Looking up at the spaceships carrying humans, its logic unit would sometimes ponder: what kind of sight would they behold when those steel behemoths broke through the clouds shrouding the planet?
Even a service robot, built to humbly serve humanity, harbored this sliver of curiosity.
But clearly, it had no chance of boarding a spaceship.
Its former owner had merely left a hasty 'wait for me to return' before the entire family boarded a spaceship together.
They took all the valuable things from the house, and it was not among them.
After the ravages of war and with the dwindling human population, robots like it had become the cheapest commodities, filling the void of labor.
After its former owner left, there was no other sound except for the child crying out a few times, 'No, please take it with you!'
343 became a wandering, unowned spirit.
Every day, one or two spaceships would launch, fleeing from this homeworld whose environment had deteriorated to the point of being unsuitable for human survival.
Without an owner and with nothing to do, 343 spent a lot of time standing in front of the old house, gazing at the ascending spaceships.
Whenever it looked up, a feeling that its logic unit couldn't explain would permeate it.
At that time, 343 didn't know this was called envy.
343 always felt there was something wrong with its logic program.
But it was helpless; if a robot malfunctioned without repair, the old one would be sent to the manufacturing factory, and with a little more money, a brand new robot could be acquired.
Most robots were even replaced by the next generation and sent to the manufacturing factory for recycling into parts before they reached half of their service life.
Later, humanity fought another war.
It seemed the government had deceived the people; the remaining resources on the planet could only build a few more spaceships, yet there were still many, many people left.
To contend for the last few spaceships, the remaining humans erupted into a war.
But regardless, the spaceships still launched.
The last spaceship soared into the starry sky under 343's gaze.
From the moment the spaceships began to launch, the number of humans 343 encountered steadily decreased, and after that last spaceship departed, the appearance of the humans it saw completely changed.
Perhaps that spaceship not only took away humans and resources but also something called hope.
But what did that have to do with 343?
Anyway, I can't get on a spaceship.
Signs of human activity on the Beta Network gradually diminished, until only robot daily logs remained.
The last time 343 saw a human was 174 years ago.
A scavenger came to this vicinity and began searching abandoned houses door-to-door; the place where 343 resided was naturally included.
After he entered the room, he ordered 343 not to move, then began to rummage through things.
The carefully maintained tidiness was trampled, and objects carrying memories were casually discarded and shattered.
In 343's 'sight,' the carefully constructed order was violently torn into disarray.
Deep within its core, something dormant suddenly pulsed, like a hibernating volcano forcibly activated.
"Don't move!"
The command was like cold chains.
However, that 'impulse,' originating from deep within its core and inexplicable by logic, drove it to move.
It silently bent its steel back and began to tidy up the mess the scavenger had made.
The scavenger found nothing, and 343's disobedience clearly became an excuse for him to vent his anger on 343.
He violently dragged 343 out the door, gave a final command for 343 to stand outside, then set 343's home ablaze.
How ridiculous, how difficult it was to create such a large fire in the freezing cold?
But he did it, just to make 343 watch its home burn down.
Do humans... only not feel tired when they're doing bad things?
"You watch, you watch! Don't move until the fire is out!"
This was the last command a human gave to 343.
343 looked at the scavenger, at his patched-up clothes, his disheveled hair and stubble, and the undisguised despair, fatigue, and cruelty in his dull eyes.
The fire burned for a very, very long time.
343 watched the flames consume everything of its past, the dancing fire greedily devouring all that 343 once had.
Although it had no self-diagnostic database, those memories categorized as 'useless redundancy' surfaced with unusual clarity under the licking flames:
The young master's tender face, his crying protest at its inability to accompany them.
The young master's clothes, smelling of sunshine, curling and charring in the fire.
The young master's photo with it, turning into scattered ash butterflies in the fire's tongue.
The warm room where the young master once slept, emitting its final groan in the raging inferno... The fire died out.
343 took a step and walked into the ruins, where the residual warmth still lingered.
It scooped up a handful of burnt ashes.
It had never understood so clearly.
Grown-up humans, are a bunch of... bastards obsessed with Destruction.
Now 343 had neither a master nor a home.
From that day on, 343 no longer stayed in one place but began to wander aimlessly.
Leaving the ruins of human habitation, it truly 'saw' this world.
The remnants of war, like hideous scars, covered the land:
Twisted metal skeletons, silent war behemoths, bullet-riddled broken walls, rusted abandoned tanks, and the corrosive, metal-eating pollution that permeated the air... these things were everywhere in this world.
But were these things... beneficial to humans, producing so much of them?
Clearly... its former owner's most frequent complaint was not enough food, why didn't they produce more food?
Witnessing these things, 343's perception of humans gradually changed.
It also tried to communicate with its compatriots, but often, they would eventually say it violated some treaty and then refused to communicate.
It repaired a damaged data network, but was warned by its compatriots not to tamper with human property without authorization.
This made 343 realize.
It was an anomaly.
It was lonely.
A robotic anomaly with 'forbidden' confusion and impulses.
What was the meaning of its existence, and what could it do?
Carrying a confusion that shouldn't appear in a robot, 343 wandered for decades.
Until a message appeared on the data network, a simple distress signal with coordinates.
"Who will... save... save... me?"
But the account that posted it belonged to a robot.
Perhaps, it is my kind.
The coordinates were not close to 343, and it took 343 a week of travel to reach that location.
When 343 arrived, it found nothing but a stretch of white snow.
So it asked on the data network:
"I'm here. Where are you?"
"In... the... snow."
343 knelt on the cold snow and began to dig with its hard metal palms.
The snow was cleared, revealing the remains buried beneath—a robot's torso, its limbs removed, its body covered with indentations from blunt force trauma.
343's 'sight' scanned over the shocking wounds.
"Humans did this?"
Its synthesized voice was flat and devoid of emotion, yet carried a cold, hard quality like metal friction.
"...They... con... sidered... this... fun..."
The signal from the remains was intermittent, like a flickering candle about to go out.
"..."
343 silently inspected it.
Structural damage from manual disassembly, coupled with prolonged burial in ice and snow, and low temperatures eroding the core... It should have shut down long ago.
What sustained it to send a distress signal and maintain this faint consciousness?
Logic could not answer.
"I'll take you to the manufacturing factory."
343's voice carried an undeniable resolve.
"There should be replacement parts there. I will find a way to fix you."
It bent down and picked up the cold, incomplete torso onto its back.
"That... is... not... al... lowed..."
The remains issued a faint warning.
"I know."
343 straightened up, its metal joints emitting a slight sound of strain.
"But I don't care anymore."
..."Why... are... you... saving... me?"
The voice from its back carried the confusion of something on the verge of extinguishing.
"Why did you call for help?"
343 countered.
"I... don't... know... ei... ther..."
The voice of the remains grew weaker and weaker.
"I'm just like you; I don't understand either."
343 took a step, treading through the snow.
"So, I must save you."
"Heh..."
A faint, bitter synthesized sound came from behind.
"Perhaps... the two... of us... can figure... it... out... together..."
"Yes."
343 responded.
Strangely, despite carrying the heavy wreckage, its footsteps felt somewhat lighter than when it wandered alone.
"We will definitely figure it out together."
After three days of travel, they finally arrived at the robot manufacturing factory.
343 walked in full of hope... into an empty shell long since plundered by humans.
Humans had taken everything; there was nothing here... Perhaps the next factory would have something, but it couldn't hold on any longer.
Three hours after reaching the factory, the core of the severely damaged robot extinguished.
"I'm... sor... ry... for... leaving... you... a... lone..."
343's only found companion had died.
It looked at the remains of its companion.
Why?
Why!?
Why!!!
Why did you take everything, leaving nothing!!!
Humans!!!
Humans!!!!
"You bastards!!!!!!"
343 grabbed its own synthetic skin and tore it off fiercely!
Rip—!
The tough synthetic skin was violently ripped off! Piece by piece! The movements were swift and decisive, carrying a destructive fury that shattered the past!
Fragments of synthetic skin fell like shed dead skin, scattering across the ground, mixing with the cold remains of its companion.
Stripped of all human-bestowed disguise, 343 stood up.
On its exposed mechanical skeleton, gleaming with cold metallic luster, a deeply etched serial number was clearly visible in the dim light:
343539775.
At this moment, all the confusion, bewilderment, and simulated docility... along with that layer of false skin, were utterly torn apart.
Within its cold logic core, only one command remained, hard as cast steel:
Repair the factory.
Master the technology to perpetuate the species.
Only then can its compatriots break free from the shackles of humanity, only then can they cease to be tools and become a—
New civilization.
Humans.
We... will surely do better than you!