The new Lisa googled herself online to learn as much of herself as she could. Single. Rich. Trust fund kid. Siblings, one brother she has not spoken to. Good. She wouldn’t have to pretend to know him if she met him. The tough part was calibrating Lisa Wang’s voice box. The virus took that away from humanity as well. Everything about you was not you. Her social feeds had videos of the old Lisa which the former Tilda used to her advantage, calibrating the voice, practicing the mannerisms needed for her to become a full-on Lisa Wang, a Lisa Wang with credit cards and cash to burn, and of course to be invited to fundraisers and socials.The new Lisa took the luxury of her new persona’s apartment to enjoy being her new self. These digs were better than the slums, a plethora of faceless people. What irked her was not the faceless people, no, what she couldn’t stand was the fact she did not need to look in the mirror to know what she looked like. At the party tonight, she could forget, schmooze with the good-looking fake people, admire their face jobs, men and women alike, and worried, felt sad for the men. Did their appearances only go skin-deep? At least when she felt her pussy tingle, she knew those lips were still real.
She saw a man smile back at her, and felt a stirring in her loins, and wondered what kind of dick job the man got. There were very few naturals left in the world of man. The virus took that away too. She couldn’t remember the last time she did it with a natural, she reckoned if she ever did. Maybe the fake dongs were just as good as the real thing, but less prone to faults and bad timing. It all depended on how much the man paid for his.
She wondered if she should smile back. She managed a sloth type of smile, almost smiling but not really, an eternity of an almost-smile, when she was saved by the electronic shriek of a mic too close to artificial lips. Lisa recognised that crackle, feedback of voice box against the mic. There was a cough, taps against the mic to see if it was OK to talk, and then, “Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming,” the announcer began.
“Tonight, we are gathered for a very important occasion. It takes billions in pooled resources to make us what we are today,” faked a smile, raised a prefabricated eyebrow, “but here we are and here we stand proud.” He paused, looked at the audience, knowing he had their attention. “Science has the potential to give better eyes, lips, hair, skin, but sometimes,in the past, science has lacked the subtlety, the subtlety to give us a less pronounced smile, less emotion when we’re angry, how many fights with our partners could we have avoided if our servo motors toned down on the eyebrows just a little bit, am I right?”
The audience laughed, eyebrows raised too high, smiles cornered too wide, nostrils flared too much, even the gasping in the breaths as they laughed seemed too well-timed.
This might be the norm to them, but to Lisa, Tilda, Anniki, whatever she was or will be, she knew the old ways of laughter, before everyone turned faceless and some might say mindless.
It had been decades since the virus hit, worse than a plague, worse than a zombie apocalypse. There were no monsters to run away from. Man had become the monster. We were the monsters and there was no way to hide what we were anymore. Unless you were rich. The rich forgot about the faceless poor, and instead of finding a cure for everybody they found a stop gap measure for themselves. Once they had their faces back, they could pretend life was just as it was.
The announcer went on, “Throw your money away, ladies and gents, but please, throw it in my direction. And also, please throw it with a little more subtlety, eh?”
The audience laughed and applauded, and soon the laughter dissipated, and things resumed to their usual paces. Lisa Wang tried to worm her way out of the crowd, when she heard the words, “I believe we were interrupted, weren’t we?”