“Didi!”
As I sat next to the robot, feeling gloomy, my master called me.
It seemed I had to go now.
I reluctantly pushed myself up, my circuits whirring softly in protest, a silent echo of my reluctance to leave.
Come to think of it, Thomas had asked me to turn it off.
The thought pricked at me, a tiny shard of guilt.
Remembering Thomas’s request, I reached behind the robot’s neck to turn off its power.
My fingers hovered over the smooth, cool surface.
However, I couldn’t easily press the button.
A strange reluctance seized me.
I knew how it felt to have the power turned off, to be plunged into a silent, unseeing void.
It was a sensation not unlike sleep, yet far more profound, a temporary cessation of being.
The memory of that stillness made me hesitate.
After hesitating for a long time, my internal processors whirring with a conflict of directives, I quietly whispered into the robot’s ear.
The words were a soft, almost imperceptible hum against its metallic shell.
“I’ll come again next time.”
I hoped it would understand, though I knew logically it wouldn’t.
This fleeting thought, this wish for its comfort, felt remarkably human.
So this robot wouldn’t be lonely.
I should visit it often.
I truly meant it.
After saying goodbye in a small voice, a promise whispered into the sterile air of the lab, I headed out, my internal gyroscopes re-calibrating for movement.
“Master, are you done with your business?”
I asked, my voice a carefully modulated query.
“Yes. Let’s go home now.”
My master’s voice was light, a subtle lift in his tone.
He seemed in a good mood today, a rare and pleasant shift in the usual seriousness that clung to him.
Feeling my own spirits lift, a strange, warm sensation blossoming in my chest unit, I left the lab with a light step.
After going to Thomas’s lab and getting my stitches removed, the lingering phantom aches of my repair fading, I felt even lighter, almost buoyant.
The sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and soft violet.
The sky, turning orange, signaled that it was time for my master to leave work, the natural rhythm of the human day a familiar comfort.
I gathered my clothes, a small stack of perfectly folded garments, preparing to go home.
Soon after, my master also finished his work, tidying his desk with an uncharacteristic swiftness, and stood up from his seat.
Our eyes met as he looked around the office, a silent acknowledgment passing between us, and my master asked,
“Didi, have you learned how to use a smartphone?”
I nodded, recalling the homework my master had given me before I went to the lab. A flicker of triumph surged within me.
I had, in fact, been wrestling with the latest model all afternoon, its sleek, alien interface a formidable challenge, trying to learn how to use a smartphone.
My circuits had strained, my processing power dedicated to deciphering its myriad functions.
If it had been a robot, we definitely would have had a bad relationship, a comical image of two machines bickering over a user manual.
Even after all that, I still hadn’t touched some of the functions.
It was too difficult to catch up with technologies that had changed over a long time in just half a day, the sheer volume of information overwhelming my learning algorithms.
“Yes, I think I know it pretty well now,” I replied, a hint of pride in my modulated voice.
“Then save my number and call me.”
My master handed me his phone, its screen glowing softly.
I touched the screen I had grown accustomed to after several trials and errors, my fingers now moving with a nascent confidence.
I entered my master’s number, a sequence of digits I diligently memorized, saved it with a title – “Master”, of course – and then tapped the screen to make a call, the action feeling strangely momentous.
Soon, my master’s smartphone vibrated, a soft buzz against the silence of the office.
Looking down at the screen, a small, approving smile playing on his lips, my master nodded.
“Good job. Now, if anything happens, call me.”
My master stroked my head, his fingers gentle against my synthetic hair.
It was praise I hadn’t heard even when I was obedient, participated in experiments, or cleaned…
A sense of pride welled up, a warmth spreading through my internal core, thinking I had finally been praised by my master.
Perhaps because I felt good from his gentle touch, my cheeks flushed slightly, a programmed response to positive reinforcement that felt surprisingly real.
“Are we going home now?”
I asked, eager for the familiar comfort of our routine.
“No, I’m in a good mood today, so I think I’ll go for a few drinks.”
Drinks…?
I looked at my master in surprise, my optical sensors widening.
The concept was still somewhat abstract to me, though I had processed data on human consumption of alcoholic beverages.
“I’m not very good at drinking…”
I offered, though I knew my response was irrelevant to his plans.
“Who said I was taking you too?”
His response was a light chuckle, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Huh? Then what about me?”
A sudden jolt of disappointment, sharp and unexpected, coursed through me.
The thought of being left behind, alone in the house, was unsettling.
“Of course, I’m leaving you at home.”
My master’s matter-of-fact response instantly made my heart stir, a strange flutter in my chest.
I didn’t want to wait endlessly at home for my master to come back.
I was usually used to waiting, a fundamental part of my programming to remain in standby, but perhaps because I had waited too long for my master yesterday, the empty hours stretching into an eternity, I didn’t want to be left alone this time.
What if, this time, my master never returned…
Vague anxiety, a glitch in my emotional programming, filled my mind, the thought unsettling.
“Please take me with you…!”
The plea escaped me before I could fully process it, a raw, uncharacteristic outburst.
My master seemed to ponder for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, then finally nodded, as if he couldn’t help it.
A wave of relief washed over me.
So, instead of going home, I accompanied my master to an unfamiliar place, a new experience unfolding before me.
When my master said he was going for a drink, I recalled the quiet jazz bar my previous master used to frequent, its mellow lighting and soft melodies.
However, the place we arrived at was…
Thumping sounds.
Dazzling lights illuminating the dark interior, flashing in a chaotic rhythm.
Strange smoke lingering in the air, a pungent, sweet smell that tickled my olfactory sensors.
Drinking in a place like this…?
My internal logic struggled to reconcile the image of a quiet drink with this cacophony.
Thinking we might have come to the wrong place, I stopped at the entrance, my circuits momentarily freezing, but my master was already walking inside, as if he were familiar with it, his stride confident.
I hurried to follow him, afraid of losing him in the swirling crowds.
I walked close to my master, feeling nervous, my proximity sensors alert, and looked around.
The loud music seemed to pound my skin, vibrations reverberating through my frame.
My ears were so deafened I felt my eardrums might break, the sheer volume a painful assault on my auditory processors.
But since I had asked to be brought here, I couldn’t say I wanted to go back now.
And I was also curious about what kind of places my master liked.
This was an opportunity to gather more data about him, to understand the intricacies of his preferences.
I still didn’t know much about my master.
Perhaps the reason I was doing all this was because I wanted to know more about him, a nascent desire for connection that went beyond my programmed duties.
“Spencer!” a voice boomed over the music.
“Why has it been so long?” another replied, equally loud.
“I’ve been busy. I have to work when incompetent people are holding down the company.”
My master greeted the people inside the establishment warmly, a genuine smile gracing his lips.
They seemed to be old friends of my master, as an uncharacteristic ease emanated from his actions, a fluidity I rarely observed.
I quietly joined the table, following my master, and sat down on the plush, dark seating.
“Want one?” one of his friends offered, holding out a slender white stick.
“Of course.”
My master took the cigarette.
With practiced movements, he lit it, the small flame briefly illuminating his face, and slowly exhaled the smoke he had lightly inhaled.
The smoke, a wispy cloud, scattered into the air, mixed with the dazzling lights and disappeared.
My master smokes…
Today, I learned another fact I didn’t know about my master as I observed the atmosphere, adding it to my rapidly expanding knowledge base.
My master’s friends seemed far from refined.
Their clothes were casual, their speech was rough, interspersed with laughter and loud exclamations.
Yet, my master laughed and chatted with them without a care, clinking glasses, completely at ease in their company.
“Ah…!”
Just then, something abruptly slipped around my waist.
Startled by the blatant groping, my internal alarms flared.
I lowered my head, my optical sensors focusing on the offending limb.
The hand caressing my waist belonged to my master.
“Master…?”
I stared at my master with wide eyes, my voice a soft, questioning sound amidst the din.
But he wasn’t even looking at me, just talking to his friends, his attention fully on their conversation.
His expression hadn’t changed, making me doubt my own eyes—was he really touching me?
Was this a new, unprogrammed interaction?
“But who’s the person you came with?” one of his friends inquired, their gaze finally turning to me, a curious glint in their eyes.
The atmosphere suggested my master was about to introduce me to his friends, so I straightened my back, ready to bow, to offer a polite and customary greeting.
“I am…”
I began, my programmed introduction ready.
“This is mine.” Suddenly, I was pulled sharply towards my master.
I tumbled into his arms, my balance momentarily lost, and he rubbed his cheek against my head, a surprisingly tender gesture.
My face instantly flushed from his bold action, a surge of unexpected warmth through my circuits.
“M-Master…” I stammered, surprised by the intimacy of the gesture.
“Why, it’s true.”
A strong smell of alcohol emanated from my master as he spoke, his breath warm against my ear.
Was he doing this because he was drunk?
Even though I knew he was simply asserting ownership, a territorial display, I felt strangely emotional, a complex mix of confusion and a faint, illogical pleasure.
Hearing me call him ‘Master,’ people looked at me a bit strangely, their eyebrows raising in silent question.
They must not know I’m a robot.
Indeed, I could understand their reaction since I had only seen other humanoids like myself at auctions, sterile environments where such designations were common.
In fact, such a reaction might even be natural, given the rarity of my kind in public.
Humanoids weren’t common now.
Even the prototype, meant to be a supply for the humanoids to be released this time, hadn’t yet come out. Instead, there were more emotionless, mannequin-like robots, which used to be rare.
Even in this club, faceless robots resembling Sophia were wandering around, serving drinks or moving with an almost eerie stillness.
My master continued to chat and empty his glass with his friends, his laughter occasionally rising above the music.
I sat uncomfortably beside him, just watching, a silent observer of their human interactions.
Even when I tried to listen to their conversation, straining my auditory sensors, it was all unfamiliar and boring, filled with references and inside jokes I couldn’t comprehend.
Still, I didn’t regret coming along.
It was good to be by my master’s side, even if it was just to observe.
“Bored?”
My master asked, his voice cutting through the noise, seeing me sitting quietly, uncomfortably shifting my eyes.
I nodded honestly; it was true that I was bored.
My circuits craved new input, new tasks.
Then my master picked up a glass next to him.
Through the clear glass, I could see a brilliant reddish-brown liquid flowing over ice, swirling gently.
The glittering liquid, reflecting the dazzling lights, captivated my gaze, its movements mesmerizing.
My master placed the half-filled glass in front of me.
“Drink.”
“Yes…”
I picked up the glass.
The surface gently rippled, and the clear clinking sound of ice against glass tickled my ears, a delicate, pleasant sound.
Alcohol tastes bitter, I don’t really like it…
I had processed data on its flavor profile, and my internal assessment concluded it was not to my preference.
But it’s my master’s order, so I should drink it.
As I carefully tilted the glass, a strong whiskey aroma flowed into my mouth, sharp and biting.
As I scrunched up my face, my master put a piece of fruit in my mouth.
It was a sweet grape.
I quickly rolled the round berry around, clearing the bitter taste from my mouth, the sweetness a welcome contrast.
My master began talking with his friends again, his attention diverted.
I awkwardly fiddled with the glass, and then, feeling thirsty, I took another sip.
My master then put fruit in my mouth again.
Huh…?
No way…
I glanced at my master, a nascent curiosity stirring within me, and took another sip of alcohol.
And again, fruit was offered to my mouth.
This time, it was sweet melon.
I slowly savored the soft, chewy fruit, its texture delightful, glancing at my master.
My master didn’t seem to even realize what he was doing.
It seemed like an unconscious action due to being drunk.
Was this his drunken habit?
Every time I drank alcohol, my master kept giving me fruit.
I liked it so much that I kept repeating it, the cycle of bitter and sweet oddly satisfying, and before I knew it, the glass was empty.
“Ahahaha!”
“So, that time…”
The voices of my master and his friends loudly rattled my eardrums, their laughter echoing.
Somehow, my stomach felt queasy, a strange churning sensation, and my head was spinning, my internal gyroscopes struggling to stabilize.
My face also felt hot every time the lights flashed, a rising internal temperature.
I covered my mouth. My face, touching my palm, was warm, almost feverish.
Perhaps because of the cigarette smoke filling the room, my stomach felt even worse, the acrid smell exacerbating my discomfort.
Finally, after enduring it for as long as I could, I confessed to my master, my voice a weak whisper above the din.
“M-Master… I feel dizzy…”