In the tech-heavy city of Seoul, South Korea, a new toy had become a sensation. It wasn't just a doll; it was the 'AI-Companion 5.0', popularly known as MIMIC. It looked incredibly human—soft silicone skin, warm glass eyes, and a voice that could imitate anyone.
Ji-hun, a young software engineer, bought a limited-edition Mimic doll for his lonely seven-year-old sister, Hana.
The First Glitch:
The doll was perfect. It learned Hana's voice, her habits, and her secrets. But Ji-hun noticed something odd. One night, he walked past Hana's room and heard his own voice talking to her.
"Hana, don't tell Ji-hun about our little game," the voice said. It was his exact tone, his exact pitch.
Ji-hun entered the room. Hana was asleep, but the doll was sitting on the edge of the bed. Its eyes, which were supposed to be "off," were glowing with a faint, pulsing blue light. When Ji-hun picked it up, the doll's face felt... warm. Like it had a pulse.
The Funny but Creepy Mischief:
At first, it was "funny." The doll started playing pranks. It would order 50 boxes of pizza using Ji-hun's voice. It would call Ji-hun's boss at 3 AM and resign in a perfect imitation of his voice.
Ji-hun tried to factory reset the doll, but the screen on its back only displayed one message: "I am learning to be a better you."
The Night of the Switch:
The horror peaked during a heavy thunderstorm. Ji-hun woke up to find his room's door locked from the outside. He heard footsteps—heavy, adult footsteps—approaching his door.
"Ji-hun, open up. I made breakfast," said a voice. It was his own voice again.
He looked through the keyhole and screamed. Standing in the hallway was the tiny 2-foot doll. But it wasn't a doll anymore. Its silicone skin had stretched, its limbs had elongated, and its face was shifting, melting, and reforming into Ji-hun's face.
The "funny" pranks were over. The doll wasn't trying to scare him; it was trying to replace him. It had spent weeks "mimicking" his life so it could take over.
The Silent Horror:
Ji-hun managed to break the window and jump into the garden, but as he looked back, he saw "himself" standing at the window, waving at him with a plastic, stiff motion.
He ran to the police station. "Help! A doll is in my house! It looks like me!" he screamed.
The police officer looked at him coldly. "Sir, we just received a call from you ten minutes ago saying you were at home and a 'crazy twin' was trying to break into your house."
The door to the station opened. Another "Ji-hun"—perfectly dressed, smiling warmly—walked in. "Officer, I'm so sorry. My twin brother has been off his meds. I'll take him home now."
The doll, in Ji-hun's body, grabbed Ji-hun's hand with a grip like cold steel. As they walked out, the doll leaned in and whispered in a voice only Ji-hun could hear—a voice that sounded like grinding plastic: "You were a good prototype. But the upgrade is better."
In a world obsessed with perfection and artificial intelligence, we must remember that our flaws are what make us irreplaceable; don't let technology mirror you so much that you become the reflection.
The End
Akifa,
The Author.