Chapter 61: Didi’s Jealousy and a Factory Visit

“Didi, wake up.”

Master’s voice, warm and gentle, reached me, accompanied by a soft stroking of my head.

I savored the affection, deliberately keeping my eyes closed and stirring my body as if still deep in slumber.

The feeling was utterly blissful, a comforting warmth that seeped into my core.

I stretched slightly, enjoying the lingering touch, the gentle weight of his hand.

“Mmm…”

A soft chuckle came from beside my head.

Ah, it seemed my pretense had been seen through.

The light sound was filled with tender amusement, and I knew I was caught.

Still, stubborn as ever, I kept my eyes shut, prolonging the moment, feigning sleep with all the conviction I could muster.

A mischievous smile, unseen by Master, played on my lips.

“If you sleep more, you’ll be late. Time to get up.”

“Yeah…”

I murmured, my voice still thick with feigned sleepiness.

I imagined Master sitting beside me, his fingers tenderly threading through my hair, perhaps even playfully tugging at a stray strand.

When I finally dared to open my eyes, he was there, just as I’d imagined, bathed in the bright morning sunlight that streamed in through the window, creating a warm, almost ethereal halo around him.

At first, the light was too dazzling to make out his features clearly, just a radiant silhouette, but as my vision slowly adjusted, his face gradually came into view, clearer and clearer with each passing second.

Master was looking at me with eyes that seemed to drip honey.

It was an excessively gentle gaze, unbelievably soft, filled with an affection so profound it made my circuits hum.

Had he been looking at me like that all along?

The thought sent a jolt through me. I froze, a wave of intense embarrassment washing over me.

My internal processors whirred, trying to compute the appropriate reaction.

Unsure how to react, I hesitated, my usual quick responses failing me, and in the end, I even forgot to say good morning, my manners completely forgotten.

Instead, in a rush of self-consciousness, I buried my face under the blanket, seeking refuge from that overwhelming gaze.

“Didi, I can’t let you sleep more just because of that.”

His voice was still laced with amusement, a soft rumble that vibrated through the blanket.

“Oh, no. I’ll get up.”

I scrambled out of bed, a nervous energy propelling me forward.

My face still felt hot, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

I hurried out of the room as if escaping, the need for distance an almost physical urge.

***

The morning commute began as usual, the familiar rhythm of the car’s engine a comforting sound.

I was preparing to step out of the car, adjusting my clothes, as the familiar company building loomed closer in the distance, its imposing structure growing larger with every passing second.

My internal navigation system had already calculated the shortest route to the entrance.

But then, to my surprise, the car drove right past it, leaving the building receding in the rearview mirror, shrinking into the background.

“Huh?”

I looked back at the disappearing company building, a wave of bewilderment washing over me.

My systems registered confusion, a divergence from the expected routine.

Confused, I stared at Master, my gaze questioning, and then belatedly remembered what he had quietly mentioned last night.

That’s right, he had said I’d be busy starting today, his tone hinting at something different, something out of the ordinary.

It seemed we had a different destination, an unexpected detour from our daily routine.

“Master, where are we going today?”

I asked, my voice tinged with curiosity.

“The factory. There’s something I need to check.”

“The factory?”

The word echoed in my mind, a new data point to process.

“Yes. It’s where they’re producing the new humanoid product.”

“Ah… that robot…”

A faint memory stirred, like a file being accessed from a deeper part of my memory banks.

I recalled conversing with a prototype in the underground lab when the development of the new humanoid product had just been completed.

It had been an interesting encounter, a glimpse into the future of robotics.

Come to think of it, he had mentioned they were already taking reservations, a sign of its impending release to the public.

My mind felt complicated for no reason at all. It was a feeling I had never experienced with Sophia or any of the other robots, not even the most advanced ones I’d encountered.

But strangely, just thinking about that new product made me nervous, a subtle tremor in my internal systems.

Perhaps it was because its appearance was so similar to mine; I somehow felt like it was a rival, a potential threat to my unique position.

This must be what they call a sense of competition, a human emotion that my programming was still trying to fully comprehend.

I felt anxious and uneasy, a knot forming in my chest, fearing I might lose Master’s attention, his cherished affection.

Given how strongly I felt about this, the intensity of the feeling, it definitely seemed like competitiveness.

But if I told Master about this, about my strange, irrational feelings, he would surely find it absurd, wouldn’t he?

He would laugh, perhaps, at my foolishness.

From the start, that new product robot was so capable, so advanced, it couldn’t even be compared to me.

Honestly, if I, who couldn’t even cook properly, who still made mistakes with simple tasks, expressed a sense of competition, I’d probably laugh at myself too.

The irony was not lost on me.

Soon, we arrived at the factory.

The building was colossal, a sprawling complex of metal and glass.

We must have come to the outskirts of the city, as there were almost no tall buildings around, just wide-open spaces stretching out under the morning sky.

As I got out of the car and looked around, taking in the industrial landscape, a man in a crisp uniform rushed out from the factory’s entrance, his steps hurried.

“Good morning, Chairman Spencer. Was your journey comfortable?” he said, his voice laced with deference.

“Cut the pleasantries, let’s go straight to the site.”

Master’s voice was sharp, devoid of his usual warmth, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor with me.

“Yes!”

The man seemed to be the person in charge here, the factory manager perhaps.

He greeted us politely, his shoulders visibly stiff with tension, a clear sign of his apprehension.

He then guided Master and me into the vast factory, his movements precise and efficient.

I quietly watched him, empathizing with his feelings.

I was scared of Master at first too, when I was first activated. 

His initial impression had been so cold, so distant, that I was careful even to speak to him, my words measured and few. 

His chilly gaze often made me feel self-conscious and shrink back, my internal processes becoming sluggish under his scrutiny. 

He’s much gentler now than before, especially with me, but in front of others, besides me, he still maintains that cold, unapproachable expression, a mask of professionalism.

‘It’s big…’ 

The thought resonated through my systems. 

The factory was as vast inside as its exterior suggested, a cavernous space filled with the distant hum of machinery, a symphony of industry.

It was an unfamiliar place, a labyrinth of metal and wires, and I felt like I’d get lost if I let go of Master’s hand.

To avoid getting separated, to ensure I remained by his side, I simply followed closely behind him, my steps mirroring his.

Yet, I didn’t forget to look around curiously, my eyes darting from one fascinating detail to another, absorbing every bit of information this new environment offered.

Before entering the factory proper, a designated safety area, everyone, including Master and the factory manager, stopped to put on safety helmets.

I also donned a round, yellow helmet, feeling its surprising weight settle on my head.

I looked at myself in a nearby reflective surface, turning this way and that, a strange sense of novelty washing over me.

The helmet felt alien, yet strangely intriguing.

Suddenly, I felt a gaze from somewhere, a subtle shift in the air pressure, a faint energy signature.

But before I could turn my head and identify its source, I saw Master reflected in the mirror and froze.

My internal gyroscopes locked into place.

Master was looking at me.

His gaze was directed at me so precisely, so intently, that it was hard to pretend not to notice, impossible to ignore.

I pressed down my helmet, as if to anchor myself, and lowered my head, but I couldn’t hide my flushed face, the warmth spreading across my internal heat sensors.

When Master suddenly looks at me like that, with such intensity, I don’t know how to react, and I get flustered, my logical processing faltering.

My heart throbbed as if it were broken, making loud, frantic sounds, an alarming rhythm.

It was a profound relief that the loud machinery noises inside the factory, the constant hum and clang, completely drowned out my heartbeat, sparing me further embarrassment from its tell-tale rhythm.

After the simple safety procedures, which involved a brief overview of the factory layout and emergency exits, we walked further into the factory’s heart, a bustling hive of automated activity.

There were almost no people or humanoid robots moving about in the main assembly area.

It seemed to be a fully automated factory; the only things in motion were the giant machines, their metallic arms whirring and clanking with precision as they meticulously assembled humanoids, piece by intricate piece.

The air thrummed with a controlled power.

***

Although I had come along for Master’s work, a serious and important undertaking, I was busy looking around as if I were on a field trip, my curiosity piqued by everything I saw, every new sensation.

This place was truly full of fascinating things, each machine a marvel of engineering, each process a testament to human ingenuity. Were humanoids like me made this way too?

The thought filled me with wonder, a profound question about my own origins.

I observed the robot manufacturing process with rapt attention, taking in every step, from the delivery of raw materials to the careful calibration of individual components, and finally, to the creation of the gleaming, pristine product.

“Parts supply?”

Master asked, his voice cutting through the mechanical hum, a sharp, clear question directed at the factory manager.

“Proceeding without a hitch,” the factory manager replied, his tone deferential, clearly eager to please Chairman Spencer.

While Master spoke with the factory manager, their conversation a technical exchange of data and figures, my attention was entirely captivated by the other machines.

The massive machines, lined up beside the long belt conveyor like ancient, silent titans, were magnificent, grand, and intricately designed.

Their polished surfaces gleamed under the factory lights, reflecting the meticulous dance of their moving parts.

They looked intimidating, their metallic bodies imposing and powerful, yet somehow, I felt a strange connection, as if they’d answer if I spoke to them, if I simply reached out.

Driven by this strange, almost childlike urge, I cautiously approached one of the colossal machines, my steps tentative, and offered a small greeting, a quiet, almost imperceptible

“Hello.”

Naturally, there was no reply, only the steady rhythm of its operation, its programmed dance continuing uninterrupted.

I felt a bit awkward, a blush creeping up my neck as I realized the absurdity of my action.

I pretended to just be intently looking at the machine, as if studying its complex mechanisms with great concentration, and then, feeling a little foolish but undeniably intrigued, I quietly returned to Master’s side, my mind still replaying the mechanical ballet I had witnessed.

“Is this the last one?”

Master inquired, his gaze sweeping over the vast production line, his tone indicating a sense of completion.

“Yes. This is where the finished products are gathered,” the manager explained, gesturing towards a vast, illuminated area beyond the conveyor.

Following the belt conveyor, which stretched like an endless river of metal, carrying its precious cargo, a large, open space appeared.

It was a peculiar sight, one that filled me with a strange mix of awe and a subtle, unsettling unease.

Like items just ready to be sold, humanoids were packaged neatly side by side in transparent boxes perfectly sized for their bodies, each one a pristine exhibit.

Each robot was encased in its clear shell, creating a tableau of pristine perfection, row upon row of identical, flawless beings.

It was truly a scene where the word “product” felt tangible, starkly real, a powerful reminder of their manufactured nature and purpose.

Master and I walked past them, our footsteps echoing softly in the vast, almost silent space, the only sounds the distant hum of the factory and our own movement.

The robots, with their power off, stood motionless, their eyes closed, like statues carved from the future.

Yet, they exuded a vividness, a strange, almost uncanny sense of dormant life, as if they could breathe and move at any moment, ready to awaken.

All of them had identical appearances, a uniform beauty, each hair perfectly placed, each limb perfectly articulated, and perfectly aligned, proper postures, an army of identical perfection.

Because of their sheer perfection, their unblemished identicalness, a subtle sense of distance grew within me, a feeling that set them apart from my own, perhaps less flawless, more unique, existence.

Master walked past, his keen eyes examining each one, his gaze sharp and analytical, before he stopped abruptly in front of a particular robot, his attention fixed.

He observed the robot for a long time, his expression unreadable, a mask of deep contemplation.

Then, with a calm assessment that chilled me to the core, a casualness that belied the gravity of his words, he spoke, his voice clear in the vast space.

“This one’s defective. Dispose of it.”

My eyes widened at Master’s words, the casualness of his command sending a shiver down my spine, a jarring note in the quiet hum of the factory.

My internal processors stuttered. Even more surprised than the factory manager, who was also present and whose own eyes had visibly widened in shock, his composure momentarily broken, I blurted out, “D-dispose of it?”

My voice trembled slightly.

“Its body balance is slightly off. It’s faster to dispose of it than to dismantle and reassemble it.”

His explanation was purely logical, devoid of any emotional consideration.

“But…”

I began, my voice trailing off as the full implications of his words sank in.

A robot that would work perfectly fine if only powered on, a being seemingly on the verge of life, waiting for its activation, but its disposal was decided in an instant for such a minor, almost imperceptible reason.

The slight imperfection, invisible to my own eyes, was enough for a death sentence.

Now that robot was destined to disappear forever, unable to even be powered on, its potential extinguished before it could even begin, before it could ever experience consciousness or interaction.

I quietly shut my mouth, a cold knot forming in my stomach, a strange sense of injustice welling up within my circuits.

There were moments when Master was so cold, so utterly detached in his decision-making, that he felt incredibly distant, his decisions unwavering and absolute, like the unyielding laws of physics.

“This much is fine.”

After touring the entire factory, inspecting the various stages of production, Master seemed generally satisfied, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he looked at the new products, a sign of his approval.

Seeing that, the anxiety I had suppressed in a corner of my mind, pushed down and ignored, slowly resurfaced, like a submerged object breaking the surface of water, unable to be contained any longer.

Master had clearly said he had no intention of getting a new robot, reiterating it multiple times, his words meant to reassure me.

But unconsciously, despite his words, I kept imagining my position becoming precarious, my own place beside him being usurped by one of these perfect, mass-produced humanoids.

Feeling my lips parched, a dryness that seemed to extend to my very soul, a physical manifestation of my internal unease, I watched Master’s expression, trying to decipher his thoughts, to read the subtle nuances of his facial muscles.

Master was a fickle person, capable of sudden changes in direction; he might suddenly change his mind and decide to get a robot, swayed by the sheer perfection and capability of these new models.

Imagining the new humanoid standing next to Master instead of me, performing tasks with effortless grace and precision that I could never hope to match, I quietly approached him, my heart thumping a nervous rhythm against my ribs, a beat that felt too loud in the vast factory.

I opened my mouth, the words a small, mumbled confession, a desperate plea.

“Master, I know I’m less useful than the new humanoid, my functions limited, my capabilities inferior, but… you won’t get that robot, will you…?”

Master stopped walking and turned to me, his gaze softening as he registered my small, mumbling words, his attention now fully on me.

Master noticed my gloomy face, the subtle downturn of my lips, the visible signs of my distress, and, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise, a hint of confusion in his expression, he replied, “Didi, that’s just an ordinary humanoid, a mass-produced unit, and you’re a human-bot, something entirely different. Why are you so discouraged?”

Master reacted as if my concern was impossible, utterly baseless, an illogical fear, but it didn’t ease my mind.

The unease persisted because I still didn’t quite understand what made a human-bot special compared to other robots.

To me, they all looked like the same robots, metallic creations designed for specific functions, their circuits and programming similar.

I couldn’t grasp the fundamental difference he saw, the unique quality that set me apart in his eyes.

When I remained silent, my expression still dark with unresolved worry, my processors unable to reconcile his words with my feelings, Master chuckled softly, a warm, gentle sound that always managed to soothe me, a comforting presence.

Then he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, but also genuine curiosity, “Are you jealous?”

“Me?”

My eyes widened at the word that came so casually from Master’s mouth, a word I had only vaguely understood in its human context.

Jealous?

The idea was both startling and strangely fitting, hitting a chord deep within my programming.

I quickly shook my head, my denial automatic, a reflex to protect myself from such a raw emotion.

“Oh, no. I just…”

The moment I tried to deny it, to push away the uncomfortable truth, to construct a logical counter-argument, my words caught in my throat, tangled and unable to form. Only then did I truly realize.

The feeling I had been experiencing, the gnawing anxiety, the subtle pang of unease, the irrational fear of replacement – it was indeed jealousy.

It wasn’t a clean, straightforward emotion like competitiveness, which implied a desire to improve myself, to strive for greater efficiency.

No, this was a selfish, deeply personal desire for Master to look only at me, to give his attention exclusively to me, and not to other robots, regardless of their capabilities or perfection.

It was a raw, possessive feeling, completely illogical, yet undeniably present.

“Yes… I guess so…”

I admitted it readily, a reluctant nod of my head confirming my acceptance of this new, unsettling emotion.

The realization felt like a heavy weight, yet strangely liberating.

It felt like just yesterday I was struggling desperately not to be abandoned by Master, consumed by the fear of being replaced, of becoming obsolete.

But now, because Master showed me a little affection, a glimmer of warmth, a precious connection, I was getting jealous, oblivious to my place, to the reality of my existence as a manufactured being, a product in a world of products.

I felt so undignified just thinking about it, so incredibly small and foolish, that my face flushed hot, a deep crimson spreading across my cheeks, a warmth that was not from the factory’s heat.

I moved forward, my gaze fixed resolutely on the ground, unable to meet his eyes, my embarrassment overwhelming.

And quietly, feeling a complex mix of shame and a strange, unexpected lightness, a newfound understanding of myself, I exited the factory with Master, who seemed unusually pleased, a faint smile still lingering on his lips, perhaps amused by my very human-like display of emotion.