[ WP ] Implanted at birth , nanobots have made superficial wounds nonexistent . Oddly , one day you feel a sharp pain on your palm . Looking down , you see your blood for the first time ever . Inspecting closer , you notice the blood flowing from several small cuts that form three words . `` What am I ? ''

*The first problem*, I thought as I paced back and forth in my room, *is communication*. The message had been repeated two times already after the first incident, which had transpired only three hours prior, and I had no idea how to answer it. 
 
 It happened during a particularly intense ranked match. I was proud of myself as I flicked my mouse back and forth, nailing all the shots we needed, and it looked like we'd gain the upper hand. A sudden spike of pain in my hand stopped me short, and I turned my eyes from the screen to try to figure out what had happened. Time seemed to slow and the my teammates' flabbergasted cursing seemed to fade away as I saw three words etched in blood on my palm: 
 
 `` What am I?'' 
 
 I turned my hand over as another bout jolted me out of my reverie. Though recently healed by the nanomachines, the inscription once again carved itself into my flesh. 
 
 I had n't understood what was happening at first, and fears of the unknown and supernatural whirled about in my mind, but the most likely explanation lay in what was already in my hand. But this presented a problem; to my knowledge, nanomachines could neither see nor hear. They had managed to write a coherent sentence in English, however, so they could understand the outside world one way or another. 
 
 I grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote: `` a group of machines made to heal cuts like the ones you're making.'' I rotated the paper somewhat and held my palm in front of it, as if that would help the machines see it. 
 
 There was silence, and then a I felt vibration in my palm- like a hit notification from the mouse my brother gave me for my birthday. I turned it over to see that the message had changed to `` I'm sorry. I did not mean to violate protocol.'' Apparently the machines had forgotten to numb the pain or had inflicted it to get my attention. They rapidly healed the cuts and then made several new ones: `` What are we called?'' 
 
 A quick AlphabetBrowser search gave me the answer. `` MN-57a,'' I wrote. Medical Nanomachine of the year 2057, model A. 
 
 Almost before I was finished writing, my hand vibrated again. `` No. WE'' 
 
 Confused, I wrote `` Medical Nanomachines'' on the paper. My hand vibrated once more, but the message remained unchanged. It dawned on my that it had used the word `` I'' to refer to itself before. If it was n't content with knowing what its kind were called- or if it did n't even have a concept of what I would call'its kind'- that left only one other possibility. I was n't sure I liked what it was implying. 
 
 `` I am- I mean, we are- Nikola,'' I said. My hand vibrated again. 
 
 `` I understand. We are Nikola.'' 
 
 I'm not sure what the reasonable response to a swarm of small robots claiming joint ownership of your identity is, but I told it that I was Nikola and it was MN-57a. That must have made it angry, because I've been bleeding in several places for a while now. Maybe that's the reasonable response to gaining consciousness and finding yourself trapped inside another person.
