Beat the bots... I'm just beginning to dig on the topic of nanobots and possible defense against same.  My starting point is this piece by the legendary 'conspiracist' Anna Von Reitz: Choking and Blocking Nanobots I haven't concluded anything about this yet, and it's essential to filter the relentless marketing of various and sundry snake oil products.   Posting this here hoping to inspire others to share this quest.  We are under attack, and need to build an arsenal of defense. I highly recommend reading Neal Stephenson's Diamond Age (buy it or yo-ho-ho), which presents a world in the full flower of nanotechnology.  Stephenson has a way of describing the future in very entertaining narratives; he weaves cultural insights and contemporary concerns throughout.  Consider this snippet: He sat down at the kitchen table. Mrs. Hull was already marmalading his crumpet. As she laid out plates and silver, Hackworth picked up a large sheet of blank paper. “The usual,” he said, and then the paper was no longer blank; now it was the front page of the Times. Hackworth got all the news that was appropriate to his station in life, plus a few optional services: the latest from his favorite cartoonists and columnists around the world; clippings on various peculiar crackpot subjects forwarded to him by his father, ever anxious that he had not, even after all this time, sufficiently edified his son; and stories relating to the Uitlanders—a subphyle of New Atlantis, consisting of persons of British ancestry who had fled South Africa several decades previously. Hackworth's mother was an Uitlander, so he subscribed to the service. A gentleman of higher rank and more far-reaching responsibilities would probably get different information written in a different way, and the top stratum of New Chusan actually got the Times on paper, printed out by a big antique press that did a run of a hundred or so, every morning at about three A.M. That the highest levels of the society received news written with ink on paper said much about the steps New Atlantis had taken to distinguish itself from other phyles. Now nanotechnology had made nearly anything possible, and so the cultural role in deciding what should be done with it had become far more important than imagining what could be done with it. One of the insights of the Victorian Revival was that it was not necessarily a good thing for everyone to read a completely different newspaper in the morning; so the higher one rose in the society, the more similar one's Times became to one's peers'. Here's a vivid description of nanobots gone wild: Then he held the mask up to Nell's face, guided the straps around her head, and tightened them down. Her long hair got caught in the buckles and pinched, but her objections were muffled by the mask. It took a little effort to breathe now. The mask pressed against her face when she inhaled and whooshed when she exhaled. “Keep it on,” Harv said. “It'll protect you from toner.” “What's toner?” she mumbled. The words did not make it out through the mask, but Harv guessed them from the look in her eyes. “Mites,” he said, “or so they say down at the Flea Circus anyway.” He picked up one of the black things taken from the mask and flicked it with a fingertip. A cineritious cloud swirled out of it, like a drop of ink in a glass of water, and hung swirling in the air, neither rising nor falling. Sparkles of light flashed in the midst of it like fairy dust. “See, there's mites around, all the time. They use the sparkles to talk to each other,” Harv explained. “They're in the air, in food and water, everywhere. And there's rules that these mites are supposed to follow, and those rules are called protocols. And there's a protocol from way back that says they're supposed to be good for your lungs. They're supposed to break down into safe pieces if you breathe one inside of you.” Harv paused at this point, theatrically, to summon forth one more ebon loogie, which Nell guessed must be swimming with safe mite bits. “But there are people who break those rules sometimes. Who don't follow the protocols. And I guess if there's too many mites in the air all breaking down inside your lungs, millions—well maybe those safe pieces aren't so safe if there's millions. But anyways, the guys at the Flea Circus say that sometimes the mites go to war with each other. Like maybe someone in Shanghai makes a mite that doesn't follow the protocol, and gets his matter compiler to making a whole lot of them, and sends them all across the water to New Atlantis Clave to snoop on the Vickys, or even maybe to do them harm. Then some Vicky—one of their Protocol Enforcement guys—makes a mite to go out and find that mite and kill it, and they get into a war. That's what's happening today, Nell. Mites fighting other mites. This dust—we call it toner—is actually the dead bodies of all those mites.” We are just now entering the nanotech era and must do what we can to avoid becoming victims of the early blunders of research and/or the nefarious plans of those who embrace the evil use of technology for power and control.