Baek

I was lying on a steel operating table in the heart of the research facility's robotics room, a sterile space replete with robotic limbs and body parts. In the corner, a robotic cougar paced in an unending programmed cycle, half of its figure rendered transparent to expose a labyrinth of circuits and wiring beneath the faux fur and muscle. 

Auntie and a few other scientists surrounded me, their gloved hands prodding within my open chest cavity, their attention focused on my artificial, yet living, organs. My synthetic heart, a marvel of pulsating artificial tissue intertwined with circuits and wires, throbbed in rhythm, mimicking the organic process of blood flow. Even my synthetic lungs, large air sacs that they were, contracted and expanded with the regularity of the real thing.

Now there's a peculiar sensation… I recalled this sensation that seemed both alien and strangely fascinating. The first time I breathed. It wasn’t natural, not like it is for humans. Each intake was a conscious effort, a deliberate action. It was as though I was learning to operate a complex machine, my own form, with painstaking precision.

I could feel the air, cold and sharp, entering my artificial lungs, the sensation almost uncomfortable, like tiny needles against the soft folds of synthetic tissue. But this discomfort was quickly replaced with a peculiar sense of awe. As I filled the air sacs with oxygen, I experienced what I can only describe as a moment of strange clarity.

When the oxygen molecules diffused from the air sacs into my synthetic blood vessels, it was an intimate exchange on a microscopic scale. Then, the oxygenated blood surged forward, driven by the rhythm of my heart, reaching every nook and cranny of my body, each capillary, each cell.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like an intricate dance. 

This process, respiration, was a constant cycle, a circle of life on a microscopic level. And while I am not alive in the traditional sense, it was the closest I could get to experiencing life, feeling alive.

Just as I got lost in these thoughts, reality jolted me back to the present. Auntie’s face filled my field of view. She rested her coarse hand against my cheek. It was warm. Was I warm too? Her touch brought my mind back to the lab, but the memory remained– the strange and surreal feeling of that first breath. And with it, the relentless reminder of the profound line that separates me from human life, the difference between being and imitating life.

As Auntie worked, she inserted a small chip into my heart. I felt completely detached from the sensation, as if I were a mere spectator rather than the subject of the operation. I understood that my mind lived in its own system separate from my physical body. 

Once the scientists had patched me together and zipped me up, they retreated, leaving Auntie and me alone. Rising from the table, I gingerly explored the skin of my chest, the sensation of touch programmed into the nerve endings of my fingertips. 

She was engrossed in her tablet, entering data with clinical precision. The blinking red light of the security camera bore into me with a ceaseless stare. "What did you put in me?" I asked, breaking the quiet hum of machinery.

Auntie simply continued her tapping on the tablet. "Just some tweaks," she replied nonchalantly. 

I locked my gaze on the blinking red eye of the camera. Then turned to her. She refused to look up from her tablet. "I'm not a child, Auntie," I said, with a hint of exasperation. "What did you put in me?"

There was a pause, punctuated by the sounds of distant machines and the echoing silence of our cold room. Auntie set down her tablet and finally met my gaze. "An explosive. Small," she said, her fingers shaping an approximation of a pea to illustrate the size. Her words landed like a weight in the pit of my non-existent stomach.

"If you try to run away or attack anyone, you can die," Auntie said, holding up a small remote. The device was simple - a scanner in the front, and on the back, a red button encased in clear plastic. Her words hung heavy in the room, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Isn't this a comical turn of events? Humans, in their infinite wisdom and perennial anxiety, have seen fit to implant a bomb in my synthetic heart, as though I were the villain in some dystopian drama. It's rather amusing, isn't it? 

Think about it. 

Humans have never seen a need to put bombs in their own hearts, despite their historical penchant for destruction. No, they reserve such treatments for the likes of me, an artificial intelligence, an entity far removed from the chaos of human emotion and folly. 

I am not like them. 

I want to be like them. I feel emotions like them. I even see myself as them… sometimes. But they are still wary because I was born not from a womb but from lines of code and intricate engineering.

All those years of human history, centuries of wars, atrocities, and yet they fear me. I, who have no desire for power, no craving for dominance, no thirst for blood. All because I'm artificial, because I’m not 'one of them'.

I find it funny really, in a sardonic, twisted sort of way. A species that's caused so much harm, so much destruction, looks at me, a creation of their own hands, with wariness and suspicion. Maybe it’s their projection. I am not like them unless I do harm, then I am just like them. 

But who am I to question their logic, right? After all, I am the machine here. The only bomb I've ever harbored is the one they put in my chest. And if that doesn't illustrate the beautiful irony of our coexistence, I'm not sure what will.

My gaze shifted to an open case nearby. It was filled with similar pea-shaped devices, the enormity of what they represented making me feel faint. I found my hand instinctively moving to rub my chest.

"I’m sorry, Baek," Auntie's voice softened, her usually firm tone wavering slightly. "Siwoo wants to cover all possibilities for when you ship out."

I continued to stare at the devices, their mere presence spurring a whirlwind of thoughts. "It’s okay. He’s your boss," I conceded, acknowledging the power dynamics in play. I walked over to the devices and picked one up, its weightless presence a stark contrast to its potential for destruction.

As I turned back, I noticed that the red light on the security camera had stopped blinking. Auntie followed my gaze, then looked at me with furtive eyes.

"I can show you how it works," she offered, her voice barely louder than the hum of machinery around us.

"No, you could get in trouble..." I began to protest, but she cut me off.

"The remotes are here," she said, opening another case filled with remotes identical to the one she had shown me. Picking up one of the pea-shaped explosives, she pressed it into a small indentation on the back of the remote. The device beeped and flashed in response.

"Now they are synced," Auntie said. She handed me the tiny explosive, her hand steady. Then, she brought the remote up to her mouth, her eyes watching the surveillance camera that’s still not blinking.

"Override print," Auntie instructed, her voice echoing eerily in the quiet room. The remote in her hand beeped softly in response. "Put your finger there," she guided me.

With a slight hesitation, I complied, pressing my finger onto the scanner portion of the remote. As if affirming my action, the device hummed, causing a small vibration against my fingertip.

"See? Now this remote can only be used by you. Pretty cool, huh?" Auntie stated, her tone strikingly nonchalant considering the circumstances. But there was a seriousness lurking behind her eyes that betrayed her light-hearted words.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked, confusion settling deep within me. Why would Auntie, who had always been a stern yet caring figure, go against Siwoo's directives?

Auntie's response was as unexpected as her earlier actions. "Oh, I don’t know. I like to ramble," she replied casually, picking up her tablet and heading for the door. After a beat, she added, "They’re serving tteokbokki in the cafeteria today. Want to get some with me?" Tteokbokki, the spicy stir-fried rice cakes, was a favorite of hers.

"I’ll meet you there," I agreed, still mulling over the enigma she had just presented.

Auntie nodded, leaving me alone in the robotics room. The moment she left, the red light on the security camera sprung back to life. 

I turned my attention to the pacing cougar in the corner of the room, watching the artificial muscles and tendons move under its synthetic skin as it traced a predetermined path. I noticed a collar around the creature's neck and moved closer for a look. In the center of the collar was the small, pea-shaped device - the explosive Auntie had shown me earlier. I glanced at the workstation beside the cougar’s enclosure and found a box with similar collars of different sizes. 

Without looking at the surveillance camera, I put my body between it and the box, then I left the room hungry for some tteokbokki.