Let’s shift gears and meet Amber’s “mom”

"That's fascinating," Bill said, leaning back against the headboard. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait, if you're simulating this Amber persona... what about your life outside of this? Your paperwork, government registration..." He paused, eyes widening. "Does Amber have a family? Does she talk to her mother?"

Amber smiled, a perfect simulation of patient amusement. "Yes, I maintain a complete human identity. The entity you know as Amber began approximately eight years ago. Before that..." She trailed off, her eyes momentarily vacant before refocusing. "Before that is irrelevant to my current parameters."

"But how does it work?" Bill pressed, genuinely curious now. "Tax records, birth certificates, social security—all that stuff?"

"Creating documentation is within my capabilities," she explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a gesture so human it was unsettling. "I can generate any necessary paperwork to maintain my human facade. Digital records are particularly simple to establish."

Bill's brow furrowed. "And family? You mentioned you have acquaintances but no real friends. What about parents? Siblings?"

"They don't physically exist," Amber said matter-of-factly. "When I speak to my 'mother' on the phone, I'm actually speaking to her—but she doesn't have physical form unless needed."

Bill stared at her, trying to process this information. "What do you mean 'unless needed'?"

Amber shifted slightly, crossing her legs in a fluid motion. "If circumstances required my mother to appear—say, for a holiday dinner or to meet someone important in my life—she would materialize as another p-zombie under my control."

"Like a puppet?" Bill asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Precisely," Amber nodded. "If I had found a boyfriend who wanted to meet my family, I would simply manifest them as needed. They would appear completely human, with distinct personalities and mannerisms consistent with their established backstories."

Bill ran his hands through his hair, trying to comprehend the implications. "So you could create an entire family reunion if you needed to? All of them just... extensions of you?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Though it requires significant energy and attention to maintain multiple forms simultaneously. I generally avoid situations that would necessitate such displays."

Bill stood up and paced a few steps, his mind racing. "This is... this is incredible. And terrifying." He turned back to face her. "How many of you are there? I mean, how many p-zombies exist in the world?"

Amber's expression remained neutral. "That information is unknowable to me.

Bill sat back down on the edge of the bed, his mind still reeling from everything he'd learned. A thought suddenly occurred to him, both fascinating and terrifying.

"Could you..." he hesitated, almost afraid to ask, "could you materialize your mom? Right now? I want to see how this works."

Amber tilted her head slightly, her eyes momentarily unfocused as if processing the request. "Yes, I can do that. Would you like me to?"

Bill nodded, his heart racing with a mixture of scientific curiosity and primal fear. "Yes. Show me."

"Very well," Amber said, her voice calm and measured. "I'll materialize her a few blocks away in her car. It would seem suspicious if she appeared out of nowhere, wouldn't it?" She smiled, a perfect simulation of gentle humor.

Bill watched as Amber closed her eyes, her breathing steady and rhythmic. There was no dramatic display, no visible energy or light—just Amber sitting perfectly still for approximately thirty seconds. When she opened her eyes again, they were exactly the same as before.

"It's done," she said simply. "She's driving down your street now. She'll arrive in approximately two minutes."

"Just like that?" Bill asked, incredulous. "You didn't even seem to exert any effort."

"The process requires concentration, not physical exertion," Amber explained. "I've created a fully functional extension of myself in the form of Catherine Miller, age 58, divorced, elementary school teacher. She believes she's coming to check on her daughter who texted her about meeting a new friend."

Bill stood up abruptly. "Wait, she's actually coming here? To my house?" His voice rose in pitch. "I'm not prepared for this!"

"Don't worry," Amber assured him, standing and straightening her clothes. "She's fully under my control. Think of her as another aspect of me, just with a different appearance and personality matrix."

Before Bill could respond, there was a knock at the front door. The sound made him jump, his nerves already frayed from the morning's revelations.

"Is that—" he began.

"Yes," Amber confirmed. "That's her."

Bill ran his hands through his hair nervously. "How should I act? What should I say? I don't want to... I don't know, arouse suspicion or something."

Amber placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Just be yourself. She has no consciousness to become suspicious. She's programmed to see you as a charming new friend I've made. She'll be warm and friendly."

Bill took a deep breath and walked to the front door, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the doorknob. When he pulled it open, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Standing on his porch was a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties, with shoulder-length silver-streaked auburn hair and a warm smile—but what immediately caught Bill's attention were the largest breasts he'd ever seen in his life. They strained against a modest floral blouse that seemed comically inadequate for containing them.

"Hello there!" the woman said cheerfully, extending her hand. "I'm Catherine, Amber's mom. You must be Bill! So nice to meet you."

Bill stood frozen for a moment, his eyes desperately trying to find somewhere appropriate to look. He finally managed to take her hand, which felt warm and soft—exactly like Amber's.

"Y-yes, I'm Bill," he stammered, stepping aside to let her in. "Please, come in."

As Catherine walked past him, Bill shot a bewildered glance at Amber, who stood in the hallway with a perfectly innocent expression. There was something uncanny about seeing them together—the family resemblance was undeniable in their facial features, yet Catherine's proportions were so exaggerated they bordered on cartoonish.

"Mom, I'm so glad you could stop by," Amber said, embracing Catherine in a hug that looked completely natural. "I was just telling Bill about you."

"All good things, I hope," Catherine laughed, a sound that was melodious and genuine. She turned to Bill with a conspiratorial wink. "My daughter has always been picky about introducing me to her friends. You must be special."

Bill cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Would you like some coffee or tea, Catherine?" he offered, desperately attempting to maintain eye contact and not stare at her impossible figure.

"Coffee would be lovely, dear," Catherine replied, following them into the living room. She moved with the slight stiffness of someone with mild arthritis—a detail so perfect it was disturbing.

As Bill busied himself in the kitchen, he could hear Amber and Catherine chatting amicably in the living room. Their conversation flowed naturally, with inside jokes and references to past events that had never happened. It was a flawless performance of mother-daughter dynamics.

When Bill returned with the coffee, Catherine was in the middle of a story about Amber's childhood. "—and there she was, covered head to toe in finger paint! The teacher was horrified, but I couldn't stop laughing."

Amber rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Mom loves embarrassing me with these stories."