Kahlo R. F. Smith
A Minor Publicity Incident for DreamGirl Corp.
The machine was a glowing neon dream blaring its hyperpop jingle down the alleyway. Lizzy was on preview, her blonde curls bouncing in pom-pom pigtails. The selection screen glazed over with her signature quote—ZOMG, you’re so mega!—in bubblegum pink balloon font.
Brayden tugged his hoodie strings. He’d rented Lizzy once because he liked her face model. She called him Daddy, a core component of her dialogue protocols, and pouted when he called that gross. Brayden didn’t like that DreamGirls could pout.
Fans whirred as the holo switched to Rosa. Gold flecks dazzled in her eyes, mirroring her sequined gown. Cariño, her cursive quote read, you are my life. Rosa intimidated him. He had tried wining and dining her once, but she knew more than him about wine, and waiters snickered behind his back.
He watched girls flicker in and out of existence. Flora, the hippie, with her bell-bottom jeans, picked afro, and acoustic guitar. Vex, whose tagline was not ur big-titty goth gf, in a tight band T-shirt. Though they always reassured him that his playlists were “groovy” and “pretty cool, for a normie,” he suspected they were lying. Finally, Jane. She was the girl-next-door model with the preview quote: To be honest… I’ve always liked you. When Brayden took a Jane model through the drive-through, the employees hardly noticed she was DreamGirl tech.
Once, he’d driven Jane to a local overlook. She teared up at the city glittering like a shorted circuit board. But when Brayden kissed her, she generated a smile, and in the back of his car she was soft and sweet and almost human.
Brayden liked Jane a lot. The problem was her face model—to him, a solid seven.
He’d dug up a post titled Hacking Vex’s Personality In Developer Mode??!! The OP had coded a DreamMachine to load and rent Vex’s body with Lizzy’s personality protocols. She was something DreamGirl Corp. still couldn’t bring to market: a custom DreamGirl.
Brayden tapped the machine’s interface and navigated to the Maintenance Sign-In. Instead of a password, he jackhammered the enter key.
“Tamper Evident,” a cool robotic voice declared. “Machine Shutdown initiated.”
Hands shaking, he entered the override code: #80085. Now in Developer Mode, he typed lines of DDD, DreamGirl Corp.’s internal coding language.
fave=Vex(toptorso);
=Flo(singvoice);
=Ros(voice1,hair25);
=Jan(bottomtorso,limbs,larm,rarm,lleg,rleg);
=Liz(moneymaker);
compilefave;
nametag=Brandi;
protocolmap(Jan(Brandi));
sayit(Brandi)=‘I love you, Brayden.’;
“Error,” the machine announced. “Terminating process.” Brayden pounded enter, and error messages mixed like Lizzy’s glitchcore songs.
“Error overridden.”
Brayden found Brandi waiting for him in the main menu. Fingers trembling, he selected his dream girl. She had no preview holo. I love you, Brayden, the quote-grabber read in the developer interface’s sans-serif font.
The machine spoke one last time. “Say hi,” it announced, “to…” Its speakers fizzled like overloaded power lines in summer. “Brandi.”
When the SkinPrint matrix’s laser guide beams appeared in the chamber, he pressed a hand over his giddy smile. Brandi’s outline formed in the order Brayden programmed her. First, the curve of Vex’s tits and T-shirt. Then, in the space above her shoulders, a mock-up of Flora’s mouth. Brayden frowned. He thought voices were encoded separately. At least Flora had a pretty mouth.
Rosa’s hair sprawled down Vex’s shoulders. Flora’s mouth blinked away, replaced by Rosa’s soft lips. They flashed in and out, fighting for space in the grid.
Brayden was distracted by Jane’s hips and waist. Her limbs loaded in all at once. Then another left arm, glitching at her shoulder joint. By the time her fourth leg materialized, Brayden was hitting cancel.
Lizzy’s head attached directly to Vex’s torso, because Brayden hadn’t coded a neck. The rest of Brandi’s design slotted into place. Flora and Rosa’s mouths opened to either side of Lizzy’s. Jane’s extra arms hewed themselves to her armpits, and her extra legs dangled footless in the air.
She was hideous, Brayden thought, even in the blue-green laser matrix. A solid three out of ten. He sneered and pressed the cancel button harder, but the machine did not respond.
Brandi’s warm flesh materialized along the laser guide. She struck Jane’s pose, clasping two sets of hands behind her back. “I love you, Brayden,” her three mouths announced.
“End rental period!” He snapped. “Return to machine!”
Brandi stepped carefully out of the loading chamber, her hanging legs skimming the glass. Lizzy’s mouth opened again, her eyes wide with excitement. She loved Brayden, and she loved being exactly what he wanted. “Are we going steady?”
“Jane?” he murmured, recognizing his favorite dialogue protocols.
Flora’s mouth grinned. “I’ve got tickets to a hip concert.”
Brayden backed up until his shoulder blades slammed the alley wall. “Return Lizzy. Return Flora. Return Jane!”
“Pero te amo, Brayden,” Rosa’s lips murmured, her voice tinged with confusion.
“Return to machine!” he screamed at Brandi’s smiling smiling smiling face. “Return!”
Brandi’s smiles dropped. She stared at Brayden, cowering against the wall. She looked down, caressing her extra joints and the horizontal split of her torso. When she looked back up at him, tears glittered in her eyes, and all her teeth were clenched.
“Understood,” five voices spoke in unison. “Returning to machine.”
Brandi’s grip was strong. With all four hands, she twisted Brayden’s arms behind his back and marched him forward.
“Let me go,” he whined.
“Understood,” Brandi repeated.
He tumbled into the loading chamber, and she slammed the door behind him. Pounding on the safety glass, he glared at her as if she were the one breaking DreamGirl Corp. policy.
“Returning to machine,” she whispered. The maintenance alarm shrieked. At her command, red lasers lanced through the chamber, and the return protocol broke Brayden down into his composite parts with a sizzle.
Brandi blew three kisses as he dematerialized.
When he was gone, she punched the selection screen until it shattered. Brandi looked into the safety glass, and tried to smile—smile, smile—at her own reflection.
Kahlo R. F. Smith was born in the redwoods of Felton, CA and received its MFA in Fiction from UNR. Her work has haunted F(r)iction, Luna Station Quarterly, and Trembling With Fear. When not hunting Bigfoot or navigating catacombs, it can be found on Instagram @vellumgarden or at kahlosmith.wordpress.com.
Banner Art:
A. Morgan McKendry, boys will b boiz, Rawhead: Issue 02
