The Story of Five Robots (Graphic Novel), 2022
- Sep 1, 2022
- 7 min read
Updated: Apr 12
The Story of Five Robots
People used to call me Dr. Kim-a genius scientist who built robots. To protect the Earth from a possible aliens invasion, I created many of them. Among them, five robots remained until the very end. They required no human pilots. Instead, they possessed their own consciousness—loyal, pure, and unwavering. There was no need to sacrifice a human pilot. But in their place, each robot carried within it the quiet premise of its own sacrifice. Perhaps that is why I stayed with them for so long, unable to let them go.
Each of my robots was remarkable in its own way, yet none of them was without flaw. After many years of defending the Earth, each had developed its own kind of damage-slowly, but irreversible.
Unit No.1: Lemon
The first unit was called “Lemon.” From afar, his round shape resembled the fruit, and so the name remained. He was built to withstand invasions by massive extraterrestrial machines, and his size reflected that purpose—enormous, heavy, and powerful. But being the first of his kind, he carried many technical limitations.
At the time, there was no efficient way to power such a massive body. Aware of the dangers of nuclear energy, I designed his system to run on fossil fuel instead. Whenever he moved, the roar of his engines and the exhaust pouring from his body created a striking sight.
But in the end, it was not an alien invasion that made him stop. He chose to stop himself. He came to understand that the amount of carbon dioxide he emitted posed a greater threat than any alien force ever could. And so, rather than guarding the blazing ocean he loved beneath the sun, he shut himself down.
Now, he lies quietly in a corner of the laboratory, in energy-saving mode—motionless, as if he had simply fallen asleep.
Unit No.2: One Day
Unlike the others, Unit No.2 ran on solar energy instead of fossil fuel. She was called “One Day”.
At first glance, One Day appeared quite large. But most of her body was made up of solar panels, so her true form was much smaller than it seemed. Without those panels, she resembled a creature with a large shell and a tiny core—something like a small hermit crab.
One Day, too, had her limitations. Because of the nature of her energy system, the amount of usable power was never enough for her size. When deployed, she had to detach all of her solar panels and operate without an external power source. In that state, she could function for only fifteen minutes.
Sometimes, half in jest, she would say that she wished she could run for one day. In the end, that quiet wish became her name: “One Day.”
Unit No.3: Telly
Unit No.3, called “Telly,” was a robot specialized in sensors and telecommunications. Her radar system was powerful enough to see across vast distances, and for areas beyond its reach—hidden by the curvature of the Earth—she communicated with satellites, allowing her to observe and listen to the world from afar. Telly’s role was to detect signs of alien invasion at an early stage, to prepare her companions for deployment, and to maintain communication with them.
But one day, something went wrong.
While watching over the Earth, Telly saw and heard too many human stories. Beneath the beautiful surface of life, she was forced to witness a quiet darkness. And so, she began to break. She suffered a severe nervous collapse, and with it came a deep depression. Day after day, she could do nothing but weep.
It pained me to see her that way.
So I asked, “Shall I remove your sensors?”
Telly said nothing.
“It’s all right,” I told her.
At those simple words, she trembled, then quietly answered, “Yes.”
And so, I removed every sensor from her body.
From that day on, Telly could no longer see—yet remained, still to protect the Earth.
Unit No.4: Sloth
Unit No.4, called “Sloth,” was remarkably fast. He was the quickest one among them, designed for rapid response in times of crisis. Though he carried neither heavy weapons nor great strength, his reflexes and mobility were unmatched.
And yet, despite his speed, he never acted arrogantly. He knew how to slow down and walk alongside his companions. Because he would often adjust his pace to match ours, always a little too gently, we ended up calling him “Sloth.”
But his speed came at a cost. The faster he moved, the faster his parts wore down.
Over time, I replaced his components again and again—small parts, large ones, more than I could count. Because of this, he let go of the naive hope that he might one day become new again. Instead, a quieter thought settled in: that one day, he would simply come to a stop.
Unit No.5: U2
Unit No.5, called “U2,” was the only robot with wings. He could glide through the sky—perhaps his purpose was less about defending the Earth than about projecting my childhood dream. The dream of jumping from a rooftop and silently gliding through the night sky, which I could never fulfill, may have been the selfish reason I created him.
U2 was originally built to deploy Unit No.2, “One Day,” when Unit No.4 was handling early-stage responses. Because of this, he was closely tied to One Day. He cared for her so deeply that he often pushed himself beyond his own limits.
He knew better than anyone that One Day had only fifteen minutes of operation time—and that brief window had become increasingly unstable and inconsistent. So he kept pushing forward, trying to compensate for her fragility. But over time, fatigue accumulated in his engines and wings. Microfractures slowly spread through his entire body.
And now, he has wings—but flying is no longer possible for him.
Operation Meeting
That day, as always, there was no alien invasion. It was just an ordinary day, one of those days when various incomprehensible news kept swirling in my head. As usual, we were doing our respective tasks, watching the distant sky, monitoring an alien invasion that would never happen.
One thing was certain: there had been no alien invasion, and there would never be one. Yet the Earth was getting hotter and dirtier day by day. Perhaps that was an even greater threat than any alien invasion.
Unit No.3, who could not see; Unit No.1, who lay motionless; Unit No.5, who could not fly; Unit No.2, who could not move for more than fifteen minutes; and Unit No.4, whose condition was more severe than my own arthritis. Looking at them—beings who had lived shorter lives than mine, yet seemed to have endured far longer years—I felt a quiet sense of sorrow.
I gathered them together and held a slightly different kind of operation meeting. I told them that they had faithfully defended against alien invasions all this time, and that it was now time to hand that duty over to humanity. They had more than earned the right to be free. They should not grieve their retirement, but instead live out the dreams they had long buried.
They did not answer me. But I understood their hearts. They, too, knew the futility of what they had been doing, and yet had continued to wear down their own lives out of affection for me and for one another.
And so, that day’s meeting became our last operation meeting.
The Journey
A few days later, they told me that they had decided to set out on a journey together—as a single, unified robot. Unit No.2 attached her solar panels to Unit No.1, who could no longer move, so that he might move again. The others connected their neural networks to him as well. Of course, solar power alone was nowhere near enough to sustain all five of them, and so their movement was slow—very slow. And yet, for the first time, they had become one. And all of them felt that this unified form was far cooler than when they had stood alone.
As they traveled, they would occasionally send me stories from their journey. In quiet, gentle voices, they told me how happy they were, and what it felt like to travel together. For Unit No.3 in particular, the experience was all the more profound, as she had neither seen nor heard anything for so long. The others chattered endlessly, telling her trivial things—what had happened in the world since she removed her sensors, how the weather had been, and countless small, insignificant details. It seemed that she had forgotten all the things that once troubled her, and simply enjoyed talking with her friends.
They had no reason to move quickly, nor the ability to do so. And so they walked, slowly—simply moving forward, step by step. A journey without the pressure of having to accomplish anything. They told me they had never known that having no destination could be such a joy.
A long time passed. Then one day, they shared their visual network with me. They could not hear my voice, but I could see into their hearts. They stood in what must have been one of the most beautiful places in the world. Under the blazing summer sun, on a cliff overlooking a sky stained deep red by the setting sun. All of them were smiling—brightly, innocently. After all, it was their first journey together like this. Perhaps this was what it meant to be one.
Now, they were preparing for their first flight together. For Units No.1, No.4, and No.3, it was their first time ever taking to the sky, and their excitement was unmistakable. As for Units No.2 and No.5, they were simply happy to finally share their experience with the others.
They pushed off the ground with all their strength and leapt from the cliff. All of them shouted in joy. At that moment, Unit No.5 spread his wings wide—for the first time in a long while. For the first time, all of them were looking in the same direction.
Their first flight, toward the blazing sunset, was quiet, breathtakingly beautiful.
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