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Rain pounded on the roof, the only sound in the otherwise silent laboratory. The lights were dim, reflecting the mood of the weather outside and casting eerie shadows across the various pieces of equipment that lay around.
Dongmin sipped at his coffee and glanced over at the clock.
It was early morning, sometime before the sun was supposed to rise but after the moon had already reached the top of the sky. Dongmin squinted before finally grabbing for his glasses to read the time better.
Four thirty-three.
He sighed and took his glasses off again, setting them aside on his messy, crowded table. He ran a hand across his face and took a few seconds to retreat into the comfort and familiarity of the palm of his hand. He wished he could become a child again. He wished all the bad things of the world would vanish with the simple gesture of his mother’s embrace.
As a grown adult, however, he was expected and required to deal with life’s troubles on his own. He couldn’t run back to his mother now. He would be embarrassed to do soo. He would be humiliated. He hadn’t spoken to her since he received a missed call, a voicemail.
He played it now, on speaker, letting her soft voice rush over him, letting her disappointment fill him.
Dongmin , she started with, and then hesitated, as if waiting for him to pick up anyway. She soon realized she was on a cell phone, not a home phone, and Dongmin would not receive the message until she finished speaking. She continued, rushed, saying, I know you worked hard on that robot, but you need to let it go. It’s a robot. You can’t continue this unhealthy attachment. Her voice broke. She swallowed thickly, and Dongmin did, as well. You’ll get in trouble if you try to keep it. You’ll be kicked off the team if you don’t let it go. There was another pause. Then she begged, Call me back? I love you, Dongmin .
Dongmin closed out of his voicemail application before the program would begin to rifle through the four other messages his mother had left for him. He already felt ashamed of his actions and feelings; he didn’t wish for any more of a reason to be ashamed.
He pushed his phone aside and then looked over at a letter that had been sent to his team.
He hated that letter. He wanted to burn it, or else rip it into shreds, but it was only a copy. The original letter was stashed away somewhere on the computer systems of the government, and there was no way Dongmin could erase the letter from existence.
Even if he could, there was no way the government wouldn’t create a new letter with the same verbiage. The agreement was already in place. Dongmin could not stop it.
We are excited with the purchase of android R-03Y , it read. Dongmin scrunched up his nose distastefully and mouthed the next words. This marks the next stage into the development of military androids.
War machines, basically. Robots churned out for the sole purpose of navigating mind fields, withstanding enemy fire, sacrificing their metal bodies to save those of human blood.
By all accounts, Dongmin would be happy with such an accomplishment. If more people could survive awful wars, then surely the advancement of robotics was a good thing.
But then he turned in his seat.
R-03Y stood still, frozen in time, his system set to SAVE POWER . He looked asleep, peaceful and calm and not at all a war machine.
Dongmin stood from his seat and slowly walked over to his creation. It was he who had designed the android to be a helper, a companion. He had spent countless nights developing new coding, new breakthroughs in the field, in an effort to create the perfect personality for such a magnificent roboot. As a result, R-03Y was stoic, yet kind. He knew when to stay silent, yet he also laughed easily. He was talented and fluid in motion. He could detect sadness and pain, happiness and love. He was practically a human being, save for the organs inside his body, and Dongmin loved him and cared for him immensely. He didn’t want for this android to be hooked up with rockets and guns, to be forced out in the field, to be devoid of any thoughts but kill, kill, kill .
His colleagues told him to look at it a different way. He wouldn’t be a mindless killing machine, they assured him. He would be a loyal protector of the army.
Dongmin did not want for his creation to protect soldiers out on the battlefield. That wasn’t why he had studied and slaved away in this tiny laboratory. R-03Y was created not to fight, but to love and laugh and live .
Dongmin stared at the android. He ran a finger down the smooth, synthetic face. He had helped pick out the design for R-03Y. Youthful and sweet, he had demanded. Like one of those idols, he had ordered, unable to age and pretty and perfect .
R-03Y was more perfect than anyone else in existence. He had sharp, powerful eyes. His nose was cute. His cheekbones were high, yet soft. His lips were plump and pink, with a prominent Cupid’s bow. His jaw was strong, reminiscent of a man and yet still able to retain a childlike image. He had sandy-blonde hair that Dongmin liked to style often, but today it remained flat. It made him look innocent, and Dongmin’s heart thudded in his chest.
R-03Y was a head shorter than Dongmin, but he had large hands and Dongmin often liked to hold those hands. And now, too, he reached down and took one. R-03Y was warm to the touch, the product of robotics working inside his body. Dongmin had designed for him to be warm. He wanted R-03Y to be as similar to a human as possible.
He had been attached from the start. Even before they had designed a face, when R-03Y was nothing more than a creepy mismatch of metal pieces and wires, Dongmin had liked him very much. Even before they had designed a proper voice, too, when R-03Y was simply a monotone robotic voice, Dongmin cared for him.
He was the only one on his team who referred to R-03Y as a he , not an it. He was the only one, too, to have devised a human name for the android, though no one else was aware of it, save for himself and R-03Y.
He was reminded of the little bird he had rescued when he was a child. Don’t name it , his mother had warned him as he put it in a box and lined it with grass and pine needles. Because then you will release it and you will be sad that you got attached .
It was named Little Bird , and Dongmin was attached and it died. He had cried for days. He hadn’t wanted to part from his Little Bird .
And he didn’t want to part from his Minhyuk .
“R-03Y,” he spoke, loud and clear, making sure to pronounce the assortment of letters and numbers correctly. The android blinked open his eyes, though they were dark and lifeless. “Wake up.”
The eyes changed. Color flooded into them, bright and blue. He moved, too, lifting his head straighter and relaxing his body.
Minhyuk looked around. He caught sight of Dongmin, and a smile came onto his face. The synthetic skin created dimples around the cheeks, something that Dongmin had demanded to be designed, but otherwise hardly any wrinkles appeared.
“Good morning, Dongmin,” the android said. “It’s early.”
“It is,” Dongmin responded. He felt sadness wash him over as he stared at that brilliant smile. In a few days, Minhyuk would no longer smile. In a few days, they would shut him down and begin devising new designs, outfitting him to become a state-of-the-art war machine.
Dongmin would lose his Minhyuk.
“We should run away,” Dongmin suddenly declared. He watched Minhyuk’s smile morph into an expression of shock. Dongmin squeezed Minhyuk’s hand and asked, “Would you like to run away with me?”
Minhyuk glanced around, as if trying to detect other scientists nearby. There was no one else. “I am not supposed to run away,” Minhyuk informed Dongmin. “I am to stay here at all times, unless given orders to do otherwise.”
Dongmin hated giving Minhyuk orders. He didn’t want to become some sort of overseer, a master to his own creation. He wanted to be on equal level with Minhyuk. He wanted to be close and friendly. So he shook his head and whispered, “I will not order you, but I want you to come run away with me.”
“Why?” Minhyuk looked suspicious. He had such human-like emotions, and Dongmin could have sobbed, knowing that the updates would destroy those emotions Dongmin had worked so hard on.
“Because I...I like you the way you are now,” Dongmin admitted. He brought his free hand up to cup Minhyuk’s cheek. He felt like a real person, too. Dongmin knew the changes they would make would ruin his skin, as well, as they took it off to replace it with something hardier, sturdier, less soft and vulnerable.
Minhyuk smiled again. “I like you, too, Dongmin.”
Dongmin’s heart thumped loudly. His stomach lurched. He whispered, “They’re going to make you different. You will no longer know me, and you will become...someone else. You will be made for a different purpose, and...I can’t allow that to happen.”
Minhyuk’s eyes widened. “I...will not know you?”
“No. They’ll wipe your memory. They’ll take you away.”
Perhaps the emotions Dongmin had implemented into his creation were fake. Perhaps they were nothing but coding that would read tone of voice from others, emotions written on faces, and knowledge of what was being said. Perhaps Minhyuk’s emotions weren’t real , only reactions to the atmosphere around him, but in that moment, Minhyuk seemed like an actual person. Dongmin could detect fear on his face, worry growing in his gaze, and he gripped Minhyuk tighter.
Minhyuk was basically a human. Dongmin couldn’t let him go.
“I do not want to leave your side,” Minhyuk replied.
It was settled then. Dongmin refused to release Minhyuk to the whims of the government’s requests.
“You won’t,” he promised. “I’m going to take you away. I’ll take you far away. You’ll be safe and it will just be us forever.”
Minhyuk cocked his head and whispered, “Promise?”
To Minhyuk, promises were binding. Dongmin would never lie, because Minhyuk took each promise as truth and fact.
He leaned forward and planted a kiss onto Minhyuk’s forehead. It was the first times his lips made contact with the android. He hoped it would not be the last.
“Promise,” he murmured.”