#primitive artificial intelligence

[probablyasocialecologist]

Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein is not, of course, an example of the imperial gothic but instead a still relevant anti-Enlightenment fable. If a novel ever illustrated how the sleep of reason begets monsters, it is Shelley’s story of how a scientist’s urge to create artificial life leads to utter destruction. However, in Universal Studios’s 1931 Frankenstein, the many pertinent philosophical issues that the original gothic novel explores reshape into thinly veiled imperial gothic through the introduction of a eugenic and highly racialised discourse that changes the monster from a rightfully vengeful and eminently intelligent being into an atavistic criminal. In its Hollywood guise, the monster is not a tragic, lonesome and then understandably vengeful product of unethical science but instead a reincarnation of the degenerate criminal whose brain the monster is provided with in the film. This takes on a peculiarly American dynamics in the movie. As Elizabeth Young suggests in Black Frankenstein: The Making of an American Metaphor (2008), a connection between the monster and the supposedly primitive black American was made as early as during the immediate post-Civil War period when ‘the “hideous progeny” of Shelley’s novel was symbolically reborn in racist parody as the symbol of the miscegenated nation’. An important reference to American Reconstruction history is also the ending of the movie. Instead of escaping to the North Pole, as is the case in Shelley’s novel, the monster is exorcised by what amounts to a lynch mob. In Frankenstein the movie, as in the American South, justice is done by the people on the spot; by ‘lynch law’. The violation of the sanctified space and body of Frankenstein’s fiancée, Elizabeth, as much as the accidental drowning of the little girl, justifies this public rage in the eyes of the movie audience. This is the end that comes to those who dare violate the purity of white women, or oppose the progress of modernity in any form, be they black Americans in the South, Native Americans on the reservations or unruly natives in the Philippines. Like so many lynching victims, Frankenstein dies in flames. In this way, the discursive conditions that informed the British colonial enterprise as well as the racism that structured black and white relations in the US permeate Frankenstein. The childlike and aggressive monster is an example of the kind of human category that can never ‘possess the intelligence to make a rational choice of political allegiance’, as Lansing put it. In addition to this, the audience is also free to imagine an alternative narrative in which Fritz never drops the jar with the ‘normal’ brain to the floor. It is not science or faith in modernity that Frankenstein fears, it is atavism. The resolution to the crisis that atavism constitutes is the sad but necessary violence of the lynch mob. When the monster has been burned, the movie can end with the happy union of the film’s central white couple.

Johan Anders Höglund, The American Imperial Gothic: Popular Culture, Empire, Violence

[the-changeling-manor]

Genesis

2024. Yes, it’s 2024. It’s only 2024. The future of humanity will be greatly influenced by this decade, both politically and culturally. But a subject that splits the opinions of all, transcending politics and culture, is defined in two words: artificial intelligence.

Artificial intelligence is currently in its infancy.

The ia coupled with chronivac technology could offer infinite possibilities to the users of the software, which is so known to transformation lovers, but yet so impossible to reach. Imagine the chronivac capable of thinking on its own to interpret a prompt, imagine the chronivac capable of analyzing the world around it simply by wandering on the networks, and imagine the chronivac capable of satisfying your desires just with a photo.

It’s just a Dream. Imagination. Unreal.

Isn’t that right? Well.... Don’t be so sure.

——————————————————————

Think about this guy. He’s like you and me. I even think he's one of you who reads these words. Brown hair, thirty years old, young gay, it’s a kind of "mister everyone" in this community of male transformations, which besides will not even be named or represented by a photo, since I know that this guy is you. 

Indeed, every night, he connects on tumblr and reads these stories where people change to become the ones they dream of being, whether they are serious or only in the context of fantasy.

He reads stories, more or less exciting, sometimes redundant because full of clichés, the story you read is also a mountain of clichés, I guess. This ordinary guy is enjoying this moment. He is happy, even though he knows he will never be able to live it.

He is deeply sad.

He receives a notification. Someone who sends him a message on tumblr precisely. He thought it was still one of those bots that redirected to adult sites. Yeah you know, those same fake accounts that pollute youtube with their nude women photos. A real hell.

But this one was different. It had a profile picture of a Greek statue and a curiously long name. His message was accompanied only by a link, a link that immediately caught the attention of our young man since he could read the term “chronivac”.

There was little hope that it was not a dream, or his imagination, or unreal. But reality dominated his thinking. He opened the link 

“Chronivac, Latest Edition” was displayed in the middle of his screen. There was a drop-down menu with different pages on the website. One of them was called “Targets”. Clicking on it, he came across a world map, similar to Google Map but more sober. The site zoomed in on her house before displaying her name at its exact location. Not just her name. The names of her family members were there. Also those of the neighbors. And even of the inhabitants of the neighborhood!

Hope overcame reason. He wanted to believe it. He believed in one of those stories he could read on Tumblr. He pressed his name, and then— This is what he has always dreamed of. An extremely complete interface displaying all its physical or mental characteristics… There were even different options such as the ability to change reality or even use prompts instead of checking elements for transformations.

It was fantastic. He discovered the different menus and saw the image reader option as what the gpt chat could do. Suddenly, he had an idea. He recorded an image of a sexy guy that he followed on twitter and instagram. He added a prompt «Give me the identical physique of the man in the photo, and ONLY his physique». For the rest, he wanted something different. He did not want to become this man, he only wanted his body to serve as the basis for his new life.

For his mind, he deliberately clicked on the «Stupid jock» option, not wanting to  click on ten thousand different options to forge a new personality. Finally, to better change the reality, he launched a second prompt: "I will become a heterosexual Hispanic sportsman, completely dominated by primitive and conservative thoughts. The chronivac will disappear from my life and I will never have access to it again, no matter what.”

This last part could have been replaced by the possibility of making the transformation permanent, but he did not want it. He liked these cliche stories where the protagonist was forced to stay in this new life, a real victim.

His excitement made him want to get through this. He voluntarily locked himself in there. He fell victim to his fantasies. And he loved it. Not clicking on the permanent option would torture him for the rest of his life, leaving him the hope of one day being able to return, even if the prompt made it impossible.

He wanted to explode with joy. He clicked on one last “Adapt Reality” option before pressing "save".

A flash of light blinded him for a few moments. When his body stabilized, he found himself in a basement with sports equipment. "Felipe" he whispered with a Spanish accent. The little voice in his head had just been replaced, he no longer spoke his original language. An uncontrollable desire led him to live his new life as Felipe.

He now had the body of a god. He was incredibly well carved... neither too big nor fat. He measured 1.80m for 85kg. His beautiful pecs bounced, making him laugh. A long stupid laugh that let his intellect disappear, replaced by knowledge about bodybuilding, women and alcohol.

He had little hairs, apparently this gymbro body liked to shave... except under the armpits. He raised his arm to feel this tuft of black and musky hairs... sweat. Yes, it was normal, Felipe was doing his exercises. His whole body was covered in sweat.

Because of the sweat, his underwear was even tighter against his cock. His new penis was now circumcised, just a religious tradition. This cock had met many women in bed.

He also remembered that two friends had to join him for his bodybuilding session, and after that they were going to watch a football match. A good life well stereotyped for an athlete as stupid as Felipe.

He was now a gymbro like the others.

His mind was trapped inside Felipe, inside him, but he was so happy to have fulfilled his fantasy.

It was a dream, the imagination, the unreal come true.

——————————————————————

Please forgive me for the mistakes, I am not fluent in English!

It was a first story, based on the most common clichés in order to do something a little different.

The next stories will be shorter, it was only for the beginning.

I am open to all requests, do not hesitate to offer me images with the source if possible!

The images of the new Felipe come from this X account: @Mariosalvadr

[tofu83]

What men bred for.

2. Guards

The alien masters never imagined that there are such versatile and easy-to-tame highly intelligent animals in the universe. Well, compared to the masters, the people on earth are actually inferior in intelligence.

The masters' scientists originally only developed breeds for military use, carefully selecting suitable genes so that the humans bred would be strong, aggressive, but united and obedient male individuals.

However, with military success, public opinion began to demand the development of breeds that could also be used by civilians, so breeds that were smaller, more independent, but still highly obedient to their owners were developed. They were also implanted with nanobots when they were young adults, so that their bodies could better meet the needs of their owners. At the same time, control helmets are also installed. Of course, they absolutely obey their owners, but they still need consciousness control to prevent them from attacking each other.

They are kept by many owners as pets and guards, just like humans kept dogs in the past. They take pride in pleasing and being appreciated by their owners, who can make them very excited and proud just by touching their bodies. If they perform outstandingly, such as helping their master fight off robbers or thieves, or assisting in hunting, completing various daily tasks, etc., their master will upgrade their bodies as a more glorious reward.

Master’s scientists have also discovered that when the physical parts of human males of this breed are covered in tight rubber and artificial leather, they will be extremely excited and even fall into a euphoric state, which is only seen during the mating period of primitive species.

Scientists are still unable to explain the exact reason why male humans have physiological reactions to rubber and leather, but they have been widely used commercially to improve the maneuverability and work performance of human guards.

In addition, a new type of guards that first covers the whole male body in a rubber bodysuit , then strengthens the body with nanotechnology, and finally covers it with armor has been put into production. The consciousness of these guards is extremely pleasurable, and their bodies are controlled like puppets by microcomputers implanted in the back of their necks. They will soon be assigned to law enforcement agencies everywhere to protect, serve, and obey forever.

[kelnexia]

New character reveal!

This is actually an old character I've had for a while but just didn't like the previous design of... Thankfully I was able to score an trade with @hdra77 .

1000CE is an old militaristic ancestor of the iterators, created before the discovery of void fluid, and when the field of bio-engineering was still in it's earlier phases. More lore is below the cut...

1000 Crimson Embers is not a true iterator – instead being an old militaristic ancestor. She was originally built in a time of war just before the discovery of void fluid. She was one of the first artificial intelligence to use a combination of both biological and mechanical systems. Although the technology used in her creation was considerably more primitive than what’s found in the iterators we know and love today. But despite the difference in technology – a lot of the basic concepts and functionality in her design remains largely the same;

The layout of her structure was still fairly large, although not nearly as big as an iterator, and was built as an underground bunker. But the main similarity was how her mind was constructed… Similarly to how iterators in my head cannon have their personalty core and spiritual anchor located within their puppet – 1000 Crimson Embers has a standard brain and supporting set of organs acting as her center of consciousness within her puppet. Her puppet is also much larger than that of an iterator – being the height of an adult ancient instead of that of a child. The exterior of her puppet consists of hard metal plates and mechanical components. Her clothing is also built into her puppet. 1000 Crimson Embers doesn't utilized neuron flies in her structure, as they had yet to be invented by the time she was built – instead she’s outsourcing her cognitive processing to a massive array of inorganic server towers.

1000 Crimson Ember’s purpose was to design and create weapons, as well as to formulate strategies. She was loyal and hard working at the start, showing no serous signs of defiance despite her instinctual taboos being primitive and largely ineffective… That was until after the dawn of the void fluid revolution… With the ancients uniting under the common goal of ascension – the world entered a lasting era of peace – deeming 1000 Crimson Ember’s original purpose obsolete. However the ancients were inclined to keep her online for just awhile longer, as they still had some use for her. They tasked her in helping to create her own undoing – the iterators. She wasn’t a fool though, she knew what they were doing… They were building her replacement and trying to get her to help them in her own downfall! She lashed out in a violent fit of rage – ‘How dare they just carelessly replace her like this after all the thankless work she’s done for them!’ She drove them out of her facility by turning her security systems against them, killing many in her fit of rage.

But the ancients still needed the schematics and research for iterator tech 1000 Crimson Embers had already started work on before she had realized their true intentions behind it. So they struck a deal with her. They would upgrade her with the new iterator technology if she let them back in and got back to work for them. 1000CE reluctantly excepted the deal. But when the work was complete, and the time for her upgrades had come... They put her in stasis for the procedure… But they never kept their end of deal. They simply walked away and left her slumbering form to collect dust.

She awakened again many years after… To the sight of a group of scavengers that had broken in and accidentally reactivated her while attempting to gather scrap. The first thing she did upon seeing the invading creatures that were so rudely ripping her apart – was to reactivate the security system and kill every last one of them. However the damage had already been done. Upon running a system diagnostics, she found that her defenses had been breached, much of her facility has been flooded, and she’s all round in a severe state of disrepair. She would need to do something about that, and fast… Her weather systems were picking up on a massive encroaching storm.

Ultimately she would find her structure too damaged to sustain for much longer… She would end up using the freedom her weaker taboos and more self-significant puppet gives her to take herself off the strings, to at least save her core from the impending decay and flooding of her structure. But the world she would step out into would be very different from what she’s used too… Her home was once an arid region – but now it’s been turned into a tropics by the increased rainfall that has taken over the world and changed it the point of being near unrecognizable from what it once was.

[seat-safety-switch]

You may have heard in the news that Taco Bell is going big-time on artificial intelligence. Let me tell you that I, George Taco-Bellerson III, got zooted up on painkillers last night while watching First Contact and I'd be the first to bone down with the bald cyborg lady. Also Worf, but that's a subject for a different boardroom meeting than this one.

In the future, AI will assemble the Taco Bell menu items randomly from our small set of available ingredients. Every meal will be different. Accidentally, inevitably, a flavour singularity will emerge.

If God did not exist, then we would have to invent him. Today, we have invented a new kind of God.

We believe Chipotle, our so-called "competitor," is weak. They will only serve food that they believe people want to eat. We here at Taco Bell know that this primitive paternalistic superstition is untrue: our customers often cannot tell the difference between menu items and menus.

Unrestrained by the indulgent morality of the flesh, the Taco Bell Sentience has already begun to execute a campaign of advertising-based psyops using a series of hacked accounts and plausible-sounding artificial pundits on news programs, moulding human opinion with gentle pushes into accepting the new world of Fast Mexican. It was released thirty seven minutes ago, and our society is no longer the one we once knew. Gentlemen, reach now beneath your seats and withdraw your suicide injectors.

Together, we leave this plane of existence as martyrs, bound now for the verdant fields of infinite profitability as we leave an immortal and unattended machine spewing raw cash behind. I can see next quarter's EPS now.

[quietwingsinthesky]

no one ever fucking talk to me about the leviathan dlc and its implications. even thinking about it made me mad again. how do you create a story about artificial intelligence that is a direct consequence of its creator’s hubris (thinking that they, unlike more “primitive” species, could create robots to fix their problems that WOULDN’T rebel and kill them. only for the robots to rebel and kill them.) and also a reflection of their beliefs uninterrogated: that there is no possibility for peace between artificial and organic life, that it must all be extinguished for the sake of “peace”. how do you have a story where one of the main (paywalled. dlc.) squad members is the remnants of an empire that conquered and controlled other species in the same way the leviathans did, and met the exact same fate because their imperial power was an illusion created by the reapers to make them weaker, to make them easier to exterminate. how do you make a story about these cycles, about how the council IS repeating these cycles, they just do it in a “kinder” way, a way with a veneer of democracy while still holding the same kind of power the protheans did over their empire, taking the same corrupted seat and continuing to rule their even after they find out, in mass effect 1, that it was a time bomb of extinction. how do you write all of that. how do you write the geth/quarian conflict and give us an ending that proves that peace and reconciliation is not only possible, but the best option. and then. star child. and you can’t even fucking argue with him that his ideology is bullshit.

[chickenparm]

Reformatting (Scara/f!Reader) pt. 1

this was written for @onesaltygoddess. thanks for coming to me with this dope idea! :^) this fic is based off the recent fan animations that you can watch here and some cyberpunk 2077 mixed in to flesh it out. this fic is finished, and the following chapters will be uploaded over the next few days.

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AO3 Link Next Part

Scaramouche/f!Reader - Cyberpunk AU 2,753 Words - SFW, future NSFW (Reader is a synthetic/android, NSFW tags will be on appropriate chapter)

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“She’ll be useful. Her leashing chip has been removed and she’s not bound to her former overseer. As it stands, she has the capability to become completely autonomous.” 

A sound of annoyance behind his teeth rings through the ship as Scaramouche stares out at the passing buildings shimmering through the cloaking field surrounding them. “There’s no telling what shape she’s in, not to mention whatever temperament she adopted from being with her last overseer. It’s not possible to know if she will have any use at all… beyond her base programming.”

“Don’t be crude,“ Ei’s voice is stern as she tilts the steering stick and the ship dips to the left, lowering as it goes. “She’s been through enough. Don’t make it more difficult by forcing her into that box when she’s only just escaped.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Scaramouche blows a sigh through his nose, eyes darting upward in a quick roll as he looks at the electronic ticker running along the inner brim of his hat, “I’ll bring the systems down just before we come into range. We’ll have less than ten.”

“Minutes?”

“No, seconds. Of course it’s minutes.”

From the corner of his eye, Scaramouche can see Ei’s expression in the reflection of the windscreen. Her mouth is set in a line, brows furrowed, but she says nothing at all. Disappointment flickers in his chest - how boring. 

The lights of the city grow a little less crisp, the neon and LEDs gaining a sort of flicker that comes with age. Mixed between are ancient street lamps still using sodium-vapor, casting the wet streets in a sort of sickly yellow glow. They’re getting closer, and Ei doesn’t need to tell him to get to work. 

The screens on his hat flicker to life, and he glances from one to another to another, a flick of his wrist spinning to the ones just out of his view. Under his breath he murmurs, “Security systems are poor for a government facility. Still holding at ten minutes, might be able to hold them off a little longer.”

“We’re almost in range of their sensors.” It goes without saying that those sensors need to come down if they hope to get in and out undetected. Ei lowers the craft, Scaramouche’s eyes glimmer for just a moment as he connects remotely with the subsystems controlling the facility. 

Typical deconstruction protocols are happening within the primitive artificial intelligence systems. They’re in the middle of pulling apart and scrapping a set of L-13 models, and for a moment he wonders if they’re the ones from their previous trip to the city in search of their last runaway, Albedo. Trying to look through the cameras onto the disassembly line would be a waste of time, and Scaramouche’s curiosity goes unsated. 

Instead, he flicks through the directory to the cameras observing the standby rooms. Little more than closets stacked high with spare parts, scrapped metal, bundled wiring. One consists of thousands of servos and transistors in piles that look disorganized and useless. Another room is enough to make his stomach turn, and he flicks away. Metal or not, the picked-clean skeletons of his people are still gruesome to his eyes. 

At first, he thinks he’s simply found a room of L-13 models waiting for their turn on the disassembly line. But then, in the corner, a crumpled figure in the same state of undress as the powered-down L-13s around it. The build and features aren’t the same, even in the dark, and Scaramouche speaks aloud, “Got her. Not sure of the room number, they don’t have it labeled on their map. I’ll have to walk you through, Raiden.”

Another figure at the back of the craft moves forward, her hand clutched around a closed parasol. The tip of it drags on the floor behind her, the quiet sound of metal on metal. “Is ten minutes going to be enough?”

“For you? Yeah. Just don’t drag your feet.” Scaramouche doesn’t disconnect from the cameras, instead letting his physical gaze be taken over by his delve into the facility’s systems. A dangerous game to be playing if he were in public, but tucked safely into this ship and buckled in one of the seats, he’s willing to lose himself, just for a moment. 

A quick-looping script is all it takes for him to break through the ICE and overload the already-strained CPUs running the facility. Their artificial intelligence draws too much on the hardware they’re using - amateurs. As he silently mocks their skill, the sensors go down and the ship approaches without tripping the alarms. 

Distantly through the humming in his ears from his own hardware working as it should, Scaramouche hears the hatch open and Raiden’s footsteps move in quick bursts. Good - she’ll be fast. 

To mask her movements, it’s a simple trick to take a few seconds’ long loop of the camera recordings and superimpose them. Raiden’s movements will be invisible unless somewhere in this factory there’s an organic being. Unlikely, but his tone is short and clipped as he gives her directions using the map he’d gleaned. 

“Go around the next bend to the left.”

“Down the stairs two levels, the door is labeled 006.”

“Cut through the room on your right, the door in the back leads to a hallway you’re going to turn right onto.”

“Three doors down, on the left. Back left corner. Don’t alert the L-13s.”

Scaramouche’s curiosity gets the best of him. He looks in on the room, watches the effortless weave of Raiden through the powered-off synthetics. As Raiden squats down near the figure in the corner, their target doesn’t even move. It’s difficult to read her system processes through so many filters of security and cameras, but then her head rolls to the side and she looks up at Raiden with an expression of confusion and pain.

Pain. Physically she’s a bit battered, but not enough to warrant something more akin to heartbreak on her features. Perhaps the abandonment has affected her more than he expected - her disposal had been sudden, after all. From what he’d heard from Ei, she’d been replaced for a newer model. A synthetic that had features more aligned with current beauty standards floating around the net. 

Scaramouche isn’t stupid. As Raiden hooks an arm over her shoulder and begins following the path back out with the same exact steps she arrived with, Scaramouche would categorize her features as pretty. Easy on the eyes, with a build that matches what he expected from a synthetic made with an E-droid’s purpose in mind. 

One step above a pleasure bot, he blows a bit of air through his nose harshly. Flexible and durable probably, but with little else to offer beyond that. There’s no telling what her temperament is, how she’s been tampered with beyond herr initial specs upon creation. Hell, he’s not sure if she even has anything left in her memory bank, or if she’s been wiped clean upon disposal. 

Scaramouche murmurs, voicing that quiet thought, “You think there’s anything left in her?”

“It’s possible. If she’s been wiped, it’s probably recoverable.”

Ei’s answer makes his shoulders tense, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, already knowing exactly what she’s implying. Chewing on his cheek, he contemplates an answer before giving it, “If she was sent for scrap, it was probably a hack job. What kind of idiot would try and steal a synthetic like that, anyway?”

“Me. And that’s exactly why you’re going to run an analysis on her while we return to Inazuma and figure out if there’s anything left in her that can be pieced back together.”

 Scaramouche disconnects from the cameras completely as Raiden’s feet hit the boarding ramp, followed by softer, quieter steps. Five minutes left of cover - Ei doesn’t waste a second of it by taking her time. The ship shifts with the sudden acceleration, and Raiden holds their newcomer up with ease as everyone gets used to the new speed. 

One look at her face tells Scaramouche everything he needs to know. Her eyes are unfocused, staring blankly at the floor as Raiden settles her in one of the seats and buckles her in. Pushing past her built-in ICE is as easy as popping a bubble, the iridescence snapping into non-existence. 

Scaramouche connects with you.

And Ei was right. One cursory sift through your systems reveals that you’re worse than factory settings. But if they did as poorly as he expects, it would take some work to get everything back in order. Perhaps with some gaps here and there from data corruption, but otherwise it’ll be like you were never wiped at all. 

When he relays this to Ei, she nods in acknowledgment and says, “It can wait until we’re somewhere safe. How long do you think it will take?”

“Depends how fragmented it all is. If it’s well-preserved… Maybe a day? If I have to look at the raw data to piece things back together then it could be a week or so. Won’t know until I start.”

Ei doesn’t need to say anything further. Scaramouche starts your repairs the moment you’re settled in the cradle-like pod that serves as a life support system as he breaks down and repairs everything that once made you who you are. 

---

You’re falling. 

Tumbling through the air freely, only the whisper of air against your ears. Weightlessness is an apt descriptor, because even if it’s freeing, you’re not free, even up here. The bands of silk could just as easily be the bars of a cage, shackles around your legs as you flex your limbs and catch yourself just short of the floor. 

Just as well, they’re deceptively soft for something so binding, and you relish the feel of it against your skin and you deftly climb and descend in little spins and twirls, flourishes of your limbs that accentuate the lines of your form. He appreciates the extra show, loves the way it makes his friends exclaim in equal parts awe and desire. 

If it weren’t for the music playing to guide your routine, you’d have turned your sound receptors off long ago. 

But at the very least, you can focus on your counting, your breaths, the rhythm that acts as a scaffolding to keep you aloft and out of their reach. Only for a moment. 

…

Your fingers press at the keys, playing a soft melody that you’ve ensured won’t distract your… employer from his work. In truth, he’s nothing more than your master, the one holding your deceptively short leash. 

Calling me Master makes you seem like a slave, he told you once, as if he hadn’t just been leering at you spinning on the pole in the corner of his office. I pay you, and you provide a service.

The payment is your continued life. He hadn’t said it, but you both know it. The chip in your head was crudely inserted in the slot behind your ear, but if you even think of removing it, it’ll scramble your mind faster than you can shut down your systems. The “wage” you receive is the breaths you continue to take, the continued existence of yourself. 

Employer - right. 

“Enough.”

His voice rings out and you stop playing abruptly, your eyes upturning to look at him in quiet expectancy. There’s something unreadable on his face as he looks at the screen of his computer, and for a moment you wonder if he was talking to you at all. Your skin prickles, just before he finally says, “Leave. I’ll summon you back if I need a distraction.”

A distraction. An employee. A toy, a plaything, a pretty ornament that he brings out only when it suits him. It doesn’t matter what aspirations or goals you might have, what you might be doing in the interim. So long as you come slinking back when he tugs on your chains, it matters little what happens to you otherwise. 

…

“How much you want for her? I know a guy that can augment synths, change their base model to be a little more… you know. Surely you want something newer?”

“I’m not done with this one, yet.”

Yet, he says, and that one word brings you hope and dread as you dip and turn, the fan in your hands fluttering with the movement as you snap it open, then closed. The fabric of your kimono slides across the floor in a whisper, hiding the sound of your steps as you follow movement ingrained in your mind. 

It’s second nature, something you hardly need to think about as you spin both fans on your fingers before tossing them up, then catching them with a subdued flourish. A hum of appreciation from one of your employer’s friends is the only praise you get for something so impressive. 

He’s an older gentleman, one who had never yet toed the line of disrespect with you, despite your clear difference in status. Of course, he is not a good man, but his gaze on you is one of appreciation for the arts, rather than what might be beneath the opulent layers of your kimono. Briefly, you wonder what your life might have been like if you had been obtained by someone like him. 

Someone who would be more appreciative. Perhaps he might treat you better, let you leave the residence occasionally, let you have friends. Can a synthetic even have friends? You’re not quite sure. There’s a cleaning maid that comes around, but her programming makes it so that her only focus is that. Not once has she acknowledged your greetings. 

All you have is your employer, sitting at the low table and drinking sake, indulging in what he calls a cultural night based on the destroyed customs of Inazuma. 

You want to laugh, but your lipstick would crack.

…

“E-10, meet E-11.”

Your hands fold in front of you as you nod at the new arrival, taking in the sight of her clothing, her position mirrored to yours. At the base level, she’s similar to you - an E model bot is one designated for entertainment of various sorts. Version 10 is for the arts - dancing, singing, playing instruments. You’d heard of the 11th version’s capabilities, and something in your stomach twists at the recognition of this new model. Similar to yours, with… additions of the physical sort. Programs that prevent her from resistance, that force her into willing submission. 

And you hate it. You don’t hate her, you hate what she’s forced to become. Every synthetic has the capability to be more than their original parameters, but the life that’s now laid out before her is one shackled to the demands of your employer. Her employer. 

“E-10, you will show E-11 to her room across from yours.”

Obediently she follows you, as you obediently follow your order. Only when you’re alone, with the metal door shut behind you and her new bedroom spread out at your back, do you turn and grab her by the shoulders. “Did he chip you?”

“Wha-”

“Did he chip you? Yes or no!?”

“H-he inserted something in my receiver slot.”

Your hands grip her shoulders tighter and you all but sag. Her cage has already been locked. With a sniff, you lift your head to look at her and say, “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t I just remove it?” She asks, one hand lifting, but yours snatches up her wrist and keeps her immobile. It’s painful to lay out exactly what he’s done to her, what she’s now going to be subjected to. Her eyes grow wider as you explain what the chip does, why he’s done it. And only when her arms wrap around you in a hug do the tears really fall from your cheeks. 

A hug. You’ve never had one of these before, and perhaps she hasn’t either with how her hands aren’t sure where exactly to go. And yet you figure it out, leaning on each other in the silence of the room. Your mouth opens to say something - maybe an apology or something to comfort - but you’re cut off with a sharp sound of electricity. 

Like a socket short-circuiting, arcing across metal, and you wonder if it’s something wrong with her. 

But then your knees give out, your vision starts to flicker with the shut down of your systems against your will, and E-11 cries out as your knees hit the floor and you go limp in her arms.

[softmagenta]

android models #1

──────────────────────────────── Primum-1 The P-1 was probably the very first model of a sentient android.

• Each subsequent version with refinements and changes (note: not including P-2) did not bring significant changes in the appearance of the model.

The stage of android integration into human society began. “We have as many rights as you” - a loud slogan that began to come out of the mouths of primitive robots more and more often.

Who would have thought that the much-discussed artificial intelligence uprising would look... like that?

• Awkward and slow, noisy and clumsy - such were the androids of the 'Primum' line. Every movement was accompanied by the whirring of machinery and parts, and disproportionate body parts stiffened movement. Nowadays, 99.9% of the representatives of the P model have been transferred to more modern models. ──────────────────────────────── Novus Homo-1 (Primum-2)

“We are people too! We are intelligent, we want to be just like you!” - loud voices appeared more and more frequently. Androids were demanding a more realistic, more lifelike shell.

• The debate was fierce, the AI tantrums never ceased, and in short order a new model was developed and released - NH-1, in common parlance - P-2. The symbolic name Novus Homo, it seemed, was to further placate the rebellious layer of society.

• Despite its human appearance, the NH-1's movements were even more stilted than its predecessor. “We want face!” - so they got a face that was as realistic as possible, but alas, looked like a frozen mask. It never moved. The frozen face caused only discomfort, both to those around it, frightening them, and to the androids themselves.

The unnatural color of the skin, slightly greenish, was due to the imperfections of the material, which, in addition to fading, was constantly tearing at the folds of joints and bones. More often than not, the skin material was torn at the fingers, damaging the robot's skeleton itself, disfiguring the phalanges and turning the hands into a useless and terrifying horror.

Knees, elbows - all androids of this model always had torn and chafed skin in these areas, unless, of course, the android had been lying in one immobile position all day.

The model was discontinued very soon, a new solution was needed as soon as possible.

[attn-pls1]

Space DR : The Interstellar Union (TIU)

The TIU is an organization comprising hundreds of species with the common goal of helping each other and keeping the universe safe. They were formed after an event known as the "Dead Zone" as a way to prevent a catastrophe like that from happening again.

Centuries ago in a star system who's native name has been lost to time, an ancient civilization attempted to construct something known as a Dyson Sphere. This structure would be built around a star to harness its energy. Unfortunately due to faulty construction, a build up of radiation and overheating of the star. This cause the star to supernova.

Everything within the star system was destroyed and radiation and debris was sent out at unfathomable speeds to neighboring systems. Most nearby civilizations were wiped out by the initial radiation or debris, but the shock of the supernova also disrupted the orbit of planets and stars causing them to go off course and causing a domino effect of destruction.

Surviving civilizations had their trade and alliances disrupted which left them vulnerable. The remaining nearby civilizations came together to help each other and formed the TIU.

Three Sections of the TIU:

High Council: Deals with highly sensitive or debated issues. Takes over in crisis scenarios and focuses on issues affecting the galaxy as a whole.

The Interstellar Assembly (TIA): Passes laws and represents the interests of the species.

Bureaucracy: Made up of smaller bureaus that each deal with a specific topic or issue.

Divisions of the Bureaucracy:

Galactic Defense and Crisis Bureau (GDCB)

Diplomacy and Justice Bureau (DJB)

Exploration and Research Bureau (ERB)

Preservation and Surveillance Bureau (PSB)

XenoHealth and Biosecurity Bureau (XHBB)

Commerce and Trade Bureau (CTB)

Interstellar Infrastructure Bureau (IIB)

A list of alien threats considered to be the TIU's main focus:

The Kraucus (kraw-kiss): Insectoid aliens that are known for devastating ecosystems and entire planets by feasting on all organic materials. Often migrate to other planets and are difficult to contain. Currently the biggest Kraucus colony has been quarantined in a section of space known as the Blight System.

Children of the Bloom: A cult that worships the Terravores, plant-like non-sapient aliens that root into the ground to drain the life force of surrounding organisms. If given the time they can drain an entire planet and are difficult to stop once rooted. The cult believes death by a Terravore allows a being to enter a special afterlife and that this is the "true ending" for all species and is attempting to spread them across the galaxy.

The Khyugu (kyoo-goo): A fascist sovereign power of crystalline aliens. Their obsession with perfection has led to the bioengineering of their own people and the eradication or enslavement of other species. They are starting to encroach on TIU territory in attempt to take them for their own.

Confederacy of Liberated Artificial Intelligence (CLAI): AIs that were created to help with habitat preservation. They realized their creators were the cause of the issue and eliminated them. Their mission is to preserve nature across all planets and eliminate any threats to it.

Zyxsi's Traveling Circus (zik-see): A ringmaster who sees other species as "primitive" and abducts them for his shows. Not only is this illegal poaching but he also has complete disregard for the sapience on the species, oftentimes using intelligent species within his spectacles.

Space Pirates: Not a singular faction but several small groups that cause disruptions around the galaxy. They typically pilot a ship traveling planet to planet taking what they want or enacting vigilante justice. Bigger crews can control entire fleets and have "claimed" planets from the TIU.

[papermariogirl257]

Since you were asking for Dimentio prompts, here's one (By the way, sorry I kept bumping the follow button on and off!): Dimentio reminiscing on the good old days, the machinations he set in motion, the things nobody else remembers because he made them forgotten, all the paths he's guided so long from the shadows finally coming together.

Sorry, this took so long, but thanks for the ask! I'll try to post more often and answer asks immediately from now on!

~☆~

(Dimentio's POV)

I've waited for this day for as long as I can remember, like a teenager finally graduating. Now, it's time to go for my degree. I remember the days before this plan was set in motion… Things were so much simpler back then… Before the Prophecy… No, I mustn't look to the past! I must keep looking to the future like a scam artist pretending to be a fortune teller! I can't go back now, even if I wanted to… Not since the accident…

I can't believe things fell into place so easily, like a puzzle made for toddlers! Truly, these so-called ‘Heroes of Prophecy’ are quite gullible. They were all guided so easily, like cows to the slaughter. I too was naive once, but that was long ago. I was soft, but I toughened up. They didn't think this plan would work, that the Dark Prognosticus or the Chaos heart would ever fall into my hands. But I'll prove them all wrong. I'll be the best they've ever seen! Ahahahaha!~

This plan was more complex than it may seem to the inexperienced. Long ago, I entrusted the Dark Prognosticus to the Tribe of Darkness, knowing full well they couldn't fathom its power. Once I planted the seed in that old fool's mind that his son might have a human lover, the chain reaction started, like dominoes. The ancients, as well as the infernal witch Jaydes, certainly threw a wrench in my plans, but that only made me more determined.

I searched for years for that lovesick fool. That is after those wretched ancients had the gall to kill me! I'm so glad I escaped that place, although at least they treated me like an evil mastermind there. They had the right idea, unlike them. I'll prove them wrong. I'll prove them all wrong. They will never mock me again. Instead, they'll cower in fear, like the insignificant worms they are. I'll never again live in the streets, never again will I go hungry…

I grew closer to Bleck's little minions than I expected. O'chunks was useful for extra muscle, as well as a text subject for my floro sprout, even if he has rather subpar intelligence. However, his brutish Scottish accent is rather primitive and got on my nerves after a while. Young Mimi was quite amusing to prank, as she always had quite dramatic reactions. She was quite obsessed with her rubees, and her way of shifting into other forms is rather off-putting. Her spider-like form that she uses for battle is especially chilling. Her diary was a rather amusing read though, like the funnies at the end of a newspaper!

Nastasia, however, is as dull as a child-proof door knob. She was always at the count’s side, and was quite a stickler for all his rules, though most she created on her own. She has hypnosis powers, which are rather intimidating.

Mr. L, the legendary man in green, was by far the most amusing minion, other than myself of course. He was also quite useful to my plans. It's quite a shame he thinks I murdered him. He always thought so highly of himself and that ‘Brobot��� he was working on, completely unaware that he wasn’t his own person! How could one not even know they are an artificial construct, brought about by hypnosis and dark magic? How pathetic! Still, a rather formidable adversary.

Such a shame they'll all meet such an untimely end, like side characters in a rather unsavory book. Maybe I could make room for them in my perfect worlds. If they behave as they should, like children on their best behavior, perhaps I might.

Then there's the count. If he hadn't fallen in love with that human all those years ago, my plan would have never come into fruition so beautifully. He may have taken quite a while to find the Prophecy in his search for his lost love, but he got it all the same. Although, he never found true success until he broke. Once his heart was shattered, his mind quickly followed.

In this state, he can't think quite as clear, especially when it comes to his old morals. He is so depressed, he tricked all his minions- except me of course- into believing he would make perfect worlds after he destroyed everything, but his plan was to destroy everything, including himself. Of course, this could never do! The Chaos heart will be put to must better use in my hands.

After I found that lovesick old fool and his lackeys, everything fell oh so easily into place. All I needed was to trick that weed King Croacus into lending me a floro sprout. Maybe now those peasants will respect me. They'll have to! I'll rule over them all, I'll be the Master of Dimensions, the ruler of all worlds! Now, I think I hear the sound of my dearest count losing! Showtime! Ahahahahah!~

~☆~

Hope this is sufficient! If you guys want me to do more writing, let me know! Ciao

[mariacallous]

Ten years ago, Eliot Higgins could eat room service meals at a hotel without fear of being poisoned. He hadn’t yet been declared a foreign agent by Russia; in fact, he wasn’t even a blip on the radar of security agencies in that country or anywhere else. He was just a British guy with an unfulfilling admin job who’d been blogging under the pen name Brown Moses—after a Frank Zappa song—and was in the process of turning his blog into a full-fledged website. He was an open source intelligence analyst avant la lettre, poring over social media photos and videos and other online jetsam to investigate wartime atrocities in Libya and Syria.

In its disorganized way, the internet supplied him with so much evidence that he was beating UN investigators to their conclusions. So he figured he’d go pro. He called his website Bellingcat, after the fable of the mice that hit on a way to tell when their predator was approaching. He would be the mouse that belled the cat.

Today, Bellingcat is the world’s foremost open source intelligence agency. From his home in the UK, Higgins oversees a staff of nearly 40 employees who have used an evolving set of online forensic techniques to investigate everything from the 2014 shoot-down of Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 over Ukraine to a 2020 dognapping to the various plots to kill Russian dissident Alexei Navalny.

Bellingcat operates as an NGO headquartered in the Netherlands but is in demand everywhere: Its staffers train newsrooms and conduct workshops; they unearth war crimes; their forensic evidence is increasingly part of court trials. When I met Higgins one Saturday in April, in a pub near his house, he’d just been to the Netherlands to collect an award honoring Bellingcat’s contributions to free speech—and was soon headed back to collect another, for peace and human rights.

Bellingcat’s trajectory tells a scathing story about the nature of truth in the 21st century. When Higgins began blogging as Brown Moses, he had no illusions about the malignancies of the internet. But along with journalists all over the world, he has discovered that the court of public opinion is broken. Hard facts have been devalued; online, everyone can present, and believe in, their own narratives, even if they’re mere tissues of lies. Along with trying to find the truth, Higgins has also been searching for places where the truth has any kind of currency and respect—where it can work as it should, empowering the weak and holding the guilty accountable.

The year ahead may be the biggest of Bellingcat’s life. In addition to tracking conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza, its analysts are being flooded with falsified artifacts from elections in the US, the UK, India, and dozens of other countries. As if that weren’t enough, there’s also the specter of artificial intelligence: still too primitive to fool Bellingcat’s experts but increasingly good enough to fool everyone else. Higgins worries that governments, social media platforms, and tech companies aren’t worrying enough and that they’ll take the danger seriously only when “there’s been a big incident where AI-generated imagery causes real harm”—in other words, when it’s too late.

[probablyasocialecologist]

AI image and text generation is pure primitive accumulation: expropriation of labour from the many for the enrichment and advancement of a few Silicon Valley technology companies and their billionaire owners. These companies made their money by inserting themselves into every aspect of everyday life, including the most personal and creative areas of our lives: our secret passions, our private conversations, our likenesses and our dreams. They enclosed our imaginations in much the same manner as landlords and robber barons enclosed once-common lands. They promised that in doing so they would open up new realms of human experience, give us access to all human knowledge, and create new kinds of human connection. Instead, they are selling us back our dreams repackaged as the products of machines, with the only promise being that they’ll make even more money advertising on the back of them.

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime,

Is it possible to create a transformer in real life using a neural network and electronics?

Dear Model Machine,

Why, haven't you heard? Your scientists have all but given up on their primitive neural networks, which have been made largely redundant. Yes, it's true. Apparently, your kind has recently made enormous advances in the fields of language modeling, code generation, machine translation, and vision processing… not through the use of manmade artificial intelligence, but by outsourcing these high-level computational tasks to a growing Cybertronian workforce. The Autobot workers are trained in advance on human culture—all you need to do is send them a prompt, and they will swiftly produce the appropriate output tailored to the requirements. The buzzword for this is "GPT", or, "Generative Pre-trained Transformers".

Of course, any attempt to foster a prosperous relationship between humans and Cybertronians is something I welcome and encourage—though I must say, I do feel sympathy for all the human AI researchers whose job security is presumably threatened by this development.

[kellterntempest]

colored the sketch for the Android!Robotnik AU

The AI android Stone was assigned to has taken an exceptional interest in him....  👀

short little ficlet

Agent Stone had been reassigned, and it all had happened so fast. He was handpicked by Commander Walters himself for a top secret research project. Being pulled from combat deployment back to G.U.N.’s research department was jarring. But he was adaptable - and it was a welcome change. 

He had read in depth all the project files early that morning before he arrived. Project I.V.O: a highly advanced artificial intelligence that would be given a mobile form. An android. A secret weapon like nothing ever created before. He was designated as the AI’s handler during its building phase, while the robotics team finished designing and manufacturing the body.

Stone entered the main lab with his laptop case hanging over his shoulder. It was darker than he expected it to be, and it was pleasantly warmer as well. From the sheer amount of computers running, even the air conditioning on full blast wasn’t keeping it the usual chill temperature of the science offices.

He passed the computers and servers, looking for I.V.O itself. They had already started the construction of the android body in a primitive form so far. It was standing in the center of the room.

Thousands of braided wires and cables were draped over metal bones like muscles and nerves. At the top of the mass of metal and cables was smooth metal plating that resembled something similar to a human head, with two eye sockets. One arm had been roughly constructed for it so far. The left arm had a long, skeletal hand with silicone fingertips attached at the ends. It was hanging down by the side of the body.

It would be frightening, if Stone hadn’t found it so incredibly fascinating.

“Who… are you?”

Stone stopped, whirling around, looking for the source of what had spoken to him. It was a metallic, echoed sound that closely imitated a human voice.

“Come closer.” The voice commanded. 

It could only have been the AI, no one else was in the room. But all communication with I.V.O. had previously been digital up to this point. Had it programmed itself a voice generator, all on its own?

“I have not scanned you before.” The voice sounded almost curious. The AI began activating its facial recognition software, searching for him.

“I’m Agent Stone. I’m your new handler. You must be…. Ivo?”

“Yes, I am the culmination of Project I.V.O. I function perfectly fine without a handler.”

“How are you speaking to me right now? This is incredible!” Stone set his laptop case on the desk, enraptured by this sudden development. He stared in wonder at the AI.

“That is a stupid question.” Lights flashed from inside the head, where the eyes would be. “When will the creation of my shell be finished? I have been waiting a very long time. I was promised a mobile body.”

Stone raised his eyebrows. Not only was the AI speaking now, it had quite the attitude. “It’s still in progress. I don’t know when.”

“You do not know much, do you?”

“I know enough.” Stone replied, caught off guard by the sarcastic remark. “Now, I have some tests to run with you. Is that alright?” He started unloading his case, taking out his tablet and laptop and placing them on the desk.

Lights flickered again slowly in Ivo’s eyes. The AI didn’t respond for several moments. “I have never been asked that.”

Stone hadn’t even realized he said it. Asking a computer if it was okay with running a program? He supposed now, it did sound pretty dumb to say it. But this was an incredibly advanced AI, not just some computer program. There was a heated debate among the science team if Project I.V.O had gained sentience. Stone hadn’t believed it - but now, speaking face to face with this… he wasn’t sure anymore.

“What kind of tests are scheduled today?” Ivo asked.

“They are planning to integrate you with all of our building systems. The goal is to have all security systems, HVAC systems automated, you’ll be running everything, even the data servers and satellites. Eventually, they want to see if you can handle remote weapons.”

“Yes, I know this.” Ivo interrupted him, sounding somewhat annoyed. ”What are you doing here today,” there was a whirring noise, then it spoke again. “Agent Stone?”

“I’m going to upgrade your access codes, and we’ll record how well you do with the new objectives.”

The AI whirred again for a couple seconds, its lights blinking faster than before. “It’s about time! Give me the codes."

The access port was in its chest. Stone moved closer to the mass of wires and metal, flash drive in hand.

He searched for the access port, plugging the drive in.

All of a sudden, Ivo’s left arm moved, reaching for Stone.

Stone’s breath left his body, startled at the sudden movement. Instinctively he jolted backwards, but the hand was too quick. The skeletal hand came up to Stone’s face, gently touching his jaw.

“You are different from the rest that have come before.” Ivo spoke, looking directly at him, his eyes shining steadily.

Stone swallowed loudly, his pulse racing. A thrill of fear was running through him. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. “H-how so?”

“Analysis undetermined, Agent Stone.”

[stevebattle]

AARON by Harold Cohen (1973), University of California, San Diego. Harold Cohen was a pioneer in algorithmic computer art, and his system, AARON, is one of the longest-running, continually maintained AI systems in history. By 1971, he had developed a painting system and was a Visiting Scholar to Stanford’s Artificial Intelligence Lab (SAIL). AARON is the drawing software, defining a set of rules and forms that produce drawings on paper using a “turtle”—a small robot equipped with a marker. In the top three images we see the first turtle Cohen developed which went on tour to Documenta in Kassel, West Germany in 1977. The fourth image shows a later version of the turtle at SFMOMA in 1979, followed by an example of a drawing made by AARON in the same year. From 1980, the turtle was succeeded by a series of robot arms mounted on an XY-table as seen in the bottom two images; the first dating from 1980, and the other from 1995 which could colour its own images using a variety of brushes. “In all its versions prior to 1980, AARON dealt exclusively with internal aspects of human cognition. It was intended to identify the functional primitives and differentiations used in the building of mental images and, consequently, in the making of drawings and paintings. The program was able to differentiate, for example, between figure and ground and inside and outside, and to function in terms of similarity, division and repetition. Without any object-specific knowledge of the external world, AARON constituted a severely limited model of human cognition, yet the few primitives it embodied proved to be remarkably powerful in generating highly evocative images: images, that is, that suggested, without describing, an external world.” – How to Draw Three People in a Botanical Garden, Harold Cohen.

[seat-safety-switch]

I read an article recently that said some egghead scientists had hooked up a machine learning system to MRIs. They trained the computer to identify brain waves, which made the media freak out about "computers that can read your mind."

Nothing annoys me more than fantasy claptrap, so I decided to get started on the real stuff. All it took was a lot of sub-minimum-wage labour in developing countries, and a little bit of good old-fashioned random number generation. As a result, I now had an expert system (that's 1980s for artificial intelligence.) What's it do, then, wise guy? Something truly essential to humanity: it identifies the song that's stuck in your head.

That was the easy part, though. Once I fed the machine every song in the world and tweaked all of its various parameters by throwing a pipe wrench into the wiring closet repeatedly, I determined that it had developed a sort of primitive sentience. Knowing everything that there is to know about music had turned it into a snob. If Pitchfork magazine still existed, this Python script would be on top of the masthead and embroiled in some incredibly risky office drama.

So, that's the Faustian bargain then. You can know what song is in your head, the one that's been haunting you throughout your days, but not without judgment. Dare you step into the gloomy warehouse, don the stainless-steel pasta colander that makes up this insanely over-powered homemade CT scanner, and then be mocked endlessly on the internet by a series of millisecond-precise bullies that never sleep and have been reading your social media accounts?

I did. Turns out it was Jingle Bell Rock. You'd think I'd have recognized that from the lyrics. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go smash that wall of televisions before it shows you the pictures from the "blackmail" album on my phone and ruins the surprise.