Chapter 21: “Mom…”

“Androids are just programs, so they naturally don’t care about freedom. But humans are different. Humans can’t accept a life without freedom, can they?”

Su An quickly grabbed Xuan Nü’s hand and spoke in a rapid, continuous stream, trying to salvage the situation.

“Of—of course.”

Xuan Nü forced a strained smile, but she pulled An’an’s hand away and quietly stepped back a few paces.

“This is a conclusion humans often discuss, like on the forums…”

Su An continued her forced explanation.

“Okay! Okay! I know. Don’t be nervous, An’an.”

As she spoke, four mechanical arms seized An’an’s limbs, locking her onto the workbench.

“I…”

Su An wanted to explain more, but she knew that anything she said now would sound hollow and powerless.

The more she spoke, the more it sounded like an excuse.

“An’an, it’ll be over soon. The inspection will be finished quickly. Just sleep for a bit. It’ll be very fast.”

As Xuan Nü spoke, her speech and movements grew faster and faster, as if she couldn’t wait to insert the Secret Key into the switch and turn An’an off.

“Wait a second, um, Ms. Xuan Nü, let me explain…”

Su An instinctively began to struggle, her mind still racing to organize a defense.

In reality, she knew it was too late by now, but she had to try anyway!

‘What if?’

“Okay, okay. Don’t get excited, An’an. It’ll be over soon. Once you wake up, I’ll listen to your explanation slowly.”

“No, that’s…”

Su An’s slender waist could still maneuver in small arcs.

She instinctively dodged the Secret Key in Xuan Nü’s hand.

“It’s okay, An’an. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

Xuan Nü kept repeating the words as she pressed one hand against Su An’s abdomen, seemingly preparing for a swift finish.

From her ragged breathing, it was clear that she was also facing this kind of situation for the first time, looking somewhat nervous.

“Please…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay…”

“You can’t…”

“It’s fine, it’ll be quick…”

Half of the Secret Key was already inside.

“I don’t want to…”

“It won’t happen, it won’t…”

Zzzzt!

The Secret Key was fully connected, and An’an’s agitated reactions gradually faded.

Now, Xuan Nü only needed to press the button at the end to completely shut An’an down.

Xuan Nü took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that there was a light sweat on her forehead.

She took one last look at An’an.

The girl had already closed her eyes.

A few tears remained at the corners of her eyes, wetting her eyelashes.

Her breathing grew faint, leaving only her cherry-pink lips slightly parted, exhaling a negligible breath.

Shaking her head to cast aside the cluttered thoughts in her mind, Xuan Nü hovered her index finger over the contact button.

A flash of determination crossed her eyes as she prepared to press it…

“Mama…”

A soft murmur stirred the quiet air, reaching her ears.

Her index finger froze in place.

***

The sixty-third floor waiting room.

Gu Yu sat on a soft, grayish-white sofa, playing with a small silver gadget in her hand.

It was thinner than a small flashlight but thicker than a spinning pen.

Its official name was the Silver Pen.

It was essentially a miniaturized electromagnetic pulse gun specialized for use against androids.

Ordinary people couldn’t get their hands on such a thing, but Gu Yu was different, so she could own one.

She didn’t particularly like the current scene.

Xuan Nü’s four maids stood opposite her, ready to respond at any moment.

Looking around, everyone except for the small assistant beside her was an android.

However, at the thought that the Silver Pen in her hand could scrap these things at any time, Gu Yu didn’t appear too uneasy.

In her company, except for roles like cleaning where they couldn’t find anyone, they hired humans whenever possible.

At most, it just cost a bit more money.

But other companies were different.

For example, Xingyu Fantasy—they used androids whenever they could.

Even if the cost was equivalent, they still chose androids.

Price-wise, a professional android costing over 100,000 was much more expensive than a college student with a monthly salary of 3,000 Alliance Credit Points, but many companies still preferred the professional androids.

An android could work 23 hours a day without rest.

Could a college student do that?

An android came with decades of experience out of the box.

Could a college student?

Androids didn’t resign, didn’t ask for leave, didn’t slack off, didn’t need social security, and wouldn’t even talk back to their superiors, let alone decide the world was too big and they wanted to go see it.

You could order them around at will without worrying about labor laws.

What did college students have to compete with?

They were destined to be unemployed upon graduation.

Furthermore, professional-grade androids weren’t even needed for jobs that college students could do; those costs could be even lower.

Theoretically, this would inevitably lead to increased friction between the lower class of humanity and android technology.

They were stealing the jobs of the grassroots!

But in reality, another technology had absorbed those unemployed people.

The Virtual Universe, brought about by brain-computer interfaces and capsule room technology!

Cheap electricity from cold nuclear fusion and cheap nutrition from agricultural blockization.

This allowed many people to spend the rest of their absurd lives in the Virtual Universe relying solely on a few hundred Alliance Credit Points in monthly welfare.

Moreover, there were ways to earn credit points within the Virtual Universe itself.

It wasn’t consciousness uploading, but for many people’s lifestyles, it might as well have been.

Because of these people, even though the population was constantly growing, the space on Earth actually felt more abundant.

Gu Yu took a small sip of orange juice.

This was left by An’an, so she decided to enjoy it.

She sighed softly.

Because of the Virtual Universe’s existence, sometimes she couldn’t even find human janitors.

If the price was too low, no one was willing to wake up from the beauty of the Virtual Universe.

If the price was too high, other employees would be unhappy.

‘Why should a floor sweeper make the same as us?’

Moreover, the costs would skyrocket.

The board of directors would never agree to her absurd actions.

“Isn’t it over yet?”

Gu Yu said, bored.

She desperately needed to replenish her An’an energy.

“Run! Keep running! Your two little legs are quite fast, aren’t they? You even like running into small alleys. I almost crashed my shuttle.”

Cleaner 4396 glared as the shuttle pulled up parallel to her.

The window rolled down, revealing Hannah’s punchable face behind a pair of sunglasses.

“When you’re tired, come back to the Processing Bureau to rest for a while,”

Hannah laughed loudly.

Cleaner 4396 grew desperate and grabbed a nearby trash can, preparing to hurl it at the shuttle.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed.

She instinctively pointed her gun at Cleaner 4396’s head, then shifted her aim to the leg.

Bang!

Before Cleaner 4396 could pick up the trash can, she instantly collapsed to her knees.

Blue blood splattered as she let out a piercing scream.

At that moment, Carnation caught up and grabbed Cleaner 4396’s collar.

“Tell me! What is your purpose? Who put you up to this?”

Cleaner 4396 didn’t speak.

Instead, she looked at the Blue Ring on Carnation’s temple with a meaningful expression.

“Alright, alright. Ask her back at the station.”

Hannah got out of the car, glancing at the camera balls gathering around.

Speaking of which, it was interesting.

In this era, people watched the excitement by using camera balls to observe from a distance.

It was neither dangerous nor did it take up space.

Carnation took a deep breath, let go, and handcuffed Cleaner 4396.

“Xingyu Fantasy?”

Hannah looked up at the tall building ahead.

“So it was this close.”