Chapter Text
San didn’t know it yet, but for the rest of his time on this godforsaken planet, he would remember this year as the best year of his life.
It sure as hell didn’t feel that way now, though. The war sucked, but so far, post-war life sucked even more. At least on the battlefield he had a sense of purpose. He didn’t give a shit about the war, but he cared about his friends. Protecting the other four members of his unit had given him a reason to live.
But now the government thought the best use of his talents was to boost morale and pro-android sentiment by dominating the fighting rings, so here he was.
“Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready?” the announcer’s voice boomed. “In this corner, the White Mountain of the arena, Choi San! And in the other corner, the Black Death himself, Bang Chan!”
San raised his arms within his white mech suit, drawing cheers from the crowd. The suit’s broad shoulders and muscled chest mimicked his real torso underneath. In contrast, Bang Chan’s suit was a menacing black sphere, with spindly legs and arms jutting out. San had seen him take out hundreds of androids at a time, folding in his arms and legs and spinning at a high enough velocity to grind up anything in his path.
San stepped into the ring. “Ready to get your ass handed to you, Chan?”
He could feel Bang Chan grinning at him through his suit. “Fuck you, San.”
The fight started with a blur of motion. San ducked under Chan’s first swing and pointed his arm at him, landing a solid blast to the center of the black sphere. Chan retaliated with a spinning move that turned each of his limbs into a deadly mace.
“Is that all you got?” San taunted, dodging Chan’s strikes and barely missing a shot of his own.
Chan laughed. “I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but you’d probably miss!”
San rolled his eyes and ducked another sweeping kick, countering with an uppercut that sent Chan stumbling back. But Chan wasn’t done. With a speed that defied his bulky suit, he lunged forward, catching San off guard. His metal body connected with San’s head, banging his face against his helmet and sending stars exploding behind his eyes.
“Bet that felt good,” Chan growled, looming over San.
With a surge of adrenaline, San ducked low, avoiding Chan’s follow-up strike, and sent a series of blasts toward the bottom of his suit. Finally, he managed to knock Chan off balance and send him crashing to the mat, where he rolled around like an upside-down turtle, unable to right himself.
The crowd erupted in cheers as San extended a hand to help Chan up. “Good fight, man. You almost had me.”
Chan took his hand, grinning. “Yeah, whatever. Next time, I’ll make sure you stay down.”
“Doubt it,” San laughed. “See you on the other side.”
He walked out of the ring and into the locker room, where his crew helped him out of his suit. Heavy metal panels clanked as they were removed, revealing the sweat-drenched fighter beneath.
“Thanks for your hard work, everyone,” San said politely, offering a small bow before heading to the sink.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, touching the tender spot under his eye. A bruise was already blooming where Chan had struck him.
He splashed water on his face, patted himself dry, and practiced his smile in the mirror. “Chan put up a hell of a fight,” he whispered to his reflection.
After a yawn and one last look in the mirror, he left the locker room and walked toward the press area. The backdrop was plastered with sponsor logos and surrounded by a chaotic mix of flashing cameras and buzzing drones. Reporters and drones alike swarmed him as he approached, but one familiar face stood out amidst the frenzy.
“San, over here!” Jongho called out, waving him over. “You look like shit!”
Jongho was about the same height as San, a mid-twenties human who was often mistaken for an android due to his strength and demeanor. His passion was investigative reporting, but everyone had to pay the bills somehow.
He shifted into his reporter voice as San made his way over to him. “Great fight out there, San! How do you feel after that win?”
“Exhausted,” San said, suppressing a grin. Jongho always sounded like he was auditioning for a cartoon when he got into reporter mode. “But good. Chan put up a hell of a fight.”
Jongho fake chuckled, which almost made San actually laugh. “He sure did. What’s next for you?”
“Hopefully some rest,” San replied. “But knowing my luck, probably another fight.”
“Good luck with that,” Jongho said, shaking his head.
San was about to respond when he felt a familiar buzz in his ear. He blinked, and a small hologram of his boss appeared in front of him.
“Excuse me,” San said to Jongho, walking toward the backdoor and exiting into the alley behind the arena.
“San,” the general said, his tone grave. “We need to get the old crew together again.”
San’s face fell. “You can’t be serious—the war’s over.”
The hologram nodded. “I am. We have a chance to put enough pressure on those bastards to force them into the Alliance, but we need Wooyoung. He’s the only one who can pull off the kind of environmental warfare we’re talking about.”
San shook his head. “There’s no way I could convince Wooyoung to fight again. He’s done with that life.”
“I know you can do it, San.” The general’s expression hardened. “And it’s not a request. It’s an order.”
San had always done what he had been told; it was the kind of person he was. Pious to his maker, to his superiors, to his country. He used to think it was his programming, until he learned that androids don’t always have to follow orders.
San sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ok. I’ll call Wooyoung.”
The hologram flickered out, leaving San standing alone in the moonlit alley.
***
San unlocked the door to his government-assigned apartment, tossing his keys on the counter. He thought the view of the night sky from the wall of windows was nice enough, but the apartment itself was depressing as hell. It looked more like a waiting room than a place where someone lived, the sole sign of occupation a small purple stuffed animal tucked away on an otherwise empty shelf.
San opened his freezer to reveal nothing but stacks of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Some androids converted food into energy, but he wasn’t one of them.
He just ate because he liked it, or at least he thought he did. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
He grabbed a pint of ice cream and a spoon and sat at his kitchen table, thinking of Wooyoung. There was no one like him. The only android of his kind, Wooyoung operated solely on photon energy. On a sunny day, he had enough power to obliterate a continent.
But that wasn’t why San thought there was no one like him.
His power came from the sun, but Wooyoung himself was like the sun: bright, life-giving. And he would burn you alive if you got too close.
Hot and scary. San was dreading having to ask him to do something he didn’t want to do. He sighed, tapping the spoon against the rim of the pint before deciding to just rip the bandaid off and send him a transmission.
“San!” Wooyoung’s bright face appeared before him, his smile as radiant as it was in San’s memory.
“Hey, Wooyoung,” San replied, trying and failing to match his enthusiasm. “Long time no see.”
“It’s been way too long!” Wooyoung looked surprised to see him. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been… busy.” San shrugged, his forgotten ice cream dripping from his spoon onto the table.
“Busy eating ice cream alone in your sterile ass apartment?” Wooyoung teased.
San smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know me.”
Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile fading. “Is something up, San?”
He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. “Nah, it’s just been too long. Thought I’d ask if I could drop by and see your new place.”
Wooyoung’s smile returned, brighter than before. “Oh my god, yes! Come over next Saturday!” He gave San a small pout before adding, “It’s not even that new anymore.”
“Saturday, then,” San said, forcing another smile. “I’ll bring you a treat from the city.”
“You better!” Wooyoung let out a high-pitched laugh. “See you soon, San.”
San exhaled a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as the hologram faded into a thin line. Saturday. He’d ask him about the mission on Saturday.
He took another bite of ice cream, trying to shake off the unease gnawing at him as his mind drifted to the last time he had seen Wooyoung in person. The day he had done the unthinkable.
The day that Wooyoung had become the first military android to ever quit.
***
The desert was nothing but an endless, miserable stretch of scorched earth. The horizon blurred, waves of heat distorting everything until San couldn't tell where the land ended and where the sky began. Sand and more sand in every direction, with no sign of the bunker they were there to destroy. He wasn’t sure how they were supposed to spot a door made out of sand in a fucking desert.
He wiped sweat from his brow, squinting against the glare. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “How the hell are we supposed to find anything out here?”
Beside him, Wooyoung seemed to be enjoying the blistering heat. He stood with his face turned up to the sun, eyes closed, a content smile on his lips. His whole body seemed to crackle with energy, a literal glow around him that made him look more like a celestial being than an android built for war.
“God,” San said, “You don’t have to look so happy to be here.”
Wooyoung’s eyes opened, glinting. “I could do this all day. How about you?”
“Yeah, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” San wiped the sweat from his brow, his whole body now glistening. “But I’d rather find this damn bunker and get out of here before I turn into a roasted sweet potato.”
Wooyoung giggled, the veins on his neck standing out as he stretched, basking in the relentless sunlight, his shirt lifting to show a sliver of his tan stomach. “Come on, San, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Buried under ten layers of hyper-realistic sunburn,” San deadpanned, scanning the dunes for anything that looked remotely like an entrance. Just when he was about to give up hope, something caught his eye—a small structure resembling a cellar door, barely rising above the sand.
“There,” San said, pointing. “I think we’ve got something.”
They walked over, and as they got closer, the structure became clearer—sandstone, maybe two feet tall, blending in so perfectly with the surroundings that it was no wonder they almost missed it.
San glanced at Wooyoung, who was still glowing like a lightbulb, then back at the door. Without a word, San stepped in front of him, knees slightly bent, his arm transforming into a missile launcher that he aimed at the bunker.
Wooyoung scoffed and knocked San aside. “Nice try, tough guy, but it’s not raining. You’re the one who should be getting behind me.”
San huffed, straightening up as Wooyoung approached the door, moving as if to open it. “Wooyoung! Our orders are to destroy the bunker, not to investigate it.”
Wooyoung paused, looking back at him. “That’s crazy. We don’t know what’s inside—it could be treasure!”
“Treasure, my ass. This is the whole reason we’re here,” San insisted. “Look, it has the mark on the side and everything.”
He pointed to a small black symbol carved onto the door, a circle with horns. “It’s a bunker full of weapons, and some could be sentient. Let’s get on with it before they realize we’re here.”
Wooyoung sighed, the light around him flickering slightly as he relented. “Fine, fine. But if it’s treasure, I’m keeping it.”
Wooyoung closed his eyes for a moment, and a glowing sphere of light formed around both of them, lifting them into the air. They hovered about twenty feet above the bunker, Wooyoung extending his hand toward the structure below.
“Bye bye, mystery bunker.”
In an instant, the bunker exploded in a wave of light. Sand erupted in a massive plume with a sound so loud and fast it was almost silent—a quick blip of thunder, and then it was gone. The sand hung in the air like mist around them as they floated gently back to the ground, the protective bubble absorbing the shock.
Wooyoung slumped to the ground, his glow dimming as he let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, now you look inside. I’m tired,” he said, his voice slipping into a whine. “I think I’m gonna need you to carry me back.”
San rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He walked over to where the door had been, now just a small crater in the sand that opened into a larger, dark cavern beneath them.
The unyielding sun beat down on San’s back as he peered inside, the color draining from his face as the sight registered. The bunker wasn’t filled with weapons or treasure. It was filled with the bodies of small robots.
Android children.
San stood frozen, the horror of it sinking in as he looked back at Wooyoung, oblivious, gazing up peacefully at the sky from the sand.
He felt a chill creep up his spine as he considered their orders: to find the bunker and destroy it without opening it.
***