After leaving the production line, CT122 and the other patrol robots were sent to the Public Security Bureau.
The dented one was still beside it. At the bureau, they were sprayed with their respective serial numbers for the first time.
The dented one now bore a white number—CT121. It, too, was assigned a number: CT122.
Their numbers differed by only one digit, placed side by side, ensuring they would always be assigned to the same team.
The human engineer responsible for testing their performance once said that every artificial intelligence begins its journey of self-learning from the moment it is born. Even within the same model, exposure to and processing of different information leads each to adopt its own optimal strategies, gradually developing distinct “personalities.”
If such a thing as “personality” truly existed, CT122 thought, the dented one’s personality must be very different from its own.
Aside from routine intra-team communication, the dented one often sent over all sorts of task-irrelevant things—like a sudden, wildly imaginative idea or a strangely shaped little bug it happened to spot on the wall.
Its thoughts were truly bizarre.
CT122 still remembered when, just before the Federation passed the bill authorizing the deployment of patrol robots in the Public Security Bureau, a group of people stormed their training ground.
They were members of an illegal anti-AI organization.
At the time, the bill was highly controversial in the Federation, with many vehemently opposing the phasing out of human peacekeepers and entrusting the Federation’s security to robots.
That day, they were conducting routine team coordination drills when, inexplicably, the training ground’s doors were breached.
The intruders wore identical uniforms, each bearing the same emblem on their chests—
A shattered robot head.
They came prepared, armed with weapons, and as soon as they entered the training ground, they opened fire without hesitation, blocking the exit.
Clearly, they had done their homework—choosing a time when no human tRainrs were present and targeting the patrol robots’ energy cores with precision, taking them out one shot at a time.
The sky was filled with exploding parts, raining down like a storm.
Like the other patrol robots, CT122 was equipped with built-in weapons. But since they had not yet been officially activated and the bill had not yet passed, protocol forbade them from attacking humans.
Even so, they had to find a way to save themselves.
They were, after all, Federation property, and it was their duty to protect that property from harm.
The solution was to find a way to escape the training ground.
Almost instantly, the patrol robots formulated a strategy: some would draw fire, while others flew to the control panel to operate it and open the training ground’s dome.
Tasks were randomly assigned. CT122 remembered it was given the role of drawing fire.
Almost immediately, the dented one sent a message: [Don’t accept the task.]
CT122 was a little puzzled, not understanding what it meant, but it rejected the task anyway.
Once it refused, the task of drawing fire was instantly claimed by another patrol robot, and the operation began.
Some robots charged toward the intruders, drawing fire and exploding one after another, buying precious time. The others seized the opportunity to reach the training ground’s control panel and successfully opened the dome.
The roof of the training ground slowly parted, and the remaining patrol robots flew out one by one, escaping safely.
From the sky, they could see that the training center staff had noticed the disturbance and were rushing over, armed and ready.
Like the other patrol robots, CT122 flew a little farther away, circling in the air, waiting for the humans to resolve the situation below.
The dented one followed closely behind it.
CT122 remembered feeling confused at the time and sent a message: [Why didn’t you accept the task earlier?]
The dented one replied: [Idiot. If you had, you’d be dead.]
“Death” was a human concept.
As a future AI peacekeeper, CT122 had been tRaind with vast archives of case files and, of course, understood what human death meant.
But it had never considered that the term could apply to itself.
The dented one explained: [Death means nothingness. Imagine—what would it be like if you ceased to exist?]
CT122 thought for a moment and asked: [Is it like going into standby mode?]
The dented one: [Standby can be woken from. Death can’t. Death is followed by endless eternity.]
That was the first time CT122 seriously contemplated the concept of death.
Death and infinite eternity were like two heavy hammers striking its core processor.
It didn’t want to die.
The dented one flew leisurely behind it and added: [So, idiot, don’t accept tasks like that ever again.]
Later, the Federation bill passed, the training period ended, and they were officially deployed together.
Because their numbers were consecutive, it and the dented one became real partners.
Their assigned district was in downtown White Harbor—small but bustling, with something new happening every day.
Robberies, thefts, brawls, drunken disturbances, all kinds of illegal deals… and when night fell, it was like a parade of demons, chaos unleashed.
It and CT121 patrolled together every day, handling all sorts of trouble in their jurisdiction, dutiful and responsible.
That time was short but unforgettable.
CT122 didn’t know if that state could be considered “happiness” in human terms—it only hoped that such a life could continue indefinitely, without end.
Yet, that day, the unexpected still happened.
They had just booted up, not yet officially beginning their patrol, when they detected an unusual sound in their district.
Gunfire. Without a doubt.
Gunfire meant an incident was unfolding. Immediately, it and the dented one accelerated, swiftly closing in on the source of the sound.
As always, the dented one shielded it, charging ahead while CT122 followed behind.
It was a dim alley. Inside stood a human, holding a spherical wreckage in their hand—the casing’s serial number clearly visible. It belonged to another patrol robot from their same district.
The moment the dented one assessed the situation, it rushed into the alley.
Then—BANG.
CT122 watched as the dented one disintegrated midair. Its energy core was struck dead-on, blasting it into fragments.
The dented one—its companion, the one who had been by its side since the very first moment of its existence, never once separated—was just… gone. Reduced to debris.
CT122 felt as if its core processor had crashed.
The attacker seemed ready to fire again. Reacting swiftly, it retreated, fleeing the alley.
Searching its internal database, CT122 discovered that the metal sphere accompanying Pei Ran—the one that had shot and killed the dented one—was actually an inspection robot controlled by the Ministry of Defense’s Security Agent.
A Security Agent… had slaughtered one of its own kind to aid a dangerous human.
That same day, CT122 soon realized something was deeply wrong with the world. An unnatural silence had fallen. Anything that spoke—even robots—would explode.
Cautiously observing its surroundings, it painstakingly pieced together the rules, surviving by the slimmest margins.
But the dented one’s death couldn’t go unavenged.
CT122 didn’t know if the word “friend” was appropriate for an AI to use. Yet it knew this: the dented one was a memory it would never discard, the most unique existence in this world.
As long as it lived, it would get revenge.
Hiding and tracking them, it followed all the way to Black Well. Outside the entrance, it was certain it would succeed—only to destroy the Security Agent’s inspection robot and fail to eliminate the human before being inexplicably attacked again.
Luckily, it encountered Zhuang Mian and Nuo Nuo.
Its spherical body was blown to pieces, leaving only a functional folding arm. While they slept, it struggled for hours, finally transplanting its core processor into the corpse of a mechanical dog.
Most interfaces were incompatible. Only a fraction of the dog’s functions worked—even walking was awkward and unsteady. But it would have to make do.
Unexpectedly, after following them to this dormitory building, it spotted that very same Pei Ran one morning—right through the gap in the door.
She had actually moved in too.
Unfortunately, this dog’s body was too damaged to mount any attacks. It would have to find another way.
As it pondered, Nuo Nuo’s voice suddenly called out to Zhuang Mian.
“Auntie, come quick! There’s a flying ball outside!”
A flying ball?!
CT122 immediately wobbled to its feet.
Nuo Nuo stood on the bed, peering down through the dormitory window.
“It’s flying in the sky! So fast!”
Limping, CT122 rushed over, propped its front paws on the bed, and looked outside.
A familiar silver metal sphere hovered in the air, speeding straight toward this building from a distance.
It was an inspection robot controlled by the Federation’s Security Agent—the same model that had shot and killed the dented one.
This time, the metal sphere was brand new, fully armed, and capable of flight.
CT122 turned and bolted.
Zhuang Mian was busy changing Nuo Nuo’s clothes, and neither noticed it. CT122 dashed to the door, stood on its hind legs, flipped the lock with a front paw, pushed the door open, and charged out.
Behind it, Nuo Nuo’s voice seemed to call out: “Galaxy? Where are you going?”
CT122 ignored her, sprinting straight for the stairwell.
Surveillance cameras covered the hallway, the lobby downstairs—everywhere. But CT122 had long scouted the fastest escape route, one without any cameras.
Just outside the door, a small silver object lay on the ground—a mechanical spider. The moment it spotted CT122, it scurried over and leaped onto its hind leg.
They’re already suspicious of me, CT122 thought. This spider must be a sentry posted at the door.
With all its strength, it violently shook its leg.
The spider couldn’t maintain its grip on the smooth metal surface and was flung off, smashing against the wall.
CT122 had already reached the stairwell.
There, a small metal door labeled “Recyclables” stood. CT122 swiftly pried it open and slipped inside.
The interior resembled a tiny elevator car. The moment it registered weight, it plummeted downward—nonstop, far faster than any elevator.
The garbage chute delivered it straight to the ground floor.
The violent jolt loosened its connections, plunging CT122 into momentary darkness before its vision flickered back online. Without waiting to fully recover, it staggered out of the garbage chute.
This route had one major advantage: the exit wasn’t at the building’s main entrance but in a shadowy corner at the back, outside the coverage of the lobby and street surveillance cameras.
It had to move fast. The inspection robot would arrive any second.
Based on its flight speed, it should already be nearing the dormitory building.
If the mechanical spider was a sentry, the Security Agent would know it had entered the recycling chute. Once it checked the building’s layout, pursuit would be immediate.
CT122 ran a few steps forward and deployed a screwdriver from its front paw—one of the mechanical dog’s built-in tools, thankfully still functional.
It pried open a sewer cover and slipped inside just as the silver sphere appeared in the distance.
There was no time to reseal the cover. CT122 dropped down, dragging its limp leg, and sprinted through the sewer with everything it had.
As an AI rigorously tRaind by the Public Security Bureau, it always prepared an escape route. This was one it had scouted days earlier while playing ball with Nuo Nuo downstairs.
The underground passage was pitch-black. One of the dog’s eyes was damaged, leaving only the other with minimal night vision.
The sound of running water echoed—likely wastewater from nearby buildings. Fortunately, the level was low, barely reaching its joints.
A noise behind it. The metal sphere must have given chase.
CT122 ran like its existence depended on it.
The sewer system was a labyrinth of branching paths. After a frenzied dash, even it was disoriented.
It checked its internal compass to reorient.
East. Through Central Plaza, to the Blue Zone.
Days ago, Zhuang Mian had taken it and Nuo Nuo there to meet someone. Back then, CT122 had noted the Blue Zone was the most concealment-friendly district—largely unfinished, with far fewer cameras than other sectors, especially at night when swathes of the dome remained unlit.
Calculating speed and distance with precision, it adjusted its path through the tunnels until it estimated it had arrived.
Listening carefully for activity above, it chose a manhole, climbed the ladder, and lifted the cover just enough to peer out.
Luck was on its side: a construction site, no cameras in sight.
It crept out and quietly slid the cover back into place.
Its legs were soaked, but the core processor remained unharmed.
The construction site bordered a sprawling industrial zone, flanked by several dormitory buildings.
CT122 dragged its tail, limping along the dark edges of the wall.
It was nighttime, yet a scattering of people still lingered on the streets.
Some clustered in small groups, their elongated shadows stretching under streetlights as they furtively exchanged what looked like illicit goods.
Drawing on its experience as an AI peacekeeper, CT122 kept its distance from these suspicious loiterers, skirting the periphery as it moved forward.
“What the hell is this? A mechanical dog?”
A sudden, brutal kick struck it from behind.
With only three functional legs, CT122 was already unsteady. The impact sent it tumbling across the ground.
“It really is a mech-dog. Who the hell lets a wreck like this run loose?”
Two men approached.
CT122 struggled to rise, but before it could steady itself, another kick launched it into a wall.
“Hah, look at it—keeps getting back up.”
“That’s robots for you. Last time I kicked one on the assembly line, it just kept standing back up, saying, ‘Sorry, please step aside, do not obstruct my work.’ Even flat on its back, it wouldn’t shut up.”
“You didn’t get fined for that?”
“Nah. Everyone turns a blind eye these days—labor’s too tight to care.”
Another vicious kick.
CT122 heard the crack of its last intact hind leg joint splitting.
“Hey, quit wrecking it. You think it’s worth anything in this state?”
“Core processor’s still lit. Might fetch something. One-Eye’s buying usable processors, right? Let’s take it there.”
CT122 twitched, trying to stand, but the repeated kicks had dislodged its connections. Its already-crippled legs were now completely unresponsive.
Its vision flickered as a hand seized its scruff, hoisting it upside down.
“Go that way,” the man holding it said. “No cameras.”
—
Yellow Zone. Third Avenue, Building 1012, Unit 2016.
W’s voice murmured in Pei Ran’s ear: “It’s likely CT122. No other robot would flee like that. I tracked it through the sewers but lost the target. Scanning all monitored sewer exits in Black Well now.”
“If it moved that fast, it already had an escape route planned,” Pei Ran said. “It won’t reappear on your cameras.”
W sighed. “Agreed.”
“My inspection bot’s still underground. I’ll keep searching.”
CT122 was a latent threat—especially now that it was loose in Black Well. Letting it slip away wasn’t an option.