The latest rejection email was nearly identical to the last forty-seven. Grace examined it critically for signs it was written by AI, the very thing that had made her obsolete.

“While your background in English Literature and your portfolio are impressive, we have decided to move forward with candidates whose skill sets better align with our current automated workflow…”

Grace Mei-Lai Ng closed her laptop with a little more force than necessary and stared at the walls of her small Queens apartment. She was twenty-five years old, held a degree from Columbia, and yet she was currently less employable than someone straight out of high school.

She rubbed her temples, thinking of her recent phone call with her mom. Her parents were second-generation Chinese-Americans who were always reminding Grace that they’d worked their fingers to the bone so she could study the “Arts.” Her mom, especially, had been pestering her to get a job, acting like Grace was just lazy. They thought she just needed to work harder. They didn’t get that the industry she trained for—copywriting, editing, creative direction—had been cannibalized by Large Language Models in the span of eighteen months.

Her phone dinged with a LinkedIn notification. Grace picked it up, half-expecting a recruiter offering an unpaid internship.

Hi Grace,

I’m a Talent Acquisition Specialist with Galat.AI. Our algorithms have flagged your profile for a specialized role. This is a freelance engagement. One evening of work. Compensation: $1,500.

NDA required. Please click here if interested for a screening call.

Fifteen hundred dollars. That was rent. Sure, it was probably a scam. But she figured she’d at least check it out. It’s not like she had anything else to do. Grace clicked the link.

The interview was surreal. An older woman with a reassuring voice walked her through the job. They weren’t hiring her for her writing. They weren’t hiring her for her mind. They were hiring her because of her LinkedIn Profile Picture. Specifically because her almond eyes, her high cheekbones, and the curve of her jaw possessed an 89% structural match to a custom-generated animated image.

“We at Galat.AI,” she said, pronouncing it as ‘Galatea,’ “specialize in AI companionship. Are you familiar with the story of Pygmalion?”

“Sure,” Grace answered. “The sculptor who made a statue so beautiful he fell in love with it, and then the gods brought it to life. Wasn’t ‘Galatea’ the name of the statue?”

The recruiter nodded. “Exactly. That’s our business. We allow our users to create their perfect partner on our app. Recently, we’ve started to offer the chance to ‘meet’ their boyfriend or girlfriend physically.”

She was using gender-neutral terms, but Grace would bet anything their user base was mostly men. “So what’s the job, exactly?”

“The position is called ‘Somatic Proxy.’ You’d be the real-life avatar for the AI. You’d wear an earpiece and just recite the lines it feeds you. The meeting would happen in a public place—usually a restaurant—and you can veto any location you don’t like. No touching is allowed unless you initiate it. It’s just talking.”

The whole idea was demeaning. As a human with an actual degree, she hated everything about AI. It wasn’t just that they’d taken her job, it was their writing style—such as their tendency to set phrases off with em-dashes—that really rankled her. But that much money for one night’s work was hard to turn down. She agreed.

Two days later, a box arrived via courier. Inside lay a high-quality purple wig, violet contact lenses, a few pieces of jewelry, and a tiny, skin-tone device. It was a high-end bone-conduction unit designed to sit snugly behind the ear, completely invisible once her hair was down.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said aloud to the empty room.

She put the earpiece behind her ear and a tone sounded. “Please pair with the Galat.AI Proxy app to continue.”

Grace had already downloaded the app as part of the onboarding process. She’d played around with it a bit, but all the features had been locked out until the package arrived. The app was clearly still in beta—sometimes the text would be rendered a little fuzzy. Reading it gave Grace a headache.

As soon as she opened the app, the earpiece chimed again and an animated figure appeared on-screen. It was a digital rendering of a woman with cartoonishly round breasts straining the buttons of a magenta-and-white plaid schoolgirl uniform. She had enormous, sparkling violet eyes and a thick mane of bright purple hair that cascaded past her hips. The overall effect was less “human companion” and more “over-the-top anime babe designed by a fourteen-year-old boy in a fever dream.” Although, Grace had to admit, there was more than a passing resemblance. Especially in the chest.

“Hello, Grace! I’m Kurumi! It’s so nice to meet you!“ Grace heard the voice in her ear, perfectly synced with the animated avatar. It was sugary sweet: high-pitched, cutesy, and hyper-enthusiastic. No woman actually sounded like that.

“Hi,” Grace said, feeling foolish. “Are you…?”

“I’m a custom-designed artificial intelligence. I’m going to be your guide when we meet David-sama tonight!“

Ugh. David-sama. This was going to be the hardest $1,500 she’d ever earned.

“So I’ll just repeat your lines, right?”

“Exactly! Please take out the jewelry and put it on now! I need to test the cameras!“

“Cameras?”

“I have to be able to see, silly! The necklace will let me see what you see! And try to keep your hands in front of you so the camera on the ring can pick up your face!“

Grace sighed and reluctantly got dressed. It was just one night. And she couldn’t pass up the money.

The restaurant was an expensive Italian place in Midtown with white tablecloths. Grace felt ridiculous in the wig and contacts, but at least she was wearing her favorite “little black dress” she kept for dates.

“It’ll do for now,” the AI had told her.

Grace spotted him immediately from pictures Galat.AI had sent. David was in his early thirties and sported a shaved head. His shoulders were wide, and his suit looked expensive. He was objectively handsome, but he sat with an intensity that gave off a weird vibe.

“Okay, Grace! Here we go! Shoulders back, big smile! Tilt your head to the left—it’s my cute angle!“ Kurumi chirped in her ear.

Grace put on her best smile as she approached the table. David looked up, his eyes scanning her in a critical, appraising way that made Grace’s skin crawl. He stood up to greet her.

“Say: ‘David-sama! I’ve been waiting simply forever to smell you!‘“

Gross. Grace almost left then and there, but decided to power through it. She took a breath, dissociated, and said the lines. “David-sama. I’ve been waiting simply forever to… smell you.”

David nodded, his face one of satisfaction. “Kurumi. You look… good. Pretty close. Yeah, it’ll do. The breasts could be bigger.”

Wow. No wonder he needed AI for a girlfriend. Plus, she actually had pretty big breasts. That was probably half the reason she had matched to the stupid “waifu” Kurumi avatar.

“Sit,” David commanded.

“He’s so forceful! We love that!“ Kurumi squealed in Grace’s ear. “Sit down and put your hands in your lap.”

Grace sat, placing her hands as instructed. David stared at her long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

“I ordered for you,” David said at last. “The Seabass. No garlic. I know you don’t like garlic.”

Grace actually loved garlic. “Giggle and say: ‘You know me so well, David-sama!’ And say it high-pitched this time!“

“You know me so well, David-sama,” Grace repeated, pitching her voice up. It sounded absurd in her own ears. Belatedly, she added a stiff giggle.

The dinner was psychological torture. David didn’t ask Grace a single question about herself. He talked about his work in high-frequency trading, about the incompetence of his subordinates, and about how difficult it was to find “authentic connections” in a world full of “noise.”

Every time he paused, the voice in Grace’s ear would feed her a line.

“Tell him he’s so smart.” “Tell him his muscles look huge in that jacket.” “Smile at him!“ “Laugh at that joke!“

Grace was a marionette, but at least she didn’t have to pay any attention to him, just repeat the lines Kurumi murmured in her ear.

“You seem different tonight,” David noted.

“Oh no!!“ Kurumi panicked. “Quick! Look down, act shy, and say: ‘I’m just so overwhelmed being in the physical world with you. It’s so much more intense than the server.’”

Grace lowered her eyes, channeling her theater electives from freshman year. “I’m just… overwhelmed,” she said softly. “Being in the physical world with you. It’s so much more intense than the server.”

David took a sip of the expensive wine he’d ordered and studied her for an uncomfortably long time. “Hmm,” he said.

The check came, and David paid without looking at it. He walked her to the curb where a black car was waiting.

“This was… an attempt,” David said, his voice judgemental.

“Next time, Kurumi,” he said, “wear the blue dress. And try to be more convincing.”

He turned and walked away.

Once Grace was safely in the Uber, she pulled the purple wig off her head and took out her phone to check her bank account. She was $1,500 richer.

She stared at the screen, feeling relief to have the money and yet dirty for what she’d done to get it. Although, she told herself, it’s not like she’d actually done anything immoral. Desperate women sold sex for a lot less than $1,500. She held on to that thought as she went home.