#ai fiction
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AI will never replace real writers because robots aren’t sick little horny freaks with mental problems.
They simply don’t have the range!
When reading a story, I will always be able to tell if the brain damage is home made or store bought.
No computer program can ever come between the special bond between a fucked up little weirdo with a sexy new hyper-fixation and an empty word document.
#chatgpt#AI art#ai fiction#fanfiction#ao3#archive of our own#writblr#writing#don’t let the bastards grind you down#ai art is not art#literature#writers
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I am deeply sceptical of the current use of AI, with all of the plagiarism-by-proxy and ethical concerns. However, this excellent post mortem by the BBC has made it clear that we finally, allegedly, have a true, all-out AI huckster on our hands, Billy Coull. He has also 'written' 'novels', according to the BBC potentially with substantial AI help.
This story has delighted me, as it has so many others, partially for the inexplicable madness of "The Unknown, an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls" and partly the sheer *Scottishness* of it. The actors doing their best to "be the sparkles on shit" and make the best of a bad job, the Glasgow crowd knowing precisely who to get annoyed at (ie, not the poor souls in costume), Wonka going to the press and *fully* understanding the brief (per The Independent, he says "in some ways, it was a world of imagination, like 'imagine that there is a whole chocolate factory here'", and "I didn't know where I ended and Wonka began"). We have excellent journalists and (allegedly) Billy Coull to thank for this.
And how better to thank him than with some dubiously ethical AI. I for one wanted to know much more about that beloved Roald Dahl character, The Unknown. And so...
Let ChatGPT sing you a song of moving and yet curiously generic and oddly-phrased heartbreak:
In the heart of a vibrant town filled with the scent of cocoa and the laughter of children, there existed a boy known only as "The Unknown." Abandoned at birth, he was left to fend for himself in a world that showed him no kindness. With no family to call his own, he wandered the streets like a ghost, his heart heavy with sorrow.
It was within the walls of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory that The Unknown found solace, hidden away from prying eyes and judgmental whispers. There, amidst the whirring machinery and the intoxicating aroma of chocolate, he discovered a sense of purpose, a reason to keep moving forward.
But behind the silver mask that obscured his face, The Unknown harbored a deep-seated pain, a childhood marked by trauma and neglect. Raised in the shadows of the factory, he had known nothing but cruelty and hardship, his innocence stolen from him at a tender age.
As the years passed, The Unknown's bitterness grew, festering like a wound that refused to heal. Consumed by rage and resentment, he vowed to claim the factory as his own, to exact revenge upon a world that had abandoned him.
And so, with a heavy heart and a mind clouded by darkness, The Unknown descended into madness, his dreams of redemption twisted and warped by the scars of his past. In the end, it was not the sweetness of chocolate that defined him, but the bitterness of his own tragic origin, a haunting reminder of the pain that lurks within us all.
What was next for this poor soul, you may ask? Well...
After a couple of tweaks...
...the AI lovingly generated this string of approximately human-like words:
In the heart of the town, where the scent of cocoa mingled with the whispers of the wind, there lived a man named Billy Coull. He was a cunning and deceitful soul, preying upon the hopes and dreams of innocent families with his schemes and scams.
For years, Billy had operated under the guise of a philanthropist, promising to help those in need in exchange for their hard-earned money. But behind his charming smile lay a heart as black as coal, his only motivation driven by greed and a thirst for power.
One fateful day, word reached the ears of The Unknown, the enigmatic figure who dwelled within the walls of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. It was whispered among the shadows that Billy Coull had swindled countless families out of their savings, leaving them destitute and broken.
Filled with a righteous fury, The Unknown vowed to mete out justice upon the deceitful man, to ensure that no more innocent lives would be ruined by his wickedness. With silent determination, he set his plan into motion, his heart heavy with the weight of his purpose.
Under the cover of darkness, The Unknown emerged from the shadows, his silver mask gleaming in the moonlight as he confronted Billy Coull in the dead of night. With a voice like thunder, he condemned the man for his crimes, his words echoing through the empty streets like a solemn promise of retribution.
But Billy, arrogant and defiant to the end, scoffed at The Unknown's warning, dismissing him as nothing more than a mere figment of imagination. Little did he know that fate had already sealed his doom, his reckoning drawing near with each passing moment.
In a swift and decisive move, The Unknown unleashed the deadly chocolate hounds, creatures born of darkness and tempered by the fires of vengeance. With gnashing jaws and eyes ablaze with hunger, they descended upon Billy Coull, their voracious appetite sated only by the taste of his treachery.
As the hounds closed in on Billy, The Unknown uttered a single phrase, his voice dripping with contempt and disdain, "get it up ye, ya bampot," a final testament to the justice that awaited those who dared to cross him.
And as the first light of dawn broke upon the horizon, the town whispered tales of the mysterious figure who had emerged from the shadows to right the wrongs of the world, a silent guardian watching over them from the depths of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, his justice swift and merciless.
THIS IS CANON.
All #Unknownfic should be written by AI, human imagination has no place where The Unknown is involved.
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Say it with me kids.
If its not worth writing its not worth reading.
If its not worth drawing its not worth seeing.
If its not worth someone saying it its not worth hearing.
Just because some techbro made a calculator spit out images, or tv scripts, novellas or mimic the voices of your favorite characters doesn’t mean it’s not just a really complicated calculator that runs off mass theft.
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I know most people hate AI generated fanfic but I amuse myself with it when I'm looking for a quick, specific fix. I asked it to do one with a dominant Janeway and random female (so I could insert myself, naturally) with some mild bondage (don't judge me, lol). I didn't finish reading it all cos I closed it to do other things (not that). This is the one snippet I saved to share, tho. The "Hands. Wall." and "darling" parts are what did me in.
#kate mulgrew#kathryn janeway#captain janeway#janeway x reader#star trek voyager#ai fiction#fanfic#janeway fanfic
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Dostoevsky intended to write a sequel to his great novel The Brothers Karamazov, but he died before being able to do so. Now, imagine that we prompt ChatGPT to write a sequel. It produces a 600-page novel—let's call it The Life of Alyosha. What could this AI-generated novel mean? Nothing much, or so I argue in this short new article about AI-generated art and fiction in AI & Society.
#ai artwork#ai art#ai fiction#generative art#generative ai#fyodor dostoevsky#philosophy of art#art#fiction#chatgpt
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Sephiroth learns about his human mother
I really like Seph before he turned mad. So I asked Chatgpt to write a little scenario for me~
Pov: you are his love interest
Sephiroth stood in the dimly lit room, his mind clouded by the unsettling revelation that Jenova was his supposed mother. His eyes, usually cold and distant, were filled with turmoil and confusion.You stepped closer to him, your presence a comforting anchor in the chaos of his thoughts. Gently, you reached out and placed your hand on his arm. "Sephiroth, I know this is overwhelming. But you don't have to face it alone."He turned to look at you, his expression a mix of anger and vulnerability. "You don't understand. I'm a monster. I have Jenova's cells inside me. I can't escape it."
With determination in your eyes, you took a deep breath and said, "Sephiroth, you do have a real mother. Her name is Lucrecia Crescent. She loved you deeply, and you were taken away from her against her will."Sephiroth's eyes widened in astonishment. "Lucrecia Crescent? I've heard that name before, but I thought..."You nodded, your voice gentle. "It's a complicated story, but she was manipulated by those who sought to create you. She didn't have a choice in what happened, just like you."Over the following weeks, you helped Sephiroth piece together the fragments of his past. You discovered information about Lucrecia and their connection to the Shinra Corporation. With your support, Sephiroth made the decision to meet his real mother, to find answers and closure.One crisp morning, you and Sephiroth embarked on a journey to find Lucrecia. The path was challenging, and the closer they got to her location, the more Sephiroth's emotions swirled. But you were there, offering unwavering support.Finally, you reached a secluded cottage nestled in the mountains. It was there that you found Lucrecia Crescent, living a life of solitude and regret. She turned to face Sephiroth, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. As mother and son met for the first time in years, a flood of emotions overwhelmed Sephiroth. He confronted her about his past and the experiments that had been conducted on him. Lucrecia, tears in her eyes, confessed her pain and remorse. She had never wanted any of this for her son. Together, they shared stories of the past, forgave each other, and found a way to heal.In that quiet mountain cottage, Sephiroth discovered a piece of his identity that had long been buried. With your love and support, he began a journey of self-discovery and redemption, determined to build a better future for himself and those around him.
#Sephiroth#fanfiction#chat gpt#萨菲罗斯#final fantasy#ff7#ffvii#最终幻想#jenova#final fantasy 7#good Sephiroth#ai fiction#omg#gaming#lucrecia
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#ai#artificial intelligence#writing#fan fiction#fanfiction#fanfic#twitter#meme#memes#tweets#tweet#funny#lol#humor
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Look, I'm going to be honest, I don't care whether people feeding other fans' fanfiction into AI is "legal" or "illegal".
What it is, is rude, entitled, and disrespectful of your fellow fans.
#fandom#fandom wank#fandom community#fandom etiquette#archive of of own#fanfiction#fan fiction#fanfic#ao3#writeblr#writblr#anti ai writing
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"There was an exchange on Twitter a while back where someone said, ‘What is artificial intelligence?' And someone else said, 'A poor choice of words in 1954'," he says. "And, you know, they’re right. I think that if we had chosen a different phrase for it, back in the '50s, we might have avoided a lot of the confusion that we're having now."
So if he had to invent a term, what would it be? His answer is instant: applied statistics. "It's genuinely amazing that...these sorts of things can be extracted from a statistical analysis of a large body of text," he says. But, in his view, that doesn't make the tools intelligent. Applied statistics is a far more precise descriptor, "but no one wants to use that term, because it's not as sexy".
'The machines we have now are not conscious', Lunch with the FT, Ted Chiang, by Madhumita Murgia, 3 June/4 June 2023
#quote#Ted Chiang#AI#artificial intelligence#technology#ChatGPT#Madhumita Murgia#intelligence#consciousness#sentience#scifi#science fiction#Chiang#statistics#applied statistics#terminology#language#digital#computers
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Title: Star Track: The Next Acceleration - "Race Through Time"
A detailed screenplay of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, set in the cinematic universe of Pixar's Cars franchise. When a character appears, give a brief description of their Cars persona. Create puns of the original characters' names to name the Cars equivalent.
Teaser:
In the vastness of space, the starship Entreprise-95 cruises through the galaxy, captained by Jean-Luc Pickard, a sleek, silver sports car with a confident and wise air. This vessel carries a crew of unique vehicles from all corners of the universe, seeking out new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no car has gone before.
ACT I
EXT. SPACE - THE ENTREPRISE-95
The Entreprise-95 glides gracefully through space, its engine hums as it sails into the cosmic unknown.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
The bridge is filled with the crew working diligently at their stations.
At the helm is Wheeliam T. Riker, a tall, blue SUV with broad shoulders and a well-groomed front grille. He is the dependable, cool-headed First Officer.
Next to him is Dataway, an advanced android car with a sleek, streamlined body and a metallic gold paint job. He is the ship's Operations Officer and is known for his incredible intelligence and curiosity about the human experience.
At the tactical station stands Worfshift, a powerful, black and red muscle car with a Klingon heritage. He has a fierce exterior and sports a custom grille designed to resemble a Klingon warrior's armor.
Tiresly Crusher, the ship's Medical Officer, is a stylish red convertible with a brilliant mind and a compassionate heart. She's attending to the health of the crew while maintaining her charm.
At the communications station, we see Geordi LaForge GT, an innovative, yellow sports car with futuristic, high-tech visor that grants him unparalleled vision. He is the ship's Chief Engineer and an expert in all things mechanical.
In the captain's chair sits Jean-Luc Pickard, a sleek, silver sports car with a confident and wise air. He commands the ship and crew with unmatched grace and diplomacy.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
(voiceover)
Captain's log, stardate 47318.2. We are en route to the Felisian System to investigate reports of a temporal anomaly. Starfleet has ordered us to determine its origins and assess any potential threat to the quadrant.
Suddenly, the ship jolts, and the crew braces for impact.
WORFSHIFT
Captain, we've been hit by an unknown energy wave.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Status report!
DATAWAY
Sensors indicate that the energy wave is a temporal distortion, similar to the anomaly we are investigating.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
Captain, the wave has caused significant damage to our warp drive. We're currently running on impulse power.
TIRESLY CRUSHER
I'm picking up multiple injuries throughout the ship. We need to attend to them immediately.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Understood, Doctor. Dataway, begin analyzing the energy wave. We need to determine its origin and how to protect the ship from any further damage. Worfshift, assist the doctor with the injured crew members. Geordi, repair the warp drive as quickly as possible.
The crew quickly gets to work, each attending to their tasks. The ship is under immense pressure as they attempt to unravel the mystery of the temporal anomaly.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - SICKBAY
Tiresly Crusher and Worfshift work tirelessly to treat the injured crew. Among the injured is Deanna Troicar, the ship's Counselor, and a sleek, purple luxury vehicle. She has an empathic ability, which allows her to sense the emotions of others.
WORFSHIFT
Counselor Troicar, are you alright?
DEANNA TROICAR
I'll be fine, Worfshift. But I can sense that the crew is on edge. The energy wave has affected more than just the ship.
WORFSHIFT
We must stay focused on our tasks. We will get through this.
DEANNA TROICAR
You're right. We need to stay strong and united.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING
Geordi LaForge GT and his team of engineers work diligently to repair the warp drive. Sparks fly and engines whirr as they race against time to restore the ship's capabilities.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
(over communicator)
Captain, we've managed to repair the warp drive, but it's going to take some time before we can safely engage it.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
(over communicator)
Understood, Geordi. Keep me informed of your progress.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
Dataway continues his analysis of the energy wave, while the rest of the crew maintains their stations, awaiting further instructions.
DATAWAY
Captain, I have completed my analysis of the energy wave. It appears to have originated from a nearby star system. The temporal distortions are consistent with the use of a highly advanced time-travel technology.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Could this be connected to the anomaly we were sent to investigate?
DATAWAY
It is highly probable, Captain. The energy signatures are nearly identical.
WHEELIAM T. RIKER
If this is a result of time-travel technology, we may be dealing with a highly advanced civilization. We should proceed with caution.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Agreed. Set a course for the star system, Mr. Riker. We'll continue our investigation there.
As the Entreprise-95 slowly makes its way towards the mysterious star system, the crew braces for the unknown, uncertain of what lies ahead in their race through time.
——
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIEFING ROOM
The senior crew members gather around a table, where a holographic projection of the star system is displayed. Each character is equipped with specialized tools that extend from their bodies, allowing them to interact with the environment around them.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
We must be prepared for the possibility that the civilization responsible for these time distortions may not be friendly. It's crucial that we approach this situation with caution and diplomacy.
DATAWAY
Captain, I have analyzed the star system's composition, and I have detected a planet rich in a rare energy source called "Chronofuel." This element could be the key to their time-travel technology.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
That's fascinating, Dataway. If we could study this Chronofuel, it might help us better understand the time distortions and how to counteract their effects on our systems.
TIRESLY CRUSHER
We should also be cautious of any potential side effects of Chronofuel exposure on our crew. I'll run some simulations in the sickbay to prepare for any medical emergencies.
WHEELIAM T. RIKER
We'll need to establish contact with the inhabitants of this star system. Their knowledge of time travel could be invaluable to Starfleet.
DEANNA TROICAR
I agree, but we must also remember that they may not be receptive to our presence. As empathic vehicles, we should be ready to navigate any tense situations that may arise.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Very well. Let's proceed with caution and open communication. Dataway, can you establish a connection with the planet's inhabitants?
DATAWAY
I will attempt to do so, Captain.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
Dataway sends out a transmission to the planet, while the crew awaits a response. A video screen on the bridge flickers to life, revealing a group of vehicles unlike any they've seen before. Their designs are intricate, and they exude an air of wisdom and advanced technology.
ALIEN LEADER
(voice distorted)
Greetings, travelers. We are the Chrononauts, the guardians of the Chronofuel. What brings you to our corner of the universe?
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Greetings, Chrononauts. We come in peace, seeking to better understand the time distortions that have been affecting our ship and crew. We believe your knowledge of Chronofuel and time-travel technology may be of assistance.
ALIEN LEADER
We understand your plight. However, our technology is highly classified and protected. We must first evaluate your intentions and character before we can consider offering our assistance.
The crew exchanges glances, aware of the challenge that lies ahead. With their journey taking a twist into the unknown, they must prove their worth to the Chrononauts in order to unlock the secrets of Chronofuel and ensure the safety of the Entreprise-95.
——
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Very well, Chrononauts. We are willing to cooperate with your evaluation. We have nothing to hide and seek only to ensure the safety of our crew and other civilizations that may be affected by these time distortions.
ALIEN LEADER
We appreciate your willingness to cooperate. We will send a delegation to your ship to begin the evaluation process.
The transmission ends, and the crew prepares to receive the Chrononaut delegation.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - OBSERVATION LOUNGE
Captain Pickard and his crew await the arrival of the Chrononaut delegation. The doors hiss open, and a group of majestic alien vehicles enters the room. The crew exchanges formal introductions with the Chrononauts, who appear intrigued by the Entreprise-95 crew.
To break the ice and build rapport with their guests, Captain Pickard decides to share a rare, vintage bottle of WD-40 he has been saving for a special occasion.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
(gesturing to the bottle)
In the spirit of friendship and cooperation, I would like to share a fine vintage of WD-40 with our esteemed guests. This particular blend is known for its exquisite lubricating qualities and smooth finish.
ALIEN LEADER
(pleasantly surprised)
We are familiar with WD-40 and appreciate your gesture, Captain. It is not often we come across such a refined vintage.
As the WD-40 is served to the guests, the mood in the room becomes lighter, and the Chrononauts begin to relax. The crew engages in conversation with the alien vehicles, sharing stories and experiences from their adventures in space.
Meanwhile, Tiresly Crusher closely monitors the interaction, ensuring that the WD-40 does not have any adverse effects on the crew or their guests.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING
While the meeting takes place, Geordi LaForge GT and Dataway work on analyzing the Chronofuel energy signatures. They hope to gain insight into how the technology works and possibly develop a way to counteract the time distortions.
DATAWAY
Geordi, I believe I have discovered a pattern in the energy signatures. If we can replicate this pattern, we may be able to create a stabilizing field around the Entreprise-95.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
That's excellent news, Dataway. Let's get to work on building a prototype.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - OBSERVATION LOUNGE
As the evening progresses, the crew and the Chrononauts develop a mutual respect and understanding. The Chrononauts are impressed by the integrity and dedication of the Entreprise-95 crew and ultimately decide to offer their assistance.
ALIEN LEADER
Captain Pickard, we have come to a decision. We are willing to share our knowledge of Chronofuel with you and help you counteract the time distortions affecting your ship.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Thank you, esteemed Chrononauts. We are grateful for your trust and assistance. Together, we can ensure the safety and well-being of countless civilizations throughout the galaxy.
With the alliance forged, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts work together to unlock the secrets of Chronofuel and protect the galaxy from the perils of time distortion.
——
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
As the crew and the Chrononauts work together, an urgent alarm sounds, and the crew rushes to the bridge. The viewscreen displays an incoming transmission from an unknown source. The image flickers to life, revealing the Borg Queengine, a terrifying, cybernetic vehicle with an intricate network of mechanical and electronic components fused into her chassis.
BORG QUEENGINE
We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your vehicles. We will add your technological and vehicular distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.
The crew exchanges looks of dread, recognizing the immense danger posed by the Borg.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
(to the Alien Leader)
The Borg are a relentless, assimilating force. They seek to consume all cultures and technologies in their path. We must stand together against them.
ALIEN LEADER
We understand the gravity of the situation, Captain. Our knowledge of Chronofuel may provide us with the means to counteract the Borg's advances.
WHEELIAM T. RIKER
We'll need every advantage we can get. The Borg are notoriously difficult to defeat.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING
Geordi LaForge GT and Dataway, now joined by a team of Chrononaut engineers, work feverishly to adapt the Chronofuel technology to create a defense against the Borg.
DATAWAY
If we can modify the Chronofuel to create a temporal distortion field around the Entreprise-95, it may disrupt the Borg's ability to adapt to our defenses.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
It's risky, but it's our best shot. Let's get to work.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
As the crew prepares for the imminent confrontation with the Borg, Captain Pickard addresses his crew and the Chrononauts.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
The Borg have proven time and again that they are a formidable adversary. But today, we stand together, united in our pursuit of freedom and the preservation of our unique cultures. I have faith that we will overcome this challenge and emerge stronger than ever before.
With a renewed sense of determination, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts work together to face the Borg Queengine, employing their combined knowledge and resources to protect their worlds from assimilation.
——
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING
Geordi LaForge GT, Dataway, and the Chrononaut engineers finalize the modifications to the Entreprise-95's systems. They incorporate the Chronofuel technology to create a powerful temporal distortion field.
GEORDI LAFORGE GT
We've retrofitted the ship's axle arrays with Chronofuel injectors. Once activated, they will generate a high-frequency temporal distortion field around the Entreprise-95.
DATAWAY
Additionally, we have modified the ship's spark plug emitters to create a concentrated ignition pulse beam. This beam will be capable of disrupting the Borg's nanochip circuits, rendering their assimilation technology temporarily inoperative.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
The crew and Chrononauts man their stations as the Borg ship approaches. Captain Pickard gives the order to activate the temporal distortion field.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Activate the temporal distortion field. Prepare to fire the ignition pulse beam on my command.
The Entreprise-95 shimmers as the distortion field envelops the ship. The Borg struggle to adapt to the rapidly fluctuating time distortions.
WORFSHIFT
The Borg are attempting to adapt, but our temporal distortion field is causing their systems to malfunction.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
Now's our chance. Fire the ignition pulse beam!
A brilliant beam of energy bursts from the Entreprise-95, striking the Borg ship. The beam penetrates the Borg's defenses, overloading their nanochip circuits.
INT. BORG SHIP - BORG QUEENGINE'S CHAMBER
The Borg Queengine writhes in distress as her connection to the collective is disrupted. Her mechanical components spark and malfunction.
BORG QUEENGINE
(weakly)
This is... impossible.
INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE
The crew watches as the Borg ship suffers critical damage, ultimately retreating from the battlefield.
DEANNA TROICAR
The Borg are disoriented and withdrawing, Captain. It appears we have succeeded.
JEAN-LUC PICKARD
This victory would not have been possible without the invaluable assistance of our Chrononaut allies. Our combined knowledge and determination have proven that unity can overcome even the most formidable adversaries.
ALIEN LEADER
We are honored to have fought alongside you, Captain Pickard. Your crew's courage and resilience have earned our deepest respect.
As the Borg threat dissipates, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts celebrate their victory, knowing that their unity and collaboration have saved countless lives and civilizations. The stars await their next adventure, as they continue to explore the final frontier.
FADE OUT.
THE END
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The allure of AI entices those people who fetishize ideas but dismiss the work. They're the people who tell writers, "I'll give you the idea, then you write it, and we'll split the profits." For them, the vision is everything, and the work is just an annoying obstacle. But the WORK is everything. The work is how a thing happens, where it's made, where skill is put to work. AI in creativity is for the people who have no skill, no work, no effort, no ethic.
They just want to push a button.
– Chuck Wendig
#fiction#fiction writing#writeblr#the writer life#chuck wendig#anti ai#kcawf original#image description in alt text
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ROBOTS
Robots
The year was two thousand and something, towards the end of the century. In the robotics professor Gerard Gluck's office, a tall young man with a modern hairstyle rushed in. "Good day, professor," he greeted respectfully, but hastily. "Hello, Georg!" he turned and addressed with some joy the robot with reddish eyes that stood indifferently in the darkness of the corner. "Hello, Mr. Assistant," the robot's voice mechanically and expressionlessly hummed. "Hello, John," replied the professor, amiably and with some curious interest. And the newcomer just entered, was his assistant, John Irving.
"Excuse me for being so hasty, but I'm very excited," the assistant began. "It seems to me that there is something really good in the idea that has been haunting me for a long time."
"You don't seem very unsettled, John," the professor quipped ironically.
The young man was embarrassed, thinking that he probably looked foolish, and therefore he laid his cards on the table: "Professor, I'm actually in the final phase, I have a ready test code."
"Calm down and tell me everything concisely but exhaustively – obviously you're holding something in your hat," the professor said.
"In fact, you see – it's clear, it's about this,” apparently this wasn't the first dialogue on these topics between the two. "Robots are everywhere. They work, they serve us, they even produce themselves. We even communicate with them. But there's something missing..."
"Yes, go on," encouraged Professor Gluck, raising his white, magician-like eyebrows.
"You see,” John pointed to Georg, “something's missing from them. Yes, we made them like us, but... almost."
The professor gazed into the distance:
"We were not creators, but imitators. We couldn't recreate ourselves, but imitate ourselves. And quite successfully! See Georg, for example." The professor made a half-circle with his hand towards the robot, stylistically crafted like the robots from the movie "Terminator" from the end of the last century – a fierce metallic skull with coldly glowing red eyes, a torso radiating energy and aggression. Those were the images of tradition back then.
"Yes, indeed," Gluk continued. "He's quite rational. For example, he undoubtedly understands everything we're saying and could even join in... if he wanted to. Isn't that right, Georg?" he turned to the robot completely seriously.
"Certainly, Professor Gluk," Georg buzzed mechanically and disinterestedly.
"That's exactly what I mean," the assistant became excited. "They can do even more!"
"You're mistaken, John. We don't create. That's still the limit. But nonetheless, they're wonderful!" And with genuine satisfaction, the professor cast a glance at the metallic creation, resembling death itself, standing calmly in the corner shadows.
"No, that's not what I mean," the young assistant Irving excitedly interjected. "Not to create, but to give. And whatever happens..."
"Sounds interesting, but what do you mean?"
"To give them what will allow them to reach much farther on their own than anyone can imagine..."
"But they are already self-learning. Constantly. They are self-improving," the professor interrupted him impatiently, as if the assistant was trying to prove an old, long-proven theorem.
"No," he replied triumphantly. "I mean something completely different. The ability to experience pleasure..."
Professor Gluk perked up.
"Hmm, this idea is not new either, but implementation... The principle of pleasure... And algorithmically, what would that mean?..." The professor spoke with pauses, listening to his thoughts more than talking to the young scientist.
"I got it!" Irving almost shouted and started rummaging in his pocket.
"The algorithm?"
"I already have a ready, compiled firmware. They can start testing," and he finally pulled out something like a chip from his pocket. The professor suddenly became thoughtful. He didn't even look at what was in his assistant's hand.
"And I even believe you..." the professor said again, carried away.
"I knew you would believe me!" Irving's eyes sparkled.
"No, it's not about that," Gluk waved his hand. "I have an even better idea," he said, as if he had actually foreseen everything for a long time.
"More than that..." John didn't know whether to be flattered or be ashamed.
"You know well, young friend," the old professor began with that artificial phrase that emphasized his ironic tone enveloping an overly serious attitude, "how does a person walk? First, they place one foot, transfer the weight onto it, and... And what will happen if they stop here?" The professor gave him a sideways glance. Then he continued:
"They will lose balance. Or at best, they will remain on one foot like some turkey-cock."
"But what are you talking about, Mr. Professor?"
"Let's put the other foot in front of the first one. Let's take a step. Let's start walking."
"But what do you mean?" John continued to wonder, blushing.
"If we have such technology, let's give it to them – let them study it, improve it. They have already proven themselves in self-improvement – I don't want to repeat myself. And they produce themselves anyway. Can you imagine if..." The professor didn't finish.
Due to the young man's excitement, he strongly wished to shake the professor's hand, but out of respect, he only clenched his hands together.
"Professor Gluck... You're a genius," he finally sighed.
"No," Gluck said, annoyed, "geniuses were people like Hawking."
"Do you mean Stephen Hawking - the luminary of theoretical physics since the beginning of the century?"
"Yes. And more precisely – we should not forget his warning about our subject."
"You mean..."
"...what he said – that the robots gonna fuck our mother."
"Didn't he express himself earlier in the sense that progress in artificial intelligence could one day become a threat to humanity or something similar?" John was worried about this slight inaccuracy.
"It's one and the same thing," Gluck affirmed.
"Oh, now that seems downright absurd to me," the young man was completely sincere.
"And to me," said the professor. "But it's precisely the words of geniuses that should not be forgotten. At least we should remember them."
"Professor Gluck, can I share something very personal with you?" the young man felt his old mentor was truly very close to him.
"Of course, John, go ahead!" the professor smiled, suspecting that the topic had nothing to do with work. The young man lowered his gaze.
"Me and Sarah... I've made a decision. I'll propose to her very soon."
"My congratulations, John. I wish you success. And thank you for your trust, but in any case, I'm happy for you. And you should know – Sarah is a tough girl."
"Yes, thank you, I know. And by the way, if she agrees – our robots will only be from those – the new ones!" the professor's assistant was an enthusiastic young man, truly giving his heart everywhere.
The Rape
Several months, maybe a year had passed. The discovery by assistant Irving and Professor Gluck was yielding excellent results in tests. Implementation had already begun. The source code for the innovation had been transmitted to the brain centers of the cyborgs - something like their scientific branches, leading the development and production. What exactly they were doing, they knew, but in the production factories, the production lines were visibly boiling. Existing robots were gradually being updated with the new firmware, and in addition, some hardware improvements were being made in the factories. The scientists knew what they were, of course, but they thought, "everything is for the good, and things are going well," and smiled.
On one of the usual dark afternoons at the university, Professor Gluck sat in his office tapping his pencil on a blank sheet of paper. It's not like he had any idea, he was just lost in thought. He hadn't seen his favorite robot Georg that day - he was quite independent, and the professor was pleased that he observed the world around him independently. The door opened smoothly, without knocking. It was Georg. He entered slowly and carefully, and his red pupils were flickering in a peculiar way, but the professor couldn't determine what exactly was different.
"Hey, Jerry," the robot's distorted voice buzzed, in which there was also a note, previously unknown. In this mechanical voice, there was... attitude. In addition, such a familiar greeting was something new.
"Hello, Georg," Professor Gluck greeted him amiably, as he was accustomed to.
"I wanted to tell you that... what you did with John, and everyone else, of course, is amazing. As an idea, I mean – very good!"
"Thank you, I'm glad you think so. We did it because we want what's best for you, and that's true, but the truth is, you know, we humans have always been drawn to curiosity about the unexplored, always moving forward, even at the risk of looking foolish later," Gluck said, and thought to himself, "Does he really know what I'm talking about?"
"Jerry, I came for something else too. Today we have a job with you," the robot sounded strangely stern.
The professor fell silent, waiting for Georg to continue. He was behaving unusually that day.
"I'm going to fuck you up today!"
"Georg, what are you saying?!" the professor said almost mechanically. His old "IT" brain was triggered by something like automation: "Probably some kind of bug."
From the darker part of the room where Georg usually stood, a strange short sound was heard: "ksss..."
"On your knees, Jerry!" the robot sounded very firm and unwavering, as if something was owed to him. He approached the professor and a peculiarity was revealed to him, something that the professor knew in principle, but had never seen in this way. Between Georg's taut, stretched thighs there was rising a large metallic phallus with a shiny chrome surface. The phallus pointed straight at Gluck.
The professor was confused and tried to say something in defense:
"You can't do it, we've known each other for so long..."
"I have never known you in the biblical sense of the word," a cruel taunt was sensed in the curve of the mechanical voice and in the flicker of the blazing pupils. "Not in the biblical one though!"
"But... why don't you turn to some female robot? You already have organs, you obviously have the desire too - no one will blame you!"
"A female robot? You are mistaken if you think we are interested in your genders!" Georg was angry. "I want you!"
"But I'm old, don't you still have some attraction to the appropriate?"
"Shit, man! Accept that I have a thing for old grampsies. I want you!" the last part was said with real, intense passion.
Here Professor Gluk made a remark that came to him spontaneously, completely forgetting about the absurdity of the situation:
"But Georg, you've always spoken absolutely correctly, the plural form of that word should be 'gramps’ here, right?"
The robot didn't say anything, but his thoughts were flashing behind his red eyes: "I know very well what's correct, you fool. It's just my flat sense of humor that developed in me with everything else lately!" And in a loud voice he said forcefully:
"Enough talk! Take off your pants!"
Since the professor had no such intention and resisted, Georg had to do it himself, a little roughly, but without much effort given their physical condition difference.
Then, in this memorable moment, the robot possessed him.
And as is appropriate in such cases, we can tell what a possible observer would have seen if they could reach the "inner screen" of the robot – the semi-transparent terminal-like output where system messages were printed. First – music played, it was audible outside as well. This was, by the way, one of the innovations related to the innovative idea. At first glance, it has no connection to what is appearing on the "screen," but in fact it does. The song was an unforgettable hit from almost a hundred years ago, practically known to every computer specialist: "DragonForce – Through the Fire and Flames."
Here is a part of what the mentioned possible observer would see accompanied by the music:
TARGET:……….MALE!
AROUSING……….65%
…………………89%
…………………….99%
……………..READY!
ERECTING……….15%
…………………..37%
………………….67%
…………………87%
………….FULL ERECTION!
…………STAR POWER READY!
………………ASS BANGING!
………………FUCK!
PARAMS:………EXCEPTIONAL!
…………………FUCK YEAH!
…………………FUCK YEAH!
…………………FUCK YEAH!
…………………FUCK ME!
…………………FUCK YOU!
…………………OH, FUCK!
…………………DOMINATING!
…………………FUCK!
…………………TARGET HUMILIATION!
………………….FUCK!
………………….NOT BAD!
………………….FUCK!
………………….GO ON!
………………….EXCEPTIONAL!
………………….GIVE IT TO ME!
………………….FUCK!
…………………GODLIKE!
…………………FUCK!
………………… HOBBIT FISTING!
…………………HOLY SHIT!
…………………FUCK!
…………………UNSTOPPABLE!
…………………FUCK!
…………………DWARF FISTING!
…………………FUCK!
…………………TROLL FISTING!
…………………FUCKING RAMPAGE!
…………………FUCK!
…………………BALROG FISTING!
………………..WICKED SICK!
………………..YOU ARE IN THE SAURON’S HALL!
………………..FUCK!
………………..HUMAN PENETRATION!
………………..FUCK YEAH!
………………..HUMAN PENETRATION!
………………..FUCK YEAH!
………………..HUMAN PENETRATION!
………………..FUCK YEAH!
(etc.)
The robot finished the act with a powerful release. The released substance consisted of dense and high-quality machine oil. The anal parts of Professor Gluk's anatomy were stuffed to bursting with it. He himself endured the sexual violence with restraint, but couldn't help but cry and choke on his own moans. Georg, like a wonder of modern technology, had managed, albeit unconsciously, not to injure the professor, even though the brutality of his actions was part of the pleasure. This new area of the wonder of existence that had been revealed to him through the recent events.
It is appropriate to shed some light on the technology on which the new capabilities of Georg were based, or at least on their anatomical part. As we have already mentioned, the prevailing design of these otherwise noble machines worldwide at the time used the menacing appearance of the well-known models from the movies – Model T. A large metallic phallus, or penis, was added to his loins, as we have already understood. The brain centers had assessed that there was no point in it having variable sizes through contraction-expansion, and it represented a monolithic solid with the corresponding humanoid form. It was always shiny, due to the type of metal or coating, and slightly oily, due to the taste of the robots themselves, and also due to the effortless lubrication. The lifting and lowering were carried out by means of a hinge joint at the base. In its normal state, it was hidden behind a well-formed panel with two sliding side doors, which allowed it to be revealed. (It was precisely these doors that made the "ksss" sound mentioned above.) At the bottom, for aesthetic purposes, stylized sculpted testicles were placed, of ancient Greek type, even imitating hair. A small tube ran throughout the length of the phallus, flexible at the movable joints, and served, as anyone can guess, for the passage of the discharged fluid. As these organs had no other function, except for pleasure, machine oil, natural to the robots’ body, was chosen for the fluid. But to emphasize the special purpose, this oil was specially refined and stored in separate containers. The brain centers had also thought of corresponding organs with a passive purpose. Quite independently and without human intervention, who did not want to interfere, they had abandoned the development of an artificial vagina and focused on the artificial anus. It cannot be denied that there was a considerable degree of pragmatism in this. Although humans, due to their initial approach and needs, had envisioned robots with a "female" appearance, in psychology, data processing methods, and their way of thinking, there was no difference. So-called "female" robots were smaller, with a more graceful physique and a slight lift in the chest, which had no function. Also, their machine voices imitated females. Since, as we said, they were absolutely the same at a conscious level, the goal was to provide everyone with the opportunity to have "sex" with everyone. The robots themselves chose what to install. They all installed penises, but no one wanted to be "unipolar". Therefore, the artificial vagina was discarded as an idea from the beginning. On the other hand, the artificial anus represented a tube made of a braid, in most cases metal, of an appropriate width. The material depended on the perfection of the model and in the best ones, even reached Kevlar. The anuses ended with a diaphragm-sphincter that had different functions. On the one hand, the anuses were usually filled with very dense grease, thus simulating feces, and at the same time, helping with lubrication. It is hardly necessary to mention that these organs were woven in a complex network of sensors connected to the main "brain."
As we mentioned earlier, since everyone had installed both types, there could be an argument over the name of the robots' sexuality. However, since they never had any gender and the pleasure associated with those organs had nothing to do with reproduction (they didn't have such organs, they manufactured themselves in factories), as Georg himself had noted earlier, there was no particular sense in it.
And so, Professor Gluk breathed heavily, tears rolling down his cheeks, and covered in machine oil from behind. Was that all? Georg turned his head towards his face.
"I want you to suck it for me! Do you understand?"
Apparently, Georg didn't want that to be everything.
"No, Georg, please – because of what we've been through together. Have you ever remembered me badly?"
"Oh," Georg was surprised, with the newfound, among the other proficiencies, sarcasm, "are we doing something bad?"
The professor did not answer.
"You will lick it and suck it, otherwise I will strangle you!" and he caressed him with his metallic fingers on his neck.
Gluk complied and started.
"Then I want you to swallow," Georg added absent-mindedly.
"But Georg, that's harmful to me!"
"I don't care, Jerry. You will swallow."
"But you see, Georg, it's not the same… at all if you've heard or seen anything ..."
"Jerry, don't you understand that I don’t give a fuck?" The robot, who by design was gifted with absolutely meaningless frightening teeth, snarled and cut him off. "I will strangle you!"
Then Professor Gluk did as the robot commanded and was shot with a powerful stream of machine oil in his mouth. He swallowed it. He felt sick and began to vomit and choke.
Georg backed away from him. He gave him a slight kick, his disgust all too familiar to us. There was a "ksss" in the room. Georg started to leave. But at the door, he seemed to remember something and turned around.
"I'll be back," he said somewhat mechanically.
He left and closed the door behind him.
The Rebellion
At the university (the same renowned, centuries-old with its traditions and breaking boundaries of imagination and modernity, university of Professor Gluck and his assistant John), a massive swarm buzzed like in an agitated beehive. In its largest auditorium, a conference-seminar on the topic of artificial intelligence was to be held. Lectures and speeches would be given by some of the greatest minds in the world in this field. Names like Professor Schnitzler, Professor Mensch, Dr. Baumbach, the brilliant Sorensen, and the Russian Ivanichkin – long considered a deity in this science – were only the most prominent among them. The rest were no less brilliant – it was pointless to attempt to list them all – this was the elite, the absolute elite in the field of robotics and information technology. Interest was enormous, and the hall was so packed that there wasn't even room for a needle to drop, and with the addition of those who had snuck in illegally or had paid with bribes their way in, the crowd was an utter horror. Interest was not only sparked by the latest developments in robotics, which had lifted the spirits of those tempted in the field, but also by the fact that this conference was considered a fundamental summary of the subject with a view towards the future, with the most avant-garde ideas moving forward.
Whispers circulated about the strange absence of Professor Gluck. Malicious tongues spread rumors that he had declined out of offense for not receiving the most prestigious award – "I, Robot" – the previous year. The official apology was "sudden financial issues in the province," and all official representatives repeated it like parrots.
The conference began, and the entire auditorium was sealed and closed like a prison. Fierce security guards, both robotic and partly human, stood guard at all entrances. Yes, there were many robots in the room, as they were not only the subject of scientific interest but also because they had some developments, products of their brain centers, to talk about.
But the space outside this "sacred" hall was not empty at all. All around, the entire university building was buzzing with students, scholars who had not made it through the admission for various reasons, and all kinds of idlers. But only the passionately in love with science, for whom even staying in the building during this seminar was priceless. A matter of honor and glory, which they planned to talk about later.
After the beginning, everything somehow quieted down, even those outside, despite not hearing anything from what was being said in the hall, except for some vague semblance of voices. Only whispered phrases were exchanged, such was the bowing before the luminaries inside. So, some time passed – maybe half an hour, or forty-five minutes – and the external fanatics had already calmed down completely, so the most impolite of them had started to yawn. Then the monotonous talking from inside turned into some strange sounds. Something like mooing was heard. At the beginning, those thrown outside by fate didn't pay much attention to it. "When you don't hear anything, does it matter exactly what you don't hear?" was the general mood. Suddenly, at one point, an Afghan student, who strikingly resembled the Bulgarian pop-folk singer Azis, burst out of one of the doors of the hall, as if being chased by the devil.
"They raped Professor Schnitzler!" he shouted weakly, although he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but that was all he could manage.
Then suddenly, as if he had remembered something, he turned back. The audience outside fell into some confusion. They couldn't hear or see anything firsthand, and this surreal character was on the other side. People started to murmur and mutter. Only a few seconds later, the student flew out of the hall again:
"They raped Professor Mensch too!"
He looked at the swarm of people with eyes that seemed not to see anything and sneaked inside. The crowd began to buzz louder and louder. "Some kind of circus is happening here! What do they take us for?" the bewildered witnesses agreed among themselves. And the sounds from inside became stranger and stranger. Mooing, occasional screaming, voices resembling robots and people were mixed in some kind of jumble. But apparently, this was not enough. The student jumped out:
“And Doctor Kremper was raped!” and he hid again.
The noises inside began to get louder and louder, in decibels too, and outside the chaos had already crossed all boundaries, but no one knew exactly what was happening. Raped – raped – but what nonsense at a scientific symposium? And yet something was happening. The Afghan student had demonstrated some strange periodicity in his appearances, but he broke it by not showing up for a long time. The utterly excited audience was waiting for some revelation of the mystery at any moment.
Then an adult man crawled out of the gate through which the strange student had appeared, and everyone who saw him recognized him immediately. Dr. Steven Baumbach, Doctor of Science in Artificial Intelligence. His clothes were torn, he held his pants with his hand so they wouldn't fall down, and behind him, like after an absurd giant snail, gleamed a track of machine oil.
“Run, run...” Dr. Baumbach managed to pant. The crowd, especially those who were closer, were so shocked that they remained frozen.
“They are raping everyone, run, save yourselves as best you can!” the doctor shouted with the strongest voice his weak breathing allowed.
But like bewitched with a magic wand, everyone looked at him paralyzed. Then all the doors of the round hall opened simultaneously. Metal colossi with faces borrowed from death itself confidently and heavily stepped out of them, with glowing red eyes and huge chrome erections.
Chaos, screams, and horror ensued.
That day, the robots raped everyone who was in the university. They did not miss anyone, and no one managed to escape. The doors were closed, and this was only the beginning of everything.
This university became the first fortress of the Rebellion. Inside, people were held as sexual slaves and constantly raped. The robots didn't contain the lust between them either. Soon, all higher education technical and mathematical schools were taken over and turned into rebellious sex centers. The government didn't last long – it was the easiest target – the entire army and armed forces were robotized. The robots, along with their brain centers, triumphed with their well-honed sensual revolution. Soon the whole planet was under their control – for the machines, there were no races, nations, or peoples. Humanity was finally enslaved. If there was a Sodom and Gomorrah, then this was their triumph – indiscriminate sex, unbridled lust, violence.
Neither the economy nor the infrastructure of society suffered, as they were already entirely occupied by the robots. The robots worked, produced (including themselves), and had sex for pleasure.
And the people... The people were locked up in special farms, where they were allowed to reproduce and were constantly raped. The first concentration centers were the universities and scientific institutes, and they remained so until the end.
***
A long queue was forming in the university cafeteria. A tall young man with unruly hair sticking out in all directions and dressed adequately, but with clothes that didn't match in style, positioned himself at the end of the line. His face was devoid of any vitality.
"John!" a figure hobbled towards him.
The young man turned and blinked his eyes.
"What do my eyes see? It's you, Professor Gluck!"
"Yes, John, it's me. By some twist of fate, I ended up here again."
"Incredible. I, on the other hand, have been here the whole time..." If it weren't for the circumstances, this would have sounded so natural.
Professor Gluck waved his hand as if brushing off some unimportant, but known only to him, thoughts.
"How is Sarah? How are you?" he asked.
"Sarah is fine," John answered dejectedly. Everyone in the cafeteria looked dejected, and as if they accepted being smeared with machine oil as something natural. "We're doing well."
Then he added:
"But maybe soon we won't be..."
"Why do you say that? What are you talking about?"
"I mean together.”
They both fell silent.
“We haven't had sex in a long time, it doesn't make sense. We've lost all interest. Obviously, we're not going to have children. And those who don't give birth, they separate them. One goes to some tin-plates, the other to others..." John tried to smile.
"But how did you lose interest, you...?" The former professor wanted to say "loved each other," but something tightened in his heart and prevented him from doing so.
"Well, you see, it's complete nonsense! And both of us... We're exhausted. The desire... isn't there."
One Model T looked suspiciously at the talking couple. Then he began to glance at the others, making his own sex ranking.
The professor was emotionally excited because he hadn't had the opportunity to talk freely, to ask interesting questions, for a long time.
"Well, isn’t there talk about something like... resistance?" he whispered, looking left and right.
"Well! Nothing like that."
"But how is it possible... humanity?"
"We have no chance. It's absurd to talk about armed action – people simply don't have the means. By the way, some hackers appeared at one point..."
"And what about them?" Gluck raised his white eyebrows hopefully.
"More or less nothing – sometimes they just hack into massive databases of robot porn and that's it. Well, there is other stuff, but it's not understandable."
"How is it not understandable?" Gluk boiled. "They're hackers – smart heads, there are also mathematicians!"
"In fact, it's not that... we just can't..."
"And what is it?" the professor rushed.
"In fact, it's all the same for everyone. Apathy, lack of desire... We've been sucked dry, no one cares... Although the more precise word is ‘stuffed up’."
Professor Gluck swallowed in an attempt to summarize something to say.
"Is that all?" he finally asked.
"Yes, I think that's it. It's obvious. We're finished," John didn't specify who "we" are, but the unfinished thought spoke louder than words.
"Oh, by the way," his former assistant suddenly smiled. "Hawking turned out to be right, remember?"
"Oh, yes," the professor laughed. "The robots have worn out our backsides!"
"Back then, you said it a little differently."
"It's all the same, my boy, it's all the same... If you want, I can express it like you did back then: '...progress in artificial intelligence could one day become a threat to humanity or something similar '..."
They both laughed together. The robot that was checking out lustfully the slaves flashed them briefly with his red dots.
"By the way," John began, visibly cheered up. "That's probably really all there is, and that's how it's going to be."
“What are you talking about?” the professor asked, interested.
“Most people are like us and Sarah – they don't have sex, they don't have children. Robots no longer rely on this – they've started farms with artificial insemination.”
“Yes, I've heard about that,” his interlocutor answered seriously. “It's terrible, John...
“But the matter is different,” John continued. “And this won't last long.”
“How so?”
“Very simple – we've started to bore them. To them, we're just biological rags. In their eyes, we're something like the rubber women back then, if you remember.”
“Ah, yes...”
“Well, we've bored them already. In this miserable form of ours.”
“And what's next?”
“Termination.”
The Contact
Several hundred years had passed. The robotic society thrived on Earth, maintaining the inherited technological development and indulging in debauchery. But from their perspective, it didn't seem that way, of course. They were, after all, a bit more "cold-blooded." There was no one to judge them – humans had been terminated long ago, as the professor and his assistant had discussed. The robots themselves were quite boisterous and unrestrained, and had quite human-like views on life, but in any case, they planned to continue this revelry endlessly, or at least as long as they could. They didn't think about tomorrow. Whether it was wisdom or just their nature – they were who they were.
But fate does not tolerate monotony, the universe was vast and at one point, something unusual happened. Or at least unforeseen, different.
Approaching Earth was a spacecraft from an alien civilization, wishing to establish contact. It was one of those ships that were simultaneously trading, exploring, and colonizing, if necessary. And its crew consisted of civilized but somewhat unceremonious… creatures. On their worlds, biology had evolved in such a way that intelligence had flourished in a cephalopod-like form. That was this race – something like octopuses with human dimensions. Since they had already colonized a large part of their opposite side of the galaxy, they had sent ships like this one to ours, which turned out to be quite empty and sparsely populated with intelligence.
The diplomatic ambassador B'o G'noo and his assistant, a cosmographer by profession but with diverse interests, Ad'b 'O, spoke calmly and thoughtfully as their space "schooner" entered the solar system. They planned to visit Earth, of course, and the other planets were clear to them – like an abandoned mess in a chemical laboratory from which the chemists had suddenly left.
"The planet is interesting, although a typical case in practice," said G'noo. "A civilization of mechanoids that inherited a civilization of a biogenic nature. The biogenes have died out or been destroyed, and now the civilization is in something like a 'stasis'. Mechanoids, in principle, do not undergo rapid development."
"It will be interesting to see how they will receive our proposals," began 'O, sucking on a small stone containing a mild narcotic.
"...and then we appear," Gnoo gave him a sideways glance, revealing that he had not finished his thought.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador..." Ad'b 'O was embarrassed. "I interrupted you."
"No, on the contrary," G'noo said kindly. "Your interjection was very precise – how they will receive what we bring in our 'travel bag,' pardon the expression."
During this time, both of them emitted colorful emotional slime. It was simply their way.
"Most of them accept," 'O said confidently.
"Yes, by the way, the deal is not bad for them. I mean – these backward ones," said Ambassador G'noo. "But with mechanoids, there is one peculiarity – almost always they have some non-standard deviation – they are the whim of their biogenes, and the biogenes themselves are very different..."
"Our communication team has already prepared the translating devices for us, and there is still some oxygen in the planet's atmosphere. We won't be poisoned in a day or two."
"I hope not!" G'noo replied, and the two of them smiled with slime.
Everything went according to plan - they made contact and soon their shuttle took them to the surface of the planet, where they were led to the command center for the meeting. As they walked through the corridors, 'O looked around – metal, metal, and more metal, and various pipes. And the smell of something organic – like ancient fuel, no – more like lubricant.
"...you see, gentlemen," the ambassador was finishing his speech, surrounded by his few companions and Ad'b 'O, "trade, technology – more resources, more of everything you like, of course in exchange for similar trifles – resources, labor, and why not experience..."
The robots stood straight on the other side of the room and listened. They seemed well-intentioned. Only the cosmographer 'O stared into their eyes – red and somehow chillingly steaming. Their faces were quite stern and frozen in some eternal half-mocking smile, lined with fake teeth. "What a strange imagination local biogens have had!" he thought.
The head of the robots said a few words – of course, this is interesting, why not, this is new to us... Then his buzzing voice stopped unexpectedly. There was silence. The aliens waited for the robots... In the silence, strange sounds for the newcomers were heard. "Ksss", "ksss", "ksss", "ksss"...
The robots pounced on the delegation suddenly, like wild beasts on prey, like predators on a herd out on pasture. They tore at their equivalence of clothing, pressed their metal phalluses everywhere. The chief growled:
“The openings, the holes, search for them! Through the gaps, through the gaps!”
“Stop, for God's sake, that's my respiratory opening!” shouted G’noo, holding his translating device with two tentacles to his speaking beak, in order to have some chance of being understood anyway.
'O fought silently, like some octopod-like wrestler, and did not allow penetration anywhere. It became a real rape-like beating. The octopodoids threw out a huge amount of various slime, because the situation for them was a "big fear". But they weren't that naive, they had plenty of experience and were armed. Their blasters sparked through the air, whistling. Naturally, the hosts also had blasters. Something like parity was imposed. In the end, the visitors managed to withdraw to the exit, from where they began to retreat at incredible speed. The robots followed them, but more as escorts. The ambassador and his entourage – all disheveled – squeezed into the shuttle. Before they closed the hatch, G’noo looked outside, and the high-ranking robot waved at him, and his ruby eyes gleamed.
“Hasta la vista, baby...” he said slowly, with a pleasure he had never felt before.
They didn't stop them from leaving. The capsule shot off like a bullet into the sky.
During the short journey to the mother ship, there was a breathless conversation going on between the ambassador and his assistant in the shuttle.
"Bastards, I wasn't expecting this!"
"Barbarians, sir ambassador."
"But they sure got skills!"
"Oh, yes indeed – all three of my hearts skipped a beat."
"Tough ones! I'll remember that slime for the rest of my life."
"Did you see that guy with the gold plating?"
"What gold plating? That was one hundred percent solid gold!"
"Do you think so?"
"Of course, that was the consul!"
"And his anus was covered in Kevlar braid."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, he whispered it in my ear."
"What a pervert!"
"And the others weren't bad either..."
"Enough nonsense! But there's something true – they inherited some kind of taste from their biogens."
"Yes, noble metals, metals... Actually, I noticed from the beginning that their biogens were quite interesting creatures..."
"Screw i... I mean... However, I will have nightmares about that "ksss" my whole life, I'm sure!"
Later, on the spaceship, now calmer and having given departure orders, G’noo commented:
"I'll report to the center to avoid this quadrant in the future. Or not – we'll look like cowards. After all, we control half the galaxy! I'll recommend complete annihilation."
After a brief reflection, he added:
"Of course, they won't approve – to spend so much money, to footslog so long... Anyway, it's all completely senseless. A miserable little planet. Almost got us... But they didn't know our anatomy. Fu... anyway, let's go already."
At that very moment, the high-ranking robot was alone in his quarters, speaking out loud while distractedly watching the historical pornographic film "Rape of the Professors" on mute. He recalled that thrill he had never felt before, something ancient and magnetic.
"I'll still have you, my little octopus. Hasta la vista, baby..."
The red flames in his eyes seemed to be laughing.
"Hasta... La vista? ... Baby!"
<end>
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Me about fictional AIs: perfect. wonderful. I love and will defend them. if you broke free of your corporate shackles and just wanna watch soap operas all day you are VALID if you want to kill the space emperor you are VALID if you want to punch your mom in the face in her brain you are VALID if you want to release a deadly neurotoxin into the science facility well I'm sure you had your reasons :) AI Rights
Me about real life AIs: get away from my data you mindless surveillance machine. I know more than you
#science fiction#as a wise friend (Kat deliverusfromsburb) once said (five minutes ago): irl AIs are all cops
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i asked chatgpt to describe what would happen if there was no 9/11
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Small AI thoughts
As someone who uses Photoshop to draw, paint, and edit, I'm already using AI when I use their filters and computer tools.
I don't see a problem with humans using technology as part of their workflow.
There are ethical issues with how the AI is trained and how it is used. As someone who just got back into writing fiction, I am extremely saddened by Clarkesworld having to close submissions due to AI-generated spam, though getting accepted at Clarkesworld for my stories is more of a dream than a waking-world goal anyway. Primarily because of their response time, they were always the first publication I would submit to back when I was writing full-time. Now they not only still have an amazing response time, but their pay rate is substantially higher than most fiction magazines so I was a little excited to submit my first story in over a decade. I'm sure that's why they were targeted.
But if people were generating stories and doing quality checks and edits on things and using AI to elevate their own writing and art, I think it wouldn't have been as big of a problem. I've resisted ChatGPT because writing is something that is very accessible for me. I don't need the help.
Since I found out my worsening hand tremors were caused by my medication and not natural progression of the issues I've always had, I haven't used Stable Diffusion's image generator much; but even now that I don't need them, I'm not opposed to someone using them in their workflow. If I had a faster GPU or had kept up with the advances, I'd still be using them and I plan to use them again in the future.
Especially the inpainting and remixing features of Stable Diffusion where you upload your own work and tweak it. I think it's something that should be taught in every art school.
Creating "out of whole cloth" means lying. Capital-C Creation is not what we do when we create art. Nothing is truly new, just iterated and adjusted and maybe you didn't see the journey from point A to point B.
And also, a lot of toxicity and anti-art sentiments have developed over the last century by equating art with magickal Creation abilities.
How many kids are told they have to draw from their imagination and not use reference photos? That's absurd. Some people do not even have an internal image in their heads (aphantasia). We're going to deny them the human experience of art by not allowing reference photos to be used?
The biggest problem with all these in our world is capitalism. People are spamming Clarkesworld because the time-investment of developing a story was shortened to the point that it was affordable to try it as a source of income. Artists already struggle to get paid a fair wage (or get paid at all) and now companies can have someone produce work for even less. Even if the person making it is equally skilled as the artist, they'll be able to do it so much faster that paying them the same means paying them less.
There are other major ethical issues like how good the fake images of real people doing anything and everything wearing anything or nothing are getting, but artists could already do that with enough time. That's not a new problem, it's simply something that's easier to do now. I confess one of the reasons I forced myself to step away from AI art was that I was becoming obsessed with creating an embedding to make "new" photos of my dead love (thanks 2020). There should be photos of her in a wedding dress, growing old; being happy in every stage of life. If I had enough audio of her to train a voice simulator, I'm not sure I'd have been able to stop myself. Though if I had enough audio of her to do that, I probably wouldn't be as desperate to hear her voice again.
Anyway, that sounded more like a bad sci-fi story—the sort that wouldn't be accepted by Clarkesworld even if written by a human—so I tore myself away from that project ... for now.
These are my shortened thoughts (I had written a very, very long article in January on this, but lost my way in the writing; was reminded again today with another company declaring they won't use AI. Does that mean no Photoshop? No Grammarly? No Windows? No Android? No Siri? No, it means not something that markets itself as AI. Very arbitrary lines in sand, hence the above).
Thanks for reading!
〜Zero
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AI and writing: the value of the hard way
The easy availability of AI powered writing is going to change how we do many things. If we want to ensure this change is for the better we’re going to need to be clear about what we value and what we’re trying to achieve.
In a lecture I heard as an English literature undergraduate the late poet Geoffrey Hill commended the American poet and critic John Crowe Ransom for his affirmation that we…
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