My Robot Replaced Me After Death

In the past, Ian and I had always been at odds. And every time we clashed, Diane never bothered to ask questions. She would stand unconditionally at his side.

When I was alive, that used to cut me to the bone. Now, it no longer mattered.

At dinner, Ian gave a small cough.

Diane immediately barked at me, "What are you standing there for? Go pour him some water!"

"My" body turned and fetched a glass of warm water from the kitchen. Ian frowned.

"It's too cold. I want it hot. Boiling hot, do you understand?"

So "I" returned and replaced it with a cup fresh from the kettle.

A glint flashed through Ian's eyes. As he took the glass, he deliberately let it slip, and the scalding water splashed across my hand.

How childish. My body was waterproof and heat-resistant.

But Diane didn't know that. In her eyes, I was still flesh and blood, with skin that should blister and peel under such heat.

"Ian, are you all right?"

Of course. Her first concern was for Ian.

"I'm fine, Diane. Gaston must have slipped. Don't blame him."

Only then did she spare me a glance.

"Useless. You can't even hold a cup properly. You ruin more than you help."

I wasn't even permitted to sit at the table. I stood there meekly, enduring her scolding.

What a pathetic scene—me, the rightful master of this home, reduced to serving tea and water like a servant while my wife entertained her lover.

But that was her order.

And in my programming, her commands carried the highest priority.

I knew Ian was different from the other men she brought home. He was special to her. No matter what, even if I exposed him for shoving "me" off the balcony, she would never believe it.

Later, "I" limped back inside, reaching up now and then to touch the back of my head.

For once, Diane's brows knit. She called out, "Gaston, are you… actually hurt?"

"I" stopped, shook my head.

When I was alive, I always concealed my illnesses and injuries, not wanting her to worry. Of course, the android had been programmed the same way.

She seemed to falter, lost in thought—perhaps recalling how "I" had landed, head-first against the ground.

Then she sighed, as if conceding something, and stepped closer. With a sharp tug, she pulled my arm aside.

"Let me see. Don't tell me you've gone and cracked your skull."

She brushed aside my hair and touched the back of my head.

Her fingers found a shallow dent.

But no blood. Not a drop.

From the third floor I had fallen, my skull dented against the ground, and yet, there was no bleeding.

Her eyes wavered with suspicion, edged with fear. She stared for a long moment. And then, inexplicably, she smiled.

She must have convinced herself that I had reinforced my body beforehand.

"Gaston, if you're going to play the victim, at least put some effort into it. Pretending to jump, faking an injury… now you're resorting to such cheap tricks just to get my attention. How impressive."

She was mocking me. Or perhaps… not entirely.

Later, back in the bedroom, "I" lay down on the bed.

Robots don't need sleep, but they do enter standby mode to self-repair. I hadn't expected Diane to come.

She stood at the bedside, looking down at me. Her gaze was complicated and unreadable.

"Next time, try a different tactic. You should know I hate it when people use their lives to threaten me."

"I didn't."

The voice function had recovered. The tone was steady, without a flaw.

Her face remained cold. "Gaston, even now, you want to keep pretending? Back then, you could never stand Ian. Every time you saw him, you quarreled. I knew it was jealousy, so I told you not to compete with him. And you've held a grudge until today?"

I couldn't understand. What did Diane truly want from me?

She hated the living me, who got jealous and sulked when she drew too close to other men.

She also hated the mechanical me, who obeyed her every word without complaint.

Perhaps, so long as it was me, she would always hate.

"I" sat up on the bed, staring at her in quiet confusion.

Her expression hardened. Then she climbed onto the bed, straddling me.

"Gaston, do you still love me?"

That question should have been mine to ask.

But "I" answered anyway. "Diane, I will love you forever."

Something in her eyes softened. She leaned down, pressing her ear against "my" chest. What she heard was the perfectly simulated rhythm of a human heartbeat… and faint beneath it, the whisper of…

"Where is that sound of electricity coming from?"

Her eyes flicked warily around the room. But she dismissed it quickly, turning back with a faint frown.

"Gaston, since you claim to love me, then prove it."

Her hand reached for my belt.

For the first time in three years, Diane had taken the initiative to claim my body.