She Used AI to Reclaim My Mother’s Voice—And the City Whispered Back

I never set out to make a game.

I just needed to hear her again.

My mother, a Cuban nurse who sang me to sleep with boleros under flickering streetlights on 79th Street, passed away two winters ago. Her voice—warm like night rain on Chicago’s South Side—stayed in the static between subway announcements and midnight bus rides. I couldn’t find it in any recording studio. So I built it myself.

Using Unity and Unreal Engine, I mapped her lullabies into a generative audio landscape: every sound sample triggered by player actions became a memory node. A ‘Scatter’ wasn’t just a bonus symbol—it was her laugh when she’d say, ‘Niña, duerme.’ A ‘Wild’ wasn’t a joker—it was her hand brushing my hair as I drifted off into sleep.

I coded RTP at 96% not for profit—but for presence. Each spin wasn’t luck. It was ritual.

In the city’s neon glow, where graffiti whispers names no one dares speak aloud, I made space for silence that still breathes. The ‘Jackpot’? It wasn’t cash. It was the moment you pause… and realize your grandmother’s voice is still humming in the rain-soaked alley behind the L train.

I don’t play to win.

I play so she doesn’t vanish.

Join me tonight—in our quiet corner of Neon Circle—where we upload anonymous voice diaries and listen without speaking. Because some memories aren’t meant to be sold…

They’re meant to be remembered.