The sun began to dip to the west, casting long, eerie shadows over the cracked asphalt road. Dayat dragged his feet. His feet were blistered, his throat dry, and his stomach was rumbling again, demanding the portion of roasted tuber that had run out this morning.
Dola, on the other hand, walked with the tireless rhythm of a machine. Her rough tarp cloak fluttered gently in the evening wind, hiding the futuristic curves that were both the source of their problems and their strength.
"Estimated distance to city gate: 18 kilometers," Dola reported flatly. "With Master's walking speed decreasing by 30% in the last hour, we will not arrive until tomorrow noon."
"Don't remind me, Dol," Dayat complained. "I know I'm weak. I need an Uber."
Clack... Clack...
The sound of wooden wheels hitting asphalt came from behind them. Dayat turned quickly, his hand reaching for the pocket where his folding knife was kept.
A cart pulled by a Scale-Buffalo slowed down beside them. In the driver's seat sat a man with a face full of sunburn scars and a wide smile showing yellow teeth.
It was Grom, the leader of the merchant/scavenger group they met yesterday afternoon—the same man who traded water for a lighter.
"Hoy! Pox Walker!" Grom greeted in a friendly manner, waving his hand. "Walking? Far!"
Dayat immediately went on alert. He pulled Dola closer to his side. "What does he want now? I feel like I already paid for the water."
Dola scanned Grom and his cart.
"Target analysis: Subject Grom. Spear weapon visible tied at the back, not in ready position. Facial expression: Open Smile (Duchenne Marker detected in eye corners). Indication: Friendly/Non-Threatening."
Grom patted the empty seat beside him.
"Get on! Get on! Bakasa... we go same way!" he said in broken local tongue. He pointed at Dayat's limping legs. "Leg hurt. Wife sick. Pity. Free!"
Dayat hesitated. "Free? That's unusual. Yesterday you asked for payment."
"Logic Analysis," Dola whispered in Dayat's ear. "Energy efficiency is a priority. Hitching a ride on the cart will save Master 1500 calories and speed up travel time by 50%. He offers help because Master gave him high-value 'Tek' (lighter) yesterday. This is a concept of social reciprocity."
"Are you sure, Dol? He looks like a soap opera villain."
"Micro-expression data indicates sincerity at 88%. Refusing this offer is illogical, Master."
Dayat looked at Grom again. The man nodded convincingly, his face looking genuinely sympathetic seeing Dola bowing weakly (acting) under the hot cloak.
"Fine," Dayat decided finally, defeated by exhaustion. "But no funny business, okay?"
They climbed into the back of the cart, filled with scrap metal and musty-smelling sacks. The cart rolled slowly. Despite the rough bumps, it felt like heaven to Dayat's legs.
Evening turned to dusk. The sky turned a bruised purple.
Grom steered his cart off the main road, onto a path leading to an area of old concrete ruins on the edge of the forest.
"Hey, Bro! Where are we going?" Dayat asked in panic. "The main road is over there!"
"Rest! Horse tired!" Grom answered casually, pointing at his buffalo. "Night dangerous. We sleep here. Safe."
Dola nodded at Dayat. "Valid. Beasts of burden require rest periods every 6 hours. The ruin area provides better wind protection than the open road."
They stopped at an ancient gas station whose roof had partially collapsed. Two of Grom's henchmen were waiting there, lighting a campfire. They grinned when they saw Dayat and Dola get off.
"Eat! Eat!" Grom offered a bowl of grey porridge that smelled like mud.
Dayat accepted it hesitantly, but Dola (who was pretending to be sick) refused it politely. Dayat ate a little—it tasted bland but warm.
The atmosphere felt peaceful for a moment. However, Dayat felt the hair on his neck stand up. The gazes of Grom's men... were too sticky. They weren't looking at Dayat. They kept staring at Dola sitting silently in the dark corner.
"Dol," Dayat whispered. "I have a bad feeling. Get ready to run."
"Master is too paranoid," Dola replied softly. "They just provided us with nutritional resources. Running away now would violate social ethics."
Suddenly, Grom approached. He carried a small bottle containing green liquid.
"Medicine," Grom said, pointing at Dola. "For wife. Cure. Skin sickness... gone."
Dola looked up. Her sensors detected a strong herbal scent from the bottle.
"Analysis: Aloe Vera and Mint extract. Indeed possesses skin healing properties," Dola whispered. "He wants to help treat the 'Pox' disease we fabricated yesterday."
"See? He is kind," Dola said to Dayat, then turned to Grom. "Thank you."
Dola reached out to take the bottle.
But Grom didn't let go of the bottle. His rough, calloused hand grabbed Dola's smooth wrist instead.
Grom smiled. But this time, the smile was different. There were no crinkles in his eyes. Only a hungry leer.
"Smooth..." Grom hissed. "Skin smooth... No sick... Lie."
With a rough yank, Grom pulled Dola's arm. Dola's tarp cloak sleeve pulled up to her elbow, revealing milk-white skin and the advanced black bodysuit underneath.
His henchmen immediately stood up, laughing while smacking their palms together.
"Hey! Let go!" Dayat jumped up.
THUD!
One of Grom's men struck the back of Dayat's head with a spear shaft. Dayat sprawled onto the ground, his vision spinning.
"Master!" Dola tried to move, but Grom was already pinning her down.
Grom forcibly ripped the front of Dola's tarp cloak. The rough cloth tore apart, revealing Dola's perfect figure in the tight futuristic suit. The neon blue lights on her body glowed in the darkness of the night, making the men's eyes go wide with lust.
"Tek..." Grom whispered in awe, his hands trembling as he touched Dola's shoulder. "Not sick... This is Tek! Tek Doll! Beautiful!"
"So beautiful!" his subordinate chimed in. "Let's take turns, Boss! Mine's already hard!"
Dola didn't fight back. She was confused. Her logic clashed.
"Your actions are illogical," Dola stated in a flat tone, though she was cornered against the wall. "You offered medical aid, but are now committing physical aggression. This violates the social contract. Release me. Reproductive efficiency with different species is zero."
Grom laughed loudly. He didn't care about Dola's weird babbling. He only cared about the beautiful body in front of him. He brought his foul-smelling face close to Dola's neck, licking it roughly.
Dola's sensors lit up red.
[Warning: Physical Integrity Violation. Action: Sexual Harassment Detected.]
[Defense Protocol: Activate Lethal Combat Mode?]
Dola raised her hand, ready to crush Grom's skull with a single hydraulic punch.
But then she saw Dayat. Dayat was being held down by two men, his face bleeding, his eyes looking at Dola in desperation.
"Don't kill!" Dayat shouted hoarsely. "Dol! Don't kill! If you kill, we become fugitives for life! Hold it!"
Dayat knew, if Dola slaughtered them with her robotic strength, Dola's identity as a "Monster/Weapon" would spread. They would never be able to enter the city safely. And more than that... Dayat didn't want Dola's "pure" hands stained with the blood of this trash.
Dola froze. Master's order was absolute.
"Lethal Mode... Cancelled," Dola's voice trembled.
Grom took advantage of that moment. He pinned Dola down harder, his hands starting to grope Dola's chest roughly.
"DON'T TOUCH MY WIFE, YOU BASTARD!"
Dayat roared. Rage exploded in his chest. Not the usual purple Mana. This was hot. This was burning.
He couldn't use heavy weapons. He couldn't blow this place up. He had to incapacitate them.
Dayat closed his eyes for a second, imagining something painful. Very painful, but not deadly. Something police used to disperse anarchic riots.
"Manifestation... Tear Gas!"
Dayat slammed his hand onto the ground.
PFFT! BOOM!
A metal canister appeared in his hand and immediately exploded. Not fire, but thick white smoke spewing out at high pressure.
The smoke instantly filled the ruin area.
"ARGHHH! MY EYES!" shouted the men holding Dayat. They released their grip, rolling on the ground clutching their faces.
The chemical Chloroacetophenone (CN gas) worked instantly. Eyes stung like they were burning, throats choked, noses running uncontrollably.
Grom, who was on top of Dola, coughed violently. "Cough! What is this?! Poison magic?!"
He tried to get up, his eyes blinded momentarily by the spicy smoke.
Dayat didn't waste time. He held his breath, squinting his eyes against the sting (but adrenaline helped him ignore the pain). He charged through the smoke.
He didn't use a knife. He used his fists and knees.
Dayat jumped, his knee slamming into Grom's ribs with a satisfying crack.
"Die, you!"
Grom was knocked off Dola's body. He tried to fumble for his spear, but Dayat was already on top of him.
Dayat sat on Grom's stomach, then rained punches down on the man's face.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"That's! My! Wife! You! Dog!"
Every word accompanied by a punch. Grom's nose broke. His lip split. His teeth fell out.
Dayat didn't stop. His anger overflowed. He imagined Grom's dirty hands touching Dola's skin earlier, and it drove him mad.
"Master! Enough!"
A cold and strong hand grabbed Dayat's bloody fist (Grom's blood).
Dola stood beside him. She was unaffected by the tear gas (since she didn't breathe and her eyes had lens protection). Her cloak was torn, her hair messy, but she was intact.
"Target is unconscious," Dola said calmly. "Further strikes will cause permanent brain trauma or death. Master's order was 'No Killing'."
Dayat gasped for air. His chest heaved rapidly. He looked down. Grom's face was shapeless, swollen and purple. The man passed out, his breathing ragged.
The other two henchmen were still rolling on the ground, vomiting from the tear gas.
Dayat spat to the side—spit mixed with blood from his own split lip.
"Let's go," Dayat said coldly.
He stood up, then immediately took off his worn flannel overshirt (which he manifested at the start of the trip but rarely wore due to heat) and draped it over Dola to cover the exposed bodysuit parts.
He buttoned the shirt with trembling hands. He didn't dare look Dola in the eye. He felt guilty. He was the one who agreed to get on this cart. He was the naive one.
"Sorry," Dayat whispered. "Sorry I was stupid. Sorry you got... treated like that."
Dola looked at Dayat. She scanned her master's bruised face, his swollen knuckles, and eyes full of guilt.
Suddenly, Dola stepped forward and hugged Dayat. Tight.
This wasn't a heat transfer hug. This wasn't a tactical hug.
Dola buried her face in Dayat's chest.
"Re-analysis..." Dola's voice sounded muffled against Dayat's chest. "Humans possess unlimited capacity for cruelty. However, Master possesses a capacity for protection that defies self-preservation logic."
Dola looked up.
"Master is not 'stupid'. Master is just... a good human in a wrong world. Thank you for saving me."
Dayat was stunned. He returned the hug awkwardly, patting Dola's back gently.
"Alright... let's go. Let's leave this trash. The smell makes me want to puke."
They walked away from the ruins, leaving Grom and his men groaning in pain amidst the lingering tear gas smoke. They didn't kill, but Dayat ensured Grom wouldn't be eating solid food for the next two months.
That night, under the stars, Dayat learned the hardest lesson in this world: Kindness without power is merely naivety. And Dola's beauty was a magnet for monsters—both the four-legged and two-legged kind.
And Dola learned one new thing about herself: When Grom touched her earlier, she didn't just feel data analysis. She felt disgust. A pure negative emotion. And when Dayat punched Grom, she felt... satisfaction.
She was becoming more human, step by step.