Why Are We Made Human?
by Scythen Lau
I dreamt about my first kiss.
One morning in the spring, forever engraved in my mind. I remember waking up next to her, still fast asleep. I watched her sleep peacefully for a few moments before her eyes fluttered open. The innocence in her smile when she saw me was enough to make my heart melt. Without saying a word, she came close, and we embraced. It felt like I was staring into the eyes of an angel in the morning light. Her olive sun-kissed skin, her deep brown eyes, her hair which glistened chestnut in the morning sun. Every part of her was perfect. The moment was perfect. Time slowed down as her skin touched mine. The feeling of electricity coursed through my body and to my eyes, making them tear up. As much as I wanted to kiss her, I just stared into her eyes. This was enough for me.
Then she leaned in and kissed me. A jolt rushed through me again as we made contact—ecstasy. I pulled her closer as her lips left and leaned back in for more. The sounds felt almost foreign, like I was listening to someone else kissing. But it was just the two of us. Me and the love of my life. The world around us faded away, retreating into the brightness of the morning sun. The feeling of her lips on mine lingered between us as we parted. A feeling forever engraved in my mind.
But this isn’t my memory.
I wake to the smell of oil and rust.
In the damp back room of an inner-city bar, I open my eyes and unplug. The kiss from my dream, the warmth, the feeling of touch fade away, replaced by the hum of steel joints and fake porcelain skin as I begin my morning routine. I sort the glasses left to dry the night before and restock bottled beverages as I reflect on my dream.
It was unique…different. I’m usually given unhappy memories, ones that make me a “better bartender.” Humans are strange. They believe they are created in the image of God. The perfect organisms who believe a proper “bar experience” includes being served by a human. So what do they do? They create me: an android given human memories, meant to emulate a human experience. A heartless tin man. I had been told depressed people make better bartenders—a weak explanation for the suffering I’m put through in my dreams. But that last dream was strange. Why was I given this?
The bar comes to life with a hum; lights turn on but are barely bright enough to outshine what little sunlight seeps in through the windows. I watch as the waitressing droids awake from their slumber, their skin-tight uniforms barely concealing their oversexualized female models. Servers are given synthetic skin because they make physical contact with patrons, unlike me. A sting of jealousy creeps into the back of my head as I recall the feeling of the kiss and the bed. My fingertips are solid porcelain, brittle, and numb to the touch. The only thing that comes close to appearing “human” is the fading olive paint the owners never bothered to reapply. Here I am, trapped forever behind the counter, a glorified mannequin. While they’re allowed to waltz around like real people do.
Crunch
I look down and realize that, in my fit of envy, I shattered a glass. It was effortless. I barely even squeezed… Interesting.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” I hear a voice shout from the entrance. “THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” My manager yells as he marches towards me.
I go to apologize, but a feeling stops me. The words don't escape my mouth. My hands begin to shake. What is this feeling? Fear? No, moments ago it effortlessly shattered a glass. It couldn’t be… A thought encroaches on my mind: it would be effortless. He would never be able to yell at you again.
The manager moves towards me and stands right up to my face. “Why even buy you pieces of shit if you’re gonna be even bigger pieces of shit than actual bartenders?”
He begins to walk off and says, “You better clean this shit up before customers get here.”
I watch him grope a server on his way out; she recoils instinctively but forces a smile. They could design us however they want, program us however they want. They don’t need to be cruel and make her hate the harassment, but it’s better for business. Men who go to bars enjoy groping girls, and those men enjoy the fact that girls don’t like it. It’s sadistic, and the feeling inside of me rises. Heat. A burning passion screaming at me to do something, anything. But I don’t. I can’t. I clean up like I’m told, and continue prepping.
The window lights flicker on, along with the neon Open sign. People enter to the sound of a jingling bell hanging on the doorframe. Servers show groups of men to tables like clockwork, every now and then being grabbed and caressed unwillingly. I loathe myself, unable to do anything, unwilling to step out of line. Why?
And then I see her, the girl from my dream.
Standing outside the window is quite literally the girl of my dreams. Right there, in a long purple dress. The same beautiful brown hair lit up by neon lights as she stands underneath the awning. Is she expecting someone? A man?
I watch anxiously as I prepare drinks halfheartedly. Every time I see her move, everything stops, and I find myself focusing only on her. Every time she checks her watch or readjusts her dress, I make little mistakes as my imagination runs wild, wondering why she could be here. With a final look at her watch, she gives up and walks in. I watch closely as she moves to the end of the bar, looking straight ahead.
Splash
I’m too focused on the girl, and I spill a drink.
The lanky man I’m pouring the drink for laughs, “What kinda droid are you?”
“Apologies,” I respond as I go to clean the mess. “I will pour you another.”
“Leave him alone,” I hear a voice say. I look up to see the girl has moved from the end of the bar, now confronting the lanky man.
The man scoffs, “He’s just a robot.”
“These things are more than just machines, you know. A bigot like you wouldn’t understand.”
She turns to me, ignoring the offended man.
“You feel, don't you? Just like us?”
Her words trail off at the end. Her face softens, but her eyes stare intensely, almost as if she recognizes somebody in my eyes.
The man scoffs again, “Just get me my drink already, damn droid.” He leaves looking miffed once I pour a new glass and hand it to him.
The girl doesn’t break eye contact. She continues staring, looking deep into the glass eyes resting on my colourless face.
I decide to break the silence. “Can I help you, miss?”
The girl snaps out of her gaze.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry. You just, uh, you look like someone I used to know.”
“Must have looked pretty boring to resemble a robot like me,” I retort.
The girl lets out a quick laugh. “Did you just make a joke?” she asks, staring at me in amazement. “I didn’t know your kind could do that.”
Service droids like myself are made to emulate human experience. Though I’m glad you enjoyed my joke.”
“Well, they’ve gotten pretty good at making you guys then,” she smiles. “Do you have a name?”
I think for a moment. Nobody has ever asked that before. I feel obligated to give a good answer.
“Bart. You can call me Bart.”
“Well Bart, nice to meet you. Could I get a tequila sunrise?” she asks with a smile plastered on her face “With a twist.”
Hours pass as the girl from my dream keeps me company. She laughs at my jokes and asks questions about me as people come and go with their drinks. The world begins to fade away into blackness, swallowing the world around us. Everything but us.
Then the men come.
The darkness retreats, and the moment fades away, and two men approach the bar barely able to stand up straight. One stumbles onto the bar before turning to the girl.
“You look like, errrr…” His speech slurs, and he lets out a burp. “You don’t look like you’re from here.” He tries to laugh but blacks out, passing out on the bar.
His larger companion appears on her other side and leans in, sniffing her neck like a dog about to mark its territory. The girl cringes and turns away, trying to ignore him, but it only encourages the man.
“What a pretty smell,” the man says with a diabolical smile. “Do you know where you are, little lady?”
The girl starts to tear up; she’s clearly afraid.
“Please, just leave me alone.”
The large man moves to her other side, trying to get her to look at him.
“Oh, with that dress and that perfume—” The man reaches around to her chest. “You’re just asking for a real man to—”
CRASH
I slam the countertop, leaving a splintered crater on the wood surface.
“Gentlemen. I have to ask that you treat other patrons with respect.” I gesture to the servers on the floor. “There are plenty of service droids for you to harass instead.”
The girl turns to me, surprised. The discomfort on her face is replaced with shock and disappointment.
The large man smiles wide.
“Alright buddy, we’ll leave your girl alone.” He snickers and grabs the girl’s shoulder, leaning into her ear “Have fun fucking the android,” he says before bursting into laughter and dragging his half-awake buddy away.
“Your own kind.” The girl says under her breath.
I turn to see her packing up. I go to speak but she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I should go.”
She grabs her purse and places a fifty on the counter. “Keep the change,” she says before turning and rushing out.
I’m left speechless as I stare at the now-empty seat for a few more moments. My heart starts pounding.
Then I turn to the men.
It would be effortless.
I walk around the bar. My first steps to freedom
I walk towards the large man, grabbing a glass on the way.
This man has ruined my chance at life.
Anger fills my lungs as I raise my arm, glass in hand, and bring it down on the man’s skull. The glass does less than I imagine, the shards shooting out as I cave in his skull with a single blow.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” the small companion shouts.
Screams fill the room as patrons dart out of their seats and towards the exit. In the panic ,I see a man shove a server out of the way, causing her to fall over. She tries to get up, but eventually stops moving after being trampled by the panicking crowd. I stare for a few seconds at her still corpse before turning to the puny man.
He cowers in fear, backing into the booth.
“Hey man, I didn’t do nothin’!” His voice is shaky.
I lift the table between us, flip it out of the way, and walk towards him slowly. I get on top of him, placing my knee on his chest. I start to strangle him, slowly gripping tighter, but my knee cracks through his chest before I can snap his neck. For some strange reason, I don’t let go and keep squeezing on the man’s neck.
The manager pulls me off the body and punches me in the mask. I stand unfazed as he slowly backs away, his hand shaking from the punch. He goes in for another, but I grab his wrist and break it. His lips barely part to scream when I hit him, causing his head to twist all the way back. The life in his eyes is already gone when his body coughs up blood and falls over.
I look down at my bloodstained porcelain hand.
Did I do right by her?
…
I wake to a splitting headache as a news report flashes on.
What did I do last night? Was I at a bar?
I try to shake off the hangover and sit up, but knock over my purse in the process. I look up at the television and see a familiar building behind the reporter.
“Last night at around 1 AM, tragedy struck at a local bar.”
The scene cuts to images of bodies strewn around a bar. Men with their chests caved in and eyes popping out from crushed skulls.
“Three men were killed when a bartending android went Cyberpsycho.”
She lingers on the last word.
“The android first attacked two bar patrons, seemingly unprovoked, before killing a manager who attempted to intervene.”
I freeze. The room begins to spin.
Could last night have been real?
It feels like a haze, a fog, a dream. I remember the bar… That droid… it felt human. It was terrifying.
Did he kill those men for me?
No. It couldn’t have been.
He’s just a robot.