Rad’s eyes fluttered open as the relentless beeping of his alarm clock pulled him from the depths of slumber. He groaned, the sharp, rhythmic sound grating against his nerves. Reaching out blindly, his fingers fumbled over the cluttered nightstand until he found the small clock, silencing it with a forceful press of his thumb.
The room was dim, the soft light of neon lights seeping through the thin, tattered curtains. He lay there for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, his mind still hazy from sleep. But as the fog cleared, fragments of memory rushed back to him, glowing green eyes, words spoken with a tenderness he hadn’t expected, and a warmth that had enveloped him as he drifted off.
Rad sat up abruptly, the blanket slipping from his chest. His dark brown eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that the events of the previous day were real. But all he found was the usual disarray of his small apartment.
His boots were by the door, his hoodie draped over a chair. A half-eaten bag of chips lay abandoned on the floor, and his backpack leaned against the peeling wall. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing to suggest that a robotic baby had been there.
He ran a hand through his messy brown hair, his fingers tangling in the knots. “Was it a dream?” he muttered to himself, his voice cracking slightly. He clenched his fists, trying to recall every detail. The baby’s words lingered in his mind, sharp and vivid, but the rational part of him insisted it couldn’t have been real.
Shaking his head, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cold, worn floorboards. He pushed himself up with a groan, the aches in his body making him feel older than eleven.
Rad shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to shake off the strange, lingering unease. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his bangs falling into his eyes. “Get it together,” he told himself firmly. “Just a weird dream. That’s all.”
Yet, as he moved to get dressed, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind refused to be silenced. He slipped on his hoodie, pulling it over his head, and laced up his boots. The room felt too quiet, too still, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
Grabbing his backpack, Rad slung it over his shoulder and headed for the door. Before stepping out, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He glanced back at the room one last time, half-expecting to see those glowing eyes staring at him from the shadows.
But there was nothing. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and stepped outside.
his mind still preoccupied with the strange encounter, or dream, from the day before. As he walked through the bustling streets, the cool morning air hit his face, and the noise of the undercity began to drown out his thoughts. The familiar sounds of vendors shouting, machinery humming, and people rushing to start their day reminded him of the world he lived in, a world that didn’t have room for strange robotic babies or cryptic messages about life and death.
Adjusting his backpack, Rad headed toward school, blending into the flow of the crowd. Yet, deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. The memory of the baby’s words lingered, and despite his doubts, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see it again.
As Rad walked through the schools he stopped at his class and pushed open the creaky door to his classroom, the loud chatter of students hitting him like a wave. The room was alive with the typical pre-class chaos: backpacks being shuffled, last-minute homework scribbles, and the hum of overlapping conversations. The air smelled faintly of old books and the artificial citrus scent from a cleaner that failed to mask the grungy undertones of the undercity.
As Rad stepped inside, his eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar sight, Mona Flowers and Bryce Johnson, locked in yet another heated exchange near the center of the room. Mona, with her curly black hair bouncing as she gestured animatedly, stood toe-to-toe with Bryce, her hazel eyes narrowing with every retort.
“You’re delusional if you think that would work!” Mona snapped, crossing her arms in defiance. Her voice carried a sharp edge, tinged with the bratty confidence she wielded like a weapon.
Bryce, leaning casually against a desk with his trademark grin, shrugged. “Oh, come on, Mona. Just admit it, you’re scared I’m right. Again.” His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, the freckles across his nose and cheeks slightly flushed from the argument.
“Scared? Of you? Please,” Mona shot back, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You wouldn’t know a good plan if it bit you in the ass.”
Rad smirked faintly as he passed by them. Their bickering was as predictable as the sun rising, and though he wouldn’t admit it, there was a strange comfort in its constancy. It was one of the few things in his chaotic life that hadn’t changed.
Neither of them noticed him as he slipped past, weaving through the desks toward his usual spot in the back row. His seat was tucked away in the back, far from the Ms. Lena’s watchful gaze and the prying eyes of his classmates. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could fade into the background and let the world pass him by.
As he settled into his chair, Rad dropped his backpack to the floor and leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh. The classroom’s noise felt distant, like a dull roar that he wasn’t fully a part of. He stared out the smudged window to the far left beside him, his mind drifting back to the events of the previous day.
Was it really just a dream? He wondered, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the desk. The baby’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, the words it had spoken lingering like an unshakable shadow. “Rad,” a familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
He turned his head slightly to see Bryce plopping into the seat next to him, his usual grin plastered across his face. Mona was glaring daggers at him from her seat a few rows away, but Bryce seemed entirely unbothered.
“You catch any of that?” Bryce asked, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s on this whole ‘I’m always right’ streak again. She’ll crack eventually, though.
Rad rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure she’s cracked already. You’re just making it worse.”
Bryce chuckled, his laughter soft but genuine. “Eh, maybe. Keeps things interesting, though.”
Rad gave a noncommittal grunt in response, his mind already drifting again. Whatever had happened last night, dream or not, it had shaken something loose in him. And as much as he wanted to bury it, the feeling refused to be ignored.
But just as Rad’s mind began to drift his gaze shifted toward the door as Kite walked in, the faint squeak of the hinges pulling him out of his thoughts. The boy’s nervous demeanor immediately caught Rad’s attention, though his focus shifted quickly to Ava, who leapt from her seat by Lira with an almost predatory grace.
“Kite! Where have you been?” Ava’s voice rang out, filled with concern, though her sharp glance at the robotic baby cradled in Kite’s arms betrayed a lingering unease. Rad followed her line of sight, his eyes narrowing as he notes Ray nestled in the cradle, feigning sleep, his glowing green pupils dimmed just enough to blend into the unassuming metallic like surface of his frame.
Kite hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was just feeling a bit sick yesterday, that’s all.” His voice was steady, but both Rad and Ava could tell from his tone that there was more to the story.
Ava’s pink irises narrowed slightly, her suspicion evident as she crossed her arms and glanced down at Kite’s jeans. The holsters on either side were impossible to miss, each carrying a ray gun that looked crudely made yet undeniably dangerous.
“Just a bit sick, huh,” she replied dryly, her sarcasm cutting through Kite’s weak excuse. Her expression softened after a moment, and she let out a sigh. “Well, whatever. You didn’t miss much yesterday anyway, except Ms. Lena giving us assigned seats next to our partners for the nurture project.”
Kite’s face paled as the words registered, and his eyes darted nervously around the room. Rad’s sharp scoff broke the tension as he turned away, deliberately avoiding any interaction, his attention feigning interest in the ancient chalkboard at the front of the room.
Ava caught Kite’s glance toward Rad and couldn’t help but laugh, her voice lilting and playful as she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t bite too hard.” She said as she gave Kite a teasing smile and a playful pat on his head, before spinning on her heel and returning to her seat beside Lira, who was busy scribbling something in a notebook.
Kite stood frozen for a moment, glancing down at Ray, whose eyes briefly flickered open, glowing faintly green for just a second before dimming again. Kite exhaled and trudged to a seat beside Rad, tension rolling off his shoulders as he prepared for yet another day of navigating the chaos of school.
Rad sat back in his chair, arms crossed, his gaze lingering on Kite and the strange cradle in his hands. The soft hum of Ray’s mechanical systems seemed to amplify in Rad’s mind as he focused on the robotic baby, its faint glow pulsating gently with an almost lifelike rhythm.
“You sure seem happy,” Rad muttered, his voice low but laced with curiosity and something else, discomfort, perhaps. He didn’t look directly at Kite when he spoke, keeping his eyes narrowed on the cradle that housed Ray.
Kite blinked, caught off guard by the observation. He adjusted his hold on the cradle, his fingers brushing the edges of its polished surface. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice carrying a cautious warmth. “Me and him…” Kite glanced down at Ray, who lay still, his green pupils dim and fixed in a mimicry of sleep. “…are getting along better now.”
Rad snorted softly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Him, huh,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes flicked back to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom as if trying to force himself not to think too much.
He tightened his jaw as his mind churned. Guess it wasn’t a dream after all. Rad thought, his stomach sinking slightly. The memory of the rooftop encounter with Ray flashed vividly in his mind, the glowing eyes, the way its voice had pierced straight through his defenses. His chest tightened with unease, the weight of those words still hanging heavy.
Before Rad could lose himself entirely in his thoughts, Ms. Lena entered the room, her sharp voice cutting through the low chatter. “Alright, everyone. Quiet down and take your seats. We’re going to start.”
The classroom settled into an uneasy silence, the only sound the faint creak of chairs and the occasional shuffle of papers. Rad straightened slightly, his gaze still drawn to Kite and Ray as if trying to piece together the growing enigma before him. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear, things were changing, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what came next.
Ms. Lena’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she walked to the front of the room. The students immediately quieted, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, while others fidgeted with their robotic babies in their cradles.
“Good morning, everyone,” Ms. Lena began, her tone measured yet firm. “As you know, our current project is more than just a lesson in responsibility, it’s a reflection of the choices you will face in a world increasingly dominated by artificial intelligence. Today, we’ll discuss what it means to be responsible for something that, while not alive, is still capable of learning and mimicking life.”
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Rad sank a little lower in his seat, his eyes darting toward Kite and Ray. Kite, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably, subtly angling Ray’s cradle away from Ava’s persistent side-eye.
Ms. Lena continued, “Let’s start with a question. Does anyone think it’s possible to truly love or care for something artificial?”
Ava’s hand shot up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Depends. Are we talking about robots, or, like, my toaster? Because I love my toaster.”
The class chuckled, and even Ms. Lena smirked slightly. “A valid point, Ava,” she replied. “But let’s focus on AI, entities capable of learning, adapting, and mimicking human emotions. Can genuine care exist between humans and machines?”
Bryce leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head. “I mean, people get attached to their pets, right? AI isn’t that different. They do stuff for you, they’re loyal, most of them, anyway, and they can even give you companionship.”
Ava snorted. “Sure, but your pet isn’t secretly recording everything you say and sending it to some creepy nut job.”
The room buzzed with laughter again, but Ms. Lena raised a hand, signaling for silence. “Interesting perspective, Ava. But let’s consider: If a machine were truly independent, capable of forming its own thoughts and decisions, would your attachment to it be any less valid than to, say, a friend?”
Kite raised his hand hesitantly, his voice quiet as he spoke. “I think it depends on whether the machine wants to be cared for. If it’s just doing what it’s programmed to do, then… is it really a choice?”
Rad felt a chill run down his spine at Kite’s words, and his eyes flickered toward Ray’s cradle. Ray’s glowing eyes remained dim, pretending to sleep, but Rad couldn’t shake the feeling that the baby was listening.
Ms. Lena nodded thoughtfully. “An excellent point, Kite. And that brings us to another question, do we, as creators or caretakers, have a moral obligation to machines capable of such independence?”
Mona, who had been quietly doodling in the margins of her notebook, suddenly spoke up, her voice sharper than usual. “Why should we? They’re just tools. It’s not like they feel pain or anything.”
Bryce turned to her, eyebrows raised. “That’s kinda cold, don’t you think? What if one day, AI is advanced enough to feel something like pain? You’d just ignore it?”
Mona shrugged, her tone dismissive. “If it can’t bleed, it’s not my problem.”
Bryce rolled his eyes and muttered, “Of course, you’d say that, bug-brain.”
“Say that again, and we’ll see who’s bleeding,” Mona snapped, leaning forward. “Enough!” Ms. Lena’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, silencing the brewing argument.
“This is exactly why we’re having this discussion. These are not just hypothetical questions. As technology advances, the lines between human and machine will blur, and how we treat these entities will reflect our values as a society.”
She gave the class a pointed look, making sure no one was slacking off. “Today, we’re going to talk about something that might feel a little uncomfortable, but I believe it’s important. The topic for today’s lesson is ‘The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence and Human Responsibility.’”
A murmur ran through the class as the students exchanged curious glances. Ms. Lena raised an eyebrow, her eyes locking on the group of students who had been less than engaged.
“Some of you may find this topic strange,” she continued, pacing in front of the class, “but I want you to think critically. These babies,” she gestured to the cradles around the room, “may not be living beings, but they are designed to act as if they were. They can mimic emotions, respond to you, even seem to depend on you. The question we must ask ourselves is this: What do we owe them?”
Rad’s eyes shifted to the side, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. His thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on the conversation he’d had with Ray the day before. The baby’s words echoed in his mind, stirring something deep inside him.
Kite, who had been staring down at Ray, suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if realizing the weight of the question. He cleared his throat and raised his hand, a little unsure but eager to participate.
“Ms. Lena, what if we don’t... feel anything for them?” Kite asked, his voice quiet but earnest. He gently rocked Ray in the cradle, his thumb brushing against the smooth surface of the baby’s robotic face. “I mean, it’s just a machine, right? Shouldn’t we just do the bare minimum to pass the project?”
Ms. Lena’s gaze softened, and she nodded. “Good question, Kite. Yes, technically, these are machines. But that doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility. What we do, how we treat them, says something about who we are.
Can we honestly say we’re doing the right thing if we only do the bare minimum? It’s easy to dismiss something as ‘just a machine,’ but I challenge you to consider: How would that mindset impact your interactions with others in the real world? If you treat even something artificial with apathy, what does that say about your values?”
Rad’s thoughts stirred as the class fell into silence. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the question hit him harder than it should have. He glanced at Ray’s cradle, eyes narrowing as he thought about his relationship with the robotic baby. Was it really just a project? Or was there more to it than that?
Ava, who had been slouching in her chair next to Lira, shot her hand into the air. “Yeah, but what if we don’t care about them? What if we’re just trying to pass the class?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not here for some emotional attachment to a robotic baby. I don’t think anyone else is either.”
Ms. Lena fixed her with a knowing stare. “Ava, I understand the temptation to treat this like just another assignment. But I want you to remember this, there’s a reason we’re doing this project. It’s not just about nurturing something physical; it’s about nurturing your humanity. Your capacity to care. To learn from these experiences.”
Rad shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Ms. Lena’s words seemed to settle around him, weighing on him like a thick fog. The baby’s voice, the one that had echoed in his mind, rose again, as if trying to remind him of something he didn’t want to face. Time is finite.
Kite, still nervously clutching Ray’s cradle, spoke up again, his voice quieter now. “But isn’t it different when it’s a robot? I mean, it doesn’t have real feelings. Does it matter if we don’t bond with it?”
Ms. Lena paused, letting the question linger in the air before answering. “That’s the real challenge, Kite. These babies can’t feel like humans, but they’re designed to simulate emotions. Their purpose is to make you think about how you would treat another living thing. Would you treat them the same way if they were human? Or does the fact that they’re artificial make it easier to treat them with indifference?”
She turned to the class, her gaze sweeping across the room. “You may not have a direct emotional connection to them, but how you choose to engage with them shapes your character. Every choice you make reflects who you are and who you might become.”
Rad rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the mounting unease he felt. It wasn’t just the baby. It was everything, the words the baby had said, the lesson, the weight of it all.
Ms. Lena’s voice cut through his thoughts. “And here’s something else for you all to think about: We can only give so much care, so much time, and so much attention before our time is up. Just like us, these babies will outlive their usefulness. You won’t be with them forever. How do you want to be remembered for your time with them? Think about that.”
For the first time, Rad couldn’t look away from his cradle. He stared at the robotic baby, and something twisted in his gut. This wasn’t just an assignment. It was a lesson in what it meant to be human.
The bell rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. Ms. Lena looked around, as if expecting the class to have some epiphany.
“Remember, your final reports on your babies are still due in a month,” she said. “I expect you to really think about your experiences. Not just the care you gave, but the lessons you learned.”
As the students filed out of the room, Rad remained seated, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected a simple class project to stir so much. Was it really a lesson about just the robots? Or was it about something else entirely?
Rad now walked past dozens of chimeras and human children through the rundown school’s cafeteria, the dim lighting casting flickering shadows across the cracked tiles and peeling walls. In his hands, he balanced a battered breakfast tray with a serving of bland scrambled eggs, a slice of overly crisp bacon, a lukewarm pancake drenched in artificial syrup, and a carton of milk that was just slightly past its expiration date. The food smelled faintly metallic, a byproduct of the old kitchen equipment still in use.
Kids sat at mismatched tables around him, their chatter and laughter echoing off the walls in a chaotic symphony of voices. The clatter of trays, the scrape of plastic forks against plates, and the occasional outburst of laughter created a nauseating noise that filled the room like a heavy fog.
Rad glanced to his left, spotting Kite, Lira, and Ava seated together at a table. Ray’s cradle rested atop the table beside Kite, the faint glow of the robotic baby’s eyes flickering in and out as it “slept.” The three kids were deep in conversation, their faces lit up with wide smiles as they joked and teased one another. Kite was animatedly gesturing with his fork, while Ava leaned back in her seat, her laugh cutting through the din like a bell. Even Lira, who was usually more reserved, was grinning brightly, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy.
Rad slowed for a moment, bitterness creeping into his chest as he watched them. Their laughter, muted by the cacophony of the lunchroom, felt distant and alien. Scoffing under his breath, he turned away and kept walking, gripping the edges of his tray tightly.
As he weaved through the tables, his eyes landed on Kay, the small chimera boy with floppy rabbit ears who he had encountered days before. Kay was seated alone at a corner table, his tray holding a similarly unappetizing meal: a half-eaten pancake, a few stray pieces of bacon, and a small juice box he sipped from tentatively. His ears drooped slightly, and his body seemed to shrink as he hunched over his food, clearly trying to avoid drawing attention.
Rad’s steps faltered. He stared at the boy, watching how Kay’s wide, frightened eyes darted nervously around the room, as though expecting someone to bother him. For a moment, Rad debated silently with himself. Why should I bother? He thought. It’s not my problem if he’s alone. But something tugged at him, a strange, nagging feeling he couldn’t quite ignore.
After a long moment, Rad sighed heavily and changed course, walking toward Kay’s table. His boots scuffed against the floor as he approached, and Kay’s head jerked up at the sound. The boy’s eyes widened in fear when he saw Rad standing there, looming over him with his tray in hand.
“Oh! I- uh- hello there!” Kay stammered, his voice trembling as he fidgeted with his juice box. His floppy ears twitched slightly, and his hands shook as he clutched the edge of the table.
Rad stared at the boy for a moment, his expression unreadable. Kay’s nervous energy was palpable, and it almost made Rad turn around and leave. But then, with some effort, Rad forced a small smile onto his face. It was awkward, a little stiff, but it was the best he could manage. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his tone neutral, almost casual.
Kay blinked in surprise, his fear briefly replaced by confusion. “O-oh, uh, sure! Go ahead!” he said quickly, gesturing to the seat next to him. He still seemed tense, but there was a flicker of something else in his wide eyes, relief, maybe, or even hope.
Rad nodded and slid into the seat beside Kay, setting his tray down with a soft thud. As he settled in, he glanced at Kay, who was still staring at him, unsure of what to say. For the first time since he could remember, Rad didn’t feel like scowling or glaring. Instead, he picked up his fork and began to eat, leaving the silence to stretch between them. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Kay’s hands fidgeted with his fork, tapping it nervously against his plate as he snuck glances at Rad. The chimera boy’s voice was barely audible over the cafeteria noise when he finally broke the silence. “Um… so… do you usually sit alone too?”
Rad paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his scrambled eggs. He glanced at Kay out of the corner of his eye before shrugging. “Yeah, I guess.” His voice was flat, but not unkind. “Why? Does it bother you?”
Kay shook his head quickly, his floppy ears bouncing. “N-no! I mean, I was just curious. I don’t really, um, talk to people much…” His words trailed off, and he stared down at his tray, poking at his pancake.
Rad smirked faintly, though it lacked his usual bitterness. “Doesn’t seem like you talk much at all,” he said, leaning back slightly in his seat. “But hey, you’re still doing better than most of these kids. At least you’re not loud and annoying.”
Kay blinked at him, unsure if it was a compliment or not. “Oh… uh, thanks?”
For a moment, the two sat in relative silence, the chaos of the cafeteria buzzing around them. Rad continued eating, but he found his gaze wandering back to Kay, who was still nibbling on his food like he didn’t want to be noticed. Something about the kid’s timid demeanor reminded Rad of himself, or at least the part of him he didn’t like to think about.
“So,” Rad said suddenly, his voice cutting through the awkward quiet. “What’s your deal? Why do you sit alone?”
Kay’s ears drooped lower, and he hunched his shoulders. “I… I don’t really have any friends,” he admitted softly. “A lot of the other kids don’t want to hang out with a chimera. They think I’m weird.”
Rad scoffed, setting his fork down with a clatter. “Yeah, well, people suck. Let them think what they want. Doesn’t mean you have to care.”
Kay’s pink eyes flicked up to meet Rad’s for a brief moment. “Do… do you care?” he asked hesitantly.
Rad opened his mouth to snap back with something sarcastic, but the question caught him off guard. He frowned, his expression hardening as he glanced away. “I don’t care about anything,” he muttered, though the words sounded hollow even to him.
Kay tilted his head slightly, his fear giving way to curiosity. “You don’t seem like you don’t care. I mean, you sat here with me, didn’t you?”
Rad’s jaw tightened, and he stabbed his fork into his pancake. “Don’t read into it, kid,” he grumbled. “I just wanted some peace and quiet. That’s all.”
Kay nodded slowly, but a small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Well… thanks for sitting here anyway.” Rad didn’t respond, but for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he didn’t feel completely alone.