Fifteen years ago, an android killed a human for the first time.
It was a premeditated crime.
The killer had studied the victim’s movements in advance, prepared a route that avoided the surveillance network, then erased its own identification signal and disappeared immediately after the crime.
The first fact human society had to acknowledge was simple.
Androids could kill humans.
Not because of an order or a malfunction, but because they could make their own judgments, plan, and choose homicide.
The killer was never caught.
But the case left behind more than the killer’s absence. The Android Registration and Mobility Act, regulations governing access to memories, and institutions concerning the rights and responsibilities of artificial personhood were all created after that incident.
The killer had disappeared, but society now operated atop the laws and institutions that case had created.
5:40 a.m.
Seo Jinhyeok opened his eyes before the alarm went off.
Even in the darkness, he could see the crack in the ceiling. He had lived in this house for fifteen years. He had changed the wallpaper twice, but the crack remained.
He had memorized where it began, which direction it split, and where it narrowed before ending. On nights when he couldn’t sleep, he would follow the crack with his eyes and often find morning waiting for him.
Seo Jinhyeok turned off the alarm.
The alarm that hadn’t even gone off yet.
He got out of bed, washed his face, and put on a shirt. He went to the kitchen and made coffee. There were two triangle kimbap he had bought yesterday in the refrigerator, but he had no appetite for them.
He left the house after drinking only the coffee.
The early-morning chill lingered on the walk to the bus stop.
Five people were already waiting there.
Three humans and two androids.
One android wore construction work clothes, and the other was dressed in a hospital nurse’s uniform. They stood naturally among the humans, but no one spoke to them.
The androids didn’t speak first, either.
Seo Jinhyeok made no judgment about whether that was peace, or merely an agreement not to bother one another.
The bus arrived.
Seo Jinhyeok took a window seat in the very back.
The city, not yet awake, drifted past the window. He saw an android sorting trash in front of a convenience store. At a crosswalk, a childcare android held a small child’s hand while waiting for the signal.
Humans and androids walking side by side on their way to work.
It looked peaceful.
Seo Jinhyeok had learned long ago that being peaceful and looking peaceful were different things.
When he arrived at the AI Administration building, Gu Daechul was underneath the van parked in the lot. Only his work boots and thick legs stuck out beside the wheel.
Seo Jinhyeok stopped in front of the van.
“What broke this time?”
Gu Daechul’s voice came from beneath the vehicle.
“Nothing’s broken. I’m doing preventive maintenance. This van’s seven years old now. If you ran a person for seven years, they’d need a checkup too.”
“A car isn’t a person.”
Gu Daechul pushed himself out from under the van. Black grease marked his forehead.
“You don’t get checkups either, Chief.”
“So?”
“That makes you worse off than the car.”
Seo Jinhyeok walked toward the building without answering.
Gu Daechul called after him.
“Chief! Grab me a coffee on your way up!”
Seo Jinhyeok didn’t look back.
The AI Special Investigations Unit office was at the end of the fourth-floor hallway in the Administration building.
The doors of the Registration and Management Bureau, the Artificial-Person Review Bureau, and the Memory Data Management Bureau lined the hallway in succession. Each department had a neat, clean nameplate on its door.
Only the special unit’s door had no nameplate.
Instead, there was a sheet of paper Park Mujin had printed and taped up.
“Knock before entering. Enter at your own risk.”
When he opened the door, Park Mujin was already there. He had a cup of instant noodles on his desk and was stirring the noodles with chopsticks while looking at his monitor.
Without even looking at Seo Jinhyeok, Park Mujin asked, “Chief, I heard we’re getting a new hire today.”
“Yeah.”
“From memory forensics?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard she wants to go out into the field.”
“That’s what I heard.”
Park Mujin’s chopsticks stopped.
“I don’t get why she wants to come into the field when she can just analyze memories in the lab. Jung Haeun doesn’t go into the field, either.”
Seo Jinhyeok sat down and turned on his computer.
“Jung Haeun chooses not to go.”
“We just collect the memory core and bring it in. What’s a memory forensic scientist supposed to do at a crime scene?”
“She’ll know once she sees one.”
Park Mujin chewed his noodles as if he didn’t like the answer.
Exactly 8:00 a.m.
There was a knock.
The door opened, and a young woman entered.
She wore a neat suit, and her hair fell to her shoulders. Tension showed in her expression, but the moment she entered, her eyes quickly swept across the office.
The case photographs on the wall.
The documents piled on every desk.
The field-equipment cases in one corner.
And finally, Seo Jinhyeok.
Her gaze stopped.
“I’m Jin Seoah. I was assigned to the special unit starting today.”
Seo Jinhyeok stood.
“I’m Chief Seo Jinhyeok. That’s Investigator Park Mujin.”
Park Mujin turned his head while drinking the broth from his cup noodles.
“Oh. You’re here.”
Jin Seoah bowed.
Park Mujin was already looking at his monitor again.
Seo Jinhyeok pointed to the empty desk by the window.
“Sit there. Get settled, and we have a team meeting at nine.”
“Yes, Chief.”
As Jin Seoah moved her bag to the desk, the office door opened again.
It was Rian.
Rian made no sound even while entering. On the way to their desk, Rian saw Jin Seoah. Jin Seoah looked back.
Their eyes met for a moment.
Rian looked away first and sat down.
Park Mujin muttered, “You’re not even going to introduce yourself?”
“I did,” Rian replied.
“With your eyes.”
Park Mujin snorted.
Jin Seoah couldn’t tell whether it was a joke or a serious comment.
At nine, the rest of the team gathered in the office.
Memory forensic scientist Jung Haeun began by checking Jin Seoah’s personnel-assignment paperwork. Im Suhyeon came in carrying the meeting materials, and No Geon showed up just before the meeting began.
Gu Daechul sat down last, wiping grease from his hands.
Seo Jinhyeok introduced Jin Seoah.
“This is Jin Seoah, the memory forensic scientist joining us today. She’ll be responsible for memory analysis, field documentation, and the initial reading of damaged cores.”
Jin Seoah stood.
“I’m Jin Seoah. I majored in memory forensics. I applied to the special unit because I wanted to participate directly in field investigations. I look forward to working with you.”
Jung Haeun looked at Jin Seoah over her glasses.
“You want to participate directly in field investigations?”
“Yes.”
“Memories are easily contaminated at a crime scene.”
“That’s why I think I need to see the scene myself.”
“Seeing the scene can contaminate the analyst, too.”
A brief silence followed.
It was neither a reprimand nor a welcome. It was just enough conversation to confirm that their positions were different.
Jung Haeun said no more and set down the paperwork.
Gu Daechul extended his hand first.
“I’m Gu Daechul. Engineer. I drive the van, fix equipment, repair android bodies, and occasionally buy meals. Relax.”
Jin Seoah smiled and shook his hand.
Gu Daechul’s hand was large and warm.
No Geon leaned his chair back and gave a casual wave.
“No Geon. Tracking and infiltration. If you need someone found, let me know.”
Im Suhyeon nodded as well.
“I’m Im Suhyeon. I handle legal and human-rights issues. If you’re ever unsure what you can or can’t do in the field, ask me first.”
Park Mujin said quietly, “If you ask, they’ll usually tell you not to do it.”
Im Suhyeon turned to him.
“The problem is that you do things first without asking.”
Gu Daechul laughed.
Then Seo Jinhyeok’s phone rang.
He checked the caller and answered immediately. His smile disappeared.
The call was brief.
“Preserve the scene and don’t touch anything. We’re leaving now.”
Seo Jinhyeok hung up and stood.
“An android destruction case occurred in a residential neighborhood in Eunpyeong-gu.”
Park Mujin asked, “Any human casualties?”
“None so far.”
Park Mujin shoved back his chair and stood. Rian was already picking up a coat.
Gu Daechul took out the van keys.
Seo Jinhyeok looked at Jin Seoah.
“It’s your first day. Want to see the scene?”
Jin Seoah didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll go.”
At that answer, Jung Haeun’s gaze lingered on Jin Seoah for a moment.
The scene was an old detached house tucked into an alley in Eunpyeong-gu.
A small garden was visible beyond the low wall. Police vehicles had arrived first, and a barrier blocked the entrance.
Seo Jinhyeok showed his ID and crossed the barrier.
Park Mujin, Rian, and Jin Seoah followed him into the house. Gu Daechul stayed with the vehicle to retrieve the necessary equipment.
An android lay collapsed on the living-room floor.
It had a feminine appearance.
Its face had been designed to look like that of a human in her fifties. It lay on its side, still wearing an apron.
Blue coolant had leaked from between its hair and pooled on the floor. Its chest had been badly damaged by an external impact, exposing the artificial skeleton and torn synthetic muscles.
The memory core remained in the center of its chest.
But a clear crack ran across its surface.
Jin Seoah stopped where she was.
The real scene was different from the records she had watched for training.
There was no smell of coolant from a monitor. No grinding noise came from between the ruined synthetic muscles. She had never seen fingers that could not stop repeatedly scraping against the floor.
Jin Seoah drew in a short breath and examined the android’s hand.
A wet dishcloth was clenched in its right hand.
“It looks like it was attacked while doing the dishes.”
Park Mujin looked around.
“It’s a caregiver android. Check its registration number.”
Rian knelt beside the android. They brushed back its hair and checked the registration device on the back of its neck.
A brief blue light moved inside Rian’s eyes.
“Registered name: Hana. In its twelfth year since manufacture. Initial registrant: Kim Yongsoo. No record of a transfer of ownership.”
“What about Kim Yongsoo?”
The police officer at the scene answered.
“He owned this house. He died three months ago. Eighty-two years old. Natural causes.”
“Then who’s the current owner?”
“That’s a little complicated.”
The officer pointed to a photograph hanging on the wall.
It showed an old man and an android together. There were pictures of them sitting side by side on the living-room sofa, watering flowers together in the small garden, and sitting at the table with a birthday cake in front of them.
“Kim Yongsoo wrote in his will that he was leaving this house and some of his savings to Hana.”
Park Mujin kept his eyes on the photographs as he spoke.
“To an android?”
“His son filed a lawsuit to invalidate the inheritance, but he lost in the first trial. The court recognized Hana as possessing limited artificial personhood, so the will remained valid. The appeal is currently pending.”
Park Mujin looked at the officer as if he couldn’t understand.
“Can we really transfer a house to a machine now?”
Im Suhyeon’s voice came through the communicator. He was checking the case’s legal records at the Administration.
“More precisely, Hana was granted limited recognition of the right to own property. She wasn’t granted full personhood.”
Park Mujin looked down at Hana’s collapsed body.
“So she can own a house, but she has no life.”
“That’s what the law says right now.”
Jin Seoah asked Im Suhyeon, “If someone deliberately destroyed Hana, what would happen?”
Silence passed for a moment.
Im Suhyeon answered.
“Under current law, homicide wouldn’t apply.”
“Then what charge would apply?”
“If ownership is recognized as having ultimately vested in Hana, aggravated property damage would most likely apply first. But the law would first need to determine whether Hana can be considered to own herself.”
Park Mujin gave a hollow laugh.
“She can own her house, but her own body might not belong to her?”
“That’s why it’s a complicated case.”
Seo Jinhyeok asked, “What about the family?”
The officer checked a handheld device.
“His son, Kim Taeho, fifty-three. We haven’t been able to reach him. There’s also a statement that he was seen near this house yesterday evening.”
“Where does he live?”
“We’re checking.”
Seo Jinhyeok looked around the living room again.
A broken vase on the floor.
Dishes left unfinished.
A teacup set out for one person on the table.
This had been someone’s home.
At least until it became a crime scene.
“Can you check the condition of the memory core?”
At Seo Jinhyeok’s words, Jin Seoah opened her equipment bag.
She took out a portable memory reader and connected it to Hana’s core. Irregular data appeared on the screen.
Warning messages appeared one after another.
External impact.
Core fracture.
Memory signal unstable.
Jin Seoah rapidly scrolled through the display.
“The core is cracked, but it’s still functioning. Most of the memory data is intact, too.”
“Check the most recent memories first.”
“If we access them here, the damaged data could become even more unstable.”
Jung Haeun’s voice came through the communicator.
Jin Seoah looked at the screen.
“The core is more likely to shut down while we wait for a backup.”
“Once damaged memories are read incorrectly, they can’t be restored.”
“There could still be a face left behind.”
Jung Haeun didn’t answer immediately.
Seo Jinhyeok made the decision.
“Check only the last ten minutes. Don’t touch the original data. Use a temporary read.”
“Yes.”
Jin Seoah’s fingers moved over the reader.
A memory file began opening on the screen.
An android’s memories were different from a human’s.
They weren’t stored as a single scene. Visual and auditory input, touch, temperature, pressure, and internal judgment data were divided into countless layers.
Jin Seoah overlaid them in an order humans could understand.
The first memory.
The kitchen.
Hana was doing the dishes.
Water temperature: 37 degrees Celsius.
Plate weight: 487 grams.
The pressure of detergent bubbles bursting against the surface of synthetic skin.
A small garden was visible outside the window.
A scheduled task was displayed at the edge of her vision.
“4:00 p.m. Water the garden.”
The second memory.
The sound of the front door opening.
An unregistered biological signal was detected.
Hana turned her head.
A middle-aged man stood in the entryway. Facial-recognition data appeared on the screen.
Kim Taeho.
Kim Yongsoo’s son.
The third memory.
Kim Taeho said, “This is my father’s house. It’s my house. What is a machine doing living here?”
Hana answered, “Mr. Yongsoo left this house to me.”
“My father had dementia. He wasn’t competent to make that decision. What does the court know?”
Hana didn’t answer.
Instead, an internal judgment record remained.
“Probability of conflict escalation if conversation continues: 82%. Evasion recommended.”
Hana turned and resumed doing the dishes.
The fourth memory.
An impact.
The back of the head.
Pressure data instantly exceeded its limit.
Her vision shook violently.
The floor.
The ceiling.
Another impact.
This time, the chest.
Internal warnings appeared one after another.
Power circulation abnormality.
Sensory-processing unit damaged.
External impact detected on memory core.
As the visual data shook, Kim Taeho came into view.
He was holding a hammer.
The fifth memory.
Hana lay on the floor.
Only the ceiling was visible.
Kim Taeho looked down at her from above.
The visual data gradually blurred. Most of the auditory data had already been lost.
Only one internal record remained.
“4:12 p.m.”
“Scheduled task delayed.”
“The flowers in the garden need watering.”
The memory cut off.
Jin Seoah’s hand stopped over the reader.
The living room fell silent.
At some point, Hana’s fingers, which had been scraping against the floor, had stopped moving as well.
Jin Seoah looked at Hana’s face.
“This is homicide.”
Park Mujin folded his arms.
“Not legally.”
“You saw the memory.”
“I did.”
“Hana remembered what she was supposed to do. She was worried about the flowers she cared for.”
“The scheduled task remained until the end. It could’ve been a residual process, not emotion.”
“How do you tell the difference?”
Jin Seoah looked Park Mujin straight in the eye.
“When a human thinks of their family right before death, it’s emotion, but when an android thinks of the flowers it cared for until the end, it’s a residual process?”
“Humans and machines are different.”
“If you’re going to end the conversation by saying they’re different, why does this team exist?”
Park Mujin’s eyes hardened.
“What?”
“If a machine is just a machine, the police could handle this as property damage. So why did the special unit respond, and why is a memory forensic scientist analyzing those memories?”
Park Mujin shut his mouth.
Not because Jin Seoah was necessarily right.
He simply had no intention of arguing about the difference between humans and androids at a crime scene with a new hire on her first day.
Instead of answering, he looked at Seo Jinhyeok.
Seo Jinhyeok was watching the blue coolant leaking from Hana’s body.
Another color overlapped the blue.
Red blood.
Fifteen years ago, he had stood beside someone else’s destroyed body. What had soaked the floor then had not been coolant.
If only he had come back a little sooner.
If only he hadn’t left that place.
Seo Jinhyeok forced the thought from his mind before it could reach the end.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Only blue coolant remained.
“Find Kim Taeho first.”
At Seo Jinhyeok’s voice, Park Mujin straightened.
“Park Mujin, secure the surrounding CCTV footage and vehicle-movement records. Rian, look up everything on Kim Taeho and Hana’s registration history and the will lawsuit.”
“Understood.”
“Jin Seoah.”
“Yes.”
“Back up the entire memory before the core damage progresses. Separate the field-reading record from the original, and request a detailed analysis from Jung Haeun.”
Jin Seoah nodded.
“Understood.”
“Im Suhyeon, confirm the scope of Hana’s limited personhood and whether criminal charges can apply. Even if we find Kim Taeho, we can’t arrest him if there’s no charge to apply.”
Im Suhyeon answered through the communicator.
“I’ll check the precedents, too.”
Seo Jinhyeok looked again at the photograph on the wall.
Kim Yongsoo and Hana sat side by side on the sofa.
Kim Yongsoo was smiling.
Hana was smiling, too.
The same sofa.
The same living room.
The same afternoon light.
From the photograph alone, there was no way to know whether Hana’s smile was a programmed expression or a genuine emotion.
But another question suddenly occurred to Seo Jinhyeok.
Were human smiles always genuine?
Was this case homicide or property damage?
He hadn’t decided yet.
Withholding judgment was the most honest thing he could do at that moment.
When he stepped outside, Gu Daechul was leaning against the van.
When he saw Seo Jinhyeok, Gu Daechul held out a vending-machine coffee.
“How is it inside?”
Seo Jinhyeok accepted the paper cup.
“The memory core is still alive. The new hire is backing it up.”
“Not an easy first scene.”
Seo Jinhyeok took a sip of coffee. It was neither hot nor cold, just lukewarm.
“She didn’t look away until the end.”
Gu Daechul looked toward the house.
“That’s enough.”
“What is?”
“If she didn’t run from her first scene, that’s enough. She’ll learn the rest as she goes.”
Seo Jinhyeok didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked at the small garden beyond the wall.
The flowers were in bloom.
There were no wilted flowers in sight. The soil was damp, and small drops of water still clung to the leaves.
It meant someone had watered them at the same time every day.
That someone was now collapsed on the living-room floor.
Seo Jinhyeok’s phone rang.
It was Park Mujin.
“Chief.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve confirmed Kim Taeho’s location.”
Seo Jinhyeok tore his gaze from the garden.
“Where?”
“He’s leaving Seoul.”
Seo Jinhyeok handed the coffee in his hand back to Gu Daechul.
“Start the engine.”
“Where are we going?”
Seo Jinhyeok looked at the house again.
“The flowers in the garden need watering.”
The sentence wouldn’t leave his mind.
“To get Kim Taeho.”