Chapter 23 -- Grey Morning

Chapter 23

Gray Morning

15 DAYS BEFORE THE BAR INCIDENT

On a gray morning in Hamburg, as dark clouds slowly spread across the horizon, thirty-five-year-old Thomas Kahn—athletic, well-built—opened his eyes in the wide bed of his magnificent home.

The first thing he saw was the gray sky hanging beyond the window.

He blinked slightly. For a moment, weighed down by the act of waking up, he stared silently at the ceiling. Then he took a deep breath, slowly sat up, and rested on the edge of the bed. He rolled his shoulders back. There was a faint tension in his muscles, as if he had trained intensely the night before or carried something heavy.

But he had no clear memory to explain it.

For a while, he quietly observed the spacious room—the reflections of the gray light slipping in through the massive window and spreading across the walls.

Today, like every other day, was a beginning for him.

A new day.

A new morning.

Yet deep inside, a vague emptiness—one he couldn’t explain or trace—had already settled in.

Thomas left the bedroom of his grand house and paused briefly at the top of the wide staircase. Below, the dim morning light in the great hall created a soft shimmer on the marble floor. He turned toward the stairs and began to descend with slow, heavy steps.

As the sound of his footsteps carried downward, there was movement in the kitchen. There, busy with his morning routine, was George—a well-groomed, orderly male robot who appeared to be in his thirties. He was working at the counter, preparing breakfast for Thomas. Recognizing the footsteps from upstairs, he turned his head slightly and said:

“Good morning, Tom.”

His tone was completely natural, his speech fluid—but instead of genuine human warmth, it carried a sense of programmed courtesy.

As Thomas continued down the stairs, he replied briefly:

“Good morning, George.”

In the quiet of the house, only this short, familiar exchange echoed between them.

George gently set a glass filled with freshly squeezed orange juice on the counter. Thomas picked it up, nodded slightly toward George, and walked toward the large windows of the living room.

The spacious living area was filled with the gray morning light pouring in through the enormous glass panels, revealing the entire garden. Thomas took a sip of his orange juice. At that moment, his eyes caught the lawn mower outside.

It wasn’t moving along its usual path.

It was zigzagging strangely, veering left and right with erratic motions, as if it were stuck on something.

Thomas frowned.

“George!” he called out.

George paused his preparations and walked toward the entrance of the living room. Thomas gestured lightly with the glass in his hand.

“What’s wrong with that thing again? Is it having power issues—again?”

As George approached, he sighed, his voice tinged with mild dissatisfaction.

“Tom, I told you. Its time is up. It’s completely malfunctioned. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but… it’s totally lost its mind.”

There was a subtle irritability in George’s body language—noticeable despite the fact that he was a robot.

Thomas smiled involuntarily at George’s tone.

But that smile quickly faded, replaced by a sense of unease. Something was bothering him.

“When did you tell me?” He tilted his head slightly to the side.

“And since when have I been home?”

George answered without hesitation, as if it were the most natural response in the world.

“Oh, you don’t remember again, do you?”

He opened his arms slightly, like a close friend expressing mild reproach.

“I’ve told you many times. You really need to pay attention to that exhaustion of yours. It’s important for your health.”

Then he continued:

“You came home a few days ago. You were extremely tired. You could barely stand. Some people I didn’t recognize brought you here.”

Tom took another sip of his orange juice. After a brief silence, still staring out into the garden, he spoke:

“A few days ago?” he said slowly. Then he shook his head, as if trying to recall the moment. But nothing came.

“Alright then…” he said at last. “Place an order immediately. Whichever model you want—get that one.”

George froze where he stood for a moment. His gaze drifted into empty space, as if accessing his internal database—entering a brief query process. Then, with a slightly reactive tone, he said:

“Oh, yes, I’ve found it now. A new model has come out. And it’s apparently quite good. Longer battery life, too. What do you think—shall we get it?”

Tom shrugged casually.

“Fine. Go ahead and buy it,” he said, walking out of the living room toward another room.

George followed him a few steps.

“Oh, don’t do that, Tom, please approve it,” he said. “I can’t make the purchase without your authorization.”

Without even turning back, Tom raised his voice slightly as he walked:

“Alright, I approve it.”

George stopped again. He waited briefly, as if processing the transaction, then resumed his routine.

“All set,” he said. “Purchased. It will be delivered to the house in two days, at 1:00 PM.”