"Shifting Identities: The Case of Kim Wexler"
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Saul Goodman, known in the legal circles of Albuquerque as the man who could make anything disappear, including one's guilt, didn't remember when he had last looked at himself with any sincerity in the mirror. This morning felt different, though. He couldn't place it, but a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders.
Pulling himself up from his bed, Saul looked around, noticing the unfamiliar surroundings — soft blue walls, minimalist decor, and a meticulous order to everything. It was worlds away from his usual disorderly chaos. He scratched his head, a cascade of blonde hair falling over his shoulder.
Blonde hair?
Saul’s heart raced as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large vanity mirror against the wall. It wasn't Saul Goodman looking back at him; it was Kim Wexler — or rather, a woman who looked exactly like Kim Wexler. He instinctively reached up and touched his — her — face, running his hands over smooth skin, tracing the delicate features that were distinctly not his own.
"What the...?" Saul's voice caught in his throat. It wasn’t his voice; it was lighter, more measured. Panic surged through him. He stumbled backward, only to trip over a pair of sleek heels neatly placed by the bed. Nothing made sense. His memories felt clouded, slipping away like grains of sand through fingers. Every frantic thought searching for an anchor was met with a polite mental door being shut.
He sat on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, trying to pull some coherent thoughts from the whirlpool forming in his mind. Fragmented memories of courts, clients, and cons began to fade and merge into different ones — ones of law school triumphs, silent frustrations, and a life lived with quiet dignity.
He looked down at his hands, Kim's hands. They were trembling slightly. Who was he — or she — now? Saul Goodman, the colorful con artist, felt more like a ghost, fading into a past much harder to grasp with each passing second. Kim Wexler's memories, her meticulous and disciplined persona, started filling in the gaps.
The room was in perfect order, with files neatly stacked on a desk beside a closed laptop. Kim's workspace, of course. He, or rather she, could recall long hours spent here, going over every minute detail of cases with an unrelenting dedication. Strange familiarity set in, a quiet confidence that always defined Kim Wexler more than Saul Goodman could ever dream of.
Steeling herself, Kim — Saul — rose from the bed and approached the laptop. The password came instinctively to her. Opening the list of emails, reading through motions and briefs, it felt oddly comforting. The apprehension began to wane, replaced by a sense of clarity and newfound purpose.
Had Saul Goodman really ever existed, or was he just a bad dream that dissolved with dawn's first light? Flowing into Kim Wexler’s life felt like sliding into well-fitted shoes, the kind she would buy after meticulously considering all the options. Every moment spent in her shoes seemed to cement the reality — this body, this mind, this life — it was hers now.
The transition was complete when she found herself staring out the window, contemplating the next steps. The thought of Jimmy McGill, the man behind Saul Goodman, felt distant, an emotional footnote in a life that no longer seemed her own. The wily charm, the edgy swagger, the garish advertisements — they faded into the Albuquerque sun as Kim Wexler's determined and rigid composure took full reign.
Kim had cases to win and a reputation to uphold. And as she started her day with a resilience that had seen her through countless obstacles, it was clear: Saul Goodman was a specter of the past, and Kim Wexler stood ready to face whatever mysteries lay ahead.
This story was generated by user bob94 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Turn saul goodman into Kim wexlar both body and mind he becomes Kim completely with no memories of his old life
Response: Saul Goodman, known in the legal circles of Albuquerque as the man who could make anything disappear, including one's guilt, didn't remember when he had last looked at himself with any sincerity in the mirror. This morning felt different, though. He couldn't place it, but a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. Pulling himself up from his bed, Saul looked around, noticing the unfamiliar surroundings — soft blue walls, minimalist decor, and a meticulous order to everything. It was worlds away from his usual disorderly chaos. He scratched his head, a cascade of blonde hair falling over his shoulder. Blonde hair? Saul’s heart raced as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large vanity mirror against the wall. It wasn't Saul Goodman looking back at him; it was Kim Wexler — or rather, a woman who looked exactly like Kim Wexler. He instinctively reached up and touched his — her — face, running his hands over smooth skin, tracing the delicate features that were distinctly not his own. "What the...?" Saul's voice caught in his throat. It wasn’t his voice; it was lighter, more measured. Panic surged through him. He stumbled backward, only to trip over a pair of sleek heels neatly placed by the bed. Nothing made sense. His memories felt clouded, slipping away like grains of sand through fingers. Every frantic thought searching for an anchor was met with a polite mental door being shut. He sat on the edge of the bed, catching his breath, trying to pull some coherent thoughts from the whirlpool forming in his mind. Fragmented memories of courts, clients, and cons began to fade and merge into different ones — ones of law school triumphs, silent frustrations, and a life lived with quiet dignity. He looked down at his hands, Kim's hands. They were trembling slightly. Who was he — or she — now? Saul Goodman, the colorful con artist, felt more like a ghost, fading into a past much harder to grasp with each passing second. Kim Wexler's memories, her meticulous and disciplined persona, started filling in the gaps. The room was in perfect order, with files neatly stacked on a desk beside a closed laptop. Kim's workspace, of course. He, or rather she, could recall long hours spent here, going over every minute detail of cases with an unrelenting dedication. Strange familiarity set in, a quiet confidence that always defined Kim Wexler more than Saul Goodman could ever dream of. Steeling herself, Kim — Saul — rose from the bed and approached the laptop. The password came instinctively to her. Opening the list of emails, reading through motions and briefs, it felt oddly comforting. The apprehension began to wane, replaced by a sense of clarity and newfound purpose. Had Saul Goodman really ever existed, or was he just a bad dream that dissolved with dawn's first light? Flowing into Kim Wexler’s life felt like sliding into well-fitted shoes, the kind she would buy after meticulously considering all the options. Every moment spent in her shoes seemed to cement the reality — this body, this mind, this life — it was hers now. The transition was complete when she found herself staring out the window, contemplating the next steps. The thought of Jimmy McGill, the man behind Saul Goodman, felt distant, an emotional footnote in a life that no longer seemed her own. The wily charm, the edgy swagger, the garish advertisements — they faded into the Albuquerque sun as Kim Wexler's determined and rigid composure took full reign. Kim had cases to win and a reputation to uphold. And as she started her day with a resilience that had seen her through countless obstacles, it was clear: Saul Goodman was a specter of the past, and Kim Wexler stood ready to face whatever mysteries lay ahead.
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