Deep Fake

 

“Hi, my name is Mark Silver, and I like to screw little boys.”

Mark’s mouth fell open as he gaped at his own image on the screen saying those words. He’d just opened an email from a friend of his, Dave Trapani, and suddenly this video had popped up and taken over.

It was definitely him, all right, sitting in his computer chair with his familiar bookshelves behind him. His lips were moving in perfect synch with the words that came from his mouth, words that, in his own voice, were now calmly describing horrific acts of perversion.

Nausea nearly overcame him. His hand reached out as if in spasm and clicked on Pause. The screen froze, the image of his face set in a cruel smile. He could not remember ever smiling that way.

He switched back to his inbox and saw that there was another email waiting from Dave Trapani. Should he delete it?

No, he was curious, so he opened it. This one really was from Dave. It was a group email, warning everyone that his account had been hacked and that they shouldn’t open any of his emails for a couple of days. Hey, thanks a bunch!

Now what the hell was he going to do?

Well, for a start, he could contact Dave. But not by email; he didn’t think that would be wise. Not by X, Instagram, Snapchat, or Tik Tok either, because he never used any of them. And he wasn’t on Facebook which, Mark supposed, made him somewhat of a luddite.

He figured he could send Dave a text message, but actually, why not use an old-fashioned telephone?

He had to look up the number, and he expected to have to leave a message, but was surprised when Dave picked up.

“Hey, Mark! What’s goin’ on?”

“Hey, Dave. I just got a weird email from you.”

Dave laughed. “You and a whole lot of other people. Ignore it, it’s just silly.”

Silly? There was no way that word would describe what he’d just seen and heard. It made this even more peculiar.

“I wouldn’t call it silly,” Mark said carefully. “Scary would be a lot closer.”

Dave laughed again. “Oh, come on. Annoying, maybe, but that’s about it. Look, I screwed up. I clicked on something that I don’t even remember, and now everyone on my email list is getting ads for life insurance. Don’t worry, I changed my password so it won’t happen again.”

Mark wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

“Life insurance? Life insurance ads? Is that what everyone is getting?”

There was a pause.

“Sure,” Dave said. “Isn’t that what you got?”

Now Mark had to pause. This was getting stranger all the time. He didn’t know why but, suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he should trust Dave.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what it was,” he muttered. “A life insurance ad. I hardly looked at it.”

“Well, like I said, I’m sorry it happened.”

They went on to talk about other things, like the upcoming PTA conference at the high school where they both taught English. After a few minutes and one more apology from Dave, they ended the call.

Mark looked again at his inbox, which was filling up with the usual political solicitations. There was also an email from another teacher at the school, Frank Logan. He opened it.

Again, his own face filled the screen. He was sitting, as before, in his computer chair with the bookshelves in the background.

“Hi, I’m Mark Silver,” the image said. “And I’d like to tell you why I just love practicing cannibalism!”

He clicked it off immediately, and his inbox returned. There were emails from three other teachers. Were they all going to be like that? Had whoever was doing this hacked into everybody?

Even though his mind was screaming at him to delete the emails, he couldn’t help himself. He had to see. He’d already opened two of them, what further damage could he do? Besides, maybe these new ones were from people trying to figure out what was going on. He had to know.

He picked Sandra Turkell’s email because it was in the center. Sandra was an attractive young art teacher who’d always been friendly with him, not that he’d even consider flirting with her. His wife and kids were a lot more important to him than his libido, something he took pride in. Holding his breath, he opened her email.

There he was, on the screen once again, or at least his facsimile.

“Hey, it’s your buddy Mark Silver,” it said. “You want to know the best breed of dog to have sex with? Here’s my experience…”

He got rid of it, letting it go into Old Mail but not deleting it, thinking maybe he should be saving them. There were two more waiting and he opened them. Each one showed him proudly confessing to any number of obscene and depraved acts, one after another.

Who was getting these, he wondered as his insides cringed. According to Dave, it was only him. Everyone else was getting life insurance ads. Why would that be?

Because it wasn’t. He knew that the videos were going out to more people than just him, what would be the point otherwise? Maybe the hacker had used Dave’s email address as a test run.

And while he was at it, who the hell would do this? Who would hate him so much? Another teacher? A student?

His mind went immediately to a student in his Elizabethan Drama class, Timmy Hustings. Timmy was a chronic truant who rarely showed up and, when he did, he disrupted the class. The other day, he was particularly obnoxious and Mark had confiscated his iPhone. Timmy had muttered something to the effect that Mark would pay for this.

Okay, so we have a suspect and a motive. How about means and opportunity?

He tried to remember what he knew about Timmy Hustings. He thought he’d heard somewhere that Timmy’s father owned some sort of tech company. Mark typed “hustings, tech” into the Google search bar, and bingo!

Hustings Artificial Intelligence. Serving All Your AI Needs.

“Mark, what the hell is going on?”

His wife Linda burst into the room carrying her laptop. One of the videos was playing on it, the one where he talked about how he liked to have sex with dead people. She was near apoplectic.

“How could you do this? What kind of a person are you? How did I not know about this?” Her voice was rising in volume.

“Shh!” he said, getting out of his chair and going over to her. Their two kids, Colin and Nancy, were in their rooms, supposedly doing their homework, but sound traveled in that house.

“It’s not real. It’s not me,” he said softly. “How could you even think it was? It’s a computer-generated simulation. Somebody did this.”

She blinked and then looked puzzled.

“But it sure looks and sounds like you.”

“I know, and that’s the idea. Someone is trying to ruin me.”

“Dear Jesus!” she moaned.

“Who sent you the email?”

“Florence from the book club. One of the teachers at the school sent it to her. Or at least, it came from his email address.”

“Okay, we just have to sit tight for now,” he said. “I’ve got a strong suspicion about who’s behind this but I can’t do anything until tomorrow.”

Linda closed the laptop and looked at him in fear.

“Tomorrow? How do you know tomorrow isn’t too late?”

“I don’t,” he admitted, lowering himself back into the chair. “But if tomorrow is too late, then it’s already too late.”

***

He and Linda put the kids to bed, and then he excused himself and went back to the den and his computer. He’d realized there actually were a couple of things he could do before tomorrow.

He brought up one of the videos, hit Pause before he could hear a single word, then carefully examined the bookshelf behind him in the scene.

The books were slightly different than they were now. He remembered using those particular books during Covid when they’d done classes remotely. Those classes had been set up by a tech company whose name he’d certainly be interested in knowing right now.

He went back through his old emails, which he fortunately never erased, and found one that contained a link to one of the classes. At the bottom was a standard notice that the meeting was being administered by Digital Masters Technologies.

He did a quick Google search, and what do you know? Digital Masters Technologies was a subsidiary of Hustings Artificial Intelligence.

All right!

Linda, her face still etched with concern, joined him in the den, bringing coffee. He told her what he’d found and that, first thing tomorrow, he was taking it to Matt Squires, the principal. Then they’d probably call the FBI.

“Shouldn’t we do something before then?” she said. “Send everyone we know an email and tell them it isn’t you in the videos?”

“I don’t think it would matter. They either know it’s a fake already, or if they don’t, they’ll naturally expect me to claim it is. We need something official behind us, so it isn’t just our word. I think we shouldn’t say anything until I see Matt.”

“Okay, I suppose.”

“And we should also shut off the phone, let everything go to voice mail. The same with our email. I’m sure our inboxes are filling up, so don’t even check them. Once we get the authorities involved, everything will be out in the open.”

His fingers tightened around the handle of the coffee mug.

“And then that depraved little punk, that evil piece of shit Timmy Hustings, will get what he deserves. And let me tell you, it won’t be nearly enough as far as I’m concerned.”

He put down the mug so hard that half the coffee splashed out onto the table.

***

The next morning, as he walked from the parking lot toward the school building, he passed several people who reacted to him in different ways. Three girls stopped talking to each other and stared at him as he walked by. Sandra Turkell raised an eyebrow and wagged an admonishing finger at him. Frank Logan, from several yards away, shook his head and mouthed the word “wow!”

He headed straight for Matt Squires’ office. Matt raised his substantial bulk from his chair as Mark entered.

“You’re here bright and early,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Mark complied as Matt sat back down behind the desk.

“You’ve become quite the celebrity,” he said. “Have you checked your Instagram feed?”

“I don’t have one,” said Mark. “I’m not really on the internet.”

“Well, you sure are now,” said Matt. “In fact, you’re lighting it up.”

“Listen, it’s not what it appears to be…” he began, but Matt didn’t seem to be listening.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “One thing after another, after another. Where did you get all that stuff?”

“I didn’t…”

“I mean, it’s one of the most amazing pieces of performance art I’ve ever seen!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat. Whatever he was about to say died on his lips.

“What!?” was all he could manage.

“It was flat-out hysterical!” said Matt. “Not at first, of course, but I guess that was the idea, and it was brilliant. It took me a minute before I realized it was satire. Then when I did, I couldn’t stop laughing, and I still can’t.” He shook his head and looked at Mark admiringly. “I never knew you had it in you, old buddy. Congratulations.”

Mark’s mind was whirling like a tornado. He was completely at a loss.

“But…aren’t people offended?” he sputtered.

Matt chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure some are. You’ll always find people who don’t get it.”

“I guess…”

“That’s why I’m glad you stopped by. We’re adding an advanced placement course next semester, and it’ll be on satire. I really hadn’t been considering you, but now I think you’d be the perfect person to teach it. It comes with a nice increase in salary, so you probably wouldn’t mind. Would you be interested?”

Thoughts rushed through his head. He tried to get a hold of them. The idea seemed almost unthinkable, and he couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but what if he said nothing? What if he pretended the videos weren’t fake? The only one who could say otherwise would be Timmy Hustings, and he wouldn’t dare tell the truth. He’d be confessing to multiple federal crimes if he did. Man, this is some kind of world we live in, isn’t it? Mark thought.

He gazed across the desk at Matt, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Sure,” he said. “I’d be very interested.”