“Why don’t you join them?” Oziomar asked. The landlady appeared behind Amaka on the balcony, lit a British brand cigarette, leaned on the railing, and stared down.
“I used to be the queen of dance in our village,” Ozima continued, her eyes hazy with nostalgia. “I don’t want to brag here, but no boy can look away from me. However, my father hates me dancing. Every time he finds me dancing, he threatens to hit me.”
“Do you listen to him?”
Ozma laughed heartily. “Why do children give up what they love because their parents refuse? In the end, I found a way to at least allow me to complete the dance.”
“How was it before?” Amaka asked.
“I wear Agbogho Mmuo every time I dance.”
“What?Amaka’s eyes widened. Agbogho Mmuo is the sacred mask of the northern Igbo people, representing the spirit of the girl and the mother of all living things.
“Look, my father looked exactly like you when he saw me wearing the mask. He had to bow his head and pay tribute to the mask and the goddess it represented. Of course, after dancing and removing the mask, I would be scolded. “Ozima said triumphantly, as if memory temporarily brought her back to her youth. girl.
After listening to Oziomar’s story, Amaka felt a thought, vague and amorphous, passing through his mind like a fish. He frowned, thinking. “mask…”
“Yes, child. The mask is the source of my strength.”
“Take off the mask? Take off the mask,” Amaka murmured.
Suddenly, he jumped up and kissed Ozioma’s cheek. “Thank you, oh, thank you, my dancing queen!” He rushed back to his room, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the parade and a confused Ozio.
“Maybe making up a lie and putting it in FAKA’s mouth will not make his followers give up their idols,” Amaka told Chi via video chat that afternoon, and he was excited about his new discovery. “But, take off the mask, revealing the hidden power of the puppet master.”
“However, no one knows who the puppet master is.” Chi Wuyao said.
“Exactly!” Amaka smiled. “Can’t you tell? This means the puppet master can anyone. “
“So, you are suggesting…”
“I can take off FAKA’s mask and make him whoever you want him to be.”
Chi fell silent during the video chat.
“You’re such a fucking genius,” Chi muttered to himself at last.
“Hello,” Tianxiang said, preparing to sign.
“Wait.” Chi Wuyao looked up. “This means you need to create a face that exists in reality.”
“A face that can fool all anti-counterfeiting detectors,” Chi added thoughtfully. “Think about color distortion, noise patterns, compression ratio changes, blink frequency, biological signals… is this feasible?”
“I need time,” Amaka said. “There is also unlimited cloud AI computing power.”
“I will get back to you as soon as possible.” Chi exited.
Tianxiang looked at her reflection on the dimmed monitor screen. The adrenaline surge that initially washed over him has subsided. What he saw from his face was not excitement, but tiredness and anxiety, as if he had betrayed a patron saint staring from above.
Theoretically anyone Perfect images or videos can be faked, at least enough to deceive existing anti-counterfeiting detectors. The problem is cost-computing power.
The fakes and their detectors are in an eternal battle, just like Eros and Thanatos. Amaka did his job for him, but he was determined to successfully achieve his only goal: to create a real human face.