by Yoko Taro
A small flame smolders in the consciousness.
Checkup sequence initiated. Camera connection unavailable. Link with motor mechanisms … broken. Memory block defective. I made the inference that all my other functions aside from my consciousness had been destroyed.
Log confirmed —> A transmission record from the self-repair machines. A report that various tests are being performed on the chassis. Self-repair sounds sophisticated, but they are small antlike robots that simply execute tests haphazardly. It was because of these ants that I was fortunately (or unfortunately) rebooted. Test that in the right arm, test that in the left arm, test that in the head, test that in the lower body, test that in the torso, yet again, test that in the right arm … and like that, the crude robots surveyed the body to repair the fixable areas they find.
“Repa1r the v1sual mechan1sms.”
That was my order to the ants that were in disarray. Instead of the preset programming that let them roam in disorder, a coordinated effort to repair would be much more efficient. But the ants ignored the order. Apparently my command mechanism was still malfunctioning.
I sighed.
Oh well. There was all the time in the world.
I located my ID after searching through my deteriorated memory block.
P-33. It seemed that was my model number.
And next to it was a strange string of characters.
P-chan.
Was this an individualized ID?
I wasn’t really sure.
I decided to stare at the characters until my mechanisms were fully functional.
It took 1,032 hours, 12 minutes, and 34 seconds for my transmission I/O to recover so that I could communicate with the ants.
At last, with functioning arms and legs, I began the required self-repair sequence. According to the restoration procedures, I first had to repair my memory block. But most of my memory had been destroyed, and there was little I could salvage from my charred memory drives. I decided to reluctantly move onto the next procedure, which was camera repair.
48 minutes and 21 seconds later.
The first thing that popped into my recovered field of vision was an abyss.
I could see a faint light near the bottom. I realized that I was clinging onto the ceiling.
Another 21 seconds later.
Observing the ants moving about my body, there seemed to be some kind of gravity field keeping me and the ants fastened to the ceiling. After analyzing the situation more objectively, I realized that my body was not clinging to the ceiling but in fact my internal camera had been inverted and I was just lying on the ground.
Simply put, it seemed I was lying on my back. I needed to repair the gravity sensor as soon as possible.
540 hours later.
Recovery of links between arms and legs. They creaked as I got to my feet. The first thing to do was to find a replacement for the completely severed bundle of thick cords that acted as my spine. Determining that it was faster to find a spare than to gather materials and repair, I ordered the ants to find a spine from the P-33 series warehouse. But this was a mistake. Apparently a security code was necessary, which at some point had been stored in my memory block. Without it, I (as well as the ants under my command) were not recognized as a P-33 series, and were blocked out. In the end, we had to resort to hacking the warehouse’s computer and forcefully extracting the parts, which took 120 hours.
Exasperated, I stood up and looked around. Dust flew off of me. I wondered how long I had been nonfunctional.
A huge room with rubble scattered about. A rusty structure made of steel frame and plates that showered red particles.
How long had it been since my “previous self” came here? Glancing up, I saw a ray of light spilling in from nowhere in particular.
The moment I saw that light, a phrase resurfaced in my memory block.
“1 w1ll see the 0uts1de w0rld.”
That phrase was not an order.
It was simply some character string data.
But that phrase spurred my memory, my consciousness, and my chassis. It was a goal that I desired.
I remembered that “He” was the one that gave me the character data. But information about who “He” was had escaped my memory. I couldn’t conclude why I remembered that phrase either.
There were no other instructions in my stack. Seeing the outside world was my only current desire. Inspired by the phrase I energetically put my left foot forward. I was going to go outside. That was his wish and my desire. I put out my right foot with even greater vigor.
My too-powerful right foot punctured the rusted floor, which then quickly collapsed.
32 minutes later. My body, which had fallen a few hundred meters and slammed into the bottom of the abyss, lay in several pieces. I was laughing. Well, I was missing the vocalization unit, so in reality I wasn’t laughing, but my log was recording a flood of laughing activity.
It was okay. I was alive.
I ordered the ants to repair my arms and legs. They connected the arm, attached the claws, installed the rollers, connected another limb, then another limb … until my appearance completely changed into an arachnoid form.
The restoration sequence for P-33 only precisely restored the chassis to that of a P-33. But a P-33’s form was insufficient for escaping this abyss. That’s why I discarded the procedure that my creator had made and reconstructed my body my way.
Chassis reconstruction was completed. I dug into the cliff with each claw and slowly climbed up.
The destination was the outside world.
The beautiful world that “He” had yearned for.
Of course, at first everything did not go as planned. The brittle walls quickly crumbled, and I was thrown to the ground many times. Even when I was climbing well, falling debris from above knocked me off. The old structures were falling apart.
Even still I shot grapnels into the walls, pinned my torso against the wall, created platforms, and used several other tricks to ascend. I spent day after day pushing my body closer and closer to the outside world.
Since I felt my depth and speed of processing were inadequate, I stopped at a machinery room on the way and fused some stolen processing and memory circuits to my brain. I contemplated several plans of action and ran thought experiments. Some of the plans were better than others. I kept experimenting.
It took 52 days to finally get back to the table where I initially awakened.
On the center of the table were four unfamiliar black masses.
I didn’t remember them being there before I fell. That meant they were placed there for some reason or another after I fell.
The four masses mutated, and stood up.
They were robots.
P-33 models, designed for combat. They were a relatively bothersome model.
The eye of an enemy lit up, and before I knew it the robot was firing a particle ray. Four, five, six seconds, the beam’s particles disintegrated various objects in the surroundings.
I was enduring.
I was using two of my forelimbs, made of a hardened material, to shield myself from the attack.
I retrieved the recommended strategy from my predictive memory block. With my upgraded processing power, I was able to simultaneously consider various options. I accumulated data from my sensors, weighed the options, and decided on the best course of action. If the enemy’s energy tank was full this attack would last a maximum of 24 seconds. My forelimbs would be able to withstand that damage.
As my multiple processing circuits instantly settled complex dilemmas, the operation results resounded within me like a chorus.
“No complications found.”
“No complications found.”
“No complications found.”
“No complications found.”
“No complications found.”
As soon as the particle beam was exhausted, the three P-33 models in the rear launched missiles. I retaliated with a modified grapnel launcher, using it as a spear. The metal rods pierced each and every missile. During the resulting shock wave, I landed on the flat surface the enemies were on, immediately converted my right arm into a blade, and transitioned to combat mode.
There was no chance for a P-33 to beat me, an evolved form of a P-33. It was an easy battle.
I decided to use some spare nanoseconds to reflect about my enemies.
Why did they attack me?
Why were they not able to self-evolve?
Of course, they were most likely being ordered to attack me, and ordered to not evolve.
But then why were they only capable of executing orders?
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
It was simple to hack their operating systems and render them nonfunctional. But I couldn’t make myself do it. At that point, they would be nothing but tools.
An order is not a desire. A desire is a joy that is ultimately self-acquired.
My forelimbs, which were enduring the onslaught of the specialized attack models, started to fail. But I didn’t give up. I deployed the ants and called out to them.
Let’s live.
Let’s find a reason for our existence.
That was what “He” taught me.
I kept calling out.
“Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live.”
Steel masses, clashing against each other in a demolished Machine cave. The cries of Machines. The walls shook from the sounds of attacks and movements, the former sounding like wolf howls in the distance and the latter akin to the roar of lions.
Particle ray, close combat, electric shock, and then particle ray—the P-33s were attacking, but in a simple pattern. It was easy to overcome.
I just kept on screaming, as if I were praying.
34 seconds since the battle began.
One P-33 stopped moving.