It was dark. It was so dark that the walls of the room were not visable, if there were any walls in the room that is. The only light came from the argon glow of a tube that was connected to his neck.
	He didnt mind the dark. After all, he had no need for the light. If there was any light, those who looked on would wish they hadn't. He was barley reconisable as human. His skin was pure white, in many places covered with some sort of metal, and his muscles had shrunk so much he could not move. Instead, his eating, even breathing, was controlled by mashines, who had punctured his withered body with various tubes. Even his heart no longer worked, he no longer needed blood to circulate to survive: He was beyond needing such trivial functions to live.
	He had bigger, more important things to do. His only asset worked continusly, tirelessly, controlling everything he wished. He needed no screens, a gamma fiber effectivly bolted to his cranium provided him with infomation, and magnometers bolted around hs head provided the control.
	He controlled everything he had infomation about, and he had infomation on almost everything digital, written, or broadcast. He effectivly controlled it all. Even his genetically and mechanically enhanced brain could not cope with it all continusly. The world was like his real body.
	Enemies were smaller to him then ants. You are aware of ants. They are more like viruses, delt with without him really noticing their existance. As long as he had his immence immune system, nothing could touch him.
	There were exceptions. Some individual events are noticed, some even acted upon. Roswell was the sixth. His body retreaved the technology from the wrecks, technology that would serve the world for a few generations. Then he would 'invent' other technology, recovered from crash siteseventeen. That was where his food came from: Aliens. Most of them dead, some still confined.
	His hands, his black gloved, black glassed hands always investigated crashes, and landings.
	There was nothing that they could do. He could fight them if need be, he had technology from over seven specis at his disbosal. He owned almost all known technology. He could protect the world, his body, from aliens. They were like the flu to him.
	It was what was on his own world that was more like HIV. Humans, genes, DNA, and more specifically mutations. Those that cause abnomalaties. Not only humans, either. All creatures too. He used Anthros as a skin, something to act as a cushion against an attack: They were disposable. They were part of him currently, and they too had the flawed DNA.
	Once Genetic Engeneering, the only real human technology, is perfected, then the crippeling desease can be removed. He had almost perfected it already. The Genome only took a few hours for him to code, and now the different changes were being examined, one b one. A few weeks is needed for that.
	Then the years wait as it is carefully introduced into the world.
	And then? His brain calculated in a few short nanoseconds the next three hundred years of human history.
	No single desease can stop his immune system, not nowe, not after two hundred years, every second of which was looked on by him.
	If he could move his face muscles, if his face wouldn't crack and crumple, he would smile.
	Now he was seemingly invincable to alieans, and soon he would be invunrable to magic. He would be untouchable.
	Frm the corner of his mind, he senced something, something that he could take notice of. His immune system acted upon it. Another landing, but it was different to others, in some way. Well, it didn't matter now, it changed nothing.
	This was his millenium. This was the dawn of the 21st Centuary. No one desease could hurt him now.