down to see the progress we've made on his HPA project."

"Oh." A half-second pause. "Dammit."

If Tony hadn't been so angry, he might have found it amusing the way the man's complexion paled to a greenish-grey. Probably thinking he could kiss his job goodbye. Given what Tony had just seen and heard, he was inclined to have both analysts fired on the spot. An impulsive decision, and one he wasn't sure he could afford to make. So although it chafed him to let the comment go, let it go he did.

I will definitely be recommending it the second I speak with Mallory. Make no mistake, your days are numbered in my employ.

"Way to stick your foot in your mouth to the big boss himself, Grant," another male voice floated up from behind a crate. The speaker dared pop his head up long enough to toss a crumpled wad of paper at the analyst. "As if we weren't already in hot water enough."

"Tom, shup up, will ya? You're not helping."

Dismissing both men, Tony moved on to what really mattered. He scanned the opposite side of the room, looking for signs of the android. The last he'd seen, she had been behind one of the taller crates near the wall. Very possible she could have moved while they were talking. Tony knew of one likely way he might get an idea where she was. Bracing for a renewed assault, he took a step further into the room, offering himself as a target.

As predicted, the second he moved, she launched another volley and reissued her command, warning, "Stay back- you just…stay away!"

Well, let's just hope you really do behave like a human, or this might not work.

Tony grinned with all the good-natured charm that had disarmed many an irate female and insisted cheerfully, "Now that I just can't do, Doll. Not when it comes to a lovely lady such as yourself."

I didn't trust him, this Tony Stark. Nor did I want to trust him.

My mind raced, trying desperately to make sense of my situation. How did I end up in this room? Why couldn't I remember anything before waking up here? Where was 'here', anyway? I had no answers to any of those questions- or the thousand others that spun around inside my head.

Just the one those- my eyes narrowed in pointed dislike- people…gave me.

A machine, they'd said. I refused to believe that to be true, even if I couldn't quite explain why. Maybe nothing more than intuition. But it was telling me that they were wrong. My gaze landed drifted down to study my hand. It gripped the large wooden box, veins forming a branching pattern along the back of it. Surely that was enough to prove I couldn't be a mere robot, or android…or whatever they called me.

None of those thoughts was helping me decide what to do. Cautiously, I peered over the top of the box to get another look at Stark. He stood several feet away. Still smiling. Dark eyes; dark hair. As the one called 'Grant' had said, he was indeed wearing a suit. The blazer had been left unbuttoned and he wore no necktie, giving the ensemble a somewhat casual look. Even his whole demeanor gave the impression of someone who liked to have a good time more often than not.

At the same time, I sensed he was more than capable of being very serious if the situation warranted. Hadn't I just witnessed it for myself? He'd certainly berated the men who'd wanted to 'reboot' me with considerable vehemence. Some of that fury lingered in his expression, despite the affable smile. And then he took another step forward. I reached for something else to hurl at him.

Just as I was about to let it loose, Stark held up both hands in supplication and protested, "Now before you go trying to dent my head again, I'd like to try talking this out like reasonable people."

I weighed the words, trying to gauge whether he was truly meant them, or if he was merely placating me. But, all things considered, I didn't have that many options. Sooner or later, I would run out of ammunition. Not to mention that I was buck naked, and even if I managed to get out of this room, who knew what awaited me on the other side of the door. My only hope at this point rested on the trustworthiness of this complete stranger.

Well, Tony Stark, you better be sincere. And if you're not, I swear I'll do everything I can to take you down before I let you or anyone else get their hands on me.

From my hiding place, I called out, "Define 'reasonable'."

"Now that's what I like to hear. We're making progress, Doll." It was the second time he'd called me 'Doll'. I wondered if it was my name, since I couldn't remember what it was. And then he interrupted that line of thought by saying, "In my experience, it involves a calm, rational conversation- preferably face to face- where we come to an understanding. How's that sound?"

I couldn't deny that it did sound reasonable. But as I glanced down at myself, I worried about the 'face to face' aspect. Would he expect me to go out there as I was? I decided to find out.

"It depends- does your scenario include wearing clothes?"

He frowned in obvious puzzlement. "Of course it does."

"Well, then I want some before I'm coming out there."

"What do you mean you-" Stark turned to the woman standing just behind him. "Does she seriously not have any clothes?"

"Why bother? They'd just be in the way for the tests Tom and Grant would have to run."

He muttered something intelligible under his breath and shrugged out of his blazer. As he tossed it in my direction Stark shouted, "Incoming!"

The jacket landed haphazardly on the far side of the crate, nearly slipping over the edge facing the rest of the room. I managed to catch hold of one of the sleeves before it was out of reach, drawing it back towards me so that I could put it on. The finely woven cashmere was still slightly warm and I caught the faint scent of expensive cologne. Shrugging into the garment, I drew the edges closed and was glad that my short stature meant that its hemline came to the top of my thighs.

Still felt uncomfortable, but not quite so vulnerable.

"Better?"

"A little, yes." After a pause, I added, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. We'll find you something else that will be more appropriate in a bit. In the meantime- ready to come out of there?"

I wasn't, really. But I stepped around the side of the crate, anyway, casting nervous looks around the room to keep an eye on where the first two men might be lurking. Didn't see either of them, but it didn't mean they weren't there.

By the time I'd brought my attention back to the center of the room, I'd missed most of Stark's reaction. What little I did see left me with the impression he'd been surprised. Recovering quickly, he flashed me a generous smile and gestured towards the door with one hand.

"What say we find a more inviting place to have ourselves a chat?"

I didn't move.

"And where might that be?"

"I was thinking you might like a view of New York from the rooftop terrace, since it's such a nice day out. Besides, you don't really want to talk here, do you?"

No, I didn't. But I wasn't quite ready to go along with his suggestion until he answered one last question.

"And what about the other two men?"

"Not coming with us," he assured me with a pointed look to the side. "I expect they'll be rather busy tidying up. Right?"

"Uh, yes, Mr. Stark," a voice from behind one of the other crates said meekly, intimidated.

Whoever this Tony Stark was, he was clearly someone of importance. Tom had called him the 'big boss' a moment ago. I didn't know what that meant, but it was a position that commanded respect. I wondered what that entailed for someone in my position. What he might expect from me. I hoped that a man who demanded respect was equally capable of giving it.

"Shall we leave the gentlemen to their work, Doll," Stark queried, reclaiming my attention.

I nodded, still somewhat intimidated by him myself. "All right."

Very slowly, I picked my way across the room, having to step over and around obstacles in my path. I'd almost reached Stark when I passed by the overturned crate nearest the door. I froze, eyes riveted on the floor. Well, not on the floor, really.

On the outstretched hand lying motionlessly on it.

In my panic to keep Tom and Grant away from me, I hadn't been paying much attention to the crates, or what had been inside them. They'd been a means to an end. But now…now I came face to face with something I wasn't prepared for. At first, I tried to convince myself I wasn't seeing what I was seeing- that I couldn't be. The longer I stared, the more I couldn't deny it. Not when the skin covering the hand had been torn to expose what had to be the most complex piece of machinery I'd ever seen.

No, I denied. No it can't be true. If that's- then I'm-

"Hey, Doll, you okay?"

Stark's voice came from far away, even though he was standing just a few feet from me. Ignoring him, I lifted a shaky hand in front of my eyes and turned it this way and that. Trembling. On the verge of hysteria. Unwilling to admit that I might not be what I thought I was. And in that desperate moment, I needed some way to prove to myself that I was human.

I spotted a shard of metal embedded in the box and grabbed it. The sharp edge cut into my palm, but I was too intent on my goal to notice. Shoving the sleeve of the jacket out of the way, I used it to rip into my own forearm with one decisive slash. A jagged tear opened up, blood welling in the wound. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, despite knowing the hideous pain that was sure to follow. And follow it did, throbbing up the length of my arm and straight into my brain.

But that relief was short-lived. With the bloody metal shard still gripped tightly in my other hand, I stared at the slice in my arm. Beneath the layers of slashed tissue lie the unmistakable hallmarks of a machine.

A prosthetic. It has to be just the arm. I must have been in an accident and lost my real arm. This can't be me.

I was about cut into my leg to prove it when a pair of hands covered mine and held it still. Stark's. His voice was quiet, despite the urgency threading through it as he said, "Hey now, put that down, okay?"

"Let me go!"

"Nope. Can't do it, Doll. Not when you're hell-bent on hurting yourself."

He tugged the metal out of my hand and tossed it aside. Meanwhile, I continue to stare intently at my injured arm. The initial pain I'd felt had faded to a muted ache- little more than a minor discomfort. The gash was already closing. Healing faster than should have been possible. Repairing itself as if…programmed.

Nanotechnology.

My whole body tremored with the effort to hold onto the denial of what that meant. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from deep within, turning to helpless sobs as my knees gave out and I collapsed to the floor. Stark knelt down next to me, but I paid him no attention. I curled into the fetal position and just kept sobbing.

"I'm not a machine. I can't be a machine."