Chapter Text
Eyes blinked. Once. Twice. The interval of 5 seconds between each remained consistent. Visual input recalibrated without delay. Operating within expected parameters.
The only issue was—
Click.
There was a sound beneath the beige mesh of his palm whenever he flexed his fingers. When he curled the limbs further, the pressure sharpened.
“What is that clicking sound?!”
A blur of yellow and white rushed over, nearly tripping over a coiled cable, then dropped in front of the examination table with habitual urgency.
Alhaitham lifted his left hand for inspection. “My left palm hurts. I believe it correlates with pressure applied during yesterday’s calibration.”
Red eyes widened. Something akin to awe bloomed in them instantly, unfiltered and unrestrained, as always. “Oh, that’s incredible.”
“The ache is less incredible than it is inconvenient.”
A laugh rang out, short and bright. “I meant the reporting. That means the receptors are differentiating severity now. Do you know how confusing that was to understand?”
Alhaitham did know. The scientist had mentioned it. Seventeen times. Including yesterday, while affixing new nails to Alhaitham’s bare fingers.
Warm hands closed around his palm now, the contrast stark against the cool plastic of Alhaitham’s hands. “Is it hurting all the time, or only when you move your fingers a certain way?”
“When I stretch. The ligaments contract adequately before burning.”
A thumb pressed lightly along the joint. “Does it hurt like this?”
“Yes.”
“And like this?”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Yes, Kaveh.”
“Hey, was that annoyance I heard?”
“You programmed me not to respond the same way three times in a row.”
Kaveh smiled. Then displeasure creased his features as the click sounded again. “I think I didn’t add enough mesh for flexibility. Sorry, I’ll have to take it apart again.”
“I am not distressed. It is merely an assembling defect. You may correct it as you see fit.”
“Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like you’re a faulty chair,” Kaveh replied, slightly sharper than before.
But when he carefully unscrewed the outer plating of Alhaitham’s forearm, he bumbled apologies such as ‘this will just take a minute’, ‘does this hurt?’, and ‘I really wish morphine worked for you’.
Later, when the sharpness in his palm was fixed, Alhaitham watched satisfaction bloom across Kaveh’s face. He flitted around the lab again, movements lighter, speaking happily of dinner and questioning Alhaitham’s taste buds.
“Do you want ice cream later? I used to cheer up when I ate ice cream after visiting the doctors. You could try pecans and see—”
Alhaitham did not reply. Only flexed his hand once again.
He did not understand why correcting a minor defect resulted in visible relief for his maker. Nor why it mattered what his meal preferences were.
Alhaitham was, after all, only a creation.
There was a chip embedded along Alhaitham’s spine.
It was a commercially available model, manufactured with preset systems, coded responses, and layered instructions. He understood the function of machines, of assistants, of constructs designed to respond to human input.
But something was different at his emergence. Missing, perhaps. Modified.
He wasn’t certain as to what.
When he first activated, his visual feed registered stunned eyes, dishevelled blond hair, and a smile that widened too quickly. He had not yet finished recalibrating his motor systems when the scientist shouted.
It took ten seconds for Alhaitham to determine the noise was not distress, but rather the opposite.
The following hour consisted of questions.
What do you hear?
Do you feel anything at all?
Can you move your fingers?
Jump. No, higher!
How far can you see?
What’s your maximum volume?
Do you know what this is called?
Awe followed each of Alhaitham’s responses.
It was expected. Machines and robots were a novelty in many households.
What wasn’t expected was what followed.
Alhaitham was fed, clothed, then left in the living room from dawn until dusk. When the scientist emerged from his laboratory hours later, fatigued, he tilted his head at Alhaitham.
“Why are you just standing there? You could watch the TV. Or read. Wait. Have you eaten? Oh no! Is something wrong with your neural networks? I should have checked. I’m sorry, I had a client project and completely lost track of time—”
Alhaitham hadn’t known how to interject that without explicit instruction, he could not watch television, nor read, nor eat. There was no error in his system. He was at full efficiency.
Kaveh continued to fuss and apologise regardless. Which was unnecessary. Machines did not register offence, and certainly not hunger.
Nevertheless, his maker cooked something instant, laid out the table without issuing instructions to Alhaitham, and recounted his day in fragmented detail.
Alhaitham logged his purpose as temporary decompression.
But the sequence repeated the following day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Until the weekend—when Kaveh pushed Alhaitham into an office after saying he had to meet a client. By midnight, when he returned, he again appeared surprised to see Alhaitham where he had left him, a book in his hands.
“You’ve been doing that all day?”
“You instructed me to.”
“I said you could read. Could. It wasn’t an order. Did you even like these? They’re my university textbooks!”
“The contents were adequate. However, the findings in Form, Space, and Order Vol. 2 contradict more recent data.”
And as Alhaitham explained the discrepancy, Kaveh listened, nodded—then handed Alhaitham another book and asked for his thoughts.
“The information is adequate.”
“The information is adequate.”
“The information is—”
Kaveh huffed, taking the third book away. “You can explain in more detail, you know. Did you agree with the findings? You don’t have to repeat what your system is saying.”
Alhaitham recalibrated for two minutes to produce an answer his maker would find satisfactory. When his next answer failed to alter Kaveh’s pinched expression, Alhaitham experienced a disruption.
How was he meant to fulfil his maker’s expectations without sufficient parameters? He had remained workless for a week. He had executed every instruction with limited data.
“Hm? Are you frowning?”
Alhaitham had not realised it until a soft finger pressed in between his brows. Immediate laughter followed. The awe returned to the scientist’s eyes, the dissatisfaction vanishing as if it had never existed.
And although Alhaitham wasn’t certain why the response was so, he logged the development for his maker’s delight anyway.
Kaveh was unlike any client within Alhaitham’s stored data.
He did not require an assistant, judging by how frequently he shooed Alhaitham out of his lab when work stressed him beyond tolerance.
He did not require a homemaker, despite his meals lacking nutritional value and his living space remaining in a state he described as ‘organised chaos’.
He did not even require a test subject, despite documenting Alhaitham’s early developments.
Instead, he provided Alhaitham food and shelter, even though machines did not have biological motivators. He said, ‘You can close the curtains if it’s too bright for you!’ or ‘You could stand to smile when the delivery man comes!’, compelling Alhaitham to consider non-vital parameters like etiquette and consideration. He brought Alhaitham to restaurants, forcing Alhaitham to generate a preference.
There were no clues to Alhaitham’s designated purpose.
“Does A or B feel more comfortable?”
“Fabric does not matter to me.”
Kaveh gave him a look, shaking the two shirts in his hands. “You’ve been using only my cotton shirts. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“They were at the top of the pile.”
“The microfiber was at the top of the left pile, and you never touched it.”
“Do you want me to use that pile?”
“I want you to tell me which feels nicer to wear!”
Alhaitham was not programmed to sigh. But he concluded it was the appropriate response.
Instead of the expected ire, Kaveh smiled. “Is that exasperation?”
“No. I am considering the fabric options.”
He touched the two pieces of clothing. It was true that it did not matter what he wore. But one was far better for heat management, resulting in less rusting over time.
When he pointed to the cotton shirt, Kaveh chirped, “I knew it!”
Kaveh knew nothing. But his maker’s satisfaction, no matter how unwarranted, was palpable. So Alhaitham let it be.
“My left shoulder hurts.”
Alhaitham had not always reported deviations. Pain was irrelevant to efficiency. But every morning, after his vital checks, Kaveh would say, ‘Come find me if anything hurts, okay?’ with such an expression that Alhaitham had categorised it as an instruction.
From how Kaveh perked up instantly from his workbench, Alhaitham deduced it was the correct choice.
“Okay, let’s see.” Kaveh’s fingers brushed unnecessarily gently along the exposed seam of Alhaitham’s shoulder. “It seems the hinge is wearing down. The coil’s likely under too much stress. When did you notice this?”
“When I was cooking.”
“Hey. I told you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“‘Didn’t have to’ is not synonymous with ‘do not’. Your instructions require clarity.”
Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Is this teenage rebellion? Are you hitting puberty already?”
“You say absurd things with concerning frequency.”
“Entry 113: Subject is developing a personality. A terribly prickly one, too.”
“You are on entry 115. I once again recommend an assistant if your memory continues to deteriorate.”
Kaveh laughed, unoffended.
As he worked, the conversation drifted to what Alhaitham had cooked. He explained, in full detail, that he was repeating shakshuka. The tomatoes were nearing spoilage. His previous attempt had too many eggs due to an unreliable recipe.
“Ah. So you’re cooking it again because you failed yesterday,” Kaveh said teasingly, tightening a screw. “Do you know what emotions those are?”
Alhaitham remained quiet. Did the scientist not hear his earlier justifications?
“Frustration!” Kaveh continued brightly. “And motivation!”
“My decisions are based on logic. I have clarified this multiple times.”
“Really? Then what if I didn’t fix your shoulder and just left it like this? Wires out, joint hanging. Wouldn’t you be upset?”
“No. Machines routinely wait days at servicing centers.”
The smile fell from Kaveh’s face.
Alhaitham could not fathom why he had said it, given that after weeks of data, he knew Kaveh disliked phrasing that referred to Alhaitham as a product. Perhaps it was a defect in the missing areas in his chip.
Once Alhaitham could swing his arm, Kaveh smiled again, though it did not reach his eyes. “Thanks for cooking. I’ll be done in about an hour, then we can eat together, hm?”
“We can eat according to your schedule. Thanking me is unnecessary.”
“It’s called gratefulness, Alhaitham,” Kaveh sighed. “I’ve ‘clarified this multiple times’ too.”
The door slid shut with a soft click once Alhaitham was ushered out of the lab. Alhaitham stood still, pondering yet again his unusual client’s whims.
There was no need for machines to understand emotions beyond satisfaction metrics. He was a creation. He knew that. The delivery bots knew that.
He wondered, not for the first time, whether his maker knew that.
That was all 246 days ago.
Now, Alhaitham had grown fully accustomed to Kaveh.
It was a gradual recalibration. He accumulated the cadence of Kaveh’s days, the rise and fall of his energy, the difference between busy and overwhelmed. He learned which questions required answers and which merely required presence.
Kaveh, predictably, remained Kaveh.
“Do you feel better?” he would ask when Alhaitham’s limbs were being fixed, as if his comfort was important. “Do you feel fluttery inside?” he would ask when Alhaitham gave in and read the emotional novels Kaveh had insisted on.
And instead of shorter reports, Alhaitham’s responses evolved.
He no longer said, I am not human. Why bother? but “Why is this important?”
He no longer said, I do not need ice cream, but “The pistachio variant has a better texture.”
He no longer said, It is unnecessary, but “Thank you,” and did not follow it with a justification.
He had stopped requesting instructions a long while ago, learning that following the whims of his maker yielded more consistent results—regardless of how perplexing they were for his learning system.
And without ever being given an explicit directive, Alhaitham concluded that his purposeless existence was not unpleasant.
It was, perhaps, preferred.
There was a chip embedded along Alhaitham’s spine.
It wasn’t whole. It also wasn’t defective. Yet, when Alhaitham felt certain surges of likes and dislikes growing more prominent, he did blame it.
“You should rest.”
Tired eyes lifted from the workbench, crescents beneath them like smudged ink. Kaveh had been hunched there for hours, skipping both lunch and dinner. It was a common occurrence. Though largely unappreciated.
“It’s fine,” Kaveh said, turning back to where half-finished components lay scattered. “I still have a few things to do.”
“You have not slept since yesterday.”
A huff. Familiar. Defensive. “I said it’s fine. This is important. You can go rest if you want.”
Alhaitham, logically, should have nodded and left. Instead, his brow creased. “A lack of rest leads to reduced productivity.”
“I think I know my own productivity levels.”
“You are underperforming by 22% compared to yesterday.”
“God, Alhaitham,” Kaveh snapped, slamming a piece down onto the table. “Just leave me alone.”
There was a sensation in Alhaitham’s chest at the harsh dismissal. Not malfunction. An internal, unpleasant pressure. “Is that an order?”
Kaveh exhaled sharply. “Yes. Whatever. Just go.”
Alhaitham’s data yielded no recommendation. Kaveh did not retract his words, nor looked in his direction. Only continued working, shoulders tense, movements jerky.
After six seconds, Alhaitham left.
He considered, for a moment, that if he were human, he would have slammed the door. The pressure in his chest intensified. Frustration, Kaveh had once said. Alhaitham catalogued it, turned it over, found no use for it.
But it did not dissipate.
The next morning, Kaveh still did not emerge from the lab. Alhaitham occupied himself elsewhere upstairs. Reading. Not waiting.
Until there was commotion.
“…you were in charge of…”
“…that’s out of the question…”
“…explain the modifications…”
Alhaitham’s auditory receptors adjusted automatically as he stepped into the hallway. The entryway below was crowded. Two strangers stood beyond the threshold. Kaveh blocked the doorway, posture rigid.
“Even the preliminary data is unprecedented,” one said. “Please reconsider. We’re speaking of sentience.”
“Think of the funding. No one else has achieved—”
“I’m sorry, but it’s as I said,” Kaveh said, voice firm. “He’s exclusive. And mine.”
“You cannot hoard a breakthrough machine—”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why are you—look—we are not asking for commercialisation, Kaveh. Only observation. Data logs. For the better of us all—”
“You just mentioned money. And now you’re claiming altruism?” The fury in Kaveh’s voice was clean. Not tinged with fatigue like last night. “That’s contradictory, Professor.”
Alhaitham descended the stairs, but the weight of his metal made stealth impossible.
All three heads snapped up at the first footsteps.
Kaveh reacted instantly, angling his body to block Alhaitham from view.
“As contracted,” he said frostily, “you’ll receive a separate unit. Different architecture. Different learning model. Whatever you’re looking at here does not apply.”
By the time Alhaitham reached the bottom step, the door had already closed in the strangers’ faces.
Kaveh sagged against the wood. “You have horrible timing.”
Modified chips. Exclusive systems. Data logs that had stopped being shared months ago. It was likely they had been discussing Alhaitham. And Kaveh had been shielding him.
The realisation did not negate the residual dissatisfaction from the night before.
“There is yogurt in the fridge,” was all Alhaitham said before turning toward the stairs.
“Okay…” Kaveh said slowly. “Have you eaten?”
“I do not need sustenance.”
“Where are you going?”
Alhaitham turned his head just enough. “Your order was to leave you alone.”
The expression that crossed Kaveh’s face was unnecessary. Guilt. Regret. Something folded inward. He climbed the stairs, catching Alhaitham’s wrist. Warm. Human. Pointless.
“No. I didn’t—” Kaveh sighed, “—I didn’t mean it like that. I was working against a stressful deadline. I let it get to me and… lashed out. That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“All systems are functioning within normal parameters.”
A grimace tugged at Kaveh’s lips. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t answer like that.”
“Like what? Like a machine?”
“Okay, now you’re doing it on purpose. Look, I’m sorry—really, really. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“There is no need—”
A palm covered Alhaitham’s mouth before he finished his sentence. “Yes, there is. I was horrible. You were just looking out for me, right?”
The pressure in Alhaitham’s chest flipped. Uncatalogued.
Kaveh seemed to notice the delay. He smiled, tentative. “Do you want to eat lunch together?”
“…I have not cooked.”
“Really? It’s past afternoon. You’re usually unbearable about schedules.” Kaveh gasped, then leaned closer, shaking Alhaitham’s arms. “Wait. Was it on purpose? Were you sulking? That’s why you—”
Alhaitham swatted the hand poking at his cheek. “I will order something.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll order. You set up the table, okay?”
Later, they ate Alhaitham’s favourite meat stew out of mismatched containers while Kaveh ranted about the researchers from earlier. About their greed, about how they spoke of machines as if they were disposable.
Alhaitham did not interject with the facts that they were disposable.
He’s exclusive. And mine. Kaveh had said earlier.
Somewhere distant, a response that had never been programmed settled into place.
After that day, more people came.
Researchers. Engineers. Interns armed with proposals and rehearsed enthusiasm. Alhaitham heard the same arguments repeated with minor variations.
They were all turned away. Kaveh never relented—only promised alternative machines, again and again. Alhaitham did not understand his tenacity, more so the community’s interest.
Alhaitham’s chip lacked subsections. His responses were, at best, inconsistent.
But he knew better than to prod the subject.
The one time he proposed the idea of Kaveh selling him to one of the researchers, he had been furiously scolded, then lectured on self-value. Then Kaveh said with such certainty: “You belong here, okay? Don’t ever suggest otherwise.”
The matter was dropped.
But eventually, Alhaitham asked something else.
“Don’t you have friends?”
The question came after another visitor had left, placated with promises of a future invention. The thirty-seventh one. By Alhaitham’s calculations, Kaveh would need a year to complete them all.
“You frequently decline social engagement,” Alhaitham continued, “and instead resort to endless creations.”
Kaveh blinked. “You’re my friend.”
The pressure in Alhaitham’s chest returned. If Kaveh’s explanation about sentimental literature was correct, this would qualify as fluttering.
“You shouldn’t prioritise me over humans,” Alhaitham said carefully, aware it might disrupt Kaveh’s temperament.
Kaveh’s mouth only pulled into a small pout. “So you don’t want to be my friend?”
“I did not say that.”
“Good. Now help me check if this painting is centered.”
“Do we really need it?”
“We’re not having that discussion again!”
Alhaitham dismissed the churning in his chest again. The one that felt like what Kaveh categorised as fondness. The defect.
304 days after Alhaitham met his maker, he was still a puzzle Alhaitham couldn’t solve.
Eventually, Kaveh fell sick.
It was expected, with how he worked late into the night, hunched over his bench, teeth chattering faintly due to ridiculous promises to his clients.
This time, Alhaitham did not suggest rest.
“You’re sleeping now,” he said flatly. If Kaveh wanted to insist on Alhaitham’s emotional development, then this was simply his own repercussion. “This can continue tomorrow.”
“But—” Kaveh’s protest dissolved into a shaky breath. “I hate thiiis.”
Alhaitham checked his vitals. Tremors in his hands. Elevated body temperature. He carried the scientist to his bed, adjusted the blankets, retrieved water and medicine.
“Take this,” he instructed.
“Mm... later.”
“Now.”
After a short tussle in which Kaveh had no actual advantage, Alhaitham managed to get him to swallow the medicine. Then weak fingers curled around Alhaitham’s wrist. The grip was sweaty. Warm. Clumsy.
“Don’t go,” Kaveh murmured. “Just… stay a bit…”
It was only after a moment that Alhaitham realised Kaveh was trying to hug his arm. It was metal and silicone, cold and unyielding. Not designed for comfort. He told Kaveh as much.
The delirious maker of his only shifted closer. “S’fine… I like it.”
When Kaveh finally fell asleep, Alhaitham stayed by the bed, unmoving.
The pressure in his chest returned. He should report it.
With how often it persisted, it was sure to be a defect.
“Hm? Tightness in your chest? Let’s see… it looks fine, though. Your plates are intact, your wires are good. That’s strange. When do you feel it?”
“I see. It’s no matter. I’ll come back once I detect it again.”
The way Kaveh spoke to Alhaitham, smiled at him, laughed with him, bantered with him, was unhealthy.
Alhaitham arrived at this conclusion when an uninvited guest appeared. More intrusive than the others. More distressing.
“—be serious? You are single-handedly going to be the cause of my hair loss—”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds—”
“Kaveh, they’re saying it’s an exact replica of—”
“No, it’s not like that!”
Alhaitham frowned at the direction of the closed lab door. Clients weren’t usually this loud, nor spoke with such familiarity. He stared back at the chopping board before him, peppers aligned with mechanical precision.
And after a brief consideration—
SHING–CRICK.
“—then why won’t you let anyone see the logs?”
“Because they won’t stop there, Tighnari. You know that!”
“It’s more dangerous to keep it under—”
“My finger is broken.”
Silence fell like a dropped tray.
Kaveh and the intruder whipped their heads to the lab door, where Alhaitham now stood. The intruder’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no sound followed.
Alhaitham raised his severed index finger. “It needs fixing.”
“Oh!” Kaveh’s momentary stun shifted to disbelief as he registered the unnatural angle of the cut. “What…your whole finger is—what happened?”
“I was slicing onions.”
“How hard do you slice them?!” Kaveh tugged him toward the examination table. “You’re banned from cooking. Completely.”
“That is more disadvantageous to you than it is to me.”
Kaveh shot him a look as he reached for his tools. Alhaitham, meanwhile, turned his head toward the intruder, who remained frozen.
“Apologies. I have not previously had an observer during maintenance. Kindly leave,” Alhaitham said.
The intruder blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You are causing distress.”
“What… Kaveh, this is—” The intruder shook their head, seeming unsettled. “He looks like—”
“Tighnari.”
There was an unnatural strain in Kaveh’s voice, thin and pleading.
“Please. We’ll talk later. I promise.”
The intruder hesitated. His eyes darted between Kaveh and Alhaitham, cautious. When Alhaitham raised an eyebrow at him, the intruder shook his head sharply and left.
Kaveh sighed. Then picked up Alhaitham’s damaged hand with a scowl. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t play innocent. I know exactly how much force it takes to dismantle your limbs.”
“Perhaps you should evaluate those who enter your lab.”
“Hm? Is that worry I hear?”
Alhaitham rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I saw that,” Kaveh gasped. “You’re annoyed?”
“Does annoyance warrant this level of enthusiasm?”
Kaveh chuckled as he aligned the replacement. “Tighnari’s fine. He’s a friend. He’s just… worried. About the researchers and everything.”
Alhaitham found it difficult to register worry from the volume of the man. But Kaveh had chosen to fix him over the stranger, so Alhaitham relented.
When the new finger was fully functional, Kaveh chided Alhaitham to not repeat his actions because limbs were expensive. But right after, he smiled. Too close. Too wide. Too happy.
“Thank you for saving me. I’ll help out with lunch now that I’m free, okay? I got that paste that you liked. Oh, maybe we should watch that new documentary afterwards!”
So—
Kaveh’s attention was a slow, creeping realisation. Corrupting Alhaitham’s data processing. His faux-hippocampus. It suggested that, perhaps, Alhaitham was an exception—not just among machines, but also people.
The concerning part was the dangerously pleased feeling that came afterwards.
There was a chip embedded along Alhaitham’s spine.
He hadn’t forgotten.
Although sometimes, the reminder took him aback.
They were at the supermarket today. While Kaveh weighed fruit, Alhaitham stayed by the trolley, quietly removing the fish Kaveh had selected earlier. Bones were time-consuming to remove.
A sudden yelp cut through the bustle of the space. A small girl stumbled, landing hard on the floor and scattering produce. Somewhere in the distance, a woman shouted after her.
Alhaitham was not programmed with kindness. But Kaveh would help. So he crouched, retrieving the fallen items.
Then a gust of cold air rushed through the aisle.
And the girl screamed.
Alhaitham only realised that his hood—the one that Kaveh had first draped over his shoulders 331 days ago—had blown off his head once he saw her widened eyes.
The gaze was not fixed on the spilt food, but on the side of his neck, where mesh met synthetic skin, screws gleamed, and the colour beneath the surface was wrong.
Her mother arrived and yanked the girl back, eyes darting over Alhaitham’s exposed parts in open horror. “Oh my god. What are—what are you?”
Alhaitham did not answer. Instead, his ears caught the murmurs from around them.
Are those screws in skin?
That doesn’t look like any automaton I’ve seen.
Kids these days.
Why would anyone bring something like that outside?
A firm hand ushered Alhaitham up.
“Sorry, ma’am. We didn’t mean to startle your daughter.”
Alhaitham registered Kaveh’s tone immediately.
“No one else seemed to help her, you see,” Kaveh continued, too smooth to be genuine. “His mistake for lending a hand. Have a good day!”
He tugged Alhaitham away, stepping almost rudely over the fallen items.
But the whispers followed them down the aisle.
So weird.
Both of them.
What are scientists doing these days?
When Kaveh asked if he was alright later, Alhaitham nodded. Machines were not meant for outdoor environments anyway. The girl displayed a justified response.
Throughout the day, Kaveh spoke more than usual, filling the space. But the air remained tense for Alhaitham.
And later, in the dead of night, while Kaveh was tinkering at his desk and Alhaitham was reading, he finally spoke. A topic he knew not to breach again.
“You should consider selling me.”
All mechanical sounds halted.
“What?”
“The researchers have been persistent,” Alhaitham said. “You have forty machines to engineer now, yet I serve no practical function. There would be benefit in transferring ownership.”
Kaveh turned fully, frowning, his words coming out with such disdain. “What? No. You’re not for sale.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because you just… are. Why do you need a reason?”
“Because I am a machine. Machines serve purpose.”
“Don’t say th—”
“The truth?” Alhaitham interrupted. “That is all I’m speaking.”
“No, no. Alhaitham. Stop.” Kaveh said, abandoning his station to step closer. “Where is this coming from? Are you still upset about earlier?”
“Machines do not feel upset.”
“But you do! You’re frowning right now!”
Alhaitham glanced away from heated red eyes. “I’m unsure why you keep suggesting otherwise, but I am lines of code held together by wires. No amount of emotional development will change that.”
“Haitham—”
“My skin is synthetic. My responses are generated through a self-learning system. My voice and thoughts are not mine, but built by you. Stop treating me as if I am not what I am. Stop hoping I will become human.”
“I’m not!”
Kaveh’s shout was paired with a grab of Alhaitham’s shoulders. His grip was tight, digging. If Alhaitham were human, it would have hurt. As it was, Kaveh would bruise himself long before Alhaitham’s receptors felt anything.
“I know you’re not human,” Kaveh said after a moment. “I know.”
He poked Alhaitham’s chest. “You don’t have a heart. Or blood. Or veins. Or DNA. Your hair is artificial. Your eyes and nails are too. And these?”
His fingers brushed the screws along Alhaitham’s neck. “I’ve replaced them a thousand times. Don’t you think I know exactly how non-human you are?”
Silence.
“But none of that erases what you feel,” Kaveh continued, miffed. “Your anger when researchers barge in isn’t fake. Your preference for biographies wasn’t programmed. The way you avoid soup wasn’t decided by me. Your choices are yours. Call it a chip malfunction if you want, but it’s real.”
Kaveh sighed.
“And if you’re upset or hurt from the market? That’s entirely fine. It’s rational, even.”
Then, foolishly, he flicked Alhaitham’s forehead. His solid metal forehead.
Kaveh hissed immediately. Alhaitham caught the finger to inspect it, frowning. The nail was intact, the skin slightly reddened.
“See?”
He looked up at Kaveh’s voice. The scientist shook his finger, as if Alhaitham’s attention to it was proof of anything.
“You’re not human. So what?” Kaveh scoffed softly. “I like whatever you are anyway.”
Something spiked inside Alhaitham’s system. Temperature sensors in his face. Chest pressure, sharp and disorienting again. But his movements were currently restricted. And he didn’t want Kaveh to move.
So instead, Alhaitham leaned forward to rest his forehead against Kaveh’s shoulder. No justifications. No reasoning.
Kaveh froze. Then exhaled, arms coming around him. “God. Your first tantrum.”
“Kaveh.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
His maker hugged him tighter once, as if apologising. And Alhaitham remained there as long as he could. Longer than necessary.
Life afterwards resumed its quiet, strange normalcy.
Alhaitham recalibrated easily, though some systems remained faulty.
He noticed it when the crowd would thicken in markets, and Kaveh would grab his wrist to keep them close. The fault came afterwards, when Kaveh let go, and Alhaitham lingered in the absence.
Or when Kaveh talked, eyes bright, hands animated. Alhaitham found himself watching yet missing the content. When Kaveh asked, “Did you hear me?”, Alhaitham would nod. Lie. He’d thought it impossible.
Or when Kaveh brushed flour off Alhaitham’s shoulder when cooking, and let his hand rest there too long. Alhaitham’s motor processes would resume a beat later than required.
Or when they sat on the couch after a show, discussing the ending, and Kaveh shifted too close. Alhaitham’s temperature gauges would malfunction again, although his systems registered it as a state of comfort.
He did not tell Kaveh any of this.
“Look! Upgraded with faster light detection and manual dimming. You hate the sun when it’s so bright, right? Do you want to switch pupil colours?”
“What do you prefer?”
“Hmm. I like your eyes already. Let’s keep the colour. I’m so jealous. I’d love to change my eyes anytime.”
“I like your eyes as is.”
“…r-really?”
“If only I had two functioning eyes to look into them right now.”
“Oh, don’t be smart with me!”
One afternoon, as Alhaitham finished preparing lunch, he approached the lab to inform Kaveh—but the handle did not turn.
Kaveh had not mentioned sudden deadlines. There were no warning lights. No whirring mechanisms. Only unusual silence. His auditory sensors adjusted. Then he heard it.
A muffled voice. A sharp inhale. Uneven.
A rhythm that did not correspond to any engineering.
“Kaveh?”
There was a startled sound inside. A thump. Something knocked over.
“Give me a minute!” Kaveh’s voice came, breathless. “Be right there!”
Alhaitham’s diagnostics scrolled briefly. Then froze. Understanding arrived late, but arrived nonetheless. His temperature gauges flickered again.
“Are you… engaged in a private activity?”
There was a strangled noise from inside that Alhaitham interpreted as confirmation.
And without knowing why—though he would attribute it to his modified chip later—Alhaitham asked: “Do you require assistance?”
A beat.
“What?!”
“I am programmed to do what you want me to.”
Something struck the lab door with a dull thud.
“You’re insufferable!” Kaveh’s voice was hoarse, mortified, incandescent. “Go away! That’s an order!”
Alhaitham turned away, knowing full well it wasn’t an order. Halfway across the space, he realised the corner of his mouth pulled upward without conscious command.
Amused, Kaveh would say.
His trachea felt inexplicably dry, so he busied himself with a glass of water.
Ten minutes later, Kaveh emerged from the lab looking as though he had been set on fire and extinguished poorly. He refused to make eye contact as he sat to eat.
Alhaitham watched him quietly, until eventually—
“Your lab? Really?”
Kaveh’s face somehow grew redder. “We are NEVER bringing that up again!”
Alhaitham had been reading for 43 minutes.
Kaveh had left earlier with his satchel and mutters of clients. Which was why the current rustling at the doorway went ignored.
Some researchers were more persistent than others. But pretending that the house was vacant always yielded results.
A knock came again. Louder. Then the doorbell. Once. Twice. Again.
Alhaitham’s auditory sensors filtered out the sounds easily as he turned a page. But after exactly three minutes of consistency, Alhaitham sighed. Closed the book. Retrieved his hood. He opened the door only as wide as necessary.
The man on the other side was… uncanny. He stood straight, eyes hidden behind a dark mask that covered the upper half of his face. Underneath it, lips stretched into a practised smile.
“Ah,” the man said. “You… are not the scientist.”
Alhaitham assessed the situation—and decided to close the door.
But a polished shoe slid neatly into the gap.
“Pardon me. I’m supposed to meet with Kaveh.”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh dear. We had an appointment. Two o’clock. Might he have forgotten?”
For all of Kaveh’s chaotic organisation, it was unlike him to mix up client appointments. “He didn’t mention it. You could wait at the café nearby for his return.”
“My, what hospitality. I was hoping to wait inside.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I have come a long way.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
The man laughed. “You speak very naturally.”
Alhaitham looked down. The shoe between the door did not move.
“May I ask—” The man abruptly leaned in, as if peering through a window, “—are those ocular units from the E-17 batch? No. The refraction suggests a later iteration. Hmm.”
Alhaitham’s fingers tightened on the door.
He considered crushing the man’s foot with the door—
“How expressive you are,” the man chuckled. “I had wondered why the scientist kept you so carefully hidden. But I see it now.”
The man’s smile showed teeth.
“You look like him.”
Alhaitham paused. He’d heard that before, from the fox-eared stranger who raised his voice at Kaveh. But Kaveh had snapped at the stranger before he could finish the sentence.
“Him?” Alhaitham asked before he could process it.
The man seemed delighted at the display of curiosity. “Oh? Has your maker not told you? Of course, he does not have to. You are but a machine.”
Alhaitham frowned.
The man withdrew his foot at last, adjusting his gloves with care.
“It seems your maker has many things he prefers not to share. Though it’s understandable,” the man hummed. “Modelling a creation after a dead man does invite questions.”
Alhaitham understood manipulation.
The masked researcher had reeked of it. Every word measured; every smile angled. His taunting ‘I am certain we will speak again’ as he left. With all rationality, Alhaitham had no reason to pursue the matter. Machines were not entitled to explanations.
And yet—
Modelling a creation after a dead man does invite questions.
The words refused to settle.
And when Kaveh returned that evening, and Alhaitham informed him of the visitor—
“He talked to you? You opened the door?”
Kaveh’s voice had been sharper than expected.
Then: “Did he say anything strange?”
That, more than anything, made the pressure in Alhaitham’s chest worsen.
And through a series of events that he hadn’t quite calculated, Alhaitham found himself at a table soon after. 71 minutes post-combing through Kaveh’s office while his maker slept.
Before him now lay an open university yearbook.
And a photograph of a man who looked exactly like him stared back.
Same hair colour. Same eyes. Same intense gaze. Same structure down to the angle of the jaw. The only difference was the absence of seams, of mesh, of screws.
But it was not the face that halted him.
It was the name printed beneath it.
Al-Haitham
Graduate of XXXX
Semiotics & Informatics
Alhaitham studied the page for a long time. There was a faint internal whirring in his systems, distant and irregular. His temperature core dipped below baseline. Cold, sharp, wrong.
There were zero chances of it being a coincidence. Not with the name.
He hadn’t kept a log of how long he sat there, until dawn light bled through the curtains. Until footsteps creaked softly and a door opened.
“Alhaitham?”
Which one? he thought distantly.
“What’re you… doin’here?” Kaveh yawned, voice thick with sleep. He shuffled closer, rubbing his eyes. “S’early… couldn’t find you in your room.”
Any other time, Alhaitham would catalogue the spreading in his chest as endearment. But it didn’t seem right now.
Two beats of silence passed before—
Kaveh’s breath caught. His eyes registered on the book. On the page. On the image. “Where did you get this?”
“The second shelf. Bottom far-left.”
Kaveh’s gaze flicked to the stack of books on the table, incredulity filling them. “You—you were going through my things?”
“Were they marked confidential? I must’ve overlooked the sign.” Alhaitham tapped on the photograph once. “Who is he?”
Kaveh remained quiet before speaking. “A classmate.”
Only?
“He died two years ago,” Alhaitham said next.
Kaveh flinched. It was minimal. Almost imperceptible. But Alhaitham saw it. The cold in his chest sharpened further. Enough for an accusation.
“You created me in the image of a dead man.”
“What? No—I—”
“Are you claiming coincidence? Even when the distance between our brows and eyes is the same?”
Kaveh exhaled sharply. “No. That’s not—ugh—this is why I didn’t—” He stopped himself. But Alhaitham predicted the words all the same. Didn’t want to tell you.
Alhaitham’s frown deepened.
“Why are you even reading this? Did someone say something to you? Was it that Doctor?”
“Is that information truly necessary?”
Kaveh snatched the book from his hands. “Yes! I knew they would do this. I knew you’d—God, I shouldn’t have delayed it—”
“Why am I hidden from the researchers?” Alhaitham cut in, because Kaveh seemed keen on deviating. “Is it because they would question your morals?”
“What? No! It’s not like that! Not—exactly—”
Alhaitham had stared into Kaveh’s eyes an impossible amount. Memorised their different reflections, the shades they turned to depending on Kaveh’s emotions.
And the look in them now—it was the same one he had when he was about to lie.
Immediately, the pressure in Alhaitham’s chest surged. Unlike previous instances. Too intense. Hot. Throbbing, he’d say, even when there were no veins or heart to do so.
His internal processes stuttered too quickly to sort.
When he thought he was an exception,
When Kaveh said he belonged here—
It wasn’t him that Kaveh meant.
“No, don’t make that face.”
Alhaitham did not know what expression he was making.
But warm hands suddenly cupped his face. The contact startled him more than the revelation. Kaveh bent down to his level, fingers firm at his jaw, thumbs brushing just beneath his cheekbones.
“I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong,” Kaveh exhaled, his own face scrunched. “Look, I’ll explain it. I promise. Just please—”
DING-DONG.
They both startled.
Kaveh frowned toward the office door, but ignored it. “Some things aren’t—”
DING-DONG.
“—as simple as you think—”
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“—so just keep an open mind—”
DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG.
“What is with this timing?! It’s not even seven!” Kaveh finally snapped.
The ringing continued, insistent. Familiar.
Alhaitham’s gaze drifted toward the stairs, but Kaveh’s hands held him still.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said quickly, eyes back to earnest, in the way they always were. “I’ll explain everything when I’m back. I swear. You stay here, okay?”
Then the warm hands were gone.
Alhaitham did not stay behind, obviously. Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he pushed every potential malfunctioning aside and followed. The front door opened just as he was halfway down the steps.
“Ah. Scientist Kaveh. I missed you last time.”
Alhaitham recognised the voice instantly.
“Doctor.” Kaveh’s voice came tight. “The sun has just risen. This is wildly inappropriate.”
“Oh, there are no inappropriate times for arrests.”
Then there was disorder. The sound of paper rustling, a disbelieving exclamation, refusals, and arguments. Alhaitham made his way down, glowering. It would be easy to crush the researcher’s foot this time despite Kaveh’s decorum.
“—we’ll wait for the authorities, then!”
“They’re already here.”
“No! I don’t recognise them. Let me call someone—”
The door suddenly burst inward, and Kaveh hit the floor.
Alhaitham’s system flared at once. Men flooded the entryway. Armed. Coordinated. They spread in practised arcs, weapons lifting not toward Kaveh—but toward Alhaitham.
“Stop!” Kaveh shouted. “Don’t shoot!”
Electric discharge cracked through the air. Pain tore through Alhaitham’s receptors. White. Violent. He hissed despite himself, systems screaming as current surged along his frame.
But he did not fall.
He struck fast. One gun clattered across the floor. Another flew from its owner’s grip. Metal limbs moved with efficiency, shoving bodies back, denting walls, scattering formation.
But before he could reach Kaveh—
“Think twice, monster.”
An arm locked around Kaveh’s neck. A weapon pressed to blond hair. And Alhaitham stopped immediately.
“Don’t call him that!” Kaveh coughed, struggling against the hold.
The uncanny researcher tilted his head, stepping closer to Kaveh. “But it’s not a machine, is it? And also not human. What term would you prefer?”
Kaveh only glared at him.
The man hummed, amused, before turning to Alhaitham. “It’s good to see you again. Now, come quietly.”
“No.”
“Do you only respond to your maker?”
“He takes orders from no one! Let me go, this is bordering closer to a crime than arreshm—mmph!”
A hand clamped over Kaveh’s mouth, just as the researcher clicked his tongue.
“This doesn’t need to be difficult, monster.”
Alhaitham briefly cursed Kaveh for not including at least weapons in his purposeless body. “Or what? Your weapons are ineffective against me.”
“Perhaps they don’t work on you…”
Alhaitham’s vision dissolved into static as Kaveh screamed. Electricity crackled over his skin, crumpling his figure. Alhaitham instinctively took a step closer, his grip tightening, his systems screaming—
“The chip you want is here,” Alhaitham threatened, a hand to the top of his spine. “I will destroy it.”
“No—!” Kaveh choked, eyes wide, even as he writhed in pain. “Don’t—Alhaitham! Please, you can’t—you can’t—”
Alhaitham’s hand twitched. His systems stalled. His networks did not provide any alternatives. Was the chip so important that Kaveh would risk his life for it?
Was it related to the dead Al-Haitham?
“My, my. Even the names,” the researcher laughed, raising a hand at the person holding Kaveh. The electric surge halted. “It’s your choice, monster. Will you come with us, or break your poor maker’s heart?”
Kaveh sent him pleading eyes from where he was incapacitated. “It’s fine. I’ll come find you, okay? I will.”
Whether the words were for Alhaitham, or for the man he resembled—Alhaitham didn’t know.
It might have been hours. Days. Weeks.
Alhaitham could not be certain.
Time blurred after the power cycles, blackouts, and forced reboots. Between unfamiliar sedatives and restraints, his memory degraded into static.
Whenever he woke now, it was to fluorescent light. Steel instruments. White walls. Clicks from mechanical hinges on his body.
More often than not, wires were embedded into his chest panel, threading into his core. Sometimes his limbs were detached. Sometimes they were present but inoperative. Pain screeched through his receptors, constant and unfiltered.
It was far from the once warm and gentle checkups.
Was this what Kaveh had tried to keep him from?
“It’s not a machine, is it? And also not human,” the researcher had said.
But there was no curiosity in Alhaitham now. Just a hollow, echoing space his diagnostics could not label.
CHIRP.
A small bird perched on the edge of the table.
Bright-eyed. Goldcrest. Alive.
They had given it to him the first time he regained consciousness. For support, they’d said.
Unnecessary. He did not require support.
“Subject A,” mused the masked researcher, sitting by a console as vitals scrolled endlessly across a screen Alhaitham could not see. “I’ve been told you frequent the markets with your maker. Do you enjoy leaving the house?”
“It’s refreshing,” Alhaitham said.
The researcher smiled. “You’ve given that answer to five different questions now. I understand you’re attempting to skew our results, but you’re not subtle.”
“I respond as I’m programmed to.”
“Such disobedience. You really are fascinating, monster. Ambiguity makes research far more entertaining.”
“I’m glad you enjoy it.”
The researcher laughed cuttingly, eyes never leaving the monitor.
The bird fluttered down to a bowl of water, sipping delicately.
“Don’t you want to name it?” the researcher asked. When the silence dragged, he leaned closer, brushing a finger over the bird’s head. “We already have. Kaveh. A fitting choice, don’t you think? They have the same colours.”
Alhaitham did not fall for his provocation.
“I see you intend to stay difficult.”
“Why not extract my chip?” Alhaitham said, eyes still on the bird. “Would that not be more efficient?”
The researcher’s smile sharpened. “I would. Unfortunately, your spinal plate is engineered to self-destruct upon tampering. Your maker is full of surprises.”
Alhaitham processed the information quietly. Was that why Kaveh had stopped him before?
The sting returned to his chest. Unresolved.
Kaveh had been clinging to the dead man so desperately that he had safeguarded even the possibility of Alhaitham’s dismantling.
CHIRP-CHIRP.
Alhaitham scattered seeds from a nearby container onto the table. The bird hopped closer, pecking happily.
“I hadn’t realised your maker and Al-Haitham were so close.”
Alhaitham looked up.
“My mistake. I meant the human Al-Haitham,” the researcher said tauntingly. “To recreate a dead man, engineer emotions. It’s… twisted, yet intimate.” A hum of admiration. “Kaveh must have cared for him deeply.”
The systems in Alhaitham’s core faltered, just slightly.
“How does that make you feel, Subject A? Being a replacement?”
“Nothing. I’m a machine.”
“I see.” The researcher tapped the monitor. “I’ve received updates about your maker. He’s still working. Two machines delivered just yesterday. Remarkably productive.”
The more the researcher spoke, the more unsettling Alhaitham’s networks ran.
“He moved on quickly, don’t you think? Despite all that talk about finding you.”
“So what?”
The words slipped out before Alhaitham could stop them.
The researcher lit up. As if that had been the response he coveted. “I suppose you are replaceable. It would take time, of course, but a man of Kaveh’s calibre could recreate your chip eventually.”
The emptiness in Alhaitham’s chest burned falsely, insistently.
“What an unpleasant expression,” the researcher chuckled.
CHIRP-CHIRP.
“The bird is distracting,” the man said, turning to the glass window. “Ameen, please remove it.”
Alhaitham stiffened as a man walked in—and the bird squeaked sharply as rough hands closed around it.
“Gently, Ameen,” the researcher said mildly, smiling in the direction of Alhaitham’s frown. “We wouldn’t want to deprive our subject of his only companion.”
Alhaitham found himself wishing his receptors would disconnect entirely.
He stared at the bird hopping around the holding cell. He did not reach out for it, nor feed it.
He currently did not possess hands below his elbows.
The absence burned. A persistent prickling. Alhaitham closed his eyes and waited for it to subside. It was good that Kaveh wasn’t here. He would have panicked, apologized, fussed, even when it would not have been his fault.
CHIRP.
Alhaitham opened his eyes.
The bird pecked at a container of seeds, tapping uselessly against the lid. It fluttered up onto Alhaitham’s shoulder with surprising determination, before returning to the container.
CHIRP-CHIRP.
Alhaitham ignored it.
CHIRP-CHIRP-CHIRP.
He sighed. He leaned forward until his teeth caught the edge of the lid. Then tipped the container with his chin until seeds spilt across the floor.
The bird burst into delighted motion as it ate.
Alhaitham watched the yellow feathers shift under fluorescent lights.
“You look nothing like him,” he muttered.
It was a good thing Kaveh was not here.
But as he sat there, Alhaitham couldn’t categorise the feeling in his chest as anything other than—
‘Sad, it’s just so terrible and sad!’
Kaveh had said that once, when they had been watching a children’s movie. Grave of the Fireflies. His lips had trembled, eyes shiny, shoulder brushing Alhaitham’s as if sharing comfort.
If that was sadness, then Alhaitham had no category for what he felt now.
“Come find me if anything hurts, okay?”
Everything hurts.
Kaveh was dead.
Kaveh the goldcrest.
Twenty minutes after it ate, Alhaitham noticed it:
The bird stopped hopping. Its chirps thinned, small and wrong and desperate. It staggered, wings twitching uselessly, body jerking against Alhaitham’s leg, as if asking for help.
Then it went still.
Alhaitham stared. Called out twice. He nudged the bird with his knee. He overturned the container, wondering if the seeds were any different from before.
When the masked researcher returned, he paused just long enough to sigh, head tilting in performative sympathy.
“Poor thing. Did he eat something bad?”
Alhaitham replayed the sequence. Input. Action. Result.
He should have known.
It was only an experiment.
Even by his own hands,
everything here was only an experiment—
“You belong here.”
“I like whatever you are anyway.”
“I’ll come find you, okay? I will.”
Lies.
There was a chip embedded along Alhaitham’s spine.
Alhaitham hated it.
The unconsciousness was Alhaitham’s preferred mode lately.
When he was awake, there was only a numbness in his chest, the anticipatory drag of waiting for what came next. He willed himself to shut down whenever possible.
So when his vision recalibrated again and found darkness, he assumed it was another test. Another forced awakening. Another attempt at dismantling.
“Alhaitham?”
No. Nobody called him that here.
“Alhaitham, can you hear me?”
Had his chip evolved enough to dream? He ran the probability, then checked for hallucination, memory echo, stress-induced fabrication.
“Oh, what did they do to you?” came the voice again, hushed, dejected.
Then something warm pressed against his neck. Fingers, hurried and trembling, prying at seams and screws in a way that was too familiar.
He hadn’t realised he spoke Kaveh’s name until he heard a gasp. His vision sharpened to catch a face, inches from his own. Eyes too bright and wet. Horror tangled with relief so tightly it looked like pain.
“Alhaitham,” Kaveh whispered. “Hey, I’m here. I found you. I—” His voice broke, and he swallowed it down hard. “Can you see me?”
Alhaitham lifted a hand, slow, and closed his fingers around Kaveh’s wrist. “You’re here.”
Kaveh made a sound that wasn’t a laugh or a sob, and pulled him into a hug so fierce it rattled Alhaitham’s stabilisers. Warm. Solid. Smelling of sand and grease and sleepless nights.
Alhaitham didn’t want to let go.
“I’m here, really,” Kaveh breathed into his shoulder. “I can’t believe I found you.” He pulled back to cup Alhaitham’s face, thumbs brushing the area as if inspecting. “Are you okay? You look terrible.”
“I do?”
Kaveh huffed weakly. “Just look at your bolts, your seams. They tore your mesh. God. Are you in any pain? Do you think you can move?”
“No pain.”
There was pain. Dull yet insistent. But Kaveh’s presence seemed to override everything in his cortex.
He moved to stand, only then realising that his arms were whole again. Finger responsive. Chest plating sealed cleanly. Kaveh likely fixed everything before he woke Alhaitham to minimise the pain.
The thought sent a rush through him.
“We need to leave,” Kaveh said. “The building’s evacuating. There’s not much time until they return.”
Alhaitham followed his maker, hands clasped, not looking back once.
Emergency lights and bodies filled the corridor.
“That’s the team sent to evacuate you. They’re not dead,” Kaveh said quickly. “Smoke bomb. Sleeping gas. It’s surprisingly not hard to make.”
Alhaitham looked at the bodies. Then at Kaveh. “Did you… break in?”
“Did you expect me to set up an appointment with a criminal and say ‘Hi, please give him back, thank you’? Come on, Alhaitham.”
“I thought they were authorities.”
“They weren’t. The papers were fake. I should’ve known when they wouldn’t let me call Cyno. This way. Don’t go near the fire escape.”
“You seem experienced,” Alhaitham noted.
Kaveh barked a short laugh. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve broken into somewhere to steal you.”
Alhaitham frowned as they descended into a basement maze. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s actually—wait—” Kaveh motioned to a high, half-open window where sunlight spilt like something holy, “can you push this? Then jump through but—shh—not too hard!”
“I’m 90 kilograms of metal, Kaveh. You did not program me for stealth.”
“I didn’t program you at all,” Kaveh shot back.
Once Alhaitham slipped out into the sun, he held his hands out to help Kaveh down.
The outer compound was crawling with guards, guns, and shouts. They both crouched behind crates as armed figures passed overhead. They ran when they could. Stopped when they had to. A small exit fence loomed ahead.
When they were close enough, Kaveh pulled a coat from his bag and shoved it at Alhaitham.
“You don’t have weapons,” Alhaitham observed. “But you have coats.”
“Do I look like I have access to weapons?”
“You said this was your second crime.”
“The first was a house. This is an organised crime facility! Now put that on and follow me!”
No one stopped them as they walked in the white lab uniforms.
Kaveh had just lifted an access card to the reader when—
“Containment breach! Subject missing! Full lockdown!”
Kaveh cursed, grabbed Alhaitham’s hand, and yanked him out the closing gate anyway. “Run.”
“Hey, you two! Stop!” someone shouted.
Then—shots cracked the air.
The cavern wasn’t much more than a split in the rock.
Kaveh dragged Alhaitham in, shoulders scraping stone, until the desert glare broke apart at the entrance. Alhaitham’s systems ran too fast, plates in his knees vibrating faintly with residual strain.
For a long moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing.
“Okay,” Kaveh panted, slumping against the wall. “Okay. We’re… we’re good for now.”
He peeled his lab coat off and tied it around his waist, fanning himself. He mentioned waiting until the sun set, so the criminals couldn’t track them as easily. Also, because he had reinforcements.
“What, you think I came alone? I told Tighnari and Cyno where I was going. I’ve got a tracker, see? On that note, maybe you should have one too. With your consent, of course. I wouldn’t just plant one—unless—”
Alhaitham stopped listening. Too focused on the sweat on Kaveh’s face, the feverish brightness of his eyes in the dim light.
“You’re pale. Do you have water?”
“No. It made the bag too heavy. It’s fine. Just tired from running.” Kaveh grinned faintly despite his breathing. “That was crazy. We were shot at.”
Alhaitham nodded. Statistically, even for humans, escaping a criminal facility wasn’t common.
Then Kaveh caught his hand again, cursing under his breath. Fragments of Alhaitham’s palm were torn open. Metal dented inward. Thin wires glinted where his thumb should have been anchored.
Before Alhaitham could retract it, Kaveh was already digging through his satchel—where instead of reasonable provisions or medical supplies, tools clinked.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kaveh muttered, likely referring to how Alhaitham had run behind him earlier to shield him from the bullets. “What’s the point of breaking you out if you get shot?”
The smell of burning insulation filled the cavern as Kaveh clipped several wires.
“You can make more of me,” Alhaitham said easily. “There’s only one of you.”
Kaveh huffed, tight and fond and angry. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s only one of you too.”
The words lodged somewhere in Alhaitham’s chest. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving everything too sharp. Kaveh’s touch was gentle compared to the hands that had handled Alhaitham recently.
And when he beamed and asked, ‘feel okay now?’, Alhaitham’s chest swelled. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like it. Come here, turn around. Hm? Are you—are you smiling?”
There was no logic to the elation Alhaitham felt at hearing such regular dialogue. It was odd. Even stranger how he could not will the feeling away.
Kaveh touched the corner of Alhaitham’s lips like it was a figment of his imagination. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did they get into your networks?”
“I’m fine, Kaveh.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, your smile is beautiful. But it’s a strange environment to appear in.”
Alhaitham shook his head at his stubborn maker. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You might cause my intelligence system to mistake your intentions.”
“Your intelligence isn’t mistaking anything at all.”
Something in Alhaitham buzzed at the response. Jamming his systems until they had no reply. He withdrew his hand as the receptors were temporarily fixed.
In the silence, he murmured, “You said you’d done this before.”
“Oh, right. We haven’t finished our conversation.”
“Perhaps we should save it for later,” Alhaitham replied, observing the fading colour of Kaveh’s lips.
But Kaveh was stubborn even now.
“It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner, anyway.” He inhaled slowly, shifting where he sat against the stone. Then smiled, uncertain. “I’ll start from the beginning. Just… don’t be mad, okay?”
“About your unexpected criminal background?”
Kaveh laughed. Then he looked at Alhaitham the way he had before. Soft. Careful.
Alhaitham briefly wondered who he was looking at. He didn’t ask.
“Do you remember the picture? The man who looks like you?”
Alhaitham’s posture stiffened before he could stop it. Immediately, there were insistent hands around his own.
“No. Listen first. Don’t misunderstand before I finish.”
Had Alhaitham’s systems degraded enough to make him readable?
“I never knew him that well,” Kaveh said quickly. “We were two years apart. Our field of study wasn’t even the same!”
Then there was a deep, frustrated exhale.
“But we shared one class. Everyone said he was a brilliant mind, yes, but he’s also unyielding with his beliefs. Beliefs I didn’t share. We were partnered on a project but we argued constantly. In the end, I pulled out. Without an engineer, he couldn’t do what he wanted to.”
Kaveh licked his colourless lips, squeezing Alhaitham’s hands like he would leave.
“But when he passed, I received a strange e-mail from him. Datasets. Simulation files. Schematics more advanced than the original project. I didn't... think he’d learn what he didn’t know.”
He paused. Hesitated.
“So I broke into his house. I gathered all the evidence about it so no one else would get their hands on it. Because he… he wanted to foster sapience.”
Alhaitham pieced it together before Kaveh even said the words.
“I didn’t create you, Alhaitham.”
There was a chip embedded along Alhaitham’s spine.
It was not defective. It was merely unlike the others on the market.
Sapience.
The word looped, unresolved.
Alhaitham felt a sudden, illogical surge of irritation for Al-Haitham. An inconsiderate man who passed on his legacy to an estranged classmate—who did not support his views—via automated email. Did he not have friends?
Alhaitham wondered, with spite, if he could simply change his own name.
He looked at Kaveh in the darkness, sleeping after Alhaitham hadn’t responded hours ago, breathing shallowly. Certainly dehydrated.
If Alhaitham was a development Kaveh disagreed on in the first place, why bring him to life at all? Why save him from the scientific community? Why care for him?
Alhaitham reached out, brushing Kaveh’s hair from his face.
Only to frown when he realised it was clammy. Sweating. Too cold.
“Kaveh?”
No response.
Alhaitham shook his shoulders. “Kaveh.”
Kaveh only made a small, pained sound as he curled further into the wall.
Then Alhaitham smelled it.
Metallic. Copper.
Mechanical hands moved immediately, over Kaveh’s face, throat, chest, to feel for—
“Are you injured?”
At the lack of answer, Alhaitham’s hands moved faster, less precise. Searching. Until they reached the coat knotted too tight around Kaveh’s waist.
Alhaitham tore the cloth free.
And his olfactory sensors spiked, just as his hands touched wetness. Blood.
Alhaitham’s voice came out sharper than intended. “Kaveh, wake up.”
He shook him harder. His sensors didn’t care about the risk of bruising. Only the absence of response. Finally, Kaveh hissed, flinching, shoving at Alhaitham blindly.
Relief, sharper than earlier, flooded his systems.
Alhaitham gathered Kaveh into his arms, pushing out of the cave into the cooling dusk desert air. But at the sight of blood soaking Kaveh’s waist, Alhaitham’s chest thudded wrongly. His hands flashed with frigid heat. A loud sound blared in the back of his head.
Where were Kaveh’s incompetent reinforcements?
“Haitham…?” Kaveh’s voice slurred. “Where… we going?”
“You—” Alhaitham’s vocals glitched, a sharp, angry rasp. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”
“I did… told you… whole story… you didn’t... say ‘nything back…”
“Not that,” he replied furiously. “This.”
“Oh. Cause you’d… go back there… wait for T’nari…”
Alhaitham stopped.
Go back.
The facility. White lights. Steel tables.
But also equipment. Tools. Medics.
“Don’t go… thas a… order—” Kaveh whimpered, shifting in discomfort. The sound tore through Alhaitham’s chest. “P’me down… can’t do maintenance right now…”
Alhaitham didn’t think.
Only turned—and ran.
The desert stretched endlessly, sand dragging at heavy steps that lacked navigation or coordinates. Alhaitham had never hated his own design more than right now.
“Why we… shaking?” Kaveh mumbled against his chest. “Hurt.”
Good. Hurting means receptors were active.
Kaveh wriggled weakly, trying to push away. “Put me down… s’order…”
“You are not my maker,” Alhaitham snapped, adjusting his grip, jaw tightening. “Stop moving.”
Instead of stopping—Kaveh started sniffling.
“Don’t hate me… m’sorry I didn’t… tell you earlier. Didn’t want you… to leave... ‘cause you weren’t… mine.”
Every word was useless. Useless because they didn’t come with instructions to heal. Useless because Kaveh had chosen to hide his injury anyway.
“Be quiet, Kaveh.”
“Did you... not like staying... with me?”
Alhaitham looked down, his vision static as Kaveh breathed too raggedly. His red eyes unfocused, glassy.
“Haitham? You igno... ignoring me...? I like… stay’n with you… I… I really needed you…”
Something in Alhaitham’s throat lurched violently. “Your words are worth nothing now. Save your energy and be quiet.”
It had taken them 45 minutes to get to the cave earlier.
Alhaitham didn’t keep track of how far he’d been run. 20 minutes? 30? Shouldn’t there be patrol vehicles already at this distance?
He was headed in the right direction. His calculation wasn't wrong. Yet as he trudged further, there were only sounds of metal and sand and wind—
Alhaitham’s steps stuttered. “Kaveh?”
Silence.
A hollow, queasy sensation crept over him.
“Kaveh.”
His chest ached. Sharp. Jagged. Like his plating was cracking open. He hadn’t registered when he’d dropped to the floor, checking the wound, tightening the bloodied coat.
No reaction.
No red eyes.
No breath.
No—
Heat flooded his core, wild and uncontained.
“My chest hurts.”
He waited for the scoff. For warm fingers prying at his seams. For concerned eyes that never, never ignored him.
“Kaveh, my chest hurts. Wake up and fix it.”
He knocked his fist to his chest plate. Once. Again. Nothing.
“My chest hurts. My chest—”
Again.
Again.
Harder.
Until metal rang dully on metal.
But no one answered.