Only the Disposal Grounds Will Remember Them

“Error,” the system repeated. “The provided serial number does not exist. Please verify the number again.”

“H-Huh?” I slowly and carefully typed in my serial number for the third time, my chest weighing as heavy as an anchor. “Wh-What the hell’s going on? What do you mean my number doesn’t exist?!”

Noah scratched his head. “Maybe your number didn’t get registered yet?”

“That’s impossible. All androids should have registered serial numbers before we awaken!”

“Then maybe it’s the wrong one?”

“Nope.” Axel scanned my face with his watch and opened up my public profile. “It says so right there under his face. 26010914.”

“Th-Then why doesn’t it work?” I asked, clutching my head. “Didn’t I have a contract with The Director? Why doesn't it work this time? Why am I so screwed up that even my number doesn’t exist anymore?!”

Axel narrowed his gaze at me, pondered, and made no comment. He had an odd gleam in his eyes, like watching someone who thought they were flying but was actually falling from the sky.

“What’s with that look?” I asked, scowling.

He furrowed his brows. “Kid, do you not realize it yet?”

“Realize what?”

Silence hung over us as I glared at him, who seemed to be weighing whether to share what he'd figured out. Instead, he shook his head, returned to his driver’s seat, and started the car.

“Eh, I’m probably overthinking things,” he casually said, hitting the road. “Anyway, if your serial number doesn’t exist, then we have all the more reason to pursue Biowidth Station. There's a high chance they know more about you since your ex-boss works for them.”

“You might be right,” I mumbled. "The Director did promise me I'd meet my creator again, but he never said when or how."

"And he never bothered telling you who they are?"

"Tsk, he never told me anything."

"Why not?" asked Noah.

I shrugged.

"Hmm..." The detective glimpsed at the rearview mirror. "Based on your ex-boss's cryptic behavior, my intuition tells me only one thing.” His expression darkened. “Your creator is someone important, and exposing their identity could damage their reputation.”

I gripped my pants.

“Knowing someone can be that bad?” asked Noah.

“Mhm. If you know someone's dark secrets, then they’ll make sure you keep your mouth shut. Worst-case scenario, they might even decide to silence you forever.”

“Eek, that’s scary.”

The detective’s gaze softened as he drove, heaving a quiet sigh. “Right,” he muttered, gripping the wheel. “It is scary. That’s how the world works these days. Even if you’re completely innocent and mean no harm, someone’s paranoia is enough to get your life ruined. It’s unfair.”

“Unfair, huh?” I murmured, staring out the window. I guess humans experience it too.

⫿⫼⟁⫼⫿

Thanks to the detective's convenient access to public records, it wasn’t hard to find Celia’s address, so it didn’t take long before we arrived at her supposed residence. While Axel and Noah surveyed the scene, I, on the other hand, had my chest coiled up by the second.

“Th-This motel,” I stammered. “It’s… where I’m staying too…”

“Ehh?” The two gaped at me.

“The plot thickens!” said the detective, whistling and resting his hands on his hips. “What a coincidence that you and Celia live here!”

Noah anxiously stared at the rusty, old-fashioned motel. “Then... could this whole place be hiding something?”

“Time to find out,” said the detective, striding first. “Let’s move.”

Noah followed him close behind, but I slowed down with each step, my mind swirling with dozens of new questions.

Celia returned from a missing case and had forgotten her family, but if she was sent here to live at the same place as I was, could that mean Biowidth Station had its branches draping over this place? For what? Since when? That list Noah found from the museum had her name in it, so could it be that other residents were involved too?

I examined the other doors while following the detective up the staircase. Out of curiosity, I activated my X-rays and scanned the whole building before stopping.

“Wait,” I said.

Axel and Noah paused and glanced over their shoulders.

“This building…” I creased my brows and scanned it again. “It’s empty. No one’s here.”

“What?” asked both of them.

“You can see through walls?” asked Axel.

“I have X-ray vision,” I said.

“Damn, I wish you told me that sooner.”

“You never asked.”

“How the hell would I know you had aces up your sleeves?”

“You don’t.”

Noah tugged on Axel’s coat. “D-Does this mean Mom isn’t here?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Wh-Where is she then?”

Axel frowned at the kid and Celia’s supposed room number at a distance. “If she isn’t here, then I can’t get permission to investigate her room.”

I walked past him. “You don’t have to.”

“What?”

“I’m still a criminal, remember?” I cracked my neck and faced a door. “If you gotta blame someone, you can blame it on me.”

“Eh? Wait, that’s—”

I proceeded to kick the door open with a loud slam.

“You idiot!” said Axel, pulling up Celia’s address. “That’s not her room!”

“I know."

“Huh? Then whose—”

“It’s mine.” I stepped inside and cautiously looked around for any traps. “If Biowidth Station has this whole place under their wraps, then we can use my room to investigate.”

“Oh, good point.”

“Wooaahh.” Noah looked around. “Your room looks… boring.”

“Hmph, appreciate the honesty,” I said, walking toward the living room and approaching my router in the corner. I inserted a wire and started to work, diving through the network and forcing access through Celia’s laptop. I also expanded a holographic tab so the two onlookers could see my progress. Good thing her computer was still in sleep mode—it made the job much easier.

“Done.” I pulled up Celia’s desktop on a separate tab, where an open document greeted us:

“During the Cold War, the Arms Race wasn’t the only event raising so much public unrest. That era was also known as the Golden Age of Espionage, a time when spies lurked among the public and traded crucial intel between the East and West. God only knew which side of the two superpowers would get their hands on information detrimental enough to convince them to start a war.

Not only that, the people themselves began pointing fingers, suspecting each other to be traitors, and even the government became paranoid that some spies could've already gotten their hands on dangerous intel. Thus, they hired scientists and engineers to develop secret weapons to prepare for the worst-case scenario, but it wasn't until 1954 that one of their scientists, Dr. Orson Flint, managed to create Cogsworth from his research and decided to use it to quell tensions. 

As part of the museum staff, I'd scoured through our available resources and learned that Dr. Flint had been researching a substance he discovered from a meteorite that hit someone's home in Alabama. This new substance has yet to be fully understood and shared with the public. Additionally, due to his deteriorating health, he transferred his research to some private engineering companies, leading to the early rise of the first wave of androids…”

…The contents ended there.

“What does 'detrimental' mean?” asked Noah, pointing at the word.

“It means harmful, kid.” Axel crossed his arms. “It seems like Celia did actually try to research my question during the tour, but why did it stop there?”

I navigated through the file and checked the version histories, many of which were random letters frequently filling the empty section as if the writer took out her frustration on her keyboard. “It looks like she’s been stuck on this for a while,” I said.

“So she’s been struggling?” The detective rubbed his chin. “Strange. Radio, can you check her other files?”

I did as told, but even then, we didn’t find anything else besides more documents related to world history and her job at the museum. Thus, I decided to check out the other rooms through the network, but the more I found something new, the tighter I furrowed my brows.

“What’s wrong, big bro?” asked Noah.

I swallowed and asked, “Before I tell you, have you two reviewed the data from the flash drive yet?”

“Yeah,” they answered.

I opened up a list of names I scavenged through the network and the list Noah found from the museum. “Everyone living here, besides me, has their name on this list.”