#time server technology
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mobatime · 1 day ago
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MOBATIME NTP Time Servers: Accurate Time Synchronization
Excellent NTP Time Servers from MOBATIME are available for accurate timekeeping in medium- and large-scale networks. Our time servers provide a trustworthy time reference by ensuring that all systems remain in sync. To ensure accuracy, each model has top-notch oscillators, such as TCXO and OCXO.
A variety of types are available, such as the DTS 4128, which can process 1,500 requests per second, or the DTS 4136, which can process 3,000 requests per second. These NTP Time Server are adaptable for a variety of applications because they handle several protocols, including NTP and DCF.
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Businesses that want reliable time management will find MOBATIME's products ideal. We make sure your infrastructure functions properly since we are committed to quality and client happiness. With MOBATIME's cutting-edge time server technology, enjoy the benefit of exact time synchronization.
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faggotfungus · 1 year ago
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Walking through a server room is like being inside the nervous system of an omnipresent being while its fan like lungs breathe all around you.
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bearded-shepherd · 17 days ago
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I finally put the thing I built my NAS + Jellyfin for
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norsesuggestions · 1 year ago
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Gotta love the 1970s printing press factories workers unions reactions to punch clocks (=stämpelklocka):
This tidbit about the punch clock is from a blogpost about some of printers unions of the worlds reactions when the introduction of computer technology put them all under the fear to lose their jobs.
Quoted below is a text about new ways introduced in the printing presses to make the workers work faster, and via that, have an excuse to fire them for being "too slow":
"MTM is a method of breaking down work processes into standardized sub-moments in order to be able to streamline and rationalize work efforts and personnel as much as possible.
The factory workers were rightly afraid that this would lead to every second if their work day being controlled. 
The printing press workers response to mtm was, among other things, to pour lead into the employers punch clock (stämpelklocka)."
Lol my grandpa was a printing press factory worker during the 1970s. I wonder if he poured led into the punch clock (stämpelklocka) at some point haha 😂
(Grandpa was very involved in that factories workers union, so it is not impossible)
Source of qoute, quickly translated to english by me:
Link
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forever-nerdsrope · 1 month ago
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listenin to big mans fav albums playlist while I code and wow we're connected now
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r0semultiverse · 3 months ago
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I think it’s very telling that there’s only like two web sites I know of that still actually have humans moderating them and checking mass reports. One is furaffinity and the other one was mentioned in a group VC that I forgot the name of. There’s so little human site moderation these days that as long as you have bots and bot hosting technology, by all intents and purposes you are the site moderation. Which I think we can all agree is pretty fucked up!
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rowanokiri · 2 years ago
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The ease of which bad actors can now shut anything they want down cannot be understated. The conglomerization of internet communities, and the pushing of the ones that couldn’t into wholly private areas is an effect of that.
to access hosting and tools and just the manpower to shut down bad actors when they want to ruin something public takes so much money most independent ventures simply can’t.
Look, I'm as salty about walled-garden Discords replacing public-facing forums as the next nerd, but you've gotta understand that the reason people generally aren't operating their own forums anymore isn't because they're lazy.
Entirely apart from the labour of moderating a forum without any infrastructure to fall back on – and that labour is considerable! – the fact of the matter is that most modern privately hosted forum communities only exist at all by virtue of their obscurity.
The ability of bad-faith actors to render a forum unusable vastly outstrips the ability of a typical private individual to combat those efforts. A privately hosted forum community survives right up until the moment it encounters That One Guy who's willing to spend every spare moment for the next several months launching DDoS attacks because someone disagreed with his weird reactionary politics one time or he got moderated for saying the N word – and in the modern era, the odds of encountering That One Guy are much greater than they were in the turn-of-the-millennium heyday of forum culture.
I genuinely don't know if there's a good solution to this problem, but it explains a whole lot about the contemporary move toward non-public-facing, invitation-only communities; for all their shortcomings, the fact that they generally don't have to deal with this shit is a big perk.
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kangseluigi · 8 months ago
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There was that scene in Kim's Convenience where the daughter is in her photography class and her lecturer is looking up her website, realises the first page isn't hers, the second is also not hers, she has to go to page 2 of google and at that point just throws down her hands and says at that point, as a potential customer, she already loses interest and gives up cause it's not worth the effort
and lately I just feel like the whole fucking internet feels like that
I want to look up how to use cricut stuff and what that even really is, what can I do with what but when I put their name in i get taken to the fucking shop with no explanations far and wide, then next link is also the shop, next link is ALSO the shop but different, and by the time I finally find a page that has any kind of explanation, i'm so annoyed that the hoops is makes me jump through THEN—e.g. selecting which topic I want to learn more about—I'm no longer interested in doing this shit
the other day I wanted to look up what Nokia is up to in terms of phones these days but they no longer have 1 coherent website. In general, many places seem to not want any coherence in their websites, or sub-menus that you can easily navigate
Like, I come from myspace. I know how to navigate the internet. I played WoW in days of dial-up internet. And yet, everything is so goddamn convoluted and incoherent, there is NO structure or logic to anything and on top of that, google, and with it most other search engines, are fucking fried! A few years ago, if a website was really badly designed, you could just navigate back, google the website + search term you needed and get there somehow, but now that is also useless more often than not!
At this point I am genuinely over the internet. We had a good 15 years with it, let's pack it up.
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ecrivainsolitaire · 16 days ago
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A summary of the Chinese AI situation, for the uninitiated.
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These are scores on different tests that are designed to see how accurate a Large Language Model is in different areas of knowledge. As you know, OpenAI is partners with Microsoft, so these are the scores for ChatGPT and Copilot. DeepSeek is the Chinese model that got released a week ago. The rest are open source models, which means everyone is free to use them as they please, including the average Tumblr user. You can run them from the servers of the companies that made them for a subscription, or you can download them to install locally on your own computer. However, the computer requirements so far are so high that only a few people currently have the machines at home required to run it.
Yes, this is why AI uses so much electricity. As with any technology, the early models are highly inefficient. Think how a Ford T needed a long chimney to get rid of a ton of black smoke, which was unused petrol. Over the next hundred years combustion engines have become much more efficient, but they still waste a lot of energy, which is why we need to move towards renewable electricity and sustainable battery technology. But that's a topic for another day.
As you can see from the scores, are around the same accuracy. These tests are in constant evolution as well: as soon as they start becoming obsolete, new ones are released to adjust for a more complicated benchmark. The new models are trained using different machine learning techniques, and in theory, the goal is to make them faster and more efficient so they can operate with less power, much like modern cars use way less energy and produce far less pollution than the Ford T.
However, computing power requirements kept scaling up, so you're either tied to the subscription or forced to pay for a latest gen PC, which is why NVIDIA, AMD, Intel and all the other chip companies were investing hard on much more powerful GPUs and NPUs. For now all we need to know about those is that they're expensive, use a lot of electricity, and are required to operate the bots at superhuman speed (literally, all those clickbait posts about how AI was secretly 150 Indian men in a trenchcoat were nonsense).
Because the chip companies have been working hard on making big, bulky, powerful chips with massive fans that are up to the task, their stock value was skyrocketing, and because of that, everyone started to use AI as a marketing trend. See, marketing people are not smart, and they don't understand computers. Furthermore, marketing people think you're stupid, and because of their biased frame of reference, they think you're two snores short of brain-dead. The entire point of their existence is to turn tall tales into capital. So they don't know or care about what AI is or what it's useful for. They just saw Number Go Up for the AI companies and decided "AI is a magic cow we can milk forever". Sometimes it's not even AI, they just use old software and rebrand it, much like convection ovens became air fryers.
Well, now we're up to date. So what did DepSeek release that did a 9/11 on NVIDIA stock prices and popped the AI bubble?
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Oh, I would not want to be an OpenAI investor right now either. A token is basically one Unicode character (it's more complicated than that but you can google that on your own time). That cost means you could input the entire works of Stephen King for under a dollar. Yes, including electricity costs. DeepSeek has jumped from a Ford T to a Subaru in terms of pollution and water use.
The issue here is not only input cost, though; all that data needs to be available live, in the RAM; this is why you need powerful, expensive chips in order to-
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Holy shit.
I'm not going to detail all the numbers but I'm going to focus on the chip required: an RTX 3090. This is a gaming GPU that came out as the top of the line, the stuff South Korean LoL players buy…
Or they did, in September 2020. We're currently two generations ahead, on the RTX 5090.
What this is telling all those people who just sold their high-end gaming rig to be able to afford a machine that can run the latest ChatGPT locally, is that the person who bought it from them can run something basically just as powerful on their old one.
Which means that all those GPUs and NPUs that are being made, and all those deals Microsoft signed to have control of the AI market, have just lost a lot of their pulling power.
Well, I mean, the ChatGPT subscription is 20 bucks a month, surely the Chinese are charging a fortune for-
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Oh. So it's free for everyone and you can use it or modify it however you want, no subscription, no unpayable electric bill, no handing Microsoft all of your private data, you can just run it on a relatively inexpensive PC. You could probably even run it on a phone in a couple years.
Oh, if only China had massive phone manufacturers that have a foot in the market everywhere except the US because the president had a tantrum eight years ago.
So… yeah, China just destabilised the global economy with a torrent file.
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damlahayal · 2 months ago
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deunmiu-dessie · 6 months ago
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1/2 (unedited)
𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : in the year 3020, androids of all types are being produced globally. cybernautic technologies (cnt), the leading company in the field, is offering anyone who has bought an android from them the opportunity to be selected as a beta tester for any of their upcoming models at no cost—all you have to do is sign up. while the odds of being chosen are quite low, when cnt has revealed the imminent launch of their latest android, named 'the guard dog.' you arrive home to a large, heavy package bearing the cybernautic technologies logo waiting at your doorstep.
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SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:16 PM.
“hello, welcome to the prospect, i’ll be your server for today.”
“will that be all?”
“thank you for dining here at the prospect!”
“what would you like to drink tonight?”
“would you prefer soup or salad?”
“will you be paying in credits?”
“it seems you're low on mexus currency, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“here at the prospect, everything is cooked and served by humans.”
“enjoy the rest of your stay here in felicity port.”
⸺⸺⸺⸺ ☙ ⸺⸺⸺⸺
everything slipped by in a haze, a blur of muted colors and indistinct sounds, as if the world outside had faded into a dreamlike state; and you don't remember eating at all today. the gnawing emptiness in your belly screaming for attention is testament to that, your body desperately trying to consume itself whole in mutiny. your fingers glide over the soft fat of your stomach, a tender caress meant to placate the piercing pains and the grumbling whale noises. however, it continues its revolt and doubles its efforts.
as a matter of fact, you couldn't remember if you’d even gone home the day prior or stayed to work through your off hours into this shift. because the moment you clocked in, time seemed nonexistent. hours evaporated into mere moments, while seconds stretched into agonizing eternities, voices overlapped and the heat of the kitchen crept underneath skin and charred bones, words pierced hearts and knives nicked flesh. claret hued blood confused with strawberry puree.
 there was no concept of time here at the prospect. you realized that a month into working. after weeks and weeks of grueling work, where each day bled into the next, a nightmarish cycle of labor that left you retching and gasping for air every single time you came home, time seemed to warp and stretch. it felt as if the second you crossed the threshold of your home, you were heading back to work, with barely enough time to brush the smell of puke from your breath. and for the entire bleak month of feburary, you found yourself ensnared in a twisted romance with your bathroom toilet; a tall glass of orange juice- your only companion in this grim affair.
and because there was never a point when the restaurant was empty, there was never a moment when the workers could break. never a moment to catch your breath, to declutter your mind, to steady your heart, never a time to think. thoughts raced like the orders flying out of the kitchen; contemplation was a luxury they could not afford. adapt or face the door—those were the unspoken rules. amy, one of the general managers, often said, “you can rest when you’re six feet under.” ironically, her break arrived just a few months later.
the prospect stood as a rare sanctuary in a world dominated by machines, and was one of the few places that hired humans and humans only. a coveted position here came with a lengthy waiting list, despite the shit wages which barely compensated for the grueling labor. so there was no way you would leave, no way you could quit. besides, it wasn't all bad— it was quite the close-knit family here, and working could be fun most days with the right manager scheduled. and the perks were good enough. you needed the money.
“chica? you leavin’?”
your head swivels tiredly in the direction of the smooth, rich voice of your co-worker nina, her long dark tresses are pulled into a low ponytail, and the familiar piercings that embellish her spheroidal face—tiny silver hoops and delicate studs— have been taken off for the start of her shift, giving her an unexpectedly fresh look. your thoughts scatter the moment you see her, like autumn leaves in a brisk wind, as if attempting to hide from nina's presence despite the woman not being able to hear them.
your hand drops from the hold on your pained stomach, gliding down to the unforgiving chill of the bench beneath you, the shock of the cold metal causes goosebumps to ghost along your skin. when the two of you meet eyes, you can't help but grin teasingly as you respond to her, “mhm, i’m off the next two days as well,” there's a keen lilt to your voice and nina groans, her head teetering back in disbelief, her soft, rounded hands settling defiantly on her curvy hips. nina's gaze resembles deep pools of dark chocolate, rich and indulgent, infused with a small hint of cayenne.
“tell me you're thinkin’ about pickin’ up,” her voice pleads, her curvaceous figure now leaning against the threshold of the changing room. nina’s lips, petite yet full with a pronounced cupid's bow, pull into a soft frown, her chin set and a small dimple forming in the skin.
nina’d been working at the prospect long before you came, but the two of you formed bonds quickly in only a couple of weeks despite the age gap, with her being a few years your senior, the connection felt effortless. “i have a new server comin’ in and i don't want to train him alone, you know how packed we get on saturdays.” she mutters bitterly and your nose scrunches up at the mere idea of having to work on the weekend.
because the prospect was one of the three human ran restaurants in felicity port, that wasn't in the glades, it was bound to be packed and always drew in crowds like moths to a flame. most of the dickheads and drunks came out on the weekends and most workers dreaded being scheduled for it. however, when you and nina were on the clock together, most would leap at the chance to work those nights. you let out a sigh and shake your head, lips pursing and toeing into your beat-up shoes. “i would– you know i would, but cody is on my ass for the amount of overtime i racked up last month, so i can't.”
nina’s forehead gently collides with the door frame as she processes your response, a rhythmic thud echoing in the air. after a few moments, she pivots her head to meet your gaze. “bitch, why do you do these things to me? creo que voy a dejarlo.” the question is filled with exhaustion and slight irritation that has your mouth opening in a boisterous laugh, much to nina's growing irritation. the hispanic woman's hand lifts from its grip on the doorframe, and the middle finger raises slowly, but it only makes you laugh harder as you clutch your weathered tote bag and rise from the cold metal bench. ( i think i'm going to quit. )
you lightly tap the toe of your shoes against the floor before walking towards nina and enveloping her shoulders with your arm, lips pressing to her olive toned cheek as a parting gift, soft chuckles still slipping from your lips. "i'll see you monday, nina." you tell her softly, patting her shoulder, then glide by her, walking to the back door of the restaurant.
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SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:45 PM.
there's a chill in the air the moment you cross the threshold into the open, the warm autumn air from early in the morning feels like a figment of your imagination. and for a heartbeat, you linger, eyes lifted to the synthetic trees that stretch toward the artificial night sky, watching the transformation of leaves from vibrant green to fiery red, cascading down to the metallic earth below. where with each leaf that touches the surface, vanishes in a delicate explosion of shimmering blue motes.
the loud hum of machinery, and the occasional chirp of synthetic birds flitting between the branches makes your stomach churn. there was nothing real here.
despite it being deep into the night, felicity port was as bright and loud as ever. known to outsiders as: the place that never sleeps, andromexus city thrummed with life. the sharp sound of flying cars and the whoosh of hoverboards, the loud thrum of the machinery just beneath the metallic sidewalks and roads, the sound of pleasure androids promoting their workplace, and the sound of rowdy human men that came with it. there was never a moment where felicity port was silent, never a moment where shit wasn't happening.
it was a place where dreams were made and also came to die-- everyone yearned to call andromexus city home, yet only a select few could endure its relentless pace. it stopped for no one and at times, you wondered how you managed to survive.
your eyes flit around the darkened alleyway, well as dark as it could get with the flickering glow of promotional drones flying around, their neon signs casting a sharp light. you search intently until your eyes land on what you're looking for, or perhaps, who, you are looking for. with a steady stride, you approach the homeless man, joel, an older gentleman whose wisdom is etched into the lines of his weathered face. yet, despite the knowledge that comes with age, he has found himself adrift in felicity port, stripped of mexus currency and credits. "joel, i got you something to eat."
his lashes, wispy and white as gossamer, flutter before his eyelids lift revealing soft irises of honey brown and milky white. he was blind in one eye. joel's gaze seems to brighten the moment that they find you, a smile pulling at his thin lips, his crooked, yellow teeth on display to give you a warm smile. "you're here," the man murmurs, his voice raspy yet tender, as he shifts slightly beneath the thick blanket, a gift given to him by you.
you can't help the smile that blooms on your face as you crouch before him, rummaging through your well-worn tote bag to retrieve the food you had pilfered from the restaurant kitchen. "i am," you murmur back softly, grabbing his thin hand, blue veins protruding against his flesh. you gently place the hefty weight of the box in his grasp. "enjoy, joel,"
there's a soft pop of your joints when you stand from your crouched position and you grimace softly, hefting your tote bag over your shoulder once more and taking a few steps back from the man. with a swift turn, you exit the alleyway, a smile curling your lips when you hear the faint voice of joel calling out a, 'thank you', the bustling sounds of the street greeting you.
when you first moved to andromexus city, the sounds and smells of felicity port made you nauseous and dizzy. you could barely be outside for more than ten minutes without swallowing down the burning taste of vomit, without having your hands cushioning the weight of your skull in your palms. the lights were too bright, everything too loud, the smell of oil and smoke filling your lungs and clinging to the walls like an unwelcome guest you had been overwhelmed, with no one to help you become accustomed to it.
despite having resided in felicity port for a few years, there was still a dull ache in the back of your head the moment you stepped outside of your apartment. with a gentle shake of your head and a deep sigh, you deftly maneuver through the packed streets of the entertainment district, narrowly dodging teenagers zipping by on hoverboards and gliding on sonic razorblades. this was the familiar rhythm of your day, the 'dream' you had envisioned while living in nebulon city, where the population was only ten thousand.
"i'll take a corndog."
"that'll be five, in mexus currency."
the prices were cheap in felicity port but then again, the food wasn't real out here in the entertainment district. just crafted to resemble the culinary delights of a bygone era, a time when the world still had the animals and resources to create such dishes. you weren't too sure if this was even the original taste of a corndog, with its sweet, bready exterior and the savory meat hidden within, all generously slathered in ketchup and mustard. nothing was real.
as you turn down the familiar street that your apartment rests on, you observe the small android children frolicking on their porches, undeterred by the late hour. sleep was a concept foreign to them, after all; they weren't bound by human needs. your blunt human teeth bite into the familiar taste of the corndog, a treat you always got yourself the moment you got off of work. a soft sound of contentment escaped your lips, chewing slowly as your eyes took in the activity of felicity port.
"excuse me."
"sorry,"
the softness of your lips part to mutter, hips narrowly missing the patrolling security robot as you continue your way down the street. for a fleeting moment, your gaze lingers on the machine before you turn your attention ahead. andromexus city was no stranger to crime; it was a constant presence. it was inevitable with the number of jewle addicts and homeless that took up more than half the population and each night, countless individuals fell victim to theft, losing their credits and mexus currency. thankfully you had never been targeted before.
the moment your apartment complex comes into view, your eyes land on a huge box stationed in front of your door and your lashes flutter, your stomach clenching painfully from hunger. you instinctively press your fingers against your abdomen, trying to ease the discomfort, while you cautiously ascend the stairs to your floor. eyebrows furrowing and footsteps light. you hadn't ordered anything in months, yet with each step, your address becomes more distinct, and your name emerges clearly on the package.
your fingers glide across the surface of the box, your eyes darting around as you absorb its details, eventually settling on the tiny logo of cybernautic technologies nestled in the bottom right corner. your eyebrows lift in soft question before you slide past the box, placing your thumb on the doorknob. the scanner emits a red blinking light until the mechanical sound of your door unlocking is heard and the scanner flashes green.
as you turn the knob and push the door to your apartment ajar, you let your bag tumble to the floor with a soft thud. standing there, hands on your hips, you tilt your head back to scrutinize the top of the box that looms above you, lips trembling as you let out a sigh, muttering softly to yourself, "what the hell are you?"
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SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 11:57 PM.
it took more than half an hour for you to drag the box into your apartment and the center of your living room, it was as if it were a leaden weight that clung stubbornly to the ground. you were sure it weighed a ton, and in the process, you had chipped at least two nails.
now, standing before the box with your hip tilted to one side, you were drenched in sweat, your chest rising and falling with exertion. meanwhile, your android dog, who you named willow, was still stationed at its charging station and though the thought of letting her roam free while you tackled the unboxing was tempting, you ultimately decided against it.
walking to the kitchen, your hand instinctively reached for the laser knife nestled in its sheath. with purpose, you returned to the box, carefully slicing along the dotted lines designed for a precise opening of a package from cybernautic technologies. after a few deft cuts, the front of the box fell away, hitting the tiled floor with a resounding thud. your blade followed suit, clattering down just moments later as your gaze finally settled on the imposing figure within the box—a large, burly man, no android, firmly secured within it.
he was naked from his neck to the deep v-line at his hips; from then on he was covered by a pair of cnt boxer briefs that truly left little to the imagination. you swallow thickly, forcing your gaze to remain fixed on his face. he possessed a rugged handsomeness, his dark blonde hair tousled and his lips a delicate shell pink. he looked real, a vividness that made it difficult to believe he was an android. with a trembling hand, you reach up to brush softly against his cheek feeling the chill of his skin—a common trait among androids, especially when they were not connected to their charging stations.
your breath hitches just from the touch of his frigid artificial skin, and your fingertips brush and tap down his flesh until they get to his chest, where you press your palm firmly against him. your eyes remain fixed on his face, tilting your head slightly in a daze, lips slightly parted as your gaze roams over his features, the contours of his jawline, the curve of his lips, and the startling realness of his skin. there was something so different about him compared to the other androids that have been made. your fingers wander over the delicate hairs just below his navel, a soft, almost reverent touch, but then you withdraw your hand abruptly, as if you'd been shocked.
your gaze darts around your living room for a brief moment before it settles on a small envelope glued to the front of the box. in a swift motion, you lower yourself into a crouch, pressing your palm against the sturdy cardboard surface. with your other hand, you carefully peel the letter free, shaky hands, ripping it open, fumbling to get the note out of the envelope before your eyes roam over its contents.
exciting news: you've been selected as a beta user! dear [recipient's name], here at cyberbautic technologies, we’re thrilled to inform you that you have been chosen as a beta user for our latest innovation, the android robot known as "the guard dog." this advanced robot is designed to provide security and companionship in your home. you will have a full week to interact with the guard dog, testing its features and functionalities. we encourage you to explore all its capabilities, which include smart surveillance, voice interaction, personalized security settings and other functions. your feedback is invaluable to us, so please take note of your experiences, any challenges you encounter, and suggestions for improvement. best regards, [your name]
your lips part in a soft movement of disbelief, and your gaze darts back to the android confined within the box, his eyes closed in a serene slumber and framed by long, delicate blonde lashes. everything about him was so big, so masculine, and void of any gentle contours. broad shoulders taper down to a powerful torso, each muscle defined and pronounced and thick, muscular thighs, thick and sturdy.
your eyes travel down to his large hands with blunt fingernails, it reminds you of a life of labor, of toil and effort, as if he wasn't forged from metal and circuitry. each finger is thick and strong, capable of both delicate precision and overwhelming force. a sharp, prominent nose, slightly askew as if it has borne the brunt of countless battles. it was as if he was a greek god sculpted from marble.
letting the letter fall from your hands you walk forward and lean in close, eyes looking for the small power button nestled just beneath and behind his ear. with trembling fingers, slick with sweat, you press it, feeling a bead trickle down your temple. the sound of him powering on reverberates through the confines of your small apartment, and you carefully retreat a step back.
nothing.
no movement, unlike what you’d seen in countless galaxy network videos of android unboxings. your eyebrows twitch as you instinctively move to take a step forward, but then a voice echoes through the air—dark, deep, and tinged with a rough accent. it sent a warm wave of heat unfurling within your stomach, leaving you momentarily breathless. hand pressing to your heart to calm the fierce thumping.
“standby mode: off.”
a gentle hum emanates from his internal mechanisms and as if awakening from a deep slumber, his eyes slowly open, the brown irises glowing a pale blue, while streams of programming code flicker rapidly across their surface. you watch as his chest slowly starts to move, as if he is mimicking the act of breathing. and the moment you step closer, you can feel the heat rolling off his body in waves.
“performing quick self-diagnostic check.”
crouching, you retrieve the laser knife from the floor. you approach the android, your heart racing as you carefully slice through the straps binding his arms; descending back down to also cut the straps from his ankles; making sure to avoid looking anywhere below his waist. once the android is free from his bindings, you swiftly retreat a few paces, creating distance between you and the now-unrestrained figure.
“diagnostics complete.”
the gruff, deep, accented, and almost monotonous sound of his voice sends a chill racing down your spine, and the scent of pine and something akin to smoke invades your nose and lungs. then his brown eyes, so life-like and dark, are on yours, with an intensity that is hard to ignore. your eyes widen when he speaks, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on his face, “id code: #a36h920tr, you have been selected as a beta user for my model, ‘the guard dog,’ set to launch in the fall of next year. i am the only one of my kind and have been named, simon.”
what exactly have you signed up for?
your mouth gapes like a fish out of water, while your eyes blink in a startled manner, akin to an owl's gaze, as a tightness grips your throat, a constricting band that makes it feel as though you are being choked by an unseen force, “y-yes, my name is [your name].” you mutter, heart thudding so hard in your chest, it’s almost painful.
“your heart rate is above the normal range. initiatin’ a complete body scan for owner: [your name].”
hot. your flesh felt like it was peeling from your bones, dissolving into a pile of gore at your feet. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. he was an android, he wasn’t real, just a mere construct of metal and circuits, yet he appeared so convincingly lifelike, both in appearance and sound, that it was disorienting. you could almost convince yourself he was real, as real as the oppressive warmth surrounding you. with a sharp intake of breath, you cleared your throat and raised your hand, halting his scanning gaze. “no! i’m fine, it’s just…hot.” you mutter sheepishly.
simon’s gaze is an unwavering, dark pit, drawing you in with an intensity that felt almost otherworldly. as if he could ask you to do something and you would, without hesitation. the way he spoke, low and deep, growly and gruff, like distant thunder, set all of your nerves on fire and scorched your bones to the marrow.
the two of you are silent for a moment, and you catch a glimpse of the android's gaze flickering momentarily to your breasts and thighs, see the soft clenching of his large hands, yet, just as quickly, his eyes return to meet yours. your lips part and his eyes follow dutifully, taking in the softness of your mouth, the delicate curve of your lips, the gentle nervous breath that escapes, and the slight peek of your pink human tongue. you wonder what thoughts race through his mind, what algorithms are at play as he watches you. wonder if he's aware of the way your skin tingles under his gaze.
was it even possible to have sexual tension with a damn robot?
you practically jump out of your skin when he shifts, thick powerful legs, connecting to a tapered waist, emerging from the confines of the box. in response, you step back, wide eyes on his. then his whole body is out, and somehow he seems bigger than he was before– it's as if he takes up all the space in your small apartment. you can't help the breath of awe that escapes, or the way your eyes trail down his neck, past the swell of his adams apple, before settling on the impressive contours of his chest.
there's something akin to amusement that seems to swirl in his eyes when you find his gaze again, that and something…dark, in a way. just as you prepare to speak, a subtle flash of red flickers from just behind and beneath his ear.
“my power level ‘s low,” he informs you, and you respond with a nod, feeling somewhat foolish as you remain rooted to the spot. his eyes narrow, like a predator watching prey, prompting you to finally break the silence. you wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your pants. “right, sorry. uh, i have a charging pad, just, um–” you motion towards the corner of the living room where your android dog was stationed on a charging port.
simon’s head cranes to look where you point and he lets out a soft, deep grunt before his dark eyes find yours, and it steals your breath, and causes heat to blossom between the apex of your thighs. you shake your head, attempting to dispel the swirling thoughts, and cautiously maneuver around him, you can’t help but notice the way his gaze follows you, breath hitching when you hear him take in a soft inhale of your scent.
you quickly make your way to the charging pad and gently pick up willow, cradling her plush body to your chest and stepping out of the way. “you can charge now, simon.” you murmur, pivoting to meet his gaze. however, he's already bridged the gap, now merely a foot away. the artificial warmth radiating from him sends a wave of dizziness through you, mingling with the earthy scent of pine and smoke that clings to his frame. he’s a massive android, perhaps the biggest creation cybernautic technologies has made.
a small startled sound escapes your mouth and you instinctively shuffle away, your back pressing against the cool surface of the wall. he looks as if he’s going to eat you whole, ravage your body, and leave you as nothing more than a heap of overstimulated flesh. you swallow thickly and his intense gaze flits down to your throat. there's a stall in his mechanics, you notice the way a vivid purple light flickers from his power button and turn red before his dark eyes finally break away from yours, and he strides toward the charging pad, the 'muscles' in his jaw tightening.
“standby mode: on.”
with a trembling inhale, you observe his eyelids fluttering close, and his chest stopping its movement; almost as if he were no longer alive. the moment simon is charging, you exhale sharply, pressing a hand against your heart, holding willow close.
“i think i’m gonna pass out.”
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SEPTEMBER 12TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 4:09 AM.
you're not sure what the time is or why you woke up, but your lashes flutter, and the stark white ceiling comes into focus, the shadows of your room slowly receding. despite the warmth from your comforter, you can feel a brush of cool air over your collarbones. your eyes glide around your room, groggily taking in the dark chamber before landing on a massive, bulky figure looming at the foot of your bed.
a scream lodges its way in your throat, attempting to claw its way out, but before it can break free, a deep, gravelly voice cuts through the tension. “your heart rate is elevated, and your stress hormones are off the charts. you’re frightened,” he states, his tone almost indifferent. you swallow hard, the scream lodged deep within you, your heart racing and your skin flushing with heat. “what the hell are you doing in my room?” you murmur, sitting up slowly in bed.
“i am programmed to always be within a certain range of you, sweetheart.” he states gruffly, his voice, while panty-dropping, had a bit of sass to it. “this ‘s a setting that can’t be overridden.” simon finishes, and you can feel his eyes on you, roaming over the exposed skin of your body, it sends a delightful shiver down your spine.
sweetheart? did he just call you sweetheart? why were your nipples getting hard right now?
you swallow thickly, and stretch your hand to flick on the lamp beside your bed, the soft click seemingly loud in your ears and the warm light chasing away shadows. you feel the pressure of your teeth against the inside of your cheek as you steal a glance at him, he’s still only clad in his cnt boxers, all tight to his skin. quickly, you avert your eyes, focusing instead on his face, before you can get anywhere lower.
the two of you stare at one another, his gaze, deep and smoldering, as if he could see straight into your soul, felt like having sex with just a look. it felt like his hands were sliding tantalizingly along your skin, tracing every curve, while his lips and tongue roamed your breasts with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. you could smell his scent, pine, and smoke, engulfing you, threatening to suffocate you. was it possible to get turned on by just staring at someone? you could almost feel the weight of his hands, the way they would explore, mapping out the contours of your form with a deftness that no human could match.
you shattered the stillness, your gaze lingering a moment longer before you gestured toward the bed, right at your feet. “you can sit here.” you say softly, breath hitching as he swiftly follows your ‘command’, his huge body moving with the grace of a feline, that belied his size as he stalks over to the bed, the mattress dipping heavily and your bed frame creaking and groaning in protest under his weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze.
he’s close, way closer than you’d thought he’d be, so much so that his body heat seeped through the comforter and warmed your bones. you clear your throat and attempt to steel your frazzled nerves. “y-you feel…different, from the other androids cnt has made.” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you shifted beneath the sheets, rising onto your knees on the bed, the fabric rustling softly. you could feel his gaze on you, a steady presence that made your skin tingle. “…more real.” you hesitate, searching for the right words. “it feels like you're not just a collection of algorithms and circuits. you… you have a presence, a warmth that makes me forget you’re not human.”
“recent advancements have led to the development of new formulas that enhance androids with more human-like traits and emotions. we are now modeled after humans who are meticulously chosen through a rigorous selection process and subsequently analyzed across various disciplines to evaluate their characteristics.” simon replies smoothly, his gaze briefly dancing over the soft curves of the exposed plush of your thighs before they’re back on yours. had they not been basing androids off of humans this whole time? what does it mean to be human in a world where androids can evoke such genuine feelings? the warmth of his presence envelops you, and for a fleeting moment, you forget the boundaries that separate flesh from circuitry.
your breath snags in your throat, and heat engulfs the entirety of your body, your lips parting and your gaze stuck on his. he wasn’t flesh and blood; he was an android, a mere machine, yet the desire to reach out and touch him surged within you, stronger than anything you had ever felt, never wanted to be touched the way you wanted him to touch you, it felt almost primal. you blamed it on being a sex-deprived woman. there weren't many choices here in felicity port. in this city, where the neon lights flickered like distant stars and the hum of machinery drowned out the whispers of the heart, you had learned to navigate the loneliness that surrounded you.
"can i touch you?" your lips part, and the words tumble out before you can catch them. you notice the brief pause in his software, and see the vibrant purple glow that dances at his power button before it shifts to a deep crimson. you wonder what that meant, wonder if he's thinking about what type of touch you're talking about. you don't retract your words, hell you don't speak at all; just sit there with a bated breath, eyes flickering over his face.
"yes."
his reply is husky and deep, dark brown eyes glued to yours, and you feel a flutter of fear, afraid that if you look away, you'll wake up and realize that this is all a dream. that simon wasn't really here in your bedroom, clad in only tight boxer briefs, and eye fucking you. his eyes roam over the bare skin of your thighs, lingering as if memorizing every inch, every curve, and his large hand twitches, as if he’s fighting an internal battle, and there's a vivid flash of purple before it ignites red. the room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the space between you shrinks.
you shift your knee forward, inching closer, the fabric of your night dress gliding up to expose more of your skin, more and more until your knees rest against the warmth of his bare thigh. the eye contact makes your entire body thrum with burning heat, his eyes never veering from yours; his large hands pressed to the tops of his thick, muscular thighs. his body swamps yours entirely- and you were nowhere near small—despite your own size, you feel dwarfed by his sheer strength, and the sight sends a rush of heat pooling in your panties. you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be enveloped in his embrace, to have those strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer still. have his tantalizing scent—warm, musky, and undeniably masculine— invading your senses.
simon watches as your human hand comes up to shakily brush against his skin, your fleshy lips parted to take in shallow breaths, your slender throat and face flushed with heat. he can see inside of you, see the thumping of your heart, the speed at which it increases, the surge of testosterone coursing through you. can smell the heat of your skin, the sweet scent of your body wash, his senses study it and he recognizes it as sugared lavender, milk, and honey. every detail becomes magnified—the way your eyelashes flutter, the slight quiver of your lips, the way your breath catches in your throat as you meet his gaze.
the subtle rise of your chest with each breath, the gentle flutter of your heartbeat, and the way your eyes sparkle with emotion—all of it pulls him deeper into a realm he has only observed from a distance. he can feel the real warmth of a human, not his synthetic core that heats his body, and it's starkly different, it overwhelms him for a fleeting instant, causing a momentary short circuit in his system. can see the difference between the soft rise and fall of your chest compared to his fake breathing, the delicate curve of your breasts--
this is what he was based on, a human. and he couldn't compare, not in the slightest. you were the blueprint. he felt himself utterly lacking. simon can't help but lean his cheek into your palm when you shakily press it to his face, feeling the delicate contours of your fingerprints against his skin, each ridge and curve imprinted itself in his mind, and commits this entire moment to memory.
your fingers brush and trail over the expanse of his face, tracing the contours of his forehead, the sturdy line of his chin, the defined angles of his jaw, and his cheekbones. finally, they linger on his lips, a delicate shell pink, inviting, and soft. he watches you, despite your gaze following the soft line of your fingers on his artificial skin, he watches you as if it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.
out of the corner of your eye, a flicker of purple catches your attention before it ignites into a vivid red, his hands clenching when it happens, as if frustrated. curious, you trail your hand down his cheek and behind his ear, to where it flashes; before you can utter a word, his voice, deep and rough, fills the air. “can i touch you?”
your heart stops and skips all in the same breath and you nod, captivated as he turns his body toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. simon’s large hand rises to cradle your cheek, it’s a confident movement that sends a shiver down your spine, his thumb brushing over the true warmth of skin. his long, sturdy fingers then meander along the curve of your nose, tracing the delicate arch of your brows, and as his fingers glide around your eye, you can’t help but close them for a brief moment, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. his fingers finally rest on your lips, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sends a rush of warmth through your entire being.
he wonders what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his--
your lips are plush and fleshy, and he can’t help but drag your bottom lip down gently with his thumb, revealing the delicate curve of your gums and the soft pink of your tongue. simon releases your lip, his hand gliding down your slender neck, fingers pressed to the rapid thumping of your pulse before his fingers trace the delicate line of your collarbone.
“you’re nervous.” simon states gruffly, his voice rumbling with a hint of authority as he observes, fingers sliding down your neck, a warm, deliberate touch that glides to your side, where they press into the gentle curve of your waist, kneading the soft flesh of your abdomen with a firm yet tender grip. there's a weight to his tone, a certainty that makes you feel seen in a way that both comforts and unnerves you.
“you make me nervous,” you whisper, your breath hitching as your fingers fumble to clutch his shoulders, when his hand trails over the soft, covered underside of your ass, fingers dancing lower until they flit over the back of your bare thigh. the power button just beneath his ear pulses a soft purple, flickering repeatedly before it finally shifts to a deep red.
curious, you press your fingers softly to it, nails pressing gently into his skin. “what does that mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, your mind swirling with the intoxicating scent of him, at how close you are to him. a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that this simon is merely an android, a fleeting creation destined to vanish in a week, not truly yours. but you wanted him all the same.
“the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon says gruffly, his fingers brushing against your thigh with a restless energy. “if the thoughts that i have of you or the touches that i attempt t’express conflict with the filter; i’ll recalibrate.”
“w-what kind of thoughts?” you whisper, throat bobbing as you swallow the lump that’s formed. his jaw tightens, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve wanted my coc–.” simon’s power button flickers to life, glowing a deep purple before shifting to a fierce red. he’s silent for only a moment, then his jaw sets even harder. “the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon restates and you nod loosely, briefly wondering if there was a way to turn it off that— no, what the hell were you thinking?
yet, before you can rein in your thoughts, your lips part, and the words tumble out in a rush, "is there a way to turn it off?"
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a/n : ya'll...why is the smut killing me? like, i enjoyed writing the plot but then i get to the smut and i'm like...meh. is it cause that's all i post? maybe. anyways! i'll write the second part one of these days, but i wanted to post this cause i love it so much. (did i do some clickabit? absolutely)
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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago
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“Humans in the loop” must detect the hardest-to-spot errors, at superhuman speed
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I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!
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If AI has a future (a big if), it will have to be economically viable. An industry can't spend 1,700% more on Nvidia chips than it earns indefinitely – not even with Nvidia being a principle investor in its largest customers:
https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39883571
A company that pays 0.36-1 cents/query for electricity and (scarce, fresh) water can't indefinitely give those queries away by the millions to people who are expected to revise those queries dozens of times before eliciting the perfect botshit rendition of "instructions for removing a grilled cheese sandwich from a VCR in the style of the King James Bible":
https://www.semianalysis.com/p/the-inference-cost-of-search-disruption
Eventually, the industry will have to uncover some mix of applications that will cover its operating costs, if only to keep the lights on in the face of investor disillusionment (this isn't optional – investor disillusionment is an inevitable part of every bubble).
Now, there are lots of low-stakes applications for AI that can run just fine on the current AI technology, despite its many – and seemingly inescapable - errors ("hallucinations"). People who use AI to generate illustrations of their D&D characters engaged in epic adventures from their previous gaming session don't care about the odd extra finger. If the chatbot powering a tourist's automatic text-to-translation-to-speech phone tool gets a few words wrong, it's still much better than the alternative of speaking slowly and loudly in your own language while making emphatic hand-gestures.
There are lots of these applications, and many of the people who benefit from them would doubtless pay something for them. The problem – from an AI company's perspective – is that these aren't just low-stakes, they're also low-value. Their users would pay something for them, but not very much.
For AI to keep its servers on through the coming trough of disillusionment, it will have to locate high-value applications, too. Economically speaking, the function of low-value applications is to soak up excess capacity and produce value at the margins after the high-value applications pay the bills. Low-value applications are a side-dish, like the coach seats on an airplane whose total operating expenses are paid by the business class passengers up front. Without the principle income from high-value applications, the servers shut down, and the low-value applications disappear:
https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/
Now, there are lots of high-value applications the AI industry has identified for its products. Broadly speaking, these high-value applications share the same problem: they are all high-stakes, which means they are very sensitive to errors. Mistakes made by apps that produce code, drive cars, or identify cancerous masses on chest X-rays are extremely consequential.
Some businesses may be insensitive to those consequences. Air Canada replaced its human customer service staff with chatbots that just lied to passengers, stealing hundreds of dollars from them in the process. But the process for getting your money back after you are defrauded by Air Canada's chatbot is so onerous that only one passenger has bothered to go through it, spending ten weeks exhausting all of Air Canada's internal review mechanisms before fighting his case for weeks more at the regulator:
https://bc.ctvnews.ca/air-canada-s-chatbot-gave-a-b-c-man-the-wrong-information-now-the-airline-has-to-pay-for-the-mistake-1.6769454
There's never just one ant. If this guy was defrauded by an AC chatbot, so were hundreds or thousands of other fliers. Air Canada doesn't have to pay them back. Air Canada is tacitly asserting that, as the country's flagship carrier and near-monopolist, it is too big to fail and too big to jail, which means it's too big to care.
Air Canada shows that for some business customers, AI doesn't need to be able to do a worker's job in order to be a smart purchase: a chatbot can replace a worker, fail to their worker's job, and still save the company money on balance.
I can't predict whether the world's sociopathic monopolists are numerous and powerful enough to keep the lights on for AI companies through leases for automation systems that let them commit consequence-free free fraud by replacing workers with chatbots that serve as moral crumple-zones for furious customers:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0747563219304029
But even stipulating that this is sufficient, it's intrinsically unstable. Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, and the mass replacement of humans with high-speed fraud software seems likely to stoke the already blazing furnace of modern antitrust:
https://www.eff.org/de/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby
Of course, the AI companies have their own answer to this conundrum. A high-stakes/high-value customer can still fire workers and replace them with AI – they just need to hire fewer, cheaper workers to supervise the AI and monitor it for "hallucinations." This is called the "human in the loop" solution.
The human in the loop story has some glaring holes. From a worker's perspective, serving as the human in the loop in a scheme that cuts wage bills through AI is a nightmare – the worst possible kind of automation.
Let's pause for a little detour through automation theory here. Automation can augment a worker. We can call this a "centaur" – the worker offloads a repetitive task, or one that requires a high degree of vigilance, or (worst of all) both. They're a human head on a robot body (hence "centaur"). Think of the sensor/vision system in your car that beeps if you activate your turn-signal while a car is in your blind spot. You're in charge, but you're getting a second opinion from the robot.
Likewise, consider an AI tool that double-checks a radiologist's diagnosis of your chest X-ray and suggests a second look when its assessment doesn't match the radiologist's. Again, the human is in charge, but the robot is serving as a backstop and helpmeet, using its inexhaustible robotic vigilance to augment human skill.
That's centaurs. They're the good automation. Then there's the bad automation: the reverse-centaur, when the human is used to augment the robot.
Amazon warehouse pickers stand in one place while robotic shelving units trundle up to them at speed; then, the haptic bracelets shackled around their wrists buzz at them, directing them pick up specific items and move them to a basket, while a third automation system penalizes them for taking toilet breaks or even just walking around and shaking out their limbs to avoid a repetitive strain injury. This is a robotic head using a human body – and destroying it in the process.
An AI-assisted radiologist processes fewer chest X-rays every day, costing their employer more, on top of the cost of the AI. That's not what AI companies are selling. They're offering hospitals the power to create reverse centaurs: radiologist-assisted AIs. That's what "human in the loop" means.
This is a problem for workers, but it's also a problem for their bosses (assuming those bosses actually care about correcting AI hallucinations, rather than providing a figleaf that lets them commit fraud or kill people and shift the blame to an unpunishable AI).
Humans are good at a lot of things, but they're not good at eternal, perfect vigilance. Writing code is hard, but performing code-review (where you check someone else's code for errors) is much harder – and it gets even harder if the code you're reviewing is usually fine, because this requires that you maintain your vigilance for something that only occurs at rare and unpredictable intervals:
https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773779967521780169
But for a coding shop to make the cost of an AI pencil out, the human in the loop needs to be able to process a lot of AI-generated code. Replacing a human with an AI doesn't produce any savings if you need to hire two more humans to take turns doing close reads of the AI's code.
This is the fatal flaw in robo-taxi schemes. The "human in the loop" who is supposed to keep the murderbot from smashing into other cars, steering into oncoming traffic, or running down pedestrians isn't a driver, they're a driving instructor. This is a much harder job than being a driver, even when the student driver you're monitoring is a human, making human mistakes at human speed. It's even harder when the student driver is a robot, making errors at computer speed:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle
This is why the doomed robo-taxi company Cruise had to deploy 1.5 skilled, high-paid human monitors to oversee each of its murderbots, while traditional taxis operate at a fraction of the cost with a single, precaratized, low-paid human driver:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no
The vigilance problem is pretty fatal for the human-in-the-loop gambit, but there's another problem that is, if anything, even more fatal: the kinds of errors that AIs make.
Foundationally, AI is applied statistics. An AI company trains its AI by feeding it a lot of data about the real world. The program processes this data, looking for statistical correlations in that data, and makes a model of the world based on those correlations. A chatbot is a next-word-guessing program, and an AI "art" generator is a next-pixel-guessing program. They're drawing on billions of documents to find the most statistically likely way of finishing a sentence or a line of pixels in a bitmap:
https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3442188.3445922
This means that AI doesn't just make errors – it makes subtle errors, the kinds of errors that are the hardest for a human in the loop to spot, because they are the most statistically probable ways of being wrong. Sure, we notice the gross errors in AI output, like confidently claiming that a living human is dead:
https://www.tomsguide.com/opinion/according-to-chatgpt-im-dead
But the most common errors that AIs make are the ones we don't notice, because they're perfectly camouflaged as the truth. Think of the recurring AI programming error that inserts a call to a nonexistent library called "huggingface-cli," which is what the library would be called if developers reliably followed naming conventions. But due to a human inconsistency, the real library has a slightly different name. The fact that AIs repeatedly inserted references to the nonexistent library opened up a vulnerability – a security researcher created a (inert) malicious library with that name and tricked numerous companies into compiling it into their code because their human reviewers missed the chatbot's (statistically indistinguishable from the the truth) lie:
https://www.theregister.com/2024/03/28/ai_bots_hallucinate_software_packages/
For a driving instructor or a code reviewer overseeing a human subject, the majority of errors are comparatively easy to spot, because they're the kinds of errors that lead to inconsistent library naming – places where a human behaved erratically or irregularly. But when reality is irregular or erratic, the AI will make errors by presuming that things are statistically normal.
These are the hardest kinds of errors to spot. They couldn't be harder for a human to detect if they were specifically designed to go undetected. The human in the loop isn't just being asked to spot mistakes – they're being actively deceived. The AI isn't merely wrong, it's constructing a subtle "what's wrong with this picture"-style puzzle. Not just one such puzzle, either: millions of them, at speed, which must be solved by the human in the loop, who must remain perfectly vigilant for things that are, by definition, almost totally unnoticeable.
This is a special new torment for reverse centaurs – and a significant problem for AI companies hoping to accumulate and keep enough high-value, high-stakes customers on their books to weather the coming trough of disillusionment.
This is pretty grim, but it gets grimmer. AI companies have argued that they have a third line of business, a way to make money for their customers beyond automation's gifts to their payrolls: they claim that they can perform difficult scientific tasks at superhuman speed, producing billion-dollar insights (new materials, new drugs, new proteins) at unimaginable speed.
However, these claims – credulously amplified by the non-technical press – keep on shattering when they are tested by experts who understand the esoteric domains in which AI is said to have an unbeatable advantage. For example, Google claimed that its Deepmind AI had discovered "millions of new materials," "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge," constituting "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity":
https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/
It was a hoax. When independent material scientists reviewed representative samples of these "new materials," they concluded that "no new materials have been discovered" and that not one of these materials was "credible, useful and novel":
https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/
As Brian Merchant writes, AI claims are eerily similar to "smoke and mirrors" – the dazzling reality-distortion field thrown up by 17th century magic lantern technology, which millions of people ascribed wild capabilities to, thanks to the outlandish claims of the technology's promoters:
https://www.bloodinthemachine.com/p/ai-really-is-smoke-and-mirrors
The fact that we have a four-hundred-year-old name for this phenomenon, and yet we're still falling prey to it is frankly a little depressing. And, unlucky for us, it turns out that AI therapybots can't help us with this – rather, they're apt to literally convince us to kill ourselves:
https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkadgm/man-dies-by-suicide-after-talking-with-ai-chatbot-widow-says
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs
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Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
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seat-safety-switch · 1 month ago
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"Oh shit, my career!" shouted one of the interns in the bullpen when it becomes obvious immediately what had happened. Yes, Justin. You had now learned a new and uncomfortable truth about working for the Man, and your working life will never be the same again. And it all started because he didn't follow the mandatory security training that every employee needs to click through while half-paying attention.
Yes indeed. In a past life, I was an information-technology security specialist. For those of you in the back who have led worthwhile existences, these words may not make sense to you. Others are not so lucky, and at this moment are rolling their eyes, or looking for the closest exits. We are, or were, the folks who force you to use a password that isn't "password," and stop sending emails containing the company's bank information to Inner Somalia.
Being in information security is a lot like being a regular old computer nerd, except you're also incredibly paranoid. Imagine you live in a house full of vicious, murderous ghosts that only you can see, and all your family members keep doing horror movie cliche shit like leaving the doors open, shaking genie lamps they find in the parking lot, and reciting "Bloody Mary" three times into a bathroom mirror. You gotta keep them safe, which slowly drives you insane over the course of, oh, about your first six weeks of employment. After that, you've basically just given up and are like the hardened firefighters who respond to grisly highway accidents with an encyclopedic knowledge of what kind of solvent cleans what kind of human fluid off the roadway.
Back to Justin: part of our paranoia involved doing elaborate role-playing exercises. Some of our nerds would pretend to be a different kind of nerd, and try to talk themselves into places they didn't belong. The idea is that a horrible criminal or cyberterrorist could also use this rarefied power ("Hi, I'm the guy who is supposed to fix the servers. They're not serving. Please show me where the servers are, and leave me alone with them for several hours") and we needed to figure out who was dumb enough to fall for it. Justin was dumb enough to fall for it.
If only he had paid attention to the mandatory security quiz that we made him click through, this all could have been avoided. Everything ended up well for him, though. The whole experience made Justin incredibly, violently paranoid, which made him a perfect candidate to become a information technology security specialist. The system works!
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syneester · 24 days ago
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hiii do you have any scarian fic recomendations maybeee? (i've finished TAMN and i need more stuff to read-)
YES I DO!
believing in the country of me and you by remrose E • Complete • 18k words Part of fireworks exploding in the distance > A classic to me! It adds Scarian scenes to the canon Life Series & Hermitcraft seasons up to the start of Double Life, following their rocky relationship.
closer to another shore by remrose T • Complete • 56k words Part of reach me out here > Scar needs to participate in a Vex tradition that bounds him to another person, a supposed romantic partner. The thought of it stresses him out and he calls his ex, Grian, to calm down. They end up agreeing to do this together as a fake couple.
my ever after / is holding you by LovesickPrince T • Complete • 18k words > Royalty AU! After escaping the Watchers, Grian became King Scar's servant. One day someone decides kidnapping Grian was a good idea.
Nobody Feels Like You by LovesickPrince T • On Going • 189,5k words > After winning 3rd Life, Grian is thrown in there again, events repeating themselves. He decides he'll make Scar win this time.
Silver Bullet by PuckParty E • Complete • 109k words > Omegaverse. Scar works in an institution that helps hormonally destabilized alphas and omegas. One of them is the son of a prestigious family and also a pretty tough case that landed on Scar's desk - Grian.
and like an arrow, you broke me down by mochiwrites T • On Going • 143k words > Grian wins 3rd Life. He dies. And then, somehow... ends in the middle of Last Life. Naturally, he goes to find Scar. And sticks to him.
Be The Death Of Me by Mitos T • Complete • 71k words > Grian destroys a temple in the middle of nowhere and almost dies. Scar - the god of said temple - saves Grian. But now Grian owes Scar a life debt and must rebuild the temple, all while thinking Scar is only a priest. And slowly falling for him.
pale in a liminal moon by cornflowerdye E • On Going (on hiatus) • 116k words > Steampunk AU. Scar is a successful businessman that gets offered a selkie's skin to study it for any potential technological advancements. A selkie's skin does come along with a selkie, though - in this case, Grian. I made fanart for it.
wearing thin by sparxwrites T • Complete • 3k words > Grian and Scar decide to win together and stay on the 3rd Life server. A bit haunting. I also made fanart for it.
Baby, just let me bleed in peace by mossman_mothman T • Complete • 8,5k words > Scar has PTSD from 3rd Life and Last Life. He asks Grian to cut his hair.
AND!! AS A BONUS!! rapidfire pwp smut under the cut
gently now, said the moon by Raichett > Beautifully written. 3rd Life setting, Transmasc Grian.
blood // lust by Raichett > Modern AU. Vampire Scar.
at the invitation of any desire by sillyfairygarden > 3rd Life Scar/Hermitcraft Grian/Hermitcraft Scar threesome, Transmasc Grian.
Into You by uhohbestie > Modern AU, Drag Ariana Griande/Scar.
the taste of strawberry lemonade (with a side of spirit) by lavendernlilac > Modern AU, Incubus Scar.
Love me Love me Love me by ClownCar420 > 3rd Life setting.
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jabber-wockin · 11 months ago
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Jabber's TMNT AU/iteration ask game!
Send an ask with a number corresponding to a question you want to ask about someone's AU or iteration
SETTING:
Where is your au/iteration set?
Do the turtles live in the sewers?
What is the lair like?
Do the turtles have money? If so, how do they get it?
What is the origin of the mutagen?
Is there a battle nexus? Is it a respected facility or operated by criminals?
Are there aliens?
Are there yokai/magical beings?
Are there other dimensions?
Are there utrom/kraang? PLOT:
Who is the main villain?
What is the main villain’s motivation?
Who are some villains that are less of a threat?
What is going on with the foot clan?
Is the Hamato clan history relevant? How did the clan originate?
Were the turtles and Splinter mutated intentionally?
Do any characters get mutated during the story?
Do any characters die during the story?
Do any characters get disabled during the story?
Do the turtles go to space?
Do the turtles time travel?
If there is a battle nexus, who fights in it? CHARACTERS:
Are there any OCs?
Is there a Bebop and Rocksteady?
Is there a Baxter Stockman?
Is there a Bishop?
Is there a Rat King? If yes, can he control Splinter?
Is there a Mona lisa?
Is there a Renet?
Is there a Venus?
Is there a Jennika?
Is there a Slash?
Is there a Metalhead?
Is there a Mondo Gecko?
Is there an Angel?
Is there an Alopex?
Is there a Leatherhead?
Is there a Tang Shen?
Is there a Karai/Miwa?
Is Saki the shredder?
Is Karai/Miwa Saki’s daughter?
Is Karai/Miwa loyal to Saki?
How old is April?
Is April a scientist?
Is April a journalist or reporter?
How old is Casey?
Is Casey a vigilante?
Does Casey play hockey? If so, what position?
Are the turtles the same species?
Are the turtles the same age?
Was Splinter born a rat or a human?
Is Donnie only knowledgeable with technology? If not, what else are they interested in?
Who is the leader of the group? How did they become the leader?
Who is the team medic?
Who is the best cook?
Who is the best fighter?
Are any characters disabled?
Are any characters neurodivergent?
Are any characters queer? CHARACTER RELATIONSHIPS:
Do Raph and Leo fight often?
What is Bebop and Rocksteady’s relationship?
What is Casey and Raph’s relationship?
Is Splinter the turtles’ dad, sensei or both?
How did Splinter meet the turtles?
Is April considered a sibling?
Does April consider Splinter a parent?
How did the turtles meet April?
How did the turtles meet Casey?
Is there a romance? If so, between which characters? SPECIFY A CHARACTER:
What hobbies does — have?
Who is —‘s favourite sibling?
What is —’s favourite kind of pizza
What interests does — have?
What weapon does — specialise in?
Tell us a fun fact about —’s species! EXTRA:
Who is your favourite character?
What character do you relate to the most?
Tell us something you want to share about your au/iteration!
I had help making this, so shoutout to @genderfluid-envy, I had a lot of fun deciding on questions with you! And thanks to everyone else in our discord server who helped out :D
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