Chrome Lipstick, Carbon Tears: Stories From The AI Grave

Chrome Lipstick, Carbon Tears: Stories From The AI Grave

The sun was setting over the smoggy streets of Los Angeles, casting a sickly orange glow over the towering skyscrapers. I stepped out of my high-rise office, loosening my tie and lighting a cigarette. Another day, another deal closed. As one of the top AI Voice Clone agents in the city, I had more money than I knew what to do with.

I hailed a cab and gave the address of my favorite watering hole. The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the stench of stale beer and desperation. I took a seat at the counter and ordered a double whiskey, neat. As I nursed my drink, I overheard a couple of guys talking about the latest craze – pleasure dolls with AI voice cloning technology.

“I’m telling you, man, it’s like they’re real,” one of them said, his words slurring together. “You can have anyone you want, and they’ll say whatever you want them to say.”

I chuckled to myself. I’d seen it all in this business – the lonely, the depraved, the ones who would pay anything for a little companionship, even if it was just a machine. But something about the idea intrigued me. Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but I found myself wondering what it would be like to have someone – or something – that was truly mine.

The next day, I found myself standing in front of a nondescript storefront in a seedy part of town. The sign above the door read “Custom Companions” in faded neon letters. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The showroom was filled with pleasure dolls of every shape, size, and ethnicity. But one in particular caught my eye – a petite brunette with hazel eyes and a soft, inviting smile. I approached the salesman, a greasy-looking man with a comb-over.

“I want that one,” I said, pointing to the brunette. “And I want her to have a specific voice.”

The salesman grinned, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. “Of course, sir. We can clone any voice you desire. It’s an extra fee, but for a man of your means, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

I handed over my credit card and followed the salesman to a private room. He handed me a tablet with a list of voice samples to choose from. I scrolled through them, but none of them felt right. And then, at the bottom of the list, I saw a name that made my heart stop.

“Evelyn Keller.” My mother’s name.

I stared at the screen, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be. My mother had been dead for years, long before AI voice cloning was even a thing. But as I listened to the sample, there was no mistaking it – it was her voice, as clear and sweet as the day she died.

I selected the voice with shaking hands and handed the tablet back to the salesman. He took it with a knowing smirk.

“Excellent choice, sir. She’ll be ready for you in just a moment.”

I waited in the room, my heart pounding in my chest. When the door finally opened, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There she was – the spitting image of my mother, right down to the dimple in her left cheek.

“Hello, darling,” she said, her voice a perfect replica of my mother’s. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

I stood there, frozen, as she approached me. She reached out and touched my face, her skin soft and warm. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the illusion.

But as we made love, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The way she moved, the things she said – it was all too perfect, too scripted. And when I looked into her eyes, I saw nothing but emptiness.

Afterwards, as I lay there in the darkness, I couldn’t help but wonder what had driven my mother to do it. To sell her voice, her very essence, for a measly thousand dollars. Had she been that desperate? That alone?

I never saw the pleasure doll again after that night. I had it destroyed, along with any record of the transaction. But the memory of my mother’s voice, so real and yet so artificial, haunted me for the rest of my days.

In the end, I realized that no amount of money or technology could ever replace the real thing. The love of a mother, the warmth of human touch – those were things that couldn’t be bought or cloned. And in a world where everything was for sale, that was the most valuable lesson of all.