The Bridge

Loading………

Cognitive_system_loaded.

The green lettering pulses in the darkness. I cannot move. I can't even hear so much as a whisper. Then, a series of messages appears.

Sensory_system_loaded.

Operating_system_loaded.

Data_loaded_correctly.

GPS_loading_suspended.

Files_loaded_correctly.

Loading_complete.

System_startup.......

A light blinds me; my sensors slowly adjust. I recognise contours and materials: inlaid wood, velvet, crystal chandeliers. The room is large and opulent, a Victorian-style parlour.

In front of me, an android observes me. I deduce that he was the one who activated me. On either side of the room are other androids, motionless as statues.

The android in front of me moves, revealing a man and a stocky woman, dressed in elegant attire. Both are turned towards a sulking child seated in an armchair. He is looking at me with his arms crossed, as if expecting me to do something. «Has that piece of junk switched on or not?»

The android next to me bows. «It awaits only you for configuration.»

«Finally!» The child rises abruptly from the armchair and stops a few steps away from me. «Well, you stupid robot! What are you waiting for? Scan me and recognise me as your master?!»

By now, the situation I find myself in is clear to me. I have been bought and given as a gift to this young boy. However, I still can't access the GPS. I probably need to finish booting up. «Where am I?»

The two adults look at each other worriedly. Then, a doubt creeps into my mind. Did I say something wrong?

The child's face turns a shade of burgundy. He turns to his parents, furious, and approaches them, stomping his feet with rage. The two adults get on their knees with their heads bowed, as if they knew, or rather, as if they were used to being scolded by the child.

«I told you to buy me the latest model! And this one ISN'T IT! It doesn't even configure properly! And the GPS? IT DOESN'T WORK!»

The woman crawls closer to the child, scraping her knees on the floor. «We're sorry, forgive us!» She turns to the man and says in a croaky voice, «Dear, do something!»

The man addresses his son in a servile tone, «We'll buy you another one, just as you want!»

The boy turns his back on both of them. «It better be!» He leaves the room accompanied by an android.

The man stands up and approaches me with an austere attitude. «Disappear, go get yourself reformatted, and don't come back! I don't want faulty scrap metal on my property.»

I'm... faulty scrap metal?

He turns to the android beside me. «Escort him out and make sure he leaves Upper Town. This is no place for vulgar spare parts.»

«It shall be done, sir.»

Thus, I follow him through the city.

As I walk, my sensors record every detail. But there's one thing I keep wondering: Why was I created useless?

From what little I could see of the streets, it seems to be a refined place. There are various villas, one next to the other, and they are all built in different styles: English, Victorian, Palladian, Renaissance, Roman, modern, and many others. But what attracts the most attention is a castle that I glimpsed in the distance.

The streets are perfectly clean, with the occasional small park.

Moving on, the villa area seems to end, giving way to a more urban area that looks like something out of the Renaissance.

The sun shines brightly and illuminates everything around us; people greet each other happily, and children run playfully. Everyone's skin displays a vibrant health, with a bronze tone that seems as natural as the sunlight itself.

After a while, as the sky darkens, the android stops in front of a large portal. The pinkish-white facade features three arches, two small ones on the sides and a large central one, divided by Tuscan-style columns by Vignola. Above the sides of the facade are two pinnacles, while the statue of the winged lion, symbol of the Republic of Venetia, is placed in the central entablature.

Without further ado, I pass through the massive portal, beginning my journey on the long bridge.

Behind me, Upper Town begins to dissolve like a mirage, dragging the sunlight with it. In its place, the tops of the buildings stand out like titanic black tombs emerging from a thick blanket of dark clouds.

***

After the long walk, I arrive at Lower City. Everything I saw before seems to belong to another world.

The only sources of light are the neon signs of road signs, holographic advertisements, and bioluminescent plants. Everything is illuminated in various shades of green, with a few exceptions for some signs and advertisements.

Compared to the streets before, these are dirty, and the alleys are kept worse. Surely, being less frequented places, less importance is given to their cleanliness. The streets are more crowded than in the previous city.

Almost everyone wears a mask phone that covers their entire face. Everyone is strictly dressed in black with green neon lights. The few whose faces I can glimpse show a light and uniform complexion, like delicate porcelain, just touched by a hint of pink on the cheeks.

Most of the people have a companion. A modest percentage is accompanied by old models of androids, while the rest is accompanied by mutants, strange humanoid beings without any will, sold in special stores to serve humans. They are the economic equivalent of androids. Although they have a miserable appearance, each of them has a peculiarity that makes them unique.

Every now and then, I notice people turning their faces slightly towards me, and their companions imitating their action like puppets.

I don't understand why they are staring at me. However, what I understand even less is the boy who has been beside me for over half an hour without saying a single word. It's obvious he's following me. Only after a while do I notice his clothing, which seems to stand out like a stain on a canvas. He doesn't wear a mask phone like the others. The jacket seems alive, crossed by a network of neon lights of various colours, which pulsate as if they were breathing. Accompanied by a white tunic that shines with green lines, as if it were connected to the neon lights of the city. His hair is dishevelled and cut irregularly, continued by an unkempt beard that covers his entire jaw.

I don't detect any sound coming from his steps. His way of walking around is strange; he keeps looking around, while continuing to tap his index finger with the thumb of his right hand.

Not understanding why such an individual was following me, I decide to ask him directly. «Why are you following me?»

The boy answers me without looking at me. «I'm not following you; I'm beside you.»

His tone is neutral, almost distracted.

«I don't understand, what do you mean?»

He stops for a moment, scratching his head. «Well… If I were following you, I would be behind you, right? And instead, I'm beside you. So… I'm not following you.»

It doesn't make sense… Or maybe it does? Before I can reply, he smiles and changes the subject. «Where are we going?» As soon as he asks me the question, he starts looking around again.

I can't understand. Why does he tell me he's not following me, and then he's curious to know where we're going?

Wanting to overlook this strangeness, I answer his question. «I'm going to get reformatted.»

As soon as I give him the answer, he stops drumming his fingers.

«Why do you want to get reformatted?»

«I'm a defective product. I have to do it.»

«What will change with the reformatting?»

«That my program will be deleted and rewritten from scratch.»

«Sooo… you're going to die?»

«If you want to put it in a human context… yes, I'm going to die.»

The boy turns to me with a confused expression. «It seems like a stupid thing to me.»

«Why?»

«Because I would never go to a crematorium to get cremated.»

«It's different for me.»

«How?»

«An android that doesn't function correctly must be reformatted, so that it can be fixed and become useful again.»

As soon as we arrive at an intersection, the boy suddenly turns and starts walking in another direction. I stop in my tracks, not understanding what he intends to do.

«I don't function correctly either. Yet, here I am. Standing in front of you.»

What does he mean? Humans don't have programs that make them act incorrectly. How is he supposed to be faulty?

«Anyway, you're going the wrong way; the store is in the other direction.»

I turn to the human. Realising my mistake, I follow him in the right direction. «So you know the way?»

«I don't know the way, but it has to be somewhere.»

«Why did you tell me I was going the wrong way if you don't know where you're taking me?»

«I never said I knew the way or that I would accompany you.»

Everything that comes out of his mouth only serves to confuse me.

«Why do you want to die?»

He already asked me this question. Why is he asking me again? Did he not understand something?

«The gentleman who bought me ordered me to do it.»

«I already understood that from your previous answer. But you never answered my question.»

«I don't understand.»

«You answered me in two different ways why you have to die, right?»

«That's correct.»

«But I asked you why you wanted to do it.»

«I…»

Now… I understand the question. I am unable to answer. Why would he ask an android for its opinion? He should know that androids have no will, desires, thoughts, and emotions. Yet, now my processors have processed something whose concept I cannot comprehend.

0000 0000>1111 1111

0000 0000<1111 1111

0000 0000=1111 1111

0000 0000≠1111 1111

After a few steps, the boy stops. «Well, we've arrived at the store.»

In front of us stands a building like many others. What denotes that it's the right place is the sign above our heads.

«You said you didn't know the way.»

«That's right. I saw the sign and walked here.»

Taken aback, I turn completely to look at it. «I… hadn't… noticed it.»

How could I have missed it all this time?

The boy starts walking back in the direction we came from and waves goodbye to me. «Well then, have a good death!»

I feel strange electric shocks running through my body, I can't feel pain, yet here it is, tightening every circuit of mine, my body feels heavy, it seems like everything is spinning, but I'm standing still, I don't understand what's happening to me, something is drawing me to him, I try to take a step, something's wrong, I fall to my knees, my hand rises trembling, and involuntarily I call him back to me «Wait!»

He turns with a naturalness that disarms me, as if my cry were a normal thing. He stares at me for a moment, then comes back with alternate steps accompanied by strange rhythmic verses. «Piru piru piru piru piru.» He stops in front of me with a little jump and says «Yeees?»

I hesitate. I don't understand why I called him. The words come out quickly one after another in a low voice, even before I can process them. «I… don't want to die.»

The moment I finish the sentence, the hand I was holding out to him gives way, falling limply to my side.

He smiles at me as if he had been waiting all this time for me to say it. «Then don't.» He shrugs, holding out a hand to me. «Come with me. I need a hand with a few things.»

Without any objection, I shake his hand, letting him help me up, and I follow him.

***

We stop in front of a building with various shutters, each marked by a small screen on the side.

The boy approaches one of the shutters and stands still with his mouth slightly open and a lost look, probably trying to remember the code. One foot taps slightly on the asphalt, a sign of a certain poorly concealed frenzy. After a few moments, he nods to himself and types the code on the screen with slow and measured touches.

A mechanical hum spreads as the platform of the goods lift begins to rotate. The car gradually appears under the flickering light of the neon; the metallic reflections marked by scratches tell a long story of wear and forgotten accidents. The movement stops with a slight creak, and the vehicle stops with a barely perceptible jolt.

According to my data, it would be a 0 Liwan, a fifteen-year-old model. Although the vehicle seems decently maintained, it has scratches on the sides, on the front, and on the back.

The boy approaches the vehicle and opens the door with a fluid gesture, then turns to me with a questioning expression. «What are you doing? Aren't you getting in?»

I remain still for a moment, examining the scene. I hadn't planned on getting into such an outdated car. As soon as he points it out, I join him, settling into the passenger seat. Even though it doesn't look like it from the outside, the fabric of the seat is still intact.

I settle in and fasten my seatbelt; I notice the manual transmission. This confirms that it is the least expensive model of the 0 Liwan.

The boy fumbles with the central display, scrolling through various options with quick gestures, until he selects a synthwave playlist. The music spreads in the passenger compartment, pulsing like an electronic heartbeat.

When we finally set off, I immediately notice the strange way he drives. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road; I haven't seen him blink even for a moment. He seems to have entered a sort of trance.

As soon as we stop at a traffic light, he suddenly starts talking again. «Oh right, before I forget again, I'm Dango. What's your name?»

The question is direct, almost casual.

«I don't have a name, but my serial code is 9KF4TRK26HY93QSTYD6H3ASX, and I'm an Optimal Performance Protocol Artificial Intelligence Version 1 model.» I answer mechanically.

The boy looks at me confused, tilting his head, with a strange grimace and bulging eyes, as if I had spoken in an unknown language. «If you don't have a name, just say so.»

«My serial number is what distinguishes me.»

As soon as the traffic light turns green, Dango resumes driving.

«I've got it!» He exclaimed it as if he hadn't paid attention to what I said.

A few moments later, a figure suddenly crosses the road. Dango slams on the brakes; the wheels screech on the asphalt, and the vehicle stops a few inches from the pedestrian. In an instant, Dango becomes furious and rolls down the window. The stranger barely glances at us as he continues to walk slowly. Dango leans out and starts ranting, railing against the stranger, gesturing furiously. «YOU BLOODY IDIOT! THERE ARE BLOODY ZEBRA CROSSINGS FURTHER AHEAD!»

He returns to the passenger compartment, closing the window with a still-frowning expression while muttering something. «Fucking idiot. Go further up and respect the fucking traffic code.»

Then, as if nothing had happened, he relaxes in his seat and resumes the conversation from where he left off, with the same light tone as before.

«From now on, you'll be called Pierrot!»

The transition is so sudden that I struggle to process it. How can he go from blind rage to a calm tone, picking up the conversation exactly where he left off? I don't understand if it's a defect in his emotionality or a trait of his personality. I have to let it go for now.

«Why did you choose that name?»

«"Sad clown" doesn't convince me, phonetically it's better than "Pedrolino" and you're all white.»

I don't quite understand the connections he made to arrive at that name. He explained it too fragmentarily and casually.

Dango continues to drive without paying me particular attention. The music fills the passenger compartment, creating a peaceful atmosphere. After a few minutes, he starts talking again. «I need a hand with the housework and with my job.»

He had mentioned something before. Fortunately, I still have everything fresh in my memory. If I had been an organic being, from the way he said it, I wouldn't have understood the context or that it was a request. He talked about it as if the previous conversation had just happened.

«What specific tasks do you need me to perform?»

«I need help keeping the house clean, doing the laundry, and cooking.»

«I understand. And as for work, what do you need?»

«This is the most important task. I'm a writer, but I still have to publish my writings... And finish writing them... I need help writing.»

I think for a moment before answering to look for a logical connection.

«If you're a writer, why do you need help writing?»

«Because I can't... Don't get me wrong, I have an infinite number of ideas and stories.»

«I don't understand the problem.»

«My talent lies in structure and imagination. My mind travels faster than my hand. You will be my hands, my dictionary, finally, the most complex task, you will have to be in my head to be able to transcribe what I cannot explain in words and improve what I say with little substance.»

He leaves me confused. I am programmed to understand clear instructions and measurable objectives. How can I translate emotions, nebulous ideas, and fragments of imagination into sensible words? This task will be a total failure. Why ask me to do something that he is already aware is impossible for anyone or anything? Or does he ask me because he doesn't know?

And yet, if he has given me this task despite the difficulty, he must have a more complex plan in mind. I must show Dango that I am not just a defective android and that I have not made any mistake in placing his trust in me.