I Am Not a Robot. Beep-bop

Chapter 2: The Day Rust Rain Felll… 1

Even after becoming an adult, after becoming a Demon King, even after living through three lifetimes, there exists a foolish person who still clings to the romance and ideals they dreamed of as a child.

That person is me.

I decided to go by the name Alice.

Isn’t that too much of a girl’s name?

I can barely recall the memories of my first and second lives, and like Alice in the fairy tale, I really did fall into a “strange world,” so I think the name Alice suits me quite well.

I couldn’t let go of my dreams and foolishly fell into a strange world. If not Alice, then what else would I be?

Borrowing the name of a character from a fairy tale seems romantic in its own way, doesn’t it?

Or maybe not.

Does it sound too pathetic?

Well… yeah.

My life itself is pretty pathetic anyway.

If you die chasing ideals and dreams, you might look impressive, but most people call that a pointless death.

In my first life, I was the very definition of a pointless death.

When I was so young I can hardly remember, I happened to watch a cartoon about a hero and a Demon King on cable TV and thought it was cool.

That little kid dreamed of becoming a hero or a Demon King, but instead, he worked to death as an overworked employee at a small black company with no holidays.

It was truly a life devoid of dreams or romance.

But some divine being must have pitied me for my pointless death and gave me a new opportunity.

So far, so good.

Everyone wishes for a second chance, and I got mine.

Unlike my first life, where I lived aimlessly without ideals, I resolved in my second life to grasp the happiness and romance I wanted.

And so, in my second life, I fell into a strange and peculiar world, not the Earth I knew.

My second life was an amazing fantasy world.

When I was young, I read the fairy tale Alice in Wonderland and envied Alice for falling into a magical world. But experiencing it myself?

It wasn’t envy but pure terror and cosmic horror.

Seriously, dragons were flying around.

I thought they were just fire-breathing dragons, but their fire turned into blinding light and sliced mountains and castles clean in half.

In books, it seemed majestic and awe-inspiring.

Seeing it in person, all I could do was swear.

After that, many things happened…

To cut to the chase, in my second life, I became a Demon King.

I know, it sounds sudden.

Saying, “I became a Demon King,” out of nowhere probably leaves anyone reading this thinking, “What nonsense is this?”

But it’s the truth, and it’s a simple summary of what I experienced.

In my second life, I became a Demon King who had to destroy the world, and as there was a hero to oppose me, I got skewered by them and died.

The end.

It feels like I should explain how I became the Demon King and the tragic secrets of the world at length, but unfortunately, I don’t remember much of it.

Memories are governed by brain cells and whatnot, some scientific stuff, but trying to explain a second life scientifically is contradictory in itself.

So, in my first life, I died meaninglessly as an ordinary human.

In my second life, I achieved my dream of becoming a Demon King, but the gaps in my memory left me dissatisfied with that life as well.

I imagined the hero and Demon King clashing, a grand battle deciding the fate of the world, and within it, friendship, ideals, romance, and other fantasy elements blooming…

Ta-da.

None of that happened.

Even if it did, none of it remained in my memory.

Ultimately, my second life left me deeply dissatisfied too.

Whether or not gods exist, I still don’t know, but the being that gave me my second life seemed gracious enough to give me a third chance.

“…Why they gave me this third chance in a tin can body, I have no idea.”

To explain how I ended up in this tin can…

No, this female android body for my third chance, I need to turn back the clock a bit.

Ahem.

Let me clear my throat first.

Alright, let me tell it like an old minstrel would.

Not that I remember any of their songs, but if I say I’ll do it that way, I will.

One day, a Gate opened.

Through a tear in space, like a crack in a glass window, countless disasters poured out, and many nations and civilizations that couldn’t withstand them perished.

In the midst of it, Awakened ones appeared, and people who had gone missing returned as returnees from another world.

In a ruined world, people gathered, pooled their strength, and resisted the disasters.

Eventually, humanity, though not as much as before, managed to rebuild cities and civilizations.

People called this the Ark.

The Ark appeared to resist the disasters, and the surviving humans gathered in cities, becoming a new light in the ruined world.

And so today, the great city known as the Ark protected humanity from external threats.

Humanity gradually pushed beyond the Ark, resisted disasters, and continued its civilization.

This was the world of the Ark where I now found myself.

Whether this was a world from a game, a novel, or some other type of dimensional travel or isekai, I have no idea. But my third life came abruptly and unexpectedly.

Honestly, I didn’t even feel my death.

Though I supposedly lived as a Demon King in my second life, I don’t remember when or how I died, or if I was indeed killed by the hero.

Maybe the vague and hazy memory of being a Demon King is just a delusion, and I’m merely the dying echo of some electronic AI fantasizing about being a Demon King.

Regardless, assuming it’s true that I was indeed a Demon King and am now living my third life, I’ll say this: I first opened my eyes in my third life on a day when rusted rain fell.

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-Thud.

-Thud thud.

On a day when a toxic rain mixed with rusted iron fell.

Something stirred in the trash heaps on the outskirts of the city.

One, two, three.

Something that was neither dead nor alive began to move.

The heart of scrap metal creaked with mana, and the springs and metal tendrils connected throughout its body began to sing as they trembled.

Come now, let’s take a step forward.

A step that wasn’t human-like.

A step like a puppet’s.

Let’s take a second step.

A trembling step.

A doll-like step.

Let’s take a third step.

And down it goes.

A broken ankle.

Protruding wires.

Spilling screws.

Rolling springs.

Oh dear, that hurts.

No, saying it hurts is absurd.

Even though my ankle broke and spilled parts, it doesn’t hurt.

How could a tin can feel pain?

How could a robot feel pain?

It doesn’t hurt.

I’m just losing parts.

Screws and springs.

Small springs roll away.

Pale crimson springs pop out like coils, and what a waste.

Are all of these things coming out of my body?

Why am I here?

Who am I?

What’s my name?

Where is this place?

Rusted rain mixed with iron powder slid down glass pupils and trickled down my cheeks.

Though I didn’t feel sorrow, I felt sad and heavy-hearted.

Even if my body is metal, my blood is oil, and I look at the world through glass pupils, am I still human?

I don’t know yet, but I still want to be human.

Since I don’t know yet, I’ll continue living as a human.

Get up again.

Though the broken ankle is bothersome, get up.

Stand up.

Rise.

The past is the past.

The present is the present.

Set aside the sorrow of death.

Be thankful for being alive.

Be so delighted that you’d even want to dance.

Even if you die of joy and die once more.

Whether I died or lived.

I don’t know.

Whoever I was.

That’s ultimately a thing of the past, and now, as a broken doll of metal, I must do the hardest thing.

Let’s take the first step recorded in history.

Come on, stand up.

-Creak!

I stand.

The fragments of broken parts seemed to spill out, but the screws and coil pieces that scattered and spilled the moment I stood up rolled back to me.

Could it be magnetism?

Or magic?

I don’t know if this tin doll has the power of regeneration, but the sight of coil fragments flowing back as if reversing was quite astonishing.

I picked up a tin can that was rolling around haphazardly in the scrap heap.

Hey there! Tin can, do you remember me?

I picked you up, so do you remember me?

Who am I?

Am I also a tin can like you?

Oh dear!

You can’t speak.

It’s okay.

I don’t know you either!

Because I’m a tin can too!

[Then…010111… it’s okay…11.010… let’s… just say it’s fine…]

Come on, let’s rise.

Cheerful scrap heap.

Chatterbox tin doll.

A mechanical device with a rusted brain that still wants to be human.

Hello, world.

Who am I?

Who are you?

“Since I don’t know you either, let’s just say it’s fine.”

Instead of a suffocating coffin, I was born with the ashen sky as my roof.

Soaked not in amniotic fluid but in rusted rain.

If I have regrets, let the heart of scrap metal pulse, and if I want to do something new, let’s cheerfully move forward.

Come on, I still want to enjoy romance and ideals.

“Though I don’t even know what those are, they’re probably something good! Ha-ha!”

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It is not uncommon for toxic thunderstorms to pour over the outskirts of the Ark.

In the city center where the Ark is located, climate manipulators are constantly in operation, and if urgent, an A-class mage capable of weather manipulation would intervene, but in cases of “rust rain” where the rain is mixed with rust, it’s not so fatal a climate issue, so they tend to leave it alone.

“Ah, look at this weather. Not even a single load of laundry will dry.”

Oriana.

She is a first-class overseer of the Ark and currently the head of the patrol unit responsible for monitoring the outskirts.

With luck and the ability to back it up, she rose to the rank of first-class overseer, but she has no particular ambition to climb to a higher position, content with her moderately comfortable role as the head of the patrol unit.

“Overseer, don’t you even have a dryer?”

“I had one, but it’s been deactivated because I couldn’t pay the taxes.”

“Oh dear…”

“Are you richer than me? You talk like you’ve got a working dryer.”

All electrical appliances, including dryers, are taxed by the leadership of the Ark.

Electricity is energy, and it doesn’t come for free.

Moreover, since the world has been ravaged by gates and dungeons, the means to produce electricity are limited, and when supply falls short of demand, the taxes on it increase substantially.

Many Ark citizens are skilled in assembling magical engineering products or electronic devices, so the leadership doesn’t restrict the purchase or creation of such items, but they impose strict taxes on the “electricity” required to operate them.

The usage of electricity, monthly limits, and illegal supply routes are monitored so thoroughly that the leadership immediately dispatches a tax squad if any foul play is suspected.

Electricity, among other forms of energy, is one of the Ark’s most valuable resources.

“I only apply for electricity for TV and computers when I’m on vacation. I’ve subscribed to a plan just for the dryer since I use it frequently.”

“Doesn’t that make it more expensive?”

“I hardly get more than four days off at home in a month anyway.”

“Hmm, is that so? Should I cancel some of my subscriptions too?”

Oriana glanced outside the window at the rust rain falling as she listened to her subordinate.

-Pitter-patter.

-Tick, ting!

In the past, some might have found the act of rain itself poetic, but the sound of iron-laden rust rain hitting metal sheets evoked an unsettling feeling.

At least “rust rain” is considered a low-risk toxic thunderstorm compared to calamities like teeth hail or flesh snow.

As long as one stayed under a roof, it didn’t pose much danger to humans.

However, there were cases of people’s skin being pierced and dying from exposure to rust rain, so on such days, patrols were generally avoided, and they stayed indoors, monitoring through surveillance systems.

Although Oriana’s personality as a high-ranking overseer preferred patrolling outside and taking down monsters, on rust rain days, she had no choice but to sip on expired instant coffee quietly.

Even though the rust rain wouldn’t pierce her skin, the pain would still be unpleasant.

There was no need to go out unnecessarily.

Anyone wandering around on days like this was one of two things.

A deranged high-level Awakened individual.

Or a monster referred to as the offspring of calamities.

“Overseer.”

“What? Are we out of coffee?”

At her subordinate’s call, Oriana glanced at him while sipping her coffee.

Regrettably, even expired instant coffee was a precious commodity.

Oriana herself had spent quite a bit of money obtaining it.

Having shared it freely last time, she decided today she’d be selfish and keep it all for herself.

“There’s been movement detected in the rain.”

Her subordinate’s eyes were fixed intently on the magical surveillance network monitoring the area.

Oriana’s gaze briefly turned cold as she put down her coffee.