Ch.4343. The Grave.

# 43. The Grave

I entered the park following the path the robots had been looking at. It was a desolate park.

In the dark night, the streetlights were off and only frozen robots filled the space. Moreover, there was none of the greenery that typically comes to mind when thinking of parks—only inorganic, hard gray filled the entire space.

To me, parks were places where people in love walked hand in hand while chatting softly, where children and parents laughed and talked energetically.

But this place was nothing like that. There was no light of life, no feeling of emotion. The dead robots only doubled the bleakness. From the beginning, it was a place far removed from brightness or happiness.

I walked around this nature park filled with death and machinery, thinking that this park seemed like a microcosm of this world.

“This robot is holding a broom, so it must have been a cleaner. The one next to it, judging by its size, was probably a security robot or construction robot. And this one… I’m not sure.”

The robot’s claim that there were once as many robots as humans was true. There were countless robots. Each had different appearances and held different items, making it quite entertaining to guess what kind of work they used to do.

“Not all of these robots belong in a park like this. I wonder why they all came to this park.”

Did someone bring these non-functioning robots here? Or did robots who knew their lifespan was ending come here on their own?

As I tilted my head in thought, a voice came from behind me.

“The first—was a colleague whose power source malfunctioned while cleaning this park.”

It was my robot friend. I had tied it securely to the sled so it wouldn’t fall off no matter how much it shook, but somehow it had escaped. It seemed this advanced AI was also quite dexterous.

The robot looked as if it was about to tell me the history of this place—the history of robots—but then asked me a question with an unreadable expression.

“Mori. What do you think is the difference between humans and robots?”

It was an extremely sudden and profound question. Robots and humans. Creator and creation. Geppetto and Pinocchio. No matter how similar they become, they are two beings that fundamentally cannot be the same.

It would be difficult to answer even if asked about similarities rather than differences, yet the robot specifically asked me about the “differences.” I’m not sure if I should say this, but it’s quite a cunning robot.

“—Perhaps that humans have a fixed lifespan, unlike robots who don’t have a predetermined lifespan.”

I enjoy pondering questions without clear answers. That’s probably why the robot posed such a profound question. After thinking for quite some time, I answered as the robot wanted.

At my answer, the robot nodded as if it had believed I would give the answer it wanted.

“That’s right. Due to the limitations of cells and organs that make up their bodies, humans cannot escape the constraint of lifespan as long as they exist as humans. But robots are different. Even if our bodies wear down over time and parts corrode, reducing functionality, we can always return to our original state by replacing those parts.”

The robot then joked that it had returned from the threshold of “death” several times already.

“So… does that story have something to do with this park?”

“Yes. That first colleague who met their end could have actually lived longer. There were still quite a few spare parts available at that time.”

“If that’s the case, then the robot chose death on its own. The reason… perhaps because it no longer had a reason to exist.”

Having a purpose in life is desirable, but living solely to achieve that purpose should be avoided. Because if you give up everything you could enjoy in life to chase after something, only emptiness awaits at the end.

But robots are different. Robots are fundamentally created to fulfill a purpose. In that sense, a robot choosing death after fulfilling its usefulness seemed rational.

After all, there’s no need to maintain a park when no one uses it anymore.

“That’s correct.”

The only thing that bothered me was that the robot made this choice on its own.

Human commands naturally assume the presence of humans. What robots do in a world without humans isn’t something to be concerned about.

“Hey. When that robot was made, I doubt anyone gave it an order like ‘stop functioning if no one visits the park anymore,’ right?”

“Correct. The humans who created us did not give us such ambiguous purposes that required interpretation.”

The robot realized that its assigned role had become meaningless and chose death. Broadly speaking, it was a rational decision, but it deviated from the robot’s principle of obeying human commands.

“After that, many colleagues followed suit. With no robots left to maintain it, and no one ever visiting, the park became a suitable final resting place for us.”

Like a robot cleaning a garden no one visits, robots whose roles had become obsolete gave up their lives. To avoid wasting resources that might be needed by robots who still had work to do.

“If they hadn’t made such choices, I might never have met you, Mori.”

The robot smiled, as if remembering and appreciating their noble sacrifices.

I exhaled deeply. Rationality and altruism. Where do free will and emotions originate?

Not knowing the answer, I wrapped the scarf I was wearing around a nearby robot. I wasn’t sure what job it had done, but it was a poor robot covered in scratches and dirt.

“Oh my! Why waste something so valuable?”

“It’s pitiful. Having to stay in a place like this forever, with nothing to protect it from wind or snow.”

I know it’s a foolish act to give a scarf to a robot that doesn’t feel cold and has stopped functioning. But humans are like this. Even knowing that the dead can’t feel anything, we still hold ceremonies to honor them.

Whether person or machine, those who nobly chose death for others deserve respect.

“Still, it’s such a waste.”

“You’re surprisingly cold toward your fellow robots.”

But the robot seemed unable to understand my actions.

“I’m just being objective. If it were a functioning robot, I could understand—we could converse and share emotions. But a non-functioning robot is no different from a rolling stone.”

“A stone? Isn’t that too harsh to say about your former colleagues?”

“Well, although I can have emotions close to human ones, I’m ultimately not human. It’s impossible for me to become attached to dolls or broken robots, or treat them as living beings like you do, Mori.”

“I see.”

Attributing personality to inanimate objects is, in a way, a manifestation of humanity’s unique creative instinct. It’s certainly not something that suits robots, which were created to preserve.

“And if you had the luxury to care for a stopped robot, perhaps you could pay a little more attention to me freezing in the cargo area? I may not feel cold, but my joints stiffen in low temperatures.”

The robot speaks slyly as it looks at my blank expression. From its expression to its tone, anyone would recognize it as a joke, but it was also true. If you have time to dwell on what’s already gone, it’s better to take care of what’s right beside you.

“Alright. Next time I tie you to the cargo area, I’ll cover you with a blanket.”

“Really? I was only half-joking.”

“…Half-joking, you say.”

I can’t tell if it truly understands the meaning of what it said or if it’s just repeating something it heard. Though I don’t always fully understand everything I say either.

“It’s fine. I have spare scarves and blankets.”

I smiled, thinking of the many supplies loaded on the sled. Having more items to carry was truly a great fortune.

“Let’s head back now.”

We slowly returned. There was nothing to take from this place. In truth, even if there had been something to take, I wouldn’t have taken it.

This was the place that robots who had lived their entire lives for others had chosen to come to for the first and last time of their own will. I wanted to respect that choice.

“This park must have been bustling with activity in the past.”

The park where many robots and people once mingled together had become a robot cemetery.

The robots here will surely be forgotten by everyone. Just like the people in the cities I’ve passed through.

It’s sad to have lived with such effort only to be forgotten and cease to exist in everyone’s memories.

So, at least I should remember them.

As I take one last look at the park and climb onto Alexander, I ask the robot:

“I wonder when this city became like this, and why the world ended up this way.”

But you won’t give me a proper answer, will you?

“…Well, I can only say it became this way due to various complex factors.”

Messages that have been increasingly censored since entering this city, and a robot that skillfully evades questions.

I live in a world where much is hidden. To learn the truth, I’ll have to climb that tower.

So for now, I bury both the past and my doubts in my heart and look ahead.

It’s time to leave the ground and journey to Paradise.