Apocalyptic Island - Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The noodles didn’t taste very good; as someone who neither did housework nor cooked, she had forgotten to add salt.

Bai Mi ate quietly, her body seemingly having regained some strength, as she was no longer shaking.

Wen Yishu ate with gusto. Perhaps it was because she had been hungry for so long, she didn’t have high demands for the food. While eating, she downloaded the data from her device and the real-time updated maps of the city.

She had lost trust in these high-tech electronic products; old-fashioned technology felt more reliable. In truth, there wasn’t much difference in use, it was simply a matter of battery life and portability.

The clamor outside died down completely in the latter half of the night, leaving only some cluttered echoes in the apartment.

Wen Yishu took the bowls into the kitchen to clean up and organized the various items. When she returned, she saw that Bai Mi had already showered and was sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket.

Wen Yishu nestled into the sofa as well, adjusting herself into a comfortable position to begin the upcoming conversation: “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know where to start.” Bai Mi gazed at her calmly.

They had only turned on a single floor lamp with a feather shade next to the sofa. The warm yellow light enveloped them, making it feel like an ordinary late-night chat. However, beneath the tranquil surface, a surge was brewing, growing thicker with the rising steam from the tea.

Wen Yishu’s mind was exceptionally clear at this moment. Her earlier anger had dissipated, and she recalled the various details from the very beginning.

“How about I ask and you answer? Would that be easier?”

Bai Mi nodded, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the rim of her teacup.

“Are heterogenic plants aggressive toward you?”

“Actually, not really.” She looked down at her teacup, the water’s surface reflecting her slightly furrowed brows.

“What do you mean by ‘not really’?”

A faint smile touched Bai Mi’s lips: “It’s exactly what you saw. When I don’t pose a threat to them, they generally won’t take the initiative to attack me.”

Wen Yishu narrowed her eyes. This was the anomaly she had sensed back when the aloe first attacked her.

“So, what exactly are you?”

A complex light flashed in Bai Mi’s eyes, like a vortex where secret anticipation and fear intertwined.

“Can you promise never to reveal my secret to others? Though this secret might be known by more than just you.”

Wen Yishu’s heart raced. She felt she was only one step away from the unknown truth. However, she didn’t rush to know the answer she had sought for so long; instead, she asked:

“Wait a moment. Do you have any detector that can check if there are listening or monitoring devices in this room?”

Bai Mi shook her head, a hint of trust appearing in her eyes: “No, but I know there is nothing here. This apartment is clean.”

Wen Yishu breathed a sigh of relief, though her heart immediately hung in suspense again: “Why are you so sure?”

“Because I asked the Artificial Intelligence. Aix’s detection won’t be wrong. Now, can you give me your promise?”

Wen Yishu looked at Bai Mi with a complex expression: “Of course. But aren’t you afraid I’ll go back on my word?”

Bai Mi shook her head gently: “You won’t. If you did…” She looked up at Wen Yishu, “I would just consider it a lesson taught to me by this sinister human society. I can only trust you now, can’t I?”

Wen Yishu’s heart pounded wildly; the red dot on her optical brain flashed, indicating an abnormal heart rate.

Bai Mi reached out her hand, her expression as icy as ever: “Let’s get reacquainted. I am Bai Mi, a third-generation Android from Rhine Genetic Engineering, serial number 128. I began serving as the leader of the Third Genetic Research Team at Rhine six months ago.”

Wen Yishu shook that warm hand, still finding it hard to believe. She had almost convinced herself—brainwashed herself into believing—that Bai Mi was not an android.

This was a bolt from the blue. Wen Yishu suddenly realized that a step forward now led to unknown territory, while a step back meant the truth would remain hidden forever.

She took a deep breath and asked: “But doesn’t the Federal Covenant state that androids cannot lie or harm humans? And you are no different from a normal person. Why… why would…”

Her words were nearly stuck in her throat. Their positions seemed to have swapped in an instant; the one finding it hard to speak had become Wen Yishu.

“I was born in a capsule pod in the laboratory,” Bai Mi narrated calmly, as if telling someone else’s story. “Before I was eighteen, my world was only two square meters.”

“All androids have innate emotional deficits. We imitate humans, but we are like actors wearing masks. I recall that among humans, this seems to be a disease called Asperger’s Syndrome.”

She described the cruelty of the laboratory. Most androids could only barely be implanted with one emotion. If such an android failed to produce a second emotion after a period of observation, they would be classified as a failure. These failures became tools for drug testing; once their bodies could no longer endure it, they would die silently, and their corpses would be dragged away for “harmless disposal.”

The Director didn’t demand much of them—or rather, she didn’t care about these “people” at all. Bai Mi watched the old ones leave and the new ones arrive, seeing the joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness on their faces.

Bai Mi was one of the faster learners. She was very smart and had a strong ability to imitate. She knew all types of emotions like the back of her hand and could even apply them creatively; she appeared no different from a normal person.

Huan Xin once believed this was a gift from heaven.

But Bai Mi lacked the greatest emotion: she couldn’t cry. She had no sadness. Even if she felt pain, she wouldn’t cry. Her brain restricted her emotions like a sealed box; paint could change her exterior, but she could never generate her own emotions from within.

Bai Mi was labeled a defective product and locked in a capsule. Huan Xin was unwilling to give up. When Bai Mi woke up again, her identity had completely transformed; she became a researcher for Rhine Life.

“I assume you know who Dr. Huan Xin is.”

Wen Yishu’s whole body jolted. That was the Chairperson with the highest authority in the Genetic Research Institute, a top executive of Rhine, and the Vice Dean of the headquarters.

For such a high-ranking person to be the leader of these experiments… Wen Yishu felt truly disgusted by her old employer, Rhine. “Top of the industry,” “model for the new era,” “Light of the Federation”—it was all utter bullshit.

What good could come from a company running such experiments? Calling them a “gilded exterior over rot” was a compliment. Wen Yishu clenched her palms so tightly her nails nearly sank into her flesh. She truly felt it wasn’t worth the time she had wasted there. Most importantly, she was still dead poor, hadn’t made much money, and had been framed by her former company.

Watching her angry expression, Bai Mi continued: “Dr. Huan Xin gave me a new identity; she wanted me to become her blade.”

Her fingertips rubbed the rim of the cup, feeling the temperature of the water: “But I am not an android carrying a chip. I have my own thoughts. I can lie…” she looked directly at Wen Yishu, “and I can kill.”

The air froze for a few seconds. Bai Mi looked at Wen Yishu searchingly: “I hope you won’t be afraid of me because of this.”

Wen Yishu didn’t show any strange expression; instead, a trace of relief appeared on her face: “What I was angry about was the deception, not your identity.” She squeezed that hand. “Now, we are true companions.”

She didn’t feel any loathing toward Bai Mi. Instead, for some reason, she felt happy. Bai Mi had told her her secret; perhaps she finally had a partner she could trust with her whole heart.

Bai Mi curled up on the sofa like a child seeking shelter: “I also believe I didn’t choose the wrong person. I will provide you with all useful assistance. Likewise, you need to help me hide my identity. I want to escape Rhine’s control. What Huan Xin wants is a puppet, but I… am already different.”

After she was “born,” once she learned human emotions, she could no longer be as pure as she was at the start. Lying back in the capsule pod every day according to schedule made her feel bored. She craved the world outside and novel experiences; she was already completely different from those in the laboratory. She was merely wearing a mask, using her innate acting skills to mold herself into an emotionless android who only knew how to imitate.

“You know what this means.” Wen Yishu’s voice was tight.

“Of course.” Bai Mi chuckled.

Wen Yishu looked at the person before her. All the previous oddities were now explained. She couldn’t help but ask: “Why was the String of Pearls in your room taken outside before that?”

The window in her room could no longer be opened. The crushed String of Pearls outside the window must have been put out in advance.

Bai Mi’s gaze shifted to Wen Yishu’s pocket. The String of Pearls inside was comfortably stretching its vines. Its soft tip hooked onto Wen Yishu’s hand, but because Wen Yishu was listening so intently, she hadn’t noticed its movement at all.

Bai Mi propped up her chin, curled herself into a ball, and said: “That plant seemed to have discovered me, so I threw it out first.”

The String of Pearls attached to Wen Yishu’s hand twitched its leaves imperceptibly, as if in silent protest.

Wen Yishu nodded in agreement, because she had done the same thing. Her String of Pearls had also mutated, it just hadn’t been crushed to death by the tree. Who would have thought she would awaken a transcendent ability related to plants? If she had known, she wouldn’t have thrown the plant down.

Sensing the restraint and itching on her hand, Wen Yishu soothingly stroked the round little leaves of the String of Pearls.

“Then, back on the second basement floor, why did we get separated? Didn’t Aix send you an alarm?” She remembered her own helmet ringing non-stop.

Bai Mi shook her head: “According to my analysis, to heterogenic organisms, I am like dead meat. It’s like when you eat chocolate—I am cocoa butter substitute, and you are pure cocoa butter. Although cocoa butter substitute is edible, it’s never as smooth as the pure version.”

The corner of Wen Yishu’s mouth twitched. Thank heavens, that was a very apt metaphor.

She let out a yawn and looked down at the ticking seconds on her optical brain. It was already 2:00 AM. Wen Yishu finally felt the drowsiness hit her.

Wen Yishu was still a bit unaccustomed to calling her by her name. She asked: “Team Leader, if I call you that from now on, you won’t be angry, will you?”

Bai Mi leaned against the sofa, supporting her head with her hand. She looked up slightly, also appearing quite tired: “It’s fine. I actually quite like this title.”

Her voice gradually faded as she wrapped her blanket tighter. It dawned on Wen Yishu that the person before her was truly indistinguishable from a real human—she had flesh and blood, emotions, and desires.

Are androids truly just products of technology? If those human rights activists were truly defending the rights of people like her, Wen Yishu wouldn’t be repulsed at all.

After all, there was no longer any difference between her and a real human. The sound of Bai Mi’s even breathing drifted over; she had fallen asleep quietly against the sofa.

Wen Yishu gently turned off the warm lamp by the sofa and carried her to the bed.

She hoped Bai Mi would like the blockbuster news when she woke up tomorrow.

“Goodnight.”

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