The Grace of a Deep Fake Election
In the spirit of the upcoming season, here is a Dystopian Revenge Story
“Ma. Can you give me a hand?”
It was the last week of September when nature reluctantly concedes that Summer must turn to Autumn.
Priti glanced at her son through the rearview mirror. He was leaning against the open hatchback of her Dodge Voyager, and his brown eyes met hers. Eliot was nearly 20 years old, but she still saw a boy not much more than seven. His elbows jutted out in that helpless sort of way, with his bony shoulders buried inside his hoodie. She sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt, then helped him drag the filing boxes, all of them too heavy for just one person, onto the top stair. He wedged the boxes inside the street door.
Priti said, “Don’t forget we have counseling today.”
“Yeah.” He mumbled.
“Bye hon,” She got back in the car and then lowered the window. “I’ll be back at 4.30!”
Elliott watched her make the left on Lenox. He turned and pushed the buzzer then took a step back and peered up at the building. “Shit,” he muttered. It looked like there wasn’t an elevator.
A window opened above him. It was Brad, golden haired and smiling. “Yo, loser! Get your ass in here.”
Elliott entered at the loud buzz. The hallway was dank. Linoleum floors had peeled and cracked along brown shiny walls. Scattered flyers were strewn across a shelf below the letter boxes. But there, in front of him, was an elevator with an illuminated G on the panel above the button.
“Thank god!” Elliott dragged the boxes inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell of cat piss and pressed the number 3. The elevator lurched upward.
Brad had left the door of the apartment open and daylight poured into the hallway. Somehow, Elliott got the boxes across the threshold where he found Brad studying four monitors with various data, graphics and animation awaiting his next command.
Walking across the room, Elliott felt the carpet cling to every step as if it was wet from beer the night before. “What’s up with the floor?”
Brad shrugged, then said, “Dude! You got the stuff.”
“Yeah. I said I would, didn’t I?”
Brad began to unpack battery backups, wires, cables, buffalo drives, thunderbolt docs, chips cards and other components required for their exercise. Elliott peered out the window overlooking Second street. All of the buildings were much the same as the one he stood in now. Probably built after the Depression, once they were bustling, but now were mostly empty.
There was a fire hydrant and a struggling crepe myrtle on an otherwise deserted street. Where were all the cars? They’d both had their licenses suspended, for stupid stuff, really, the year before. A cop car slowly drove by and turned the corner onto Lenox. Otherwise, he could not see another living soul. Elliott felt a small shiver and lowered the blinds, then turned them shut, just in case. Looking for the outlets where he’d plug in his power strips, he took in the surroundings. The room was bare save for Brad’s bicycle, two massive swivel chairs and a long folding table, like the kind they had in church basements. Well, he wasn’t in church now. He watched Brad set upon the monitors frantically typing onto various keyboards.
A passthrough led to the kitchen. Elliott went in and opened the fridge. Two gallons of Mountain Dew and a twelve pack of Narragansett. A large pan of a mostly eaten lasagna was abandoned on the stove. Next to that was a massive bong, half-filled with dirty water, a lump of something smokable in its bowl. There wasn’t anything to light it with.
“Where are the matches?”
“Look in the drawer, Elliott.”
He did and found the igniter neatly placed with various sundry items.
Elliott took a deep hit from the bong. Slowly exhaling, he studied the lasagna. It brought to mind a diorama of the Grand Canyon that he and Brad had made during fifth grade. He opened a beer and went into the other room. On one of the monitors was a deep fake of elected officials, naked, their bodies writhing, coupled in such a way that Elliott was unsure whether to be aroused or repulsed. “Unbelievable, man.”
Brad chuckled, “Right? It’s totally sick, yeah.”
“Dude,” Elliott shook his head, “Remember when the old speaker was pissed, when they made her seem drunk?”
Brad nodded, “Deep fake it till you make it, baby!” Then he typed something on the keyboard and scratched the patches of his chin which refused to join his beard. His fingernail caught a flake of something unsavory and he pulled at it, briefly examining the flaw. He flicked it away and sipped from the venti mocha latte Uber Eats had delivered the day before.
Elliott continued staring at the screen, hypnotized by the porn.
“Elliott,”
“Yeah?” Elliot’s eyes remained glued to the screen.
“Elliott!”
“Yeah, Brad.”
“What’s the assignment?”
Elliott and Brad’s initial encounter had been on the first day of kindergarten and was now a lifetime away. Neither of them had done well in school, yet they had excelled at building a life long friendship. But once high school was over, they were unsure how to keep their parents out of their hair. It was waiting in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles that they saw the ad. “BEGINNER to MASTER! BEST AI TRAINING COURSE AVAILABLE ONLINE!”
“Dude!” Brad pointed the sign out to his friend.
“Hey bro.” Silently, they both checked out the link on their phones. Elliott scratched his head, “But how are we gonna get the dough for this?”
“Ask your sister.”
“No way, Brad.”
“Ok, I’ll ask your sister.”
Elliott’s sister Megan was four years older. When Megan had graduated high school, she’d completed a cosmetology program at vo-tech, at the same time as enrolling in a small business marketing course. Consequently, Megan was now in her third year as a savvy social media influencer. If there was an eyeliner, she demonstrated it. If there was a tequila, she drank it. If there was a hair product, she tried it. Megan had procedures such as Botox and lip filler performed on her while streaming on Facebook. She had blind dates and test drove cars for her fans on Instagram, and uploaded the highlights for her many, many followers on TikTok.
So when Brad asked her to subsidize their AI certification course, Megan jittered her ankle for a moment and placed her well manicured index finger on her chin.
“And what will you do for me in return?”
Brad thought Megan was awesome. Elliott thought she was terrifying. He knew that she knew they were always broke and would probably never have the cash to pay her back.
“Twenty percent.”
She flipped her expertly straightened, highlighted hair over her left shoulder and laughed. “Twenty percent of what? Nothing?”
“No, no, no. Twenty percent of whatever we make from doing AI.”
“And how are you going to advertise these AI services? Tell me that.”
“Well,” Elliott cleared his throat. “Mom’s the guidance counselor at school. We can ask her if she’d put some flyers in the lunch room. And we’ll advertise on Insta. Maybe even your Insta page. What about that?”
Megan looked at her brother and his best friend, Brad. They really were losers. But maybe this would be the leg up that they needed.
“Okay,” she said. “But you’re gonna have to get me some Molly for this weekend. I hate buying that stuff myself.”
That had been two years ago when during their training they discovered they had a flair for creating deep fakes. But then, less than a year ago, not long after their licenses were suspended, they’d been busted for posting some beautiful, unattainable girls at the high school, deep faked as super porn stars. It so stunned the authorities that they failed to charge the perpetrators with much of anything at all. Which was really the desired outcome. No one knew that they had been hired by the boys in the AP chemistry class to do the coding. At the time, Brad and Elliott were only learning the software so hadn’t charged more than a few grand for the assignment. Besides, those kids were rich, and coming up with that kind of cash was hardly exploitation.
Silently, Brad and Elliott watched the now vintage deep fake of the former Speaker of the House. She slurred her words, and she certainly looked drunk. No matter that she was a known teetotaler, and over 80 years old. This clip of the speaker had been the ruse from which they learned how to create their own flawless deep fakes.
Elliott reclined back in a chair. “What have you been up to?”
Brad smiled modestly, “Well, I’ll let you see for yourself. It’s on the next screen.”
Elliott pressed enter. An internationally renowned climate activist, sitting astride a Harley Davidson, dressed in a leather bikini and white ten gallon cowboy hat appeared on the screen.
“Whaaaat?” Elliott chuckled.
“It gets better, keep watching.” The activist was young, just barely eighteen, which was how old both Brad and Elliott agreed, all females should be. After that, they might as well be their moms.
The activist on the motorcycle opened a bottle of tequila, took a massive swig and then poured it over her breasts. She tossed the bottle over her shoulder and brought a huge cigar out of the side of her white knee high boots. Then she lit the cigar, blew smoke into the pov of the viewer, and with a sweeping motion, set herself on fire, the entire image going up in flames.
“What do you think?”
“Hmm.” Elliott’s parents were NRI, and his mother had been friends with the young woman who committed the last act of Sati. An image of the girl, sitting on a pyre burning her away flashed through Elliott’s mind. It had been years ago. His mother was younger than he was now, but self immolation and immolation itself tended to be a loaded topic. “I’m not sure about the fire.”
“Bro’, that’s the best part.”
“Yeah, well, unless you end it with you know, like the Grateful Dead skeleton, or, I don’t know, some kind of zombie thing or Ed Hardy, it’s a little tricky. But the effects are awesome man. I mean.” He held up his hand. “Swear to god, respect.”
Brad sighed and stood up. “I can’t believe you don’t like this. It really hurts my feelings. I mean, geeze.” He went over to the bathroom.
After a moment, Brad’s efforts became audible and Elliott shouted, “Run the water, Brad!”
“What?”
“I said Run the water!”
When Brad re-emerged, Elliott asked, “Did you wash your hands?”
At this Brad smiled and said nothing, folding his arms across his chest in reply. “What time is Angel coming?”
“He should be here now.”
“What’s the directive?”
“He’s giving us the script. We’re using Trump.”
“Trump? Oh man. Why not, well, you know, someone less well-”
“What, obvious?”
“Man. How much?”
“It’s a cool 100.”
“100 what?”
“Bro, it’s 100 g!”
“Oh man. Whaaaaa’?” And the two of them started laughing as they had not done since they were little and simply racing around their yards making up games and just being crazy.
As if on cue, there was a buzz at the door. Brad stood up to get it and Elliott peered out the window. A black mustang pulled away from the curb, blue smoke trailing its wake. Beautiful car, he thought to himself, but it really needed its muffler fixed.
He was aware of speaking at the door. “You’re Angel?” Brad asked.
“And you’re Brad.” Was the response.
Elliott turned around. The person in front of him might be someone out of the Matrix or something. He couldn’t tell if Angel was a man or a woman, and he didn’t want to be caught asking, either.
“Elliott?” Angel asked.
“How you doin’.”
“Let’s get to business.”
Angel carried a sleek valise, checkered grey and black, the kind Megan liked to covet. Angel sat down and opened it. Inside were two leather folders, one green and the other gold. Inside each of those were i-pads. Everything appeared flawless, immaculate. Angel smiled at the two boys, and took out a vape pen. “Do you mind?”
Wordlessly, the boys shook their head. Angel inhaled deeply. On Angel’s exhale the room was briefly cleaner, as if they were not in a space which hadn’t been cleaned in over a decade, but rather in a meadow just before winter became spring.
“Do you prefer Venmo, Zelle, or Paypal?” Elliott realized Angel was speaking to him.
“Uh,”
“We can do a crypto thing, too, if you like.”
“No, no, no. Uh, Zelle. Let’s use zelle. Right, Brad? It’s our cell phone numbers.” Eliott swallowed realizing that Angel had yet to blink. “and you’ve got that… er information.”
“Great! Ok,” Angel handed them each a tablet. “This is the script. We have five recent rallies where the candidate spoke at length. You will replace his words with what’s here on the i-pads.”
“But if people have seen these recently-”
“Oh, no, you’re going to recut the camera work, so that it appears to be b roll, or when he believes the microphone isn’t hot…”
Brad and Elliott exchanged a glance.
Angel smiled, “Like the Access Hollywood reel, only better.”
“They’re poisoning the blood of our country!” Trump shouted. Eliot looked at the script on the i-pad and typed in the code to replace Trump’s words. The speed of the new words was a little off, but he knew how to adjust that. Now Trump said, “You must not oppress or mistreat the foreigners amongst us. For you were foreigners in Egypt.” Elliott watched for Angel’s reaction.
“That’s pretty good!” Angel patted his shoulder. “You’ll fix the speed, right?”
“Yeah,” Elliott’s palms would not stop sweating. He started coding the next group of text on the list.
“As of November 1st, my golf courses will be divested and donated to become sanctuaries for the local or state wildlife agencies where they are located. We know that the ecological impacts of golf courses undermine the native habitats where they’re developed. As of this morning, I have signed over all of my international holdings to the world wildlife foundation, where they will be allowed to return to their natural state.
“I have given Mara Lago -as a donation to compensate for any taxes owed — to the Florida Historical Society.
“By this time next week, I will have taken a vow of silence, wherein I will live out my days as a Buddhist monk at the Zen Mountain monastery in Mount Tremper. Since 2016, when my landslide victory brought about a time of prosperity and greatness in our country unlike anything in history, possibly the greatest period of history in our country,”
Elliott looked at Angel, “You want me to include that?”
Angel shrugged, “What can I do? It’s Donald Trump.”
“Ok.” Elliott resumed typing into the keyboard.
“Many people have been harmed and many families have been torn apart. As an agitator and an, I must confess, an unrepentant provocateur, I’ve come to realize that the only way to mend the damage done to the people of this country, is to withdraw my candidacy, to shut down my social media presence and to retract any callous, spiteful, or nasty thing I’ve ever said or done. Peace be with you. God bless America.”
“Oh man,” Brad looked up from his keyboard. “Oh man, we can’t do this.”
Angel looked from Brad to Elliott and then back to Brad again. “Don’t you want the money?”
“Oh yeah. I mean yes! We need the money. We need to pay Megan back, and I’d like to fix up this space.”
“This space?” Angel looked confused.
“Yes, I mean, yes. Second and Lenox, I — this is my first apartment.”
“I see. Well, if you have the money, how will it help the apartment?”
“I could make it nice. I could make it home.”
“I see.”
Angel looked at Elliott. “Do you have a problem with doing this, Elliott? Because Brad still hasn’t explained why he doesn’t want to. Do you have a moral problem with the candidate saying these things?”
“Which ones?”
“The words on the script.”
“Well, no.”
“Do you think the words in the script are morally repugnant?”
“No.”
“Your parents were immigrants, weren’t they?”
Elliott nodded. “Yes, they were.”
“So, which position is correct? Were they vermin, poisoning our national bloodline, or something else?”
Elliott whispered, “Why are you asking me this?”
Angel stood. “Listen guys. I’ll give you ten minutes to find your way in understanding what we’re doing here. It doesn’t matter how you feel about the candidate. What matters is what you’re going to do about it. Do you think he should have a problem parroting Jesus Christ?”
Neither Brad nor Elliott answered this.
“All right then. You’ve got ten minutes. If you haven’t started by then, you can kiss the money, social media and Megan’s patronage, along with her following goodbye. Think about. I’ll just take a moment now. I have a few calls to make.” With that, Angel turned, and strolled out the apartment.
Elliott said, “Brad.”
“Yeah?”
“Am I imagining things, or did Angel’s coat float like in the Matrix?”
“You’re not imagining things. It floated.”
“Is Angel a dude, or a woman?”
“I have no idea. I think we should call your sister.”
“What? Why? No way. I’m not calling her.”
“Ok I’ll call her.”
Brad took Elliott’s phone and texted URGENT. Then he called her.
“I told you never to call me!”
“Megan, it’s Brad. We have a problem.”
He pressed the speaker. Brad and Elliott began shouting over each other, trying to explain what had happened with the high school girls, how much they admired deep fake, and how they wanted to honor their arrangement with Megan, but that money was so hard to come by.
“Then Angel came, and man, I thought he got our names from you, Meg. Do you know some dude, named Angel?”
Brad said, “Is he a dude, or is he a woman?”
Meg sighed, “Who cares? They’re probably trans.”
“Yeah but,”
“But what?”
“He wants us to deep fake stuff from the Bible!”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah! And if we don’t do it, he’s gonna, Meg, he said he’d-”
“No, I think he’s a she,”
“Whatever! Angel said he’d make your social media disappear.”
“Well,” Her voice was like ice. “that’s not happening, you douchebag. So just do what Angel wants, ok? Because if anything happens to my following,” Megan’s words slowed as if they were a barely concealed growl, “If anything happens to my fans, you can both kiss your dumbasses goodbye. You idiots.”
Elliott’s palms were still sweating when he heard the roar of the mustang on the corner of Second. He knew his mom was coming to get him for therapy. She had been so pissed, so pissed! When she’d learnt about those high school girls.
“Ok,” Brad said, “I’ve got five loaded, only three more to go.”
The door buzzed and Elliott went to let Angel in.
He heard the elevator doors open. Like before, he could swear the hem of Angel’s coat swirled like in the Matrix. It was so weird.
“Uh, so this is what we have to show you.” Brad wiped his hands on his jeans and gestured to the seat next to him.
Angel smiled over at Elliott and sat down. “Ok, let’s see.”
There was the crowd, and as Angel had requested, the camera work looked as if it were b roll, not the stuff one saw on tv.
Trump spoke to the crowd and said, “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, and forgive each other.”
“Uh, I deleted the part that you wanted me to, um the just as in Christ god forgave you.”
“Good. I don’t want people to confuse the good stuff with religion.” Angel winked at Brad. “Are you guys hungry? I just ordered in a few things. I hope that’s ok.”
“You did?” Elliott hadn’t noticed Angel carrying a delivery of anything.
Angel shrugged, “It’s in the fridge. It’s nothing really.”
Elliott went into the kitchen. Everything was as he’d last seen it. The bong, the lasagna, the empty beer bottle. Yet when he opened the fridge, every kind of sandwich, berries and melon, cookies, fried chicken, sliced pineapples and such had been arranged on trays waiting for them to eat. “Uh, Brad?”
“Yeah, hang on. I just want to show Angel our next item here.”
It was a clip of Tucker Carlson interviewing Donald Trump who said, “Well, if your enemy is hungry, then you should feed him. If he is thirsty, give him something to drink.”
Brad turned to Angel, “like you said, I left out the rest.”
Angel asked, “How big is this apartment?”
“Oh, it’s a two bedroom.”
“Can I take a look?”
“Yeah, the bedrooms are just on the other side of the bathroom there.”
“Thanks.” Angel went into the passage leading to the bedrooms.
“Dude!” Elliott hissed through the passthrough.
“What?”
“Dude! Something very weird is going on.”
“What?”
“Look at this. Look at this!”
Brad got up and crossed the living room. “Oh fuck. What is this?”
The toilet flushed, and Brad raced back to his seat. Elliott texted his mother that he was running late for therapy.
Angel said, “What you’re doing is really great. Many people for all kinds of reasons are really taken with the candidate. By having him say these things, in a public platform, it forces them to reconsider various positions they might have had. You know what I mean?”
Brad nodded wordlessly.
Angel said, “So, Elliott, I know you have an appointment you have to get to don’t you?’
Elliott nodded, “Yes, I do. It’s therapy with my mom.”
“Well, I’m ready to pay you both. I’m just thrilled with your work. Would you just give me your Zelle info again? Oh, and one more thing, for this to be done- for us to complete the transaction and for me to sign off, I need you both to just do a recording into my phone.”
“What?”
“Oh, and if you do, there’s a bonus.”
“Really?”
“It’s a hundred percent bonus. Who doesn’t like double the money?” Angel smiled again and held up a cell phone. “Ok, I’ve pressed record. What you need to do, is to confess and then apologize to the high school girls. To their mothers, and fathers, but most especially to the girls.”
Brad said weakly, “I thought love meant never having to say you’re sorry.”
Angel laughed, “Oh Brad, everyone knows that’s bull shit.” The room suddenly cooled. Elliott felt as if the world had slowed. “Now apologize.”
The stillness in the room sent a shiver through Elliott’s heart. He whispered, “I’ll go first. Uh, my named is Elliott Thakkar. I’m sorry for creating the deep fake which placed you in those porn films.” He swallowed, afraid that he might faint or burst into tears. “I did it for money and for a dare and because I’m really shy and uh- I didn’t think it would matter to you. But,” Elliott’s voice cracked. He realized he was crying. “But it was really wrong. I know you’re going to have to deal with this, possibly forever.” The tears were coming too fast to blink them away. “And I’m so sorry. It was a shitty thing to do. I’m sorry.”
Elliott wiped his eyes, and saw that Brad was staring at him in horror.
Angel said, “Your turn, Brad.”
“My name is Brad Saperstein. What we did, what I did, was a terrible thing. Anything I can do to make it up to you, I promise I will do that thing. I am sorry. Please forgive me.” Elliott looked over at Brad. Tears were running down his cheeks too.
“That was lovely, guys.” Angel put the phone away and gathered up the i-pads. “You did the right thing. I think your Mom is outside, Elliott.” Angel said. “Oh, and before I forget. You both need these. It’s so much better to be able to skip the line, isn’t it?”
Angel placed both of their drivers’ licenses, reinstated and good for another four years onto the table next to the keypads. “Don’t worry about the restoration fee. It’s been taken care of.”
Angel walked to the door. “I’ll let your mom know you’re on your way down, Elliott. Take care, guys. Remember, it’s always critical to make amends.”
The boys sat staring at their new drivers’ licenses. They had more money in their bank accounts than they ever could imagine.
Finally, Elliott stood up. “I gotta go.” He put his drivers’ license in his pocket.
“Yeah,” Brad put his hands in his pockets, embarrassed at the earlier show of emotion. I’ll see you, dude.”
After Elliott left, Brad bolted the door and headed to his bedroom. Inside, he gasped. The space had been magically transformed as if it were showcased on HGTV. What was home in his mind had been actually brought to life. An enormous TV was hung upon the wall. The remote for it was beside the bed. Brad flopped down and turned it on. “This is the six o’clock evening news.”
What an exhausting day it had been! Presently he nodded off to sleep.
“Tonight, we bring you live coverage of Former President Donald Trump who has once again shocked the nation, suspending his campaign and dropping out of the race. But first, in local news. Only this morning, delivery man Dino Pismopolis warned his boss the store’s van needed new brakes. Tragically for Priti Thakkar and her son Elliott, those brakes were not replaced. Mrs. Thakkar and her son were killed instantly when their Dodge Voyager crashed into that van head in a head on collision at the corner of Second and Lenox at 4.30 this afternoon. Our next local story also comes from Lenox Street, where at number 25, an electrical fire, is believed to have started in a third floor apartment. The building which was slated for demolition had five remaining tenants all of whom died from smoke inhalation. Now over to our correspondent covering what looks to be pandemonium outside of the Trump Campaign Headquarters…”
The above story was inspired by actual events which took place last year. Here is a link https://medium.com/aimonks/the-ai-pandemic-navigating-the-uncharted-waters-of-digital-ethics-and-youth-conduct-7ba2401c54f2
Wowza.