Chapter 120 I, the Robot

In the period before Cervantes went to war with Hemingway, there were occasions involving Vladimir and Asimov.

After quickly understanding what Asimov meant, Vladimir sighed in disappointment: "Being injured will actually strengthen your abilities? I was hoping to take down one of your men without getting hurt."

For some reason, Asimov unexpectedly struck up a conversation with Vladimir: "Are you worried about mission failure?"

Following Asimov's simple logic, the hope of eliminating opponents without casualties might stem from concerns about teammates or mission failure.

Because Vladimir is clearly the kind of person who doesn't get much love from his teammates, Asimov felt the second possibility was more likely...

"No, if Don Quixote could kill someone so easily, he would come back to deal with you, and I wouldn't have to work."

Asimov: "..."

Alright, it seems I still can't use normal thinking to understand this person.

Asimov admitted that his thinking was inadequate; he could still consider work assignments and how to slack off while on the battlefield, as if he were on a leisurely outing. He should have been more comprehensive in his considerations in the future.

For example, consider that in addition to normal people, there is also a category of mental illness in the world.

As if suddenly enlightened, Asimov wrote a whole bunch of things into the memory card, while Vladimir, holding a parasol in one hand and gently supporting his head with the other, kept looking at Asimov.

"If Hemingway could still be found to have some information that he was a person with physical enhancement abilities, then Mr. Asimov, you are a complete mystic. There is no information about you anywhere."

Asimov's expression remained unchanged: "It's just a matter of fame."

"No, they are, after all, one of the gatekeepers' elite personnel. It's understandable that their intelligence hasn't leaked out."

Vladimir gave a half-smile. "But, isn't it a bit much not to have even a single clear photograph?"

“…” Asimov paused for a moment: “I see. Was it an overreaction?”

"Right now, quite a few people are guessing whether you are the gatekeeper's secret weapon, and the rest are guessing that your special ability is related to this—but there is no evidence, so it is just speculation."

Asimov: "This can be considered a conclusion."

Vladimir didn't want to argue about it: "Whatever, it doesn't matter, it has little to do with me."

As he spoke, Vladimir began to carefully observe Asimov.

However, the more Vladimir observed Asimov, the more subtle his expression became.

Although gloves and long-sleeved clothing covered it up quite well, the mechanical joint structure of the wrist could still be seen during the activity.

His pupils are different from those of ordinary people; they are more like the lens of some kind of camera device.

On the cheeks, a large area of ​​skin has been replaced with steel.

Another detail is that Vladimir observed for so long but didn't notice Asimov's chest rising or falling at all.

How should I put it? It just feels a bit like something I've seen before...

"Just asking in advance, you're not some kind of combat robot created by the gatekeeper, are you?"

Well, it's probably a side effect of watching too much American science fiction. The more Vladimir observed Asimov, the more he felt that Asimov was like the kind of artificial robot in science fiction dramas.

Not only do they look alike in various details, but his expressionless face and emotionless tone are also very similar.

“Although you could call it a combat robot, it wasn’t created by the Gatekeeper.” Asimov stopped recording a bunch of random things onto the memory card. “It’s because of my special ability.”

Vladimir recalled the mobile iron wall that stood when they attacked the Joint Major Crimes Unit building.

"Special abilities? Like manipulating metal? Or controlling technological devices?"

Asimov was not a computer capable of answering every question; he only gave a vague reply: "Partially correct."

His superpower, "I, Robot," should actually be described as having two main functions: the ability to manipulate mechanical structures he comes into contact with as if they were body parts, and the ability to replace his own body organs with any machine without causing side effects.

The scope of this "contact" is very broad. For example, the reason why Vladimir didn't get a single photo was because Asimov "contacted" those camera devices through the local area network and Bluetooth, and subconsciously destroyed them.

As for manipulating metal, he used the iron wall he touched as an arm to control it, which is a branch of "I, the robot" application.

Asimov has now replaced most of his organs with machines—including but not limited to his eyes, hippocampus, part of his brain, all his bones, and almost all of his internal organs; even a large portion of his muscles and skin have been replaced with metal.

Based on the proportions, Asimov could indeed be called a robot now.

Vladimir didn't know all that. After thinking for a short while, she simply gave up on figuring out what Asimov's special ability was. She casually put the suitcase on the ground in front of her and roughly rummaged through it: "Anyway, can't we just stay here peacefully? We're both just keeping our opponents occupied."

“I can record the video and play it back, but a review afterwards will reveal my slacking off.” Asimov picked up a piece of metal from the ground, which looked like the prototype of a car that Don Quixote smashed. “So I refuse.”

Vladimir pondered for a moment: "Hmm...so the negotiations broke down?"

Asimov continued in a serious tone: "No, I don't think this level qualifies as negotiation."

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Either the negotiations break down or the talks break down." Vladimir took another parasol out of the box. There was a long lace ribbon that wasn't fixed to the parasol. When Vladimir picked up the parasol, a large part of the lace ribbon dragged on the ground.

The metal fragments in Asimov's hand began to change. The metal softened and deformed as if it were in a high-temperature environment, and the metal encasing Asimov's hand began to condense into some unknown structure.

Vladimir was initially moving slowly as she picked up the umbrella. Then, as she continued to leisurely brush the dust off her skirt and stand up, she suddenly straightened up several times faster, and the parasol in her hand was instantly bathed in sunlight.

This time, the light pollution from the supernatural ability disappeared very quickly. Almost instantly, a heavy machine gun with a loaded ammunition belt appeared in Vladimir's hand, along with a tripod so that even the physically weak Vladimir could use it easily.

However, when Vladimir looked up, she saw that Asimov, who was also usually slow, had simultaneously sprang to attention and aimed at her as if in fast-forward, the metal in his hand forming at several times the speed, and then shaping into the shape of a gun and pointing it at her.

Vladimir & Asimov: ...

Vladimir: "You actually resorted to underhanded tactics!"

Asimov: "Sorry, I don't think you have the right to condemn me!"

Amidst the ensuing hail of bullets, a childish argument lingered for a long time.