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Sanha knew too much about war.
His family history was littered with soldiers and despair. That one died, that one is still missing in action, that one was captured.
They belonged now to holes in the ground, with little gravestones to remind him of their names. Died in battle. Died in battle. Died in battle .
The battles were pointless if it meant innocent lives were ended and families were torn apart.
His family was torn apart.
He remembered when his oldest brother went off to join the army. Two years was a minimum, but his brother wanted to stretch it out. “I want to serve,” he told Sanha on his last night home. They sat outside, blowing bubbles into the night sky, and his brother ruffled Sanha’s hair. “Just like our grandfather and his brothers. Just like our uncle. Right?”
Even at such a young age, Sanha could not understand the desire to become a soldier. Death awaited, and if not death, then training for death. There was no other career where people were taught they they might die.
In response, Sanha had blown more bubbles and blinked back his tears.
He was a pacifist, he told people as he grew older. He didn’t believe in wars, in fighting, in killing innocent men for stupid ideologies. In the end, it would just hurt people, and nothing would truly be solved.
He joined the National Intelligence Service to stop such wars from happening. Gathering intel on people the government considered enemies , he could deescalate situations before they ever became dire. He could save lives .
Dongmin was the same.
They had met in high school. Dongmin was older and protective. He had taken Sanha up under his wing. He had defended him against school bullies and harsh teachers. No one ever wanted to talk back to Dongmin, for he was pretty and smart and popular.
They bonded easily over their ideas of a utopia. No fighting, no pain, no torture. Everyone would get along. Things would be simple.
They walked their own paths of life; Dongmin worked in robotics, Sanha for the government. Each career, however, was chosen specifically to help people.
That’s why Dongmin was originally so excited for his android prototype.
“He still has a bit of tweaking to go through,” he told Sanha the first time they met at the lab where Dongmin worked, “but he’s already so intelligent and helpful!”
Dongmin turned on the lights to the room once they stepped inside. The android was the first thing Sanha saw.
He marvelled at how life-like it was. Though the skin was a bit too perfect, everything else looked incredibly realistic. It could easily pass for a human.
“Power on,” Dongmin commanded, and the android lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes.
He looked around the room before narrowing in onto Dongmin. A smile grew across his face.
“Good evening, Dongmin,” it greeted. “It is late. Why are you here?”
His voice was a little off. Sanha pointed it out. The android turned to him and said, “I apologize for not being up to your standards. Perhaps my voice will soon be fixed for you.”
Sanha blinked. The robot stared at him. “Whoa,” Sanha murmured. He glanced over at Dongmin and grinned in excitement. “It’s amazing!”
Dongmin hardly took credit for his work. He was humble and shy, and this was no different. With a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, “I’m still tweaking his personality. I want him to become something that will make decisions on his own, perhaps. Like, he’ll decide if he wants to sit down or stand up. I don’t want him to be something mindless that can be controlled.”
It made sense. Sanha nodded his head in understanding. “As close to a person as possible?” he questioned.
“Precisely.”
He wanted the androids to be for companionship, an idea that Sanha agreed with tremendously. However, the first buyer was the government.
And the government wanted something different.
So the second time Sanha met the android was a somber time. Dongmin gave him a can of beer and together they read through the legal document that had been signed, passing over ownership of R-03Y to the Republic of Korea.
“I made him,” Dongmin whispered, having consumed one too many beers. “I don’t want him taken from me.”
Sanha stared at his friend, wondering how to best offer his sympathies.
“I want to run away with him.”
The younger man cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”
“Arrest me, then. Turn me over to the authorities.”
Dongmin’s gaze was challenging. Sanha had to look away. “You know I won’t do that,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Dongmin sighed loudly. “I’m supposed to turn him into a...a war machine. He’ll be a mindless android, and he’ll become disposable.”
R-03Y stood in a corner, powered down. He had supposedly developed a personality of his own, as Dongmin wanted. He laughed occasionally, joked often, and talked constantly. In Dongmin’s eyes, R-03Y was a living, breathing human being.
Sanha could not see them as anything but robots. However, he knew Dongmin was attached.
“I think I’m in love with him,” Dongmin whispered.
Sanha hadn’t known he was that attached.
“You’re drunk,” Sanha replied. “You don’t love a...a machine.”
“He’s not a machine to me. He’s my closest companion.”
Sanha swallowed past the lump in his throat. “What about me?” he asked.
“It’s different, Sanha. I love Minhyuk differently.”
Minhyuk . Dongmin had named him so lovingly. It made Sanha ill to his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, away from Dongmin’s intrusive gaze, and he told his stupid heart to stop breaking.
“Even if...if you do love him, you shouldn’t,” Sanha snapped. “He’s an android. He’s not a real person.”
“He’s real.”
Sanha closed his eyes briefly. He hated R-03Y. He hated a stupid piece of equipment for somehow stealing Dongmin’s heart.
He shouldn’t hate this much. He and Dongmin were just friends. They had never been more than just friends.
Why, then, was he so mad?
“I want you to help me,” Dongmin said. “We’re friends. And I know it’s asking a lot of you, pulling strings like this in order to break the law, but I can’t watch Minhyuk become a...a machine . If he’s used for the military, used to kill people, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Sanha imagined his brother fighting alongside a machine. That machine could help his brother if war was imminent. The machine could take the hits for him. The machine could kill many on the other side.
The machine could kill many on either side.
If word got out that Korea had built their own war androids, other nations would soon follow suit. What if Japan decided to attack again with an army of robots? What about North Korea? What about China? Any nation in the world could start a war, and the war would be deadly and bloody.
And if the androids had, as Dongmin claimed, developed personalities, what if they decided who to kill? What if they rose up against humans?
It was dystopian to think about. It was scary to think about.
All of the blame, though, would fall upon poor Dongmin’s shoulders.
Dongmin, who simply wanted a better world for everyone.
He couldn’t throw Dongmin aside just because he was in love with a robot. He had to help.
“Alright,” Sanha muttered. “I’ll make sure they don’t touch your android.”
Sanha knew too much about war, and there was a war brewing inside his soul.