11. Runners' High
Even to reach the Scrap Nest, we have no choice but to walk. It's about an hour's journey. Compared to a week, it's no big deal, but for my "baby" Kana, who despises walking, it might still feel like quite a slog.
Barely ten seconds into our trek toward the Scrap Nest, Kana's expression was already shifting to one of utter boredom, as if her motherboard were on the verge of shutting down. The faint glow in her blue eyes flickered weakly, like a candle about to go out.
So, I made a suggestion. "How about we run?"
At those words, the dim light in Kana's eyes flared into a vivid brilliance, reminiscent of the Mediterranean Sea. Even through my outdated visual sensors, that azure glow surged toward me like a wave, filling me with a sense of refreshment and vitality, as if we were splashing through water.
"Yeah, I want to run!"
Kana's voice bubbled with excitement. I gave a wry smile and continued. "Kana, you may be my 'possession,' but even possessions have the right to voice their opinions. No, scratch that—a possession that doesn't speak up is no use to me. So, if you ever feel your spark fading, tell me. Demand anything you need to reboot that shine. Got it?"
"Got it," Kana replied clearly, her voice soft yet resolute. "Thank you, Neo."
With that, we channeled more energy into the actuators in our legs, letting electricity and magnetism surge through them, warming them up, priming us for the run.
I took off first. I could feel Kana chasing after me, her presence registering through my vibration sensors.
And so, we dashed across the Moon's gray plains, as if racing toward Earth itself.
Walking alone isn't enough. It's far too lackluster. It's not fitting for a humanoid robot. Even if we're modeled after humans, we're designed to run. To pour every ounce of power into reaching our destination, our mission, without wasting a single millisecond. That's our instinct.
Walking feels almost like self-destruction.
That's how we're built, so there's no helping it. Even if I, unlike most—perhaps all—humanoid robots, find a certain fondness for walking, I should match Kana's "humanoid robot" nature for her sake.
"But, Neo," Kana called out, her voice steady despite our full sprint, not a nanosecond off, though tinged with concern. "This speed is nothing for a humanoid robot, but for a human, it's pretty intense, isn't it? Are you okay? Your muscles might tear! Want me to carry you on my back?"
"No need to worry," I replied.
I sighed inwardly. Another lie to tell. Perhaps because of all the lies I spun to Kana's mother, I'm starting to build a tolerance for it. The energy drain from lying feels less taxing now, like I'm developing some kind of pattern or immunity.
Still, crafting a lie takes time. After about four seconds of processing, I spun this one: "I'm fine. I'm kind of a cyborg, you know. On Earth these days, some folks are into the classic human look, but most people have replaced 80% of their bodies with non-protein parts. They're nothing like the fragile humans of old. For me, it's not just 80%—I've upgraded, or rather, modified, close to 99% of my body. I'm practically a humanoid robot myself."
"Then what's the remaining 1%?"
I considered tossing out the cliché human line about the "soul," but some unexplainable instinct—or maybe luck—warned me it might give me away. So, I opted for something more specific. "The amygdala."
I elaborated. "I kept the amygdala intact."
Kana's eyes widened in surprise. "In its original, protein form?"
I nodded, mimicking a human gesture while running. "Yup, preserved as is in my head. In the shape of a peach."
"A peach shape?"
Her question made me chuckle lightly. "Yeah. I specifically requested it be molded into a perfect peach shape."
"Wow, molding a brain? That's a first," Kana said. "Don't humans usually reshape visible parts?"
"Most do, yeah. But I wanted to make the invisible parts look better."
At this point, Kana seemed to struggle with the concept. "I see…" she murmured, then shifted her focus back to running.
Her stride was pure joy in motion. Before I knew it, she'd pulled slightly ahead of me. As expected of a latest-model body—her speed and grace were flawless.
My body, though lagging in software, is no slouch in durability. Thanks to engineers from an era that prioritized visible aesthetics, my hardware holds its own against modern models. So, I matched her pace effortlessly. That seemed to delight her, and she pushed her speed even higher. Together, we tore across the vast, gray lunar plains, a refreshing clarity washing over us.
Gradually, Kana's face lit up with a runners' high, her expression radiating happiness like sweat or sparks bursting forth. Even my outdated visual sensors could vividly capture that glow.
For me, running itself holds no thrill. But Kana's radiant presence became a kind of dopamine, a secondhand joy. If I had an amygdala, it'd surely be flooding me with happiness right now. I labeled that feeling "dopamine" and savored the indirect bliss she gave me.
Lost in that fervor, we reached the Scrap Nest in less than an hour.