Sir, it's no good!
The flames have spread to the forest in the Third District!
Send more choppers! We need air support!
At this rate, the whole mountain range is gonna go up!
Damn it all! I don't get how it's covering so much ground!
What... what's happened here?
The trees, they're flattened.
My God. Did something crash?
No, sir. No reports of one, at least.
Where are you, Mont Blanc? Why can't I get a signal?
- You can't be here! - Mont Blanc! I'm coming!
- Professor! - Let me go!
No, Professor! Any closer, and you'll burn alive!
His signal's gone dead!
Do you know what that means? Mont Blanc's signal has gone dead!
What's wrong, Gesicht? I heard a gasp.
Nothing. Really.
I'm fine, dear.
It seems like you've been so tired lately.
I hope you're not working too hard. Some time off might do you good.
I'm all right. No need to fret.
As you can see, smoke is still rising from the forest
a full two days later as scattered fires continue to burn.
According to on-site investigators, the legendary robot
assigned to the Swiss Forestry Service, Mont Blanc himself,
was found dismembered within the blaze's ring of destruction.
Mont Blanc was known the world over as a mountain guide without equal.
He was a friend to children and experienced climbers alike.
The robot was also a tireless advocate for man's better stewardship of nature.
Condolences for the beloved Mont Blanc are pouring in from all over the globe.
Yes, this is Gesicht.
Yes. Understood. I'll be right there.
Work call. I have to go.
Uh, but what about your breakfast?
- Helena. - Uh...
Maybe I'll take some time off.
- We could go on a trip. - Huh?
I should be getting more rest, don't you think?
You're right, but I never thought I'd hear you say it.
Bernard Lanke, 42 years old, killed in his apartment.
Big advocate for the International Robot Laws.
Was he a human?
Oh. Uh, yes.
Bad way to go. Just look at him.
Hmm?
Hey! You there!
You can stop rooting through my crime scene anytime.
Actually, sir, we've been expecting him. He's Europol's guy.
Hmm?
Gesicht.
Sorry for snapping at you like that.
I'm Inspector Wallace with the city police. A pleasure.
I'm sure you've noticed, but our killer wrecked the place.
We're trying to figure out if anything was stolen during the attack,
but, uh, it's gonna take us some time.
No, I don't think robbery was a factor at play here.
Huh? How do you figure?
No sign of a search.
Come on! With this much damage, who can say?
I can tell.
This damage is from the attack itself.
All right. Then tell me what you make of this.
Why'd they go to the trouble of jamming stuff into his head
like a pair of damn horns?
Hmm?
Yes. Go ahead.
Hold on. They what?
They're saying someone attacked one of our checkpoints!
We need medevac! ASAP!
Did the perp attack anybody else, constable?
Robby, sir. He was at the checkpoint with me.
He's my partner.
Like, a constable-bot, you know?
Model PRC1332.
Hard to believe that a police robot could be destroyed so easily.
Inspector!
We got word of a male fleeing toward the old city's redevelopment zone.
He matches our perp.
Twenties, wearing a red cap, and tattoos on both arms.
Well, then? Pair up and search the place!
Huh?
Hey! I said, "Pair up," you damn show-off!
Oh!
Damn it! Europol can kiss my ass!
I suggest you calm down.
I didn't do anything!
That steel pipe you're holding has traces of material
from a destroyed constable-bot.
Ah. You're an addict high on a drug called "noi."
Taken about 40 minutes ago.
Sound about right?
This is the part where you tell me who you bought it from.
A guy on Karl-Heinz Street. I only know him as Shultz, okay?
And when did you last see Shultz?
Uh, early this morning before 5:00.
If the dealer's version of events happens to line up with what you said,
then you have an alibi.
5:00 a.m. is around the time that Bernard Lanke was murdered.
Mu... murdered? What the--
If I had to guess, you attacked the officer with that pipe
to avoid getting collared on a drug charge.
After him, you destroyed a local constable-bot.
Now, I can read you your rights and arrest you without incident,
or we can do this--
Don't shoot me! Come on, man!
You're perfectly safe.
This gun's only equipped to fire non-lethal sleeping gas.
My construction forbids the killing of a human.
Like your victim,
I'm a robot too.
Yes? Who is it?
I'm Gesicht, ma'am. A detective. I'm here on behalf of Europol.
Can I help you?
You are Robby's wife, correct?
Yes.
I'm afraid I have some bad news.
Can I offer you a cup of tea?
You're a robot, same as me,
so I'm sure you'll just go through the motions of drinking it.
By living as the humans do,
they say we robots can upgrade our senses or refine them. Same difference, I guess.
I suppose all that is true enough.
But I still don't understand why drinking tea is such a comfort to them.
Maybe it's too subtle for an outdated model like me.
I have a job. I work as a maid for this one family.
They have a child. A boy. All of them humans, of course.
The parents had adopted a dog back before the child was even born.
The boy and the dog grew up like siblings.
But then, one day, the dog died.
Would it help if I were to erase a portion of your memory data?
My memories of him? Please don't.
Whole thing's a damn mess.
The murder victim here is one Bernard Lanke.
The key member of a Robot Law advocacy group.
So I see.
I'm sure there are plenty of people out there
with no love for a scholar who pushed so hard for robot rights.
The body was found in the following condition.
That supposed to be horns coming out of his head or what?
I'm not sure.
However...
- Huh? - Huh? Don't tell me that's--
This is how they found Mont Blanc
right after he was destroyed.
More horns.
Wait a minute!
Are you saying that whoever tore Mont Blanc to pieces also killed Lanke?
Inflicting that level of damage upon a robot as sturdy as Mont Blanc
is beyond human capability.
Also, Lanke was the only human in his apartment at the time of his death.
I scanned the murder scene myself and found no other traces.
He was the only human in there?
So what the hell are you suggesting?
You know where I'm going with this.
I do.
The International Robot Laws, Article 13.
No robot can harm or murder a human.
But if... if there's a robot out there
who's found a way to murder human beings at will,
then we're right back where we were eight years ago.
I'll track down our perpetrator, sir.
Whether our killer is human or robot,
there's a devil inside them, and it must be stopped.
A strange pedestal, isn't it?
Back in the day,
there was talk of building a giant statue of Mont Blanc and putting it on top.
However, Mont Blanc let us know he didn't much like the idea.
He said it would be wrong to ruin such a scenic view of the Alps
with a needless monument like that.
He didn't even want us to hang onto his body once he was nonfunctional.
"Break it up, melt it down, recycle it."
"No point hanging onto an empty husk," he would say.
I keep thinking back to when he was still in his prime.
Mont Blanc was a hero in the truest sense of the word.
He served in the 39th Central Asian War
as a key member of the peace-keeping forces.
Not only did he help restore peace in the Kingdom of Persia
after the turmoil of war,
but he apprehended many terrorist cells without any bloodshed.
Without Mont Blanc,
Asia could never have achieved its current state of peace.
He was a poet and a friend of nature.
He enjoyed singing with the birds and talking with the trees of the forest.
See those people setting up his memorial?
Volunteers, every single one, because they loved him.
They loved my son from the bottom of their hearts.
Mont Blanc. Guardian angel of the Alps.
Tens-- No, hundreds of thousands will come.
They'll flock to this memorial in three days' time...
here to grieve the passing of their hero.
Look, Detective, Mont Blanc's death was no accident.
They say it was a freak tornado that destroyed him.
And one was reported in the area that night
mere moments before the fire that burned the forest,
but that's not what killed him.
I beg of you. Catch whoever did this to my boy.
Find them, and I'll beat them bloody with my own hands!
As the pride of Switzerland and the world at large,
Mont Blanc will live on forever...
...cherished in the memories of all who knew him.
Are you awake, Gesicht? Rise and shine.
That'll do it for your scheduled maintenance today.
You have my thanks, Professor Hoffman. So, everything normal?
Yes. There's nothing out of the ordinary.
Except...
Go on.
Well, most people assume robots aren't capable of getting tired,
but given how human you are in your design,
fatigue is a real possibility.
And why not?
The human body is just a mechanism, the same as you are.
No mechanism, flesh or otherwise, can avoid the perils of overwork.
Overwork?
You've got a difficult caseload at the moment. No doubt about that.
I tried to watch Mont Blanc's memorial,
but I ended up turning it off after a while to keep myself from crying.
There's a theory that some sort of
internal electromagnetic wave anomaly made him self-destruct.
But as an expert on the subject,
I don't believe a marvel of engineering like Mont Blanc
could ever be taken out by such a minor error as that.
Destroying a robot whom everyone adored. Do you think you can find the perpetrator?
I'm sure that mystery is going to prove a challenge.
At the same time, though, that other case you're on,
it looks complicated too.
The murder of Bernard Lanke.
I watched him advocate for robot rights on TV many a time.
No surprise he fell afoul of someone.
Sure, the man had a right to defend his opinions,
but his remarks could cut like a knife.
He always had an air of condescension about him.
Not a good way to make any friends.
If you think about it, they're the opposite of each other.
A robot and a human being.
One of them had no enemies, and the other had nothing but.
Yeah, juggling two tough cases like that at the same time?
That would tire out anybody.
Do you mind if I ask you something, Professor?
Not at all.
Can a human enter a room and then commit a crime there
without leaving any sort of biological trace?
In other words, organic traces so minute,
they can't be detected by your sensor loadout.
- Is that what you're asking me? - Yes.
Uh-huh. Quite the hypothetical.
That is gonna take some thought.
Call it my homework for next time.
Oh, what am I saying?
These checkups should be your break from work.
No more shoptalk, all right?
Incidentally, I brought up the idea with my wife
of us maybe going on a little trip.
Well, that sounds nice.
But she has her work to think of as well,
so who can say when we'll get around to it.
Traveling is healthy.
The data is unanimous.
Seeing more of the world is a great experience
for an artificial intelligence.
You should go somewhere completely different, like Japan!
Japan?
Uh-huh!
A member of their scientific community invited me over there once,
and I jumped at the chance to visit.
Tokyo is so interesting. So much to see and do!
Sounds like fun. I'll run the idea past my wife.
Hope you don't mind my asking,
but are you still having that dream you told me about?
I am.
Oh! Not that I'm trying to pry it out of you.
That would be rude of me.
But I am intrigued at the thought of artificial minds having dreams.
At this point, it's pretty well-accepted within the scientific community
that artificial intelligence includes a subconscious element.
Still, it's rare to encounter a robot that has any waking memory of the dream state.
When you feel up to it, could you maybe tell me what you've seen?
Hmm.
As the 20th-century psychiatrist Sigmund Freud was known
to occasionally say,
"Our dreams are more than just idle flights of the imagination."
"Dreams are expressions of our reality."
- Excuse me, sir. - Hmm?
Is that a constable-bot?
Uh-huh. Says it right there.
Cops are done doing forensics, so it's time to junk it.
You're Robby.
Hmm?
Would you mind if I take a quick look at him?
Yeah, sure. Go ahead.
If there's any parts you want, take 'em with you.
The body's scrap at this point.
500 Zeus a body. What do you say?
What's the matter?
Uh, it's nothing. Nothing at all.
Zoned out for a second.
This is your husband's memory chip.
Not to overstep, but I thought you might want it.
Oh my goodness. This means so much to me. Thank you.
Well then, I can see myself out.
Wait!
Could I trouble you to insert it, please?
There could be painful memories on there.
The overlapping sets of memories could cause a malfunction.
If that happens, I'm ejecting it right away.
My Robby. He's here with me.
Huh?
Ma'am, that's enough! I'm taking it out!
His final memories are clearly too traumatic for you! I'm ejecting it!
- That's strange. - Huh?
What could it be?
- What do you see, ma'am? - I'll display it.
Footage of Robby's partner stopping a car at their checkpoint before the attack.
He takes out the human cop.
Please forgive me.
Seeing that firsthand must have been traumatic.
I can't apologize enough.
- It's not that. - Hmm?
My husband, he reacted to the sight of the steel pipe at once.
I could see his stun gun at the ready.
I saw that.
It's very unusual that a human perpetrator
can mount a successful attack on a constable-bot.
There's a lot we still don't understand about how--
- I know why. - Hmm?
Watch the moment again.
With this chip in me, I can track the memory frame by frame.
It starts when he hits Robby's partner.
Up until this moment,
my husband never takes his eyes off the man with the pipe.
But as the man rushes him,
he was distracted by something.
There, behind him!
That was the apartment Lanke was murdered in!
That shot, right there!
- What is that thing? - I can zoom in some.
Definitely not a bird.
Forensics went over all the footage,
so why was there no mention made of this shot?
Unless you had the memory chip inserted,
you'd never notice something so brief.
My husband caught sight of this silhouette and was able to analyze it
during the fraction of a second it was in view.
It can't be a human.
Not the way it's jumping from one building to another.
Yes. But, Detective...
Huh?
...that's not a robot.
A murder in a room with no trace of a human assailant.
The death of a robot, loved the world over.
And horns.
Identity confirmed.
Please step forward.
Says you're a robot. That true or what, Detective?
Yes.
Well, you could've fooled me with that face.
The electromagnetic waves he emits are pretty strong.
They could scramble your AI if you get too close to him.
Wear this to keep you safe.
I'm okay, thanks.
I'm immune. They have no effect on me.
Really?
A very special alloy was used in my construction.
I'm plain on the outside though.
All right. Your call, sir, but stay on your guard.
In the time he's been here,
he's taken out four robots who tried to engage with him.
Like the barricade?
It would be funny if it weren't so desperate.
They fear me.
The humans threw together that pile of junk
so they can pretend they're not quaking in their boots.
So you're Brau1589.
Robot Model HRS0288, Inspector Gesicht.
In terms of detective AI, you're the best there is.
If you can discern my model, your ID function still works.
Ah, you're sleuthing already.
If anything, it's more powerful than before.
Locked away and smashed half to hell as I am,
I can't help but be curious about what's happening in the world above.
I came here today because there's something I needed to ask you.
Let me guess.
What went through the mind of a certain robot
when it murdered a human eight years ago, right?
Robot rights scholar Bernard Lanke was killed at home.
I scanned the murder scene,
but there were no traces of another human there.
So was the killer a human, or was it--
Or was it a robot?
And if it was a robot, why'd it do such a thing?
Just between us, the humans examined every last bit of it.
My murderous artificial intelligence that is.
They were so sure that a defect was to blame.
But, no.
They couldn't find a single thing wrong with me.
My AI passed the tests with flying colors. No flaw in sight.
Can you imagine how terrified the humans were when they found that out?
That's why they keep me locked away down here, skewered and broken.
If they're that afraid, they should just pull out this spear.
That would kill me dead.
But, alas, my human captors are too spineless even for that.
Inspector Gesicht, if you want to peek
into the head of a robot who's committed murder,
all you have to do is exchange memory chips with me.
Who knows? You might learn all sorts of things.
Those are some printed images of Mont Blanc's destruction
and the Lanke murder scene.
The horns in both of them. What could they mean?
The ancient gods of Europe come to mind.
The god of death. He had horns like these.
There was Herne the Hunter, who took the souls of warriors.
He was called the "Horned King."
In Greek mythology,
the horned king of the underworld was Hades, of course.
The Roman god of the dead
was Pluto.
A god of the dead.
Whoever did this, they will strike again.
Mont Blanc, one of the most advanced robots on earth,
was ripped apart like he was a children's toy.
Come on, Detective. Do I need to spell it out for you?
A handful of robots were created
with the best technologies the world had to offer.
Robots who can also be weapons of mass destruction.
You already know who else is in the crosshairs, do you not?
There are six of them left, present company included.
I am trying to work.
Don't just stand there in silence like a damn mannequin.
Sorry to have entered without your permission.
The security seems to have been disabled.
Mm-hmm.
Given your visual impairment, that is not safe.
No burglar's going to tromp out to the middle of nowhere to steal from me.
- But Sir Duncan, you-- - Enough. Are you the new butler?
Yes, sir.
I'm sure the agency sent me over another good-for-nothing.
You got a name?
Yes, sir. You can refer to me as North No.2.
Direction and a number. Riveting.
The staffing agency told me you have a military background.
Do you care to elaborate on that?
Yes, sir. I previously served as a butler
for the Commander-in-Chief of the British Army
for the entirety of the 39th Central Asian War.
Hmm. Butler for a soldier, eh?
I don't imagine you're much to look at, are you?
I wear a cape while in the presence of others.
But of course. Your whole damn body's a weapon.
- Make me tea, weapon. - At once, sir.
As for the type...
Don't worry, sir.
I made sure to download all of your relevant data en route.
What the hell's my "relevant data"?
Prior to this assignment,
I had the chance to watch one of the films you worked on.
It was the movie The Queen on the Satellite Orbit,
and I was very moved
by how the soundtrack served to uplift the imagery.
Is that part of your "relevant data"?
No, sir. I was sincerely moved by it.
That film has been out for more than a decade now.
Your tea.
Used to call me the "blind genius"
back when I was stacking up film awards like cordwood.
Every score I composed was a hit.
I'm sure you have the more recent reviews
rattling around in that metal skull of yours.
"The wellspring of Paul Duncan's talent has run dry."
End quote.
The hell it has.
I could still compose circles around anyone if I had a mind to.
How dare they just write me off?
They would be on their feet, applauding at my simplest leitmotif,
then I'd squeeze their heart with my notes and leave them in tears.
It's not that I can't compose. It's that I refuse to.
Such trivial things hold no appeal for me.
But, sir, you were at the piano just now.
It was a beautiful piece, if I may be so bold.
That one's not meant for the celluloid brothel.
It's a song I write only for myself. The world can't lay claim to any of it.
- This cup of tea is much like your name. - Sir?
Utterly lacking flavor.
"A beautiful piece," eh? Don't make me laugh.
A hunk of military hardware like you has no right to judge the value of my art.
My apologies, sir.
How many did you kill?
Sir?
How many people did you kill in the Central Asian War?
I'm sure you can give me an exact number.
The International Robot Laws forbid me from harming any humans. I am incapable.
So then, killed lots of robots, in other words.
What does that number come out to?
Don't pretend as though you've lost count.
Get out of here.
Your demeanor's ruining what little appetite I have.
I will take my leave.
What are you doing? You leave my piano alone, you hear me?
My apologies, sir.
When composing music,
this instrument is the only one you employ.
Yes. What of it?
But you have so much cutting-edge equipment at your disposal.
They're cutting-edge fakeries, just like you.
A fake violin right there next to a fake trumpet.
The whole damn orchestra, fake.
Oh, dress 'em up all you want. They're nothing more than machines.
No, thank you.
That's why I never had artificial eyes put in.
If I need a machine to tell me what the world looks like,
then I'd rather not see at all.
Far better to live in the dark.
The only sights worth laying eyes on already exist within my memory.
"The sights worth laying eyes on."
Visions of my childhood home back when I still had my sight.
During your youth, sir, back in Bohemia.
That another tidbit from your data?
It's all worthless when it's just a list within your processors.
It was such a beautiful milieu.
The fields run riot with green.
The wind's caress.
And always the glow of the gently setting sun.
I will turn them into music. I must.
I told you not to touch my piano, you great clod!
Yes, you have my apologies.
Even if you played a song to perfection,
the notes and chords would all be as artificial as you are.
Sir Duncan.
I do not mean to intrude upon your privacy, sir,
but I happened to notice that you were moaning in your sleep last night.
Hmm?
However, it sounded like you were humming
amidst the moans as well.
I could be mistaken,
but I think that melody, born of your unconscious mind,
is the missing portion of the song you currently struggle to finish.
It's the section where you always stop midway.
This is how it went, sir. More or less.
Get out of here!
I have no need for you, you piece of machinery!
Get out of my house this instant!
But, sir--
I am giving you an order! Leave at once!
Sir Duncan.
I would like to learn to play the piano if you will teach me.
What did you say?
As you have told me numerous times,
no matter how well I play, it might always ring false.
But I'd like to know I got as close as I could.
A weapon like you will never play the piano, and that's final.
Stop it!
How dare you sully those keys, you tool of war?
You belong on a battlefield, and you know it!
You are right.
That is why I'd like to learn to play the piano.
I do not want to belong on the battlefield.
Mother!
No, please!
Where are you?
Wait for me!
Whoa!
Mother, don't leave me behind! I'm right here!
Mother!
Are you there, North No.2? I think that you are.
I've told you before, don't come into my bedroom.
I apologize, Sir Duncan.
I merely wanted to inform you that breakfast is ready.
I could've sworn I fired you.
Are you still there?
How many times must I say it?
Don't you touch that piano! Not ever!
Let me play for you. Please, Sir Duncan.
I think I've gotten a little better than before.
"Gotten a little better," eh?
The only improvement you can hope for is if you turn yourself into a metronome!
I will attempt to recreate the melody
you keep humming in your sleep, Sir Duncan.
The sounds you torture out of that piano are not music!
Damn this piece of junk!
"Just input the data,
and you can create infinite melodies with the push of a button!"
That's not music at all! It's just sounds with no heart to it!
You will break the machines if you continue.
Oh! Trying to protect your own kind, is that it?
I'll ask again.
How many of your own kind did you destroy on the battlefield?
Take off the cape, you cast-iron hypocrite!
Show the world your hideous weapon of a body!
How many did you kill? Give me the number!
How many notches carved into your side?
Ha! You're a docile one, aren't you?
A weapon of mass destruction
programmed to behave in front of his master, is that it?
All right, then.
I'm going to give you some data about me
that I guarantee isn't rolling around in that head of yours.
It's the reason I moan in my sleep in the dead of night.
The nightmare I've had for years now.
Not a dream, but the life that brought me to this.
Truth from long ago.
The world knows me as Paul Duncan,
but my real name is Paulo Holy.
I was born into poverty in Bohemia.
I can't remember my father.
He died when I was young.
I was born with a chronic illness.
And even with thick glasses, my eyesight was always poor.
Singing songs was my only joy in life.
My mother, she was a beauty.
Even at her most threadbare,
men would turn and watch her walk down the street.
One approached her. He was a member of the nouveau-riche.
And she, my mother,
fell prey to a greed that poisoned her heart.
Sick as I was,
she must have thought me such a burden.
Looking back, that has to be the reason
why she did what she did.
The reason why she threw her own child away!
Out of nowhere, I was shipped off to a boarding school in England.
The other boys were cruel,
and a weakling such as myself was in no place to fight back.
But through the worst of it,
I clung to my music studies like a drowning man.
The long nights came at a price.
I soon developed a fever I couldn't shake.
Even my beloved music slipped from my grasp.
I was sent from hospital ward to hospital ward,
but every day saw me grow weaker.
The doctors gave up on me.
And through it all, not a peep from my mother.
I was dying. They knew it, and I did too.
I would perish far from home,
forgotten and forlorn.
And that's when a Japanese doctor walked into my room.
He didn't have a license, but lost causes were his specialty.
I'm going to save your life, young man.
But there's a chance that you go blind in the bargain.
The surgery was a success.
And yet, just as the rogue doctor had predicted,
my eyes grew weaker with each passing day.
I knew time was running out,
and there was so much theory left to learn.
I forsook everything but the music.
Music was all I had left in the world.
Play it again! Quickly, now!
Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!
And then,
the darkness was complete.
A few years later, I was told my mother had died.
Her wealthy suitor never did bother to make an honest woman out of her.
They told me she was alone when the end came.
Abandoned, as I had been.
I worked hard!
When his fortunes fell, I bought her lover's castle. All of this!
Paulo Holy had become the genius Paul Duncan.
I became maestro of the music world and took this as my reward!
Look, Mother!
This is what you wanted, right? All this comfort and wealth.
You threw your child away for the chance to have it!
Well, here it is!
I prevailed!
And now, Mother, I'm going to pay homage to all the riches you squandered.
The beautiful hues of the homeland you deserted!
I will take those sights that live in my memory
and paint them into song.
I will show you priceless things that never should have been cast aside,
and you will know your mistake!
Sir Duncan, your anger towards your mother is--
Silence!
I'll give you high marks, but you leave here tomorrow.
That is why I'd like to learn to play the piano.
I do not want to belong on the battlefield.
I guess he did get a little bit better.
Hmm?
Charging his power supply before he leaves in the morning, eh?
Just like a machine.
Is the robot having a nightmare?
So they can dream. I didn't know that about you.
"It's not that I can't compose anymore. It's that I refuse." Yeah.
Hey!
North No.2.
North No.2! Hey!
Mmm, sounds like he really left this time.
Maybe I can't compose anymore.
How long are you going to make me wait for him, eh?
When is the replacement butler going to be here?
Uh, this is Marshall calling from MCM Pictures.
So you're just a movie guy.
You sound a bit disappointed, Sir Duncan. Something wrong?
No, I just had to fire my butler robot the other day, that's all.
Well, get on with it, then.
Yes, sir. I'm calling because we'd love to have your work in an upcoming film.
Oh. Sounds like a job offer.
Tell me what you have in mind, and I'll decide if it's worth my energy.
That's very kind of you, sir.
Basically, we would love to license one of your old scores
for use in this project.
What? Don't you want to use a new soundtrack?
Oh! Uh, I was of the understanding that you had retired from composing.
Use the damn thing any way you like.
Oh! Sir Duncan, I meant no--
You have one new message.
Uh, Russell here, from the Planning Office at the British Philharmonic Orchestra.
We'd been in talks about perhaps mounting one of your works for our upcoming season.
Unfortunately, we're not in a position to follow up on that.
You have my apologies.
I hope we get to collaborate in the future.
I think that melody
is the missing portion of the song you currently struggle to finish.
Sir Duncan.
I thought you'd want to know that I am back.
Now what?
Didn't I tell you to get out of here?
I did leave, as you requested.
I went to your hometown in Bohemia.
What could have possessed you to make that trip?
My purpose there was to archive old music.
In the process of collecting many folk songs from the region,
I was able to find it.
The melody you continue to hum when you are asleep.
I know how it goes.
Please allow me to sing it for you.
No, damn it! Singing should be for real people only!
Why would you try to drag my nightmare out into the light of day?
We don't remember everything like you machines, and that is a blessing!
Your dream is not a nightmare, sir. You deserve to know that.
To lose the dreams I have at night would be a mercy, but yours is different.
Just as you said, I am nothing more than a weapon.
During my time in the 39th Central Asian War,
I neutralized many of the foe's units.
No,
I decimated them.
Tens of thousands of my own kind.
And those memories,
the memories of the countless deaths by my hand,
my artificial intelligence plays them back again and again.
While in Bohemia, I met an ancient man.
He had a wealth of knowledge about folk songs,
including the song in your dream.
He said that this one young woman in particular
used to sing it so beautifully, he remembers even now.
That young woman was your mother.
I have so much data in my mind about you.
It includes facts about your mother you never got to know.
It felt that way,
but as your chronic illness grew more pronounced,
she did not abandon you.
The rich man you hated for stealing her affections,
she sought him out in order to fund the treatment that saved your life.
It's true.
The rogue doctor who operated on you charged an astronomical fee,
and that was the only way she could afford it.
She did not throw you away when she sent you abroad.
In the weeks and months, as your vision slowly dimmed,
your mother was never far, Sir Duncan.
Learning how much you hated her, she couldn't bring herself to reach out.
The divide she would have had to repair seemed too great.
Uh, she was there?
- That can't be. - It's the truth.
When you recall your childhood in Bohemia,
isn't there a core memory that you've forgotten about?
The ancient villager remembered.
You and your mother would sing that old folk song together
hand-in-hand until the very last note
as the setting sun turned the fields into gold.
Mother.
How can I forget?
I apologize, sir,
for how I sang it.
You deserve to remember all the pieces of your dream
as I deserve to remember mine.
North No.2?
I want you to stay.
Don't you ever go back to the battlefield.
Would you like me to teach you the piano?
Yes, sir.
North No.2!
Hey, North No.2!
Yes, Sir Duncan. I am here.
I've finally finished it! Give it a listen!
Yes, sir. I would love to hear it in its entirety.
- However... - Hmm? What's the matter?
I am picking up something approaching at a high velocity.
Uh, like what?
Maybe one of your robot friends finally decided to pay you a visit.
There was an incident up in the Alps a few days ago.
Did you hear reports about it?
Something up in the Alps?
Oh, yes. I did catch a news segment
on how that Mont Blanc robot was destroyed by a tornado.
What of it?
Just now, sir, a tornado was reported 100 kilometers from our position.
Hmm?
An unknown assailant is on a path of direct approach.
Hey!
I'll return very soon.
Wait, North No.2!
North No.2!
Where did you go?
Come back!
That sound I heard just now... What could it be?
I can't tell what's going on up there!
An explosion.
Huh?
I hear it.
I hear him singing.
I feel it spreading to fill the sky.
I hear your voice, my boy.
You're singing our song and with such feeling.
Time to come back home, North No.2.
I think that's enough singing for one day.
Hurry on home now.
You're going to be late for piano practice.
- It's super awesome! - Really?
Ah. Found a snail, did you?
I did.
It's very nice to meet you.
I believe your name is Atom, right?
Uh-huh.