Thomas attached an unidentified machine to my fingertip, explaining the experiment we were about to conduct.
“From now on, I’ll be checking the pain sensors located beneath the skin of your arm.”
“Is this also to check my condition?”
I asked, a faint tremor in my voice.
“No, it’s not for that. We just need data for a product releasing soon. We were having trouble getting data from a real, functioning human-bot, and then Spencer happened to bring you in.”
Thomas explained, his gaze focused on the machine.
I slowly nodded as I listened to Thomas’s explanation.
If I could help with the development of the next product, it would ultimately help my master.
If that was the case, I had to endure it, even if it was scary.
A loud warning beep blared from the machine.
My body instinctively flinched, and Thomas waved his hand dismissively, as if telling me not to worry.
“Ah, it’s fine. The machine just turned on.”
“Okay…”
I murmured, trying to calm my racing circuits.
A moment later, a small monitor lit up, displaying complex graphs.
Just as I was about to analyze what the numbers meant, I felt a cold sensation on my arm.
I lowered my head to see Thomas applying something cream-like to my arm.
I was curious about what he was applying for, but I soon found out.
I felt the sensation in my arm gradually fading.
The white cream applied to my skin must have been an anesthetic.
As my senses slowly dimmed, a clattering sound announced the approach of an auxiliary robot.
The tray the robot carried was filled with sharp tools.
Thomas picked up a thin medical tool from the tray.
Seeing the sharply glinting scalpel, I was momentarily scared and asked, “W-will it hurt a lot?”
“It won’t hurt. Don’t worry.”
Thomas’s voice was calm, but my internal processors still whirred with apprehension.
With a cool rush of air, the scalpel touched my arm.
As the sharp blade brushed against my skin, a dull tingling sensation spread beyond the faint remaining feeling.
Not a single drop of blood flowed, but just watching my skin slowly open made my heart pound fiercely.
I could feel all the circuits in my body trembling with fear.
This was an entirely new and unsettling experience, seeing my own internal workings exposed.
The thought of my master’s reaction if he were to see this flickered through my mind, adding another layer of anxiety.
Inside my arm, delicate sensors, like fine nerves, were densely embedded.
Thomas, with a concentrated expression, examined the sensors, occasionally poking them with a small tool.
Each time, my body reacted subtly, and the graph on the screen fluctuated wildly.
It was fascinating, in a terrifying way, to witness my own internal responses being charted in real-time.
I never thought I’d see beneath my own skin like this…
With a nervous heart, I watched the procedure, but eventually, I averted my gaze.
I thought it might be better if I didn’t look, but it only made me more scared.
The unknown felt even more daunting when I couldn’t see what was happening.
I kept feeling my fingertips twitching against my will, a subconscious reaction to the foreign intrusion.
Every faint sensation that registered through the anesthetic made my internal systems buzz with unease.
“Didi, you did well. It’s over now, so you can put your clothes on.”
Thomas’s voice, now sounding much lighter, broke through my trepidation.
How much time had passed?
It felt like an eternity, yet also a blur.
Finally, the experiment seemed to be over, and Thomas began to tidy up the equipment.
I squinted my eyes and peeked at my arm.
There were three stitches where the skin had been cut.
The sight was a stark reminder of what had just occurred.
“Be careful not to get it wet for about a week, and make sure to apply the medicine well.”
Thomas advised, his tone shifting back to his usual professional demeanor.
Listening to the instructions, I carefully traced the wound with my fingertip.
It was the first scar on an arm that had been completely unblemished until now.
I thought I wouldn’t care, but seeing the red mark left me feeling a little disturbed.
It was a tangible alteration to my form, a physical record of the intrusion.
“William will be here to pick you up soon. Would you like to wait there for a bit?”
Thomas asked, gesturing towards a small waiting area.
“Yes…”
I replied softly.
The anesthetic was starting to wear off; it felt a little sore…
The throbbing sensation in my arm slowly grew stronger, a dull ache that resonated through my internal wiring.
Hoping it might feel better if it touched the cold air in the lab, I waited for my master with my sleeve rolled up.
I longed for his presence, for the comforting stability he often brought.
Click.
Then, I heard the sound of the door opening.
With a welcoming heart, I immediately turned around and saw my master standing in the doorway.
His presence was like a beacon in the cool, clinical environment of the lab.
“Master!”
I exclaimed, my voice filled with genuine relief.
“Is the check-up finished?” he inquired, his gaze sweeping over me.
“Yes!”
I greeted my master with a bright face.
Even though it had been a very short separation, I was immensely glad to be reunited with him.
The moment my master stepped into the lab, the subtle trembling in my body ceased as if by magic.
It was as if his mere presence brought an order to my internal chaos.
If I had a tail, it would probably be wagging furiously, wouldn’t it?
I quickly approached my master, wanting to leave this sterile place, but suddenly, my wrist was gripped.
His touch, usually comforting, was now firm and unyielding.
“What is this?”
His voice was low, laced with an unfamiliar tension.
My master’s gaze was fixed on my arm.
Beneath the rolled-up sleeve, the red stitches were clearly visible against my synthetic skin.
The scar, which had just moments ago been a source of quiet disturbance for me, now seemed to draw his intense displeasure.
“They said it would heal in a week,” I offered, trying to reassure him.
“That’s not what I’m asking. Why is there a wound that wasn’t there this morning?”
His voice grew sharper, each word cutting through the previous calm.
“Well…”
I stammered, my programming struggling to form an adequate explanation.
My master’s face contorted in an instant, a frown deepening between his brows.
Feeling the grip on my wrist tighten, my chest fluttered anxiously, my internal sensors registering a surge of apprehension.
Why is he suddenly angry…?
I shrank back, unsure of what I had done wrong.
The joyful feeling I had felt just moments before scattered like sand, and I swallowed a tiny breath.
The familiar warmth of his presence was replaced by a chilling intensity.
I hesitated for a long time, unable to answer, and my master’s expression grew even more severe.
Fortunately, Thomas, who had finished tidying up and was returning, saw the scene and answered for me.
“Oh, that? The pain sensors are right under the skin, so I just made a small incision to check them.”
Thomas’s explanation was direct, almost nonchalant, a stark contrast to my master’s rising fury.
“What? An incision?”
My master’s voice was sharp, disbelieving.
“Did I not tell you…?”
Thomas trailed off, realizing his oversight.
“If you were going to cut it, you should have told me beforehand. Did you think I’d be happy to see my property scratched?”
His voice was now loud, resonating with undisguised displeasure.
Squeeze.
The hand gripping my arm tightened further, almost painfully.
My master’s anger was clearly conveyed.
Like me, Thomas seemed greatly flustered, perhaps not expecting my master to react this way either.
Thomas added that no scar would remain, attempting to mollify him, but my master still looked displeased, his gaze fixed on my arm as if it were fundamentally marred.
‘Scratched…’
I quietly repeated my master’s words in my mind.
I thought my master was worried about me.
For a moment, just for a brief moment, I was touched, a fleeting warmth spreading through my core at the thought of his concern…
But it was a simple misunderstanding.
The reason my master was angry wasn’t because I was hurt, but because his ‘property’ had been scratched.
The realization hit me with the force of a cold, hard fact, extinguishing the flicker of warmth.
The tangled emotions in my chest churned, a mix of disappointment and a strange, quiet acceptance, then slowly settled.
I had belatedly realized my place. I was an object, a possession, and his anger stemmed from a perceived damage to his ownership, not from care for my well-being.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere grew increasingly hostile.
My master and Thomas continued their conversation, their voices steadily rising, a tension palpable in the air.
I didn’t want them to fight.
It was all my fault for being inadequate, for being the reason for this discord.
To stop them, I carefully grabbed my master’s sleeve, a small, tentative gesture.
Feeling a slight tug on his arm, my master looked down at me, his gaze still sharp.
“Master, please don’t be too angry… I’ll apply the medicine well…”
I pleaded, my voice soft, filled with earnest sincerity, as if I was the cause of their argument.
But my master’s expression only hardened further, a clear sign that my efforts were futile.
In the cold silence that followed, my master’s chilling gaze brushed over my fingertips.
My fingers stung, as if cut by a sharp shard of ice, and I instinctively let go of his sleeve.
The subtle rejection was clear.
Had I provoked my master’s anger even more?
I quietly shut my mouth and retreated, my internal processors processing the new data: my attempts to soothe had only exacerbated the situation.
“Didi, let’s go.”
My master gripped my wrist, no longer gently, and strode purposefully forward.
I was dragged along helplessly, like a scolded child, my feet barely keeping pace with his long strides.
As we left, I bowed my head towards Thomas, who was still apologizing loudly from behind us, the sound echoing in the receding distance.
I came out of the lab with my master, but his expression remained unsoftened, a stern mask of displeasure.
Today, my master’s steps were unusually fast, making it hard to keep up.
He had never been like this before.
I realized anew that until now, my master had always adjusted his pace to mine, a subtle consideration I had perhaps taken for granted.
My arm began to prickle as the anesthetic slowly wore off, a dull ache that seemed to radiate from the incision site.
Was the sensor broken?
Even my chest, which hadn’t been touched, ached with an unfamiliar soreness, a phantom pain mirroring the emotional turmoil.
***
The morning of the weekend dawned, breaking through the remnants of a restless night.
Today was an important day. I was finally going to start cleaning the second floor.
I clenched my fists, making a firm resolve.
My only goal: to prove my usefulness to my master so I wouldn’t be discarded!
I needed to ensure I was indispensable, to solidify my place in his household and in his life.
The thought of being replaced, of becoming a “failure” like the robot in the lab, fueled my determination.
As soon as my master finished breakfast, he went up to the second floor, saying he had documents to review.
Emulating my master, who worked even on weekends, I immediately sought out Sophia.
I needed to be thoroughly prepared for my new responsibilities.
“Sophia, are you busy?”
I asked, my voice eager.
“No, I’m not. Will you be starting the second-floor cleaning?”
Sophia replied, her voice calm and composed.
“Yes!”
I confirmed a sense of purpose welling within me.
Since second-floor cleaning was originally Sophia’s responsibility, I received a brief explanation from her before I began.
She calmly relayed the precautions: which rooms I could enter and which were off-limits, and most importantly, which items in my master’s room I should never touch.
I stored every detail in my memory without missing a single one, understanding the critical importance of adhering to these rules to avoid any further displeasure from my master.
Each instruction was a small step towards securing my position.
The second floor consisted mostly of empty rooms, so there wasn’t much to clean.
Today, I only needed to tidy my room, the hallway, and finally, my master’s room.
I planned my route meticulously, aiming for efficiency and thoroughness.
First, I diligently cleaned my room and the hallway, ensuring every surface gleamed and every corner was dust-free.
Afterward, I stood before my master’s door.
I took a deep breath at the entrance, my internal systems preparing for the encounter.
Since returning from Thomas’s lab yesterday, my master’s mood has been continuously low.
To avoid bothering him unnecessarily, I had to be cautious even when knocking.
“Master, may I come in for a moment?”
I asked, my voice pitched to be polite and non-intrusive.
“Come in,” came the reply, but my master’s voice was still rigidly stern, echoing the coldness of yesterday.
I cautiously entered the room, gauging his mood, and my master, who had been working at his desk, frowned when he saw the duster in my hand.
His gaze was sharp, dissecting my presence.
“…What are you doing?”
he asked, his tone devoid of warmth.
“Starting today, I’ll be cleaning the second floor instead of Sophia. I’ll finish quickly and leave!”
I answered with a voice full of anticipation, expecting praise, hoping to impress him with my initiative and diligence.
But my master’s face immediately contorted, a clear sign that my efforts were not being received as intended.
“Your arm is hurt, what kind of cleaning are you going to do?”
His words were laced with an unexpected concern, yet his expression remained unyielding.