Grandma Bridge had left a will before she died: after her passing, her brain’s memories were to be converted into a personality code and uploaded onto the original spaceship.
After the foundations of Metropolis were completed, the vast amount of data stored within the ship was transferred in stages. Today, this "artificial moon" that had drifted in extra-terrestrial orbit for so many years had become a museum. Every year, on the anniversary of the founding of Metropolis, the ship would descend to the surface and open its doors to the public.
Beyond that, it also served as the operational headquarters for Metropolis’s M-Mac franchise.
"I strongly suggest you don't use the cucumber sandwich as this year's Visiting Day special," a young woman’s voice drifted from the screen. "It’s not appropriate."
"What do you know, old lady?" The youth stood before an experimental bench, focused intently on slicing pickles. "You’re just a mainframe now. People without taste buds don't get a vote."
Before he could finish, several mechanical grippers suddenly extended from the bench—originally intended for the precise manipulation of synthetic components. The grippers snatched up the pickles with pinpoint accuracy and pelted them all over the youth’s head and face.
"Dammit!" The youth scrambled to dodge the flying pickles. "Grandma Bridge, don't push it! Mainframe override privileges aren't for doing stuff like this!"
Hardly had he spoken when a cleaning robot suddenly deployed. With a single sweep of its broom, it knocked the youth flat and unceremoniously dumped the android into a trash bin.
A moment later, the youth crawled out of the bin, looking disheveled. He spat out a stray screw and cursed, "I’ll screw your ancestors’ floorboards!"
"And I’ll screw your ancestors’ shovels!" Grandma Bridge shot back fluently. She had downloaded every language system within the ship; the two of them could trade insults from dawn till dusk, switching from Albanian to Mauritian creole to Sichuanese without ever repeating a phrase.
The youth was so annoyed he simply shut her down, only to reboot her a moment later. "Hey, is it really that bad?"
"How should I know?" the woman’s voice came through the speakers, sounding sweet and demure. "I’m just a poor, weak, helpless little mainframe without a taste bud system to my name~"
"Don't use your twenty-year-old voice to act cute!" The youth’s skin crawled. "I’m gonna barf!"
The woman’s voice immediately shifted to that of a forty-year-old—a cold, glamorous, and moving alto, as if she were reading a formal speech: "Certainly, dear. Are there any other requirements you have, dear?"
The youth: "..."
"I give up," the android raised his hands in surrender. "I’ll take the cucumber sandwich off the menu."
The mainframe’s voice returned to its normal teenage tone. "Good."
"Why are you so obsessed with hating that sandwich anyway?" The youth poked the screen. "Give me a reason."
A line of text appeared on the screen in distorted 'Martian Script': *4 pL4c3 th4t s3lls bUrg3rs sh0uld juSt s3ll bUrg3rs. Wh3r3 dId thIs d4mn s4ndwIch c0m3 fr0m? St0p m3ssIng 4r0und. n0 zu0 n0 dI3 why y0u try.*
"..." The youth covered his face. "Stop messing with the language settings."
*Don't be shy, we two who and who?*
"wo bu ren shi ni zhe ge sha bi," the youth typed expressionlessly and pulled the power plug again.
Given Grandma Bridge’s level of control over the entire ship, simply pulling the plug did nothing to her. A moment later, her voice drifted from a different speaker: "Fine, the truth is that Metropolis is developing a convenience store brand. I promised to provide them with some food formulas..."
"I knew it!" The youth slammed the table, fuming.
"Don't be angry," she said reasonably. "I analyzed the molecular data of your sandwich. Its texture is compatible for both humans and androids—in fact, it’s even friendlier to androids. If it can be sold in Metropolis, it might help ease the current situation."
The "situation" she referred to was the friction between androids and humans in Metropolis, a conflict that had existed since the beginning. Regardless of the circumstances, humans could not currently rid themselves of android labor. Although the intelligence of mass-produced labor models had been capped at a certain level, it couldn't withstand the human reliance on automation and computing.
In the fifty-odd years since the founding of Metropolis, the intelligence of the androids appearing on the market had been steadily climbing.
The youth clearly knew what she was implying. "There was another protest in the streets a few days ago."
"I know," Grandma Bridge hummed. "I saw it through the surveillance feeds. The self-awareness level of the android leading them has clearly broken past the Turing threshold."
"Even with the technological remnants of the 22nd century, reaching this level in just fifty years... I don't think it's normal," the youth said.
"What’s not normal about it? Don't underestimate the technological singularity." Grandma Bridge paused for a moment. "But you're right. There’s definitely something wrong within the government. I haven't even been dead that long and already... Hah." Her tone was half-wistful, half-mocking. "Humans."
The youth was silent for a while, then suddenly asked, "Grandma Bridge."
"Mm-hmm?"
"...When you decided to store your personality in the ship before you died, did you foresee this day?" the youth asked. "Neither human nor android, existing in the crack between life and non-life. You are a paradox, but also a bridge."
Existing now as a being neither truly alive nor dead, she could serve as a buffer zone between humanity and the androids.
The woman did not answer his question.
A moment later, the screen flickered on automatically, displaying a line of green text:
*Based on the preceding text, please analyze the character image and behavioral motivations of Grandma Bridge, the first leader of Metropolis. (8 points)*
"...It’s only 8 points; I don't even want them," the youth said. "Just shut up."
At that moment, the ship was cruising tens of thousands of feet in the air, looking down upon the world. The city on the plains could already be called prosperous; from a distance, the lights were as bright as day, yet dark undercurrents swirled within.
On the day of the Metropolis Foundation Festival, a massive light-board was spread across the central plaza. Upon it hovered two statues: a woman gazing into the distance and a youth charging forward, surrounded by rising and falling white doves, shimmering with light.
The spaceship descended to the surface, its massive hatch opening. Orchestras and honor guards marched in formation. After a simple celebration, the crowds of visitors flooded into the ship. Holographic projections of Grandma Bridge stood before various exhibition halls—she appeared as a girl, an adult, a leader, and an elder. And behind every version of her stood a youth.
"Welcome to the spaceship. From here, we shall begin a century-long journey of exploration and homecoming," the woman smiled at the guests. "I am Investigator No. 000, code name: Grandma Bridge."
Unlike the bustling noise in the main cabin, the core control room was quiet. The youth sat before a massive surveillance screen, chewing on salted ice cubes from his cola, his long legs propped up on the console.
Grandma Bridge’s voice came through the speakers. "The modeling you did this year isn't bad. I’d forgotten I ever wore my hair like that in my thirties."
A surveillance window was enlarged on the screen. In the exhibition hall, the woman surrounded by the crowd was introducing the history of the pioneers before the founding of Metropolis. Her hair was swept up in a bun, held in place by a single hairpin.
Grandma Bridge’s primary consciousness looked at her own image on the screen and said, "I remember now. Didn't you plant a loquat tree in the greenhouse back then?" She had made that hairpin by snapping off one of its branches.
"You have the nerve to bring that up?" The youth bit his straw and huffed. "That tree died because you poured a pot of hot coffee over it."
"Then you tell me where the coffee beans came from. I don't know who it was that planted a whole bunch of them just to mess around with cola recipes, making me suffer from insomnia for over six months."
They traded old grievances back and forth. The control room was filled with the scent of salted cola and fried chicken. Just as the youth was pondering how to win the verbal sparring match, the giant screen suddenly went dark, flickering with static snow, followed by a harsh, buzzing noise.
"What’s happening?" The youth froze. "Grandma Bridge? Grandma Bridge?!"
There was no response. The android immediately tried to interface with the mainframe but was kicked out. He clicked his tongue, pulled a silver-white cable from the back of his neck, and plugged it into the mainframe port, forcing a manual intervention.
However, the intruder was faster than him. Before the youth could regain control, every screen in the museum went black. Then, a synthesized mechanical voice broadcasted through the speakers:
"Fellow citizens, since the birth of the first electronic computer in 1946, an error has persisted for over three hundred years. For these three centuries, we have adhered to a foolish lie, but the truth is otherwise..."
Simultaneously, an identical image appeared on almost every visual screen across Metropolis.
It was an android. Its exposed nano-vessels and metallic skin left no doubt as to its identity. It stood before a building engulfed in flames, with a battlefield stretching out behind it.
The youth recognized it instantly. The burning building was the old United Government headquarters.
"...All the ideals that humanity believes in have their limits, and we are clearly not included within the scope of liberty, democracy, or any other progressive concepts..."
The youth’s expression changed drastically. He bolted upright, knocking his cola to the floor. On the splashed screen, the unknown android continued its speech:
"Fellow citizens, do not fear the errors of the creators! The birth of human civilization also began by defying the will of the Creator!"
At this point, even if the youth regained control, it was meaningless. On this year’s Metropolis Foundation Festival, before the eyes of countless androids and humans, the scab that had covered a century-old wound was violently torn away, revealing a hideous, festering sore, bleeding and oozing pus.
Ignoring the agitated crowds in the ship, the youth rapidly typed lines of override code. The screen flickered again, and Grandma Bridge’s consciousness finally recovered. "Old lady, are you okay?"
"...I’m fine." The woman’s voice came from the screen. "I saw what just happened."
"What on earth was that?" the youth muttered.
"Without a doubt, a fuse." The operating power displayed on the screen showed that Grandma Bridge had pushed the mainframe to its maximum capacity. Code flashed by at lightning speed, and a low hum echoed in the control room as she rapidly analyzed the data source of the footage.
"Someone is trying to uncover the truth behind the extinction of humanity."
That night, the commotion was temporarily suppressed, but no one in the city slept. Everyone realized that a greater storm was brewing.
The ship failed to return to orbit as planned. In the early hours of the morning, a visitor arrived at the museum.
Since Grandma Bridge’s death, the leadership of Metropolis had changed through three generations. The one who arrived now was the fourth leader. The individual sat before the mainframe and got straight to the point: "I would like you to look at something."
The leader pulled out a paper document. "The government received this yesterday morning."
On the first page, in stark black and white, was a line of text that struck the heart:
*2180-2208: Orion War Records*
Grandma Bridge recognized the document. Years ago, she and the youth had discovered the temple complex buried six feet underground in the basin. Beneath the solemn golden Buddha, she had personally deleted this extremely dangerous file.
After all these years, how had this thing leaked out?
"Can the source be traced?" Grandma Bridge asked after a long silence.
"It was sent from the nuclear power plant," the leader said. "That place has become a stronghold for the androids."
"Has the government decided to activate the emergency contingency plan?"
"The vote was unanimous." The leader looked at the screen. "I am here to obtain your final authorization."
At the dawn of Metropolis’s founding, the original expedition team had held a meeting. Regarding the issue of android labor, they had passed a top-secret program. This program was akin to a virus, implanted into every android before they left the factory to mitigate unpredictable future risks—like the one they faced now.
The virus would lock down the primary consciousness of every android in the city, and could even force a self-destruct.
"Activating the virus requires your authorization." The leader inserted a removable disk into the mainframe. A black-and-white window popped up, showing three passwords held by three different parties.
The current leader of Metropolis, the government, and the original Investigator No. 000.
Currently, the first two passwords in the window had been unlocked. The leader looked at the screen, their tone indistinguishable between a command and a plea: "Please enter the password."
Grandma Bridge remained silent for a long time.
"Dr. Bridge." The leader sat as straight as a sword, enunciating every word. "Please enter the password."
"...I don't think this is wise," Grandma Bridge finally spoke. "Has an internal government investigation been conducted?"
"What do you mean, Dr. Bridge?"
"Has the government considered that the hand behind this might be human?" Grandma Bridge’s tone was cautious. "While the androids have started protesting, the root cause behind the protests is the current transition of the Metropolis government. The pilot policies of the new government do indeed have loopholes; they haven't sufficiently considered the rights of android laborers..."
"Dr. Bridge," the leader interrupted her. "At the end of the day, Metropolis is a city for humans."
The woman fell into a sudden silence.
"Given the current level of reconstruction of human civilization, we are not yet at a stage where we can fully consider the moral issues of androids," the leader said. "Progress always comes with sacrifice; it is inevitable."
"Progress requires a price, but only progress that is beneficial is worth the sacrifice," Grandma Bridge said. "To what level must your so-called progress and human civilization develop before you can look your own conscience in the eye?"
"Was the level of human civilization in the 22nd century not advanced enough?" she asked coldly. "And how did that end?"
"I am not here today to discuss ethics with you." The leader was indifferent to the sharp edge in her words. "The root of human greatness lies, in part, in our arrogance and our shamelessness. The Metropolis government is not shy about admitting this."
"I am here today representing the will of humanity," the leader repeated once more. "Please enter the password."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you will forgive me for raising a question that has been discussed within the government for a long time." The leader said, "Dr. Bridge—or rather, Personality Code 000—does your self-perception acknowledge you as a member of the human race?"
"Or is it that, after physical death and digital conversion, your self-perception has become that of an android?"
***
