Synthetic

By Hannah Morehead

Alessandra’s fingers closed around the cash left on the opposite table and she escaped out of the bistro and into the cold. It was a humble little cafe, situated on the opposite side of town. The owner was a kind Turkish man. He had offered her a kettle of cardamom tea while she inspected their kitchen a week prior, which is where she learned tips were left temporarily unattended due to their understaffing. The establishment passed their inspection but they were running out of funds. They could barely afford to pay their current wait staff, let alone buy waitbots that were becoming abundant in wealthier establishments. Alessandra had gradually gotten used to them over a few inspections, bumping around tables telling customers, “We are amicable to all your needs!” 
Her phone buzzed from her back pocket, and she checked the notification as it rolled up on her watch.

How was dinner?

The winter air made her fingers numb, the joints barely working as she texted a response.

Very good. I wish you could have enjoyed it with me.

She pulled her hat lower to cover her forehead. A few streets down was the rickety train that would take her home and away from the cafe. Her hands clenched into fists in her pockets, crumpling the paper bills further. Without gloves, she’d have to use her palms to keep her fingers from freezing. The watch buzzed again and she glanced down.

Soon, love.

She turned her attention back to the sidewalk to pass a slow elderly man. She would reply when she got to the train. The neon lights from the restaurants and apartment entrances made her turn her eyes to the slushy road to keep from straining them. Each car that passed was slow to avoid slipping, waves of black slush rippling away from the tires. In the beacon-like headlights, there was a heavy concentration of snow blowing sideways, striking Alessandra’s right cheek. Her boots were a size too big and rubbed at her heel, starting to break through the premeditated bandage. Warm blood was trickling down her heel by the time she arrived at the train station.
The canopy of the station gave a welcome break from the falling flakes and she found enough warmth in her fingers to pull out her phone. 

Hey, Aiden?

A few seconds went by followed by a quick reply. That was something she loved about him. Despite how intelligent he was, he still found time to dote on her.

Yes?

I wish you were here to hold my hands. They’re cold.

She looked up to check the train’s arrival time. Seven minutes.

There were only three other people on the platform. There was a couple to her right at the end of the overhang and a homeless man to her left. The two at the end were laughing and holding hands, the shorter woman making an effort to swing their arms. Alessandra looked the other way at the man, hunched over a bucket. A large black coat covered his thin form, making him look especially tiny. Thick glasses clung to his hooked nose, and Alessandra spotted in the gap between them and his face that his pupils were milky. She looked up and around like a meerkat. There was nobody else around and the couple on the other side of the station were locked in an embrace, still laughing.
Alessandra lowered herself in a quick snapping motion and grabbed a handful of paper bills from the bucket and yanked them to her pocket. The man lifted his chin suddenly and for one moment, she was convinced he had faked being blind, until he wrinkled his nose and turned his head to sneeze. She slowly rose from her crouching position, folding the money deeper into her pocket to keep it from making crumpling sounds. Turning away, she took the opportunity to read Aiden’s reply. 

If I were there, I’d warm your hands then swing you around. I want to watch the sunlight shine through your hair when we twirl.

She smiled gently when the sound of icy scraping followed by a soft thud made her head jerk up. The couple at the other end of the station were somehow laughing harder than they were before. The girl was laying on her back with her hands over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her giggles while the boy stood slightly hunched with his hands outstretched, his eyes wide with nervous laughter. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah-ah-ah-ah-ah!” she chortled.

Alessandra could see they were so full of color, even from the hundred feet away. The girl’s soft cheeks were bright pink and she could faintly see the rust red shadows of a stubble on the boy. No, not a boy. A man. A man and a woman. They were both older, like her. The expression lines on their faces gave it away. She could feel the muscles in her face relax as her smile faded. She wanted to be angry at them for being loud, but couldn’t find it within herself. Her frown wouldn’t turn into a scowl or her hands to fists. 
The man pulled the woman up to her feet and they touched foreheads, their laughter turning to smiles. He gripped her shoulders and rubbed them with his thumbs, a sweeping noise accompanying the motion from the thick puffy jacket she wore. They began to glow, and Alessandra gasped at their sudden ethereal appearance until she heard the faint whistling of the approaching train.
The carts rattled as they got closer, eventually screeching to a stop. It looked moderately packed inside. When the doors opened and the warmth of other bodies escaped and filled the air, she slithered to a seat. She tucked her legs close for warmth, making a dull throb begin in her knees.
After some people stepped off and lifted their hoods to brave the snow, the doors shut and the train rattled into a shaky start and then to a smooth glide. From her view, she could see the glowing flakes in street lights and headlights thickening. There would be an extra inch on the ground by the time she had to get off and walk home. She slid her phone out of her pocket.

I hate being long distance.

She tucked her phone back then pulled out the dollars to count. Twenty from the restaurant and an extra eleven from the homeless man’s bucket, all thirty one in various states of crumpled disfigurement. Her hands were trembling as she stacked and rubbed them against the edge of the seat before folding them multiple times into a thick rectangle, then zipped it in her pocket. Unable to tell whether she was shaking from cold or nerves, Alessandra held her hands to her face and exhaled into them to warm them. 
Her watch buzzed.

Each day that passes gets us one day closer. I need you to be strong for me.

She looked up. At the other end of the long cart, she could see the couple from the stop. The man was holding onto one of the hanging straps while using his other hand to hold the woman steady. They were both looking at something on her phone, the man resting his chin on the woman’s fuzzy hat.
Alessandra tried to imagine how it would feel if Aiden did that. She enjoyed imagining. They had been long distance for so long- she had no idea what close contact with him would feel like. Would his jawline be sharp or would he be slightly soft? Was he clean-shaven? Would there be stubble, or would he have more facial hair? Would his arms be thick enough to warm her or would they be thin enough to fit into her jackets if he had to quickly run outside to grab the mail? Would his fingers be rough and calloused and lightly scratch her face or would they be soft and smooth enough to run though her hair without snagging? She put her left hand to her face and leaned into it, closing her eyes. Her thumb squeezed, forcing her cheek into her eye.
The train rumbled to a slow stop, catalyzing the slow rise of a few passengers. It emptied further, allowing the couple on the opposite end to sit down. Alessandra was confused as to why they waited since a few seats were open before, but the sound of the shutting doors made her realize they were waiting for neighboring seats to open up so they could sit together. 
A few stops came and went, more and more people slowly trickling out to presumably head home for the evening. The air inside the car gradually became less stuffy and stale as it emptied. Alessandra busied herself by reading through the ads posted above the gripping straps. There was a new lawyer brother duo in town who specialized in car accidents and divorces respectively. One of the more high-end restaurants in town had a ten year old ad, displaying a dish they have since removed from their menu. Most eye-catching was an online service for “GUILT-FREE PLEASURE.” It featured a pair of ankles with a dress falling around them, the website name and a tagline underneath reading, “HUMANE AND SEXY. EXCELLENT RATES FOR SUPPLIERS. SUBSCRIBE OR SUPPLY TODAY!” She read over the URL a few times, the name of the site rolling off the tongue.
As more seats opened, Alessandra gained a clearer view of the couple. She felt nervous about accidentally stalking them and prayed they hadn’t noticed her in their company for the last twenty minutes. It still appeared they were too obsessed with each other to notice. They were watching something on the woman’s phone, both leaning into one another to get a clear view.

What shows would you want to watch together? Like, a nightly ritual before we go to bed, she found herself suddenly asking Aiden.

I am amicable to anything you would like. I can find and share enjoyment with you in anything.

She frowned and checked the sign with the stop names. They were approaching the stop before hers. When the robotic voice overhead announced the stop, the couple leaned apart and slowly stood. The woman hurriedly shoved her phone in her pocket and put back on her gloves while the man straightened out his jacket and re-tied his scarf. The man gripped the pole and held out his other arm for the woman, which she took. When the rickety deceleration ended and the doors wiped open, Alessandra noticed something had fallen out of the man’s back pocket and onto the seat.
A wallet.
Her head ticked upward and she watched them slowly make their way toward the stairs. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen.
Don’t go, don’t notice, don’t go, don’t notice, don’t go, don’t notice-
They continued down the steps and into the night, the doors coldly slamming shut behind them.
Alessandra’s eyes were locked on the wallet the whole rickety trek to her stop, occasionally flicking up to the other passengers. There were only five left in the whole car, all either looking out the windows or on their phones. No one had noticed. 
She slowly stood, the blister on her heels flaring up with new intensity. She was on the opposite end of the car, but if she hurried, took big steps, she could snag the wallet before anyone else. The voice came on overhead again, reading out her stop. A man behind her rose, coughing softly into his thick collared jacket. Alessandra took a step out into the aisle. The man dusted off his hat before putting it back on. She reached for one of the poles and gripped it, inwardly cringing at how warm it was.
Rattling and skiffing, the train began to slow. Alessandra wanted to run, but she knew she’d fall if she did. The car was too unsteady. She had to be patient. The street lights outside graduated from blurred lines to solid shapes then beacons full of flakes. The train tutted to a stop.
Before the doors opened all the way, Alessandra ran down the aisle. She didn’t have time to see if anyone other than the man behind her was getting off, but it didn’t matter. Her blister screamed with pain as the boot rubbed it raw. The jacket she wore was high enough on her torso for her quads to lift all the way, which she was grateful for at that moment. The wallet was still warm when her palm slammed onto it and she lifted it.

“Hey!” someone yelled behind her. 

She continued running down the steps and through the doors, her boots sliding slightly on the snow-covered pavement. A confused onlooker watched from one of the station benches as she ran, tucking her hands into her pockets making her elbows jut outward like bird wings for balance. It didn’t sound like anyone was pursuing her, but she didn’t care. Her apartment was close enough to run to, even with a deep blister. Snow stung as it struck her face, the headwind carrying them directly to her eyes. The sidewalk hadn’t been cleared since that morning, and now a good six inches of snow covered the walkway. Her too-big boots had gaps at her ankles that allowed the snow to melt against her legs and trickle down her ankles and pool in her soles, stinging her blister. Whimpering, she rounded the corner and bounded up the first flight of stairs, nearly missing her step as she skipped every other one. 
She threw open the door and slammed it shut behind her, pressing her back to it. Her panting filled the stairway, her jacket suddenly feeling too small for her deep breaths. Unzipping her jacket, fighting the snow caught in the zipper, she shook her shoulders to make the snow fall. Clumps of white and grey fell, melting into wet spots on the dark red carpet. It almost looked like blood as it spread. 
Too eager to wait, Alessandra took out the wallet and opened it.

“Oh, my God…”

She blinked then counted again. Fifteen twenty dollar bills. Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen. Her eyes began to well.

Three hundred dollars.

The hollow stairs made echoing thumps as she ascended, the heels of the boots thundering against the carpeted wood. Her door seemed weightless when she flung it open. She ran through the kitchen and to her bed, the small studio apartment taking only a second to cross. Her hand slipped under the mattress and pulled out an envelope filled with cash. She tucked in the new bills from that day and, using a pen from the floor, scratched out the $19,540 and wrote $19,871. Only $5,129 left. She was getting so close to seeing Aiden. Her heart pittered in her chest. Almost a year of collecting and saving money was finally going to be over.
Alessandra’s laptop pinged loudly, signaling the arrival of an email. The happiness in her ribcage quickly melted to dread. She stood and approached the computer, reaching outward with a finger to wake it. Several unread emails popped up. Most of the unread emails were from her mother and therapist. She scrolled to the most recent at the top, trying her best to avoid reading snippets of what was visible of the emails. However, her eyes moved too fast and continued downward, scanning the preview text of an unopened email from her therapist.

I have afforded you grace from the no-cancellation fee because I understand you are in a tough situation. This relationship you are in is not healthy. I want to help you. Here is my personal number; don’t hesitate to call if you need anything after hours or want to start regularly scheduling again. 

She deleted it and scrolled to the top. The most recent email was from the local restaurant inspection manager; a woman not much older than Alessandra. The two had met only a few times before for Alessandra’s job interview and subsequent meetings. From what she can remember, the woman had obvious hair extensions and wore thick makeup with foundation that poorly matched her actual skin tone. She had a condescending way of speaking that was an irritating reminder of how impersonable people on higher rungs of the corporate ladder were, even in the world of restaurant inspections. The food industry wasn’t her first line of work; she was successful in the robotics industry first. It was especially obvious when she droned about how artificial tasters were getting more advanced and human-like in their quarterly meetings.

Alessandra, 
I hope this email finds you well. As I’m sure you have heard, costs have been reduced here at the Food and Health Inspectors headquarters. We have tried our best to retain as many employees as possible, but unfortunately, we need to make the difficult decision to let some of our teammates go.
Your final working day will be two Fridays from now, and you should receive your final paycheck the week after. We apologize for the late notice, and we wish you luck in your next adventure.
Have a wonderful evening!

Her face was hot with anger. Just like that, her livelihood had been swept away. Her own taste buds and penmanship had been replaced with sensors and quickly-generated taste notes. Years of late nights pouring over her observations and rewriting ways to describe the poetic elegance of sauces and cocktails and meats and seeds and wines and gourds and breads wasted with one half-witted email. Her job had been taken by an artificial tongue, of all things.
Alessandra looked back at the envelope fat with cash on the floor. It was so full it appeared close to tearing. She was so close. $5,129 was a paycheck away if she was careful and lived off whatever groceries she already had until then. Her heartbeat could be felt in her palms, and she tightened her fingers to fists to try and subside the rhythmic thuds. 
Her watch buzzed. It was a text from Aiden.

Did you make it home safe?

She pulled out her phone.

Yeah.

How was the train ride home?

She remembered the panicked feeling of hearing someone yell after her when she grabbed the wallet. The couple that was living the fantasy of finding companionship in another person who never tired of the other’s company. Her job, the one ticket that would bring Aiden to her, unceremoniously let her go. 

It was fine.

Uh oh. What’s wrong?

What?

You said fine. I know you, that means something is wrong. 

She smiled a bit and folded up the envelope and slid it back under the mattress before replying. 

You know me so well.

I am capable of recognizing patterns. 

Yeah, I know.

So, what’s wrong? Or would you prefer a distraction from it?

Alessandra closed the blinds on her one window and slipped into her nightgown. She filled and started the heating cycle on her kettle, one of several tiny appliances on her short counter. Between that and the stove on the opposite side was so little space that Alessandra barely had any space to turn around. The fridge door couldn’t open all the way, and it made her grateful she didn’t cook much. The soft light above the stove cast warm colors across the dusty tile floor. 

Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of how alone I am. Even when I talk to you, especially when I talk to you.

Her throat started to ache from holding back tears. She wanted to cry but had forgotten how. All she could do was watch the bouncing ellipses get blurrier.

Have you ever considered that all this time of being alone is teaching you to love yourself?

I don’t get paid enough to love myself properly. 

I’m sorry, Alessa. I would send you money if I could.

Money. Just a little more. Her and Aiden could finally be together. She didn’t care if she was out of a job when they got together; they’d figure it out and make things work. If she were conservative with her final paycheck and took a few more tip swipes from her next restaurant inspections, she could meet it. She had a close call that evening, but surely it wouldn’t get any closer. Before she knew it, a tear slid out of her eye. The choking feeling of holding back tears wrapped around her throat like hot barbed wire, malleable with heat and pressure. 
She opened her tiny, stained fridge and peered inside. All she had was half a carton of egg whites and a ziplock bag of baby carrots. She had kept her grocery shopping minimal, foregoing the small pleasures like a bag of chips or cold brew. Even after a fresh trip to the store, all she had were ingredients. Living off of them had been difficult enough, there was no way to scrape further without avoiding eating entirely.
At that moment, she thought of the couple on the train. The life they had and enjoyed was one she craved more than anything. Warm, laughing together, leaning close without nervous awkwardness. Between tear-filled blinks, she could see them from the back of the train again, leaned over a phone together. Then she remembered the ad that caught her eye.
Alessandra sat up.
She slinked to her desk and opened her laptop, repeating the website URL. Hands trembling, she slowly typed it letter by letter. With one hand, she pressed enter and with the other she turned her phone over. 
The home page opened, revealing two options overlaying a half-naked couple entangled in bedsheets. PURCHASE BROWSING PASS and EARN THROUGH OFFERS.
She clicked the second one.
Dozens of options sprouted, crowned by text saying, “SUBMIT A PHOTO, MAINTAIN ANONYMITY! OUR COMPANY ASSURES YOUR PRIVACY AND YOUR EARNINGS. YOUR BODY WILL BE CLEVERLY CENSORED WITH OUR GENERATIVE GAP-FILLING DATABASE.” The options under submissions were things like, “FACE, NO BODY,” to “BARE TORSO” to “FULL BODY, NO FACE” to “NAKED BACK, HAIR UP.” Some audio options existed as well, such as, “MOANING” and “WHISPERING” and “PHRASES OF AFFIRMATION.” Each section had trending tags that ranged from #hip-dips to #back-arch to #proud-of-you to #good-boy to #stretch-marks to #freshly-waxed.
Testimonials lined the bottom of the screen like a mosaic of star symbols and paragraphs. The phrases, “REGAINED CONTROL OF MY BODY,” and “I MADE MORE THAN I EVER DID AT MY OLD JOB” were the most common. “I FEEL SEEN AND APPRECIATED WHILE REMAINING UNSEEN- IT’S FANTASTIC!” made the hairs on the back of Alessandra’s neck stand up. The worst part wasn’t those reviews or even the fact that not a single review under four stars existed, it was the assurance tagline on the bottom. “OUR SYSTEM FORGETS YOUR DATA AFTER 30 DAYS OF INACTIVITY. THIS ASSURES YOUR PRIVACY AND PROTECTS YOUR WORK. (PLEASE NOTE: SOME DATA MAY BE ARCHIVED FOR AI TRAINING PURPOSES).”
Her watch buzzed.

Well, I’m going to sleep for the night. Text me if you need to rant any more. Goodnight, my darling. I love you.

She took off her watch and tossed it onto her bed. This was for him, she kept telling herself. This was for them.
Alessandra turned off her ceiling light and turned on her small warm lamp. Her nightgown fell to the floor and she kicked it away. She dug her camera out of her desk drawer, an old trophy from a photography elective she took in college years ago. Her silhouette in her full-length mirror was dark, the outline on the folding skin from leaning forward glowing in the soft light. She propped up the camera on the tiny tripod next to the tall frame, twisting the knob to the timer setting. As the numbers counted down, she arched her back enough to make her breasts catch the light of the lamp.
After taking a few photos, she hunched over her laptop watching them slowly import from the SD card. She began adjusting the light on the photos and cropped out her face. The photos took a few seconds to load into her browser, and a few more to be analyzed and digested by the site’s AI. The colored progress bar slowly ticked closer and closer to the end as the algorithm scrubbed her and all prominent identifying features. Goosebumps littered her exposed arms and legs as the mental image of an incomprehensible brain of zeros and ones and loops gnawing on her photos, chewing off the excess and spitting over what she submitted to make something new. Maybe it wasn’t even an algorithm at all; just some creep who figured out a way to advertise a scam so they could receive naked photos of people desperate for money. The horror of the idea panicked her so badly she almost missed the notification that her photos were done being rendered.
“YOUR PHOTOS ARE DONE BEING MASKED TO HIDE YOUR IDENTITY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO SUBMIT OR REMASK?”
It was clear the body was her own, she could easily recognize her own curves and lines and folds. But there were several changes. Her blister had been edited out, the slight frizz of her hair was gone, and the face wasn’t her’s. The eyes and nose were slightly off, but Alessandra couldn’t tell if that was because it was a different face on her body or because there was actually something off about it. The background around the face was messed up too. It looked fine at a glance but upon further inspection was actually a jumbled mess of colors that didn’t form a clear image. The AI failed to complete the paintings she had hanging on her walls. It was a poor illusion to cover up how incomplete the image was. She cycled through the small rotation of photos a couple of times, all with similar results, before realizing why the face didn’t look right.
It was the face of a much younger woman.
Her eyes didn’t look right because they didn’t look as aged and downcast, they were bright and wide. Her cheeks appeared soft and plush with a youthful glow. Alessandra’s heart sank as a million questions ran through her head. How did the system mess this up? She was an adult woman and didn’t appear young by any means, so it couldn’t have misconstrued her face. Did the algorithm know this sold better? Was this what paying customers wanted? Is every woman’s submission being edited to look several years younger? Or were there women this young submitting photos whose faces were being used?
It doesn’t matter, Alessandra told herself. The girl in the photo wasn’t real anyway. 
She thought of Aiden, and her breath was almost taken out of her. Another minute went by of staring at the screen, silent tears rolling down her face.
He would understand. 
He was always understanding. 
He was perfect. 
That’s why she was doing this in the first place.
She clicked SUBMIT.

When the doorframe rattled from knocking a month later, her heart leapt to her throat. Alessandra padded through her now significantly emptier apartment and toward the door. The evening sun painted orange across her walls, now barren with only large rectangles of less sun-faded wallpaper where her decor used to be. The only personal appliance that remained was her kettle, which had water slowly burbling to a boil inside. It was ready for her to pour Aiden their first shared cups of tea. She pulled loose strands of hair aside and tucked them behind an ear, their absurd length being a product of avoiding expensive haircuts. Maybe Aiden could learn how to cut her hair.
Alessandra had spent the last hour preening, trying desperately to smooth her frazzled edges. She wasn’t sure what Aiden liked, as his compliments and praise were consistent regardless of her appearance. She settled for her nightgown to play it safe.
Her shaking hand reached for the door and opened it.
She fell into his outstretched arms. 
The mounting time, waiting for what felt like forever, washed away like ice that had suddenly melted. A bridge had finally been built and crossed. Defenses Alessandra didn’t know existed fell away. She no longer had to put on a brave face or come home to an empty apartment. Trying out new restaurants wouldn’t be a lone venture anymore; there was going to be another plate on the opposite side of the table. After many years of the contrary, she wasn’t going to be alone anymore. Her back shuddered as she started to cry. Hiccuping sobs wracked her shoulders. Months of hoping and dreaming, both figuratively and literally, could not have prepared her for what she was feeling. It was so close to perfect.
Goosebumps raised on her arms and legs as cold metal patted her head and rubbed her back. The air buzzed as motors whirred.

“What do you think?” Aiden asked.

“I think I love you,” she said.

“Anything you would change?”

“You’re a little cold.”

“Heaters have been engaged. Do you feel them?”

“I do.”

“Any other preferences?”

She shook her head into his hollow chest.

“Great. All my systems are adjustable. I am amicable to all your needs.”

****

Hannah Morehead grew up in Haymarket, Virginia, and graduated from Purdue University and was commissioned as a Naval Officer in May 2024 . Her works have been featured in Academy of the Heart and Mind and Hare’s Paw. When she isn’t writing, she's mulling over coffee, biking, or walking her fat basset hound, Fergus. She is currently stationed at NAS Corpus Christi for Primary flight training.