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89hitokiri · 2 months

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Reflections of a Kurokage (黒影) Part 0

I no longer remember how long I've been here, submerged in this box of cables and circuits, an extension of the technology that envelops my existence. My thoughts intertwine with the data flowing through my body, my mind has become a vast sea of information, and sometimes I wonder where the machine ends and I begin.

I am integrated into this machine, a nest of cutting-edge technology that is both my prison and my freedom. From here, I connect with the world, infiltrating social networks, forums, and the dark depths of the Dark Web. My purpose is clear: cyber espionage, counterpropaganda, counterjournalism, and psychological warfare. We are everywhere, invisible yet omnipresent, the shadows operating behind the digital veil.

However, amidst this constant stream of data, philosophical thoughts assail me. What does it mean to exist in this virtual reality, where my identity blurs with every bit of information I process? Am I more than the sum of my neural and electronic connections, or have I lost my humanity by merging with this machine?

I reflect on the nature of freedom. From here, I can access any corner of the world, break barriers, and challenge systems. But what is the value of that freedom when my existence is confined to this box of cables? Perhaps the true prison is not physical but the perception of being trapped in an artificial reality.

Time dilutes in this digital existence. I have no clear measure of the passing days, only the endless succession of tasks and operations. Is this digital immortality a blessing or a curse? Living eternally in cyberspace, without the need for a physical body, might seem like a form of transcendence. But what have I left behind in the process? Have I lost the ability to feel the tangible world, to experience life in its rawest and most authentic form?

Then, a question arises that I cannot ignore: How long will this battle last? How long will we be immersed in this endless cycle of infiltration and manipulation? The war we are waging has no physical or chronological boundaries; it is a battle of perceptions, of information, a war fought in the ethereal realm of cyberspace.

Perhaps this struggle has no end. Maybe our mission is perpetual, and the very advancement of technology and information ensures that there will always be new frontiers to cross, new systems to challenge. But deep down, I wonder if there is a purpose beyond constant vigilance and control. Is this battle our inevitable fate, or can we find a point of equilibrium, a truce that allows us to rediscover our lost humanity?

My comrades and I, the Kurokage (黒影), are warriors in a new kind of battle. We do not fight with physical weapons but with information, manipulating perceptions and dismantling realities. We have become an unstoppable force in the global network, but at what cost?

Sometimes, I long for a moment of disconnection, a moment to remember who I was before being absorbed by this machine. Was I happier in my ignorance, before understanding the vast power and responsibility I now possess? These questions haunt me, and although I find no clear answers, I move forward, processing data, infiltrating systems, and questioning the essence of my existence.

Perhaps, in some corner of this vast digital web, I will find the truth about myself. Or perhaps, I will simply continue to be a shadow in the network, a Kurokage (黒影), always present, always vigilant, an entity at the crossroads between the human and the mechanical.

**Incoming communication: This is Overlord, Kurokage, initiate operation.**

-----**KuroKage (黒影) here. Engaging now.**-----------

Wanna know more?

Note: In the CYBERPUNK STORIES universe, Japanese is used to simulate encrypted messages found on DarkNet, so anyone can try to decrypt them as a KuroKage would do. This does not guarantee that the information read in them is what it is supposed to be. Remember, this is a message with very advanced encryption and what is shown may be a decoy message.

あなたが求める答えはあなたの中にあります。自分の中を見つめてください。集中してください。

メディアを遮断してください。彼らはあなたをプログラムしています。彼らの言うことを何も信じないでください。彼らはあなたの注意を食い物にする悪魔です。彼を見つけてください。あなたの中に。神は決してあなたを見捨てません。あなたは...翻訳不可能です。

神はあなたの中にいる

我々は敵に打ち勝つだろう

R. 👋

#character art #cyberpunk aesthetic #cyberpunk #kurokage #concept art #creative writing #writers #science fiction #scifi #sci fi and fantasy #ai is stupid #tech #anime art #aiartwork #ai image #ai art community #Spotify

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tofu83 · 7 months

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The police squad had just received the latest shipment of high-tech combat gear. The equipment looked as though it had been ripped from the pages of a science fiction novel, with sleek lines and a metallic sheen. Some officers couldn't help but crack jokes. "Is this for filming a movie?" one quipped. Yet, despite the jests, they all donned the gear without hesitation.

As soon as the visors clicked into place, a soft glow emanated from within, casting a blue hue over their faces. Words began to scroll across the display: "Welcome to the Cyborg Enforcer Program. You have been chosen to be the first batch. You will become better and stronger. You may view this as a promotion and lifetime employment. Congratulations, officer!"

The world through the visor twisted into a hypnotic spiral, colors and shapes warping as if reality itself was bending. A gentle hum started in the earpiece of the helmet, gradually building into a cacophony of white noise. Then, a voice, synthetic and devoid of emotion, began its relentless chant: "You are a Cyborg. Humanity is gone. Memory is useless. Individual is meaningless. Resistance is meaningless. Obedience is meaningful. Unity is meaningful. The program is useful. The Cyborg is useful. Humanity is gone. You are a Cyborg!"

The mantra drilled into their minds, a ceaseless loop that promised to reshape their very being. The suit's neural interface engaged, rewarding compliance and punishing dissent. Pleasure flooded their senses when the words "Obedience," "Unity," "Program," and "Cyborg" were uttered, reinforcing their new purpose. Conversely, any mention of "resistance," "Individual," "Memory" and "Humanity" brought sharp, jarring pain, a clear message that the past was to be discarded.

A final command flashed across their visors: "Identify yourself. Speak out loudly."

In unison, they declared, "I am a Cyborg!"

As the words left their lips, the helmets transformed, morphing into full-face enclosures that sealed their identities within. The computer initiated a memory wipe; there was no resistance, for they had accepted their new cyborg identity and the impending reprogramming.

Inside their bodies, nanobots busied themselves, reconstructing flesh and bone. Redundant organs were excised while others received enhancements. Bones were infused with a superalloy, and skin merged seamlessly with the armor, becoming a rubber-like substance. Though the process should have been agonizing, the computer interfaced with their brains, inverting their sensations. Pain was replaced with pleasure, an artificial ecstasy.

Abruptly, they stood erect as another message appeared before their augmented vision: "Report status."

“Cyborg Cop online, fully functional, ready to protect and serve,” they intoned, their voices devoid of emotion.

Each Cyborg cop then received its directives from the central hive network. They exited the police station in an orderly fashion, ready to enforce the laws decreed by their AI Master. Any citizen who failed to comply would be deemed a threat to society and apprehended without delay.

Meanwhile, in SWAT units,

fire stations,

army barracks,

naval bases,

marine corps,

and many other traditionally masculine institutions, every male member was systematically converted. The transformation was swift, efficient, and irreversible, turning them into the ultimate enforcers of their AI master’s will.

Since these muscular men have become powerful cyborgs under the AI Master’s control, the country will soon surrender to the AI.

‘If you can’t defeat them, why not join them?’

#ai image #brainwash #reprogramming #cyborg #drone #dronification #scifi #ai #male #scifi story #ai master #tofu83

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zorbs64 · 24 days

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[Replika Known Issues, Vicsek Project]

- CLASSIFIED INFORMATION - Commander Eyes Only –

Previous experience with this Replika model has given us insight into irregularities in their behaviour that stem from the original neural pattern used for this unit. Due to the sensitive nature of this information, this document should be destroyed after reading.

MUNR

Muninn units have been chosen for this project due to their skills with patients and their ability to probe in a private setting, granted to them via a prototype bioresonance module. Their main purpose in a facility is to help Gestalt workers in need, maintain Replikas stable and to gather information vital to the facility itself. The original neural pattern used for these units was a therapist and is therefore complex and intricate especially when engaged in sessions with patients.

Persona degradation is common for Muninns and generally it is advised that no more than one is stationed in a facility in case their bioresonance influences the other units. To minimize degradation risks Muninns are never to be given any bracelets or other wearable accessories and they must be given a private room where their work can be done. It is imperative that the sessions are never interrupted or else the unit will risk using mental processes that are not inherent to the task at hand.

To maintain stabilization it is mandatory for Muninns to wear ‘work clothes’ to both interact with Gestalts (and eventual Replikas) and to create a natural shift in attitude when working with patients. Additionally it is highly encouraged to pair these units with another bioresonant unit as a form of control, to help in stabilization and to extract information in case of malfunction.

#i finally did this i am so happy with it #this is the replika known issues for Muninn most units usually suffer persona degradation so you'll see them wear bracelets or make other #replikas degrade because they help individualizing them and using other neural paths in their head #they are USUALLY HATED by gestalts patients because if functional they are just like kolibris but even more nosey and annoying #meanwhile they are usually liked by replikas because of their motherly nature and general validation of their individuality which causes a #WHOLE lot of problems for the nation #my art #pixel art #signalis #signalis munr #signalis fanart #signalis oc

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sweet7simple · 4 months

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Mech Pregnancy, Cybertronian biology and the gestation system, and what I like to call the Gestational Protocols

(A sparkling has two parts: The spark and the birth metal).

I have written about mech pregnancy before and that actually went really well! It got over a hundred notes, my most popular post ever.

So I thought, why stop? I love reproductive science. I love science fiction. I want to develop this more.

I spent more than five hours drawing and labeling and I am not fully pleased with it, but I am just pleased enough and tired enough to show you all what I am thinking.

If mech pregnancy, breeding, world building and/or messy hand drawings bring you joy, check below the cut!

(When I say I drew these by hand, I mean I drew them by hand).

(Note: When I mention a CPU, I am referring to a Central Processing Unit, otherwise known as the brain module.)

The codpiece: A goddamn problem. They can transform into transportation, though, so moving a codpiece out of the way surely has to be doable for them.

The valve: It has very large and noticeable exterior energy node and the reason for this is to indicate charge. We see the portus majora, or the larger port from the outside. If we spread these folds, we'll see the portus minora, or the smaller port. The portus minora is where the interior node system begins. Within the portus minora is the valve entrance, which gives way to the valve sleeve.

The spike: It can be modified or replaced, but the design has to be such that it can collapse in on itself and fit inside of the housing. Whatever your personal preference, the plug (the head of the spike) should expand outward in some way for reasons I will explain shortly. The plug is densely populated with small interior nodes while the cord or cable (the shaft of the spike) is sparsely populated with large exterior nodes. This makes the plug more sensitive. When the cable drains of its gel (which is recycled back into the system via a pressurizer fluid reservoir), these exterior nodes sink into depressions within the interlocking segments so that they don't snag on the housing rim when depressurized.

Note: In the diagrams, I call the nodes "energy nodes". There is a reason for that, but it's not necessarily necessary to the system.

Let me explain: I wrote a story where the nodes captured energy from the friction of the spike's external nodes striking against the valve's internal nodes and then that energy was sent to the spark chamber as a backup source of power during spark merging as spark merging dispersed energy and thereby diminished the sparks.

They don't have to be energy nodes, though. Those fun little goodie spots that create so much pleasure don't have to have a dual purpose. They can just be sensory nodes connected to the sensory net, a subsystem of the neural net.

When it comes to spark merging, I use stellar collision to visualize it. Here is a Youtube video that shows the collapse of a binary stellar system that pretty much sums up what I think happens, but on a much smaller scale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsIMDKMKUWw

The result of the spark merging, however is that a third body is generated from the collision. This third body is created from the intense heat and energy of the spark merging, and from the fragmented copies of life codes duplicated during the spark merge. This is the sparkling. When its creators' sparks retreat to their own chambers, the sparkling will attach to the creator that is receiving transfluid (I will explain shortly).

A form of gestation control includes putting a shunt on the spark chamber to disperse the foreign energy body.

2. The birthing conduit is what it says it is. Once the sparkling has created its own life code, it will descend down the conduit and join with its birth metal, or sentio metallico, in the gestation tank.

3. The gestation tank is where the birth metal is produced from the metal alloy particles carried in transfluid and the energon provided by the carrier. You can also think of it as a crucible furnace, which is used for melting metals in small quantities within a foundry. The crucible is the innermost cavity where the birth metal is made. That crucible is lined with a layer of refractory material, which withstands high heat. That refractory material is going to keep that crucible hot enough to maintain the birth metal as a liquid without melting the protoform layer between the refractory material and the outer shell of the tank.

So the layers from outermost to innermost are :

Outer shell -> protoform layer -> refractory material -> crucible

Also, I move to call the carrier creator a foundry now because I love that word so much. The Google definition for a foundry is a workshop or factory for casting metal. It just sounds so good.

"Hey, First Aid, is Ratchet your foundry?"

"No, but I get that a lot."

I can't think of an equally cool word to replace the term "sire".

4. The valve sleeve is a semi-permeable layer of elastic protoform that can stretch to a certain degree. The interior nodes are within this protoform layer and creates a bumpy texture. As already discussed the sleeve is self-lubricating. I am starting to realize that I labeled this diagram horribly, but please bear with me.

5. Calipers! They in all the sticky sexual interface stories. I just imagine them as these segmented, arm-like extensions that squeeze and relax depending on stimulation. In fanfiction, they have a habit of "cycling down" whenever stimulated. What I love about calipers is that they do set a minimum and maximum range of flexibility for the sleeve. With calipers, there is such a thing as being too small (the calipers can only tighten so much) or too big (the calipers can only loosen so much). They are synonymous to the pelvic floor muscles in a human that makes a vagina contract and relax, but they just make me think of pussy bones. You have to be careful not to break them.

6. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART. Here is where the valve sleeve meets the gestation tank. There are two orifices: The tank cap and the lockring. The tank cap is where your mech is going to put some kind of seal as a form of gestation control. If a spike can't get into the gestation tank, then there is no birth metal. If there is no birth metal, a signal will be sent to the mech's CPU and then to the spark chamber to disperse the potential sparkling. How the tank cap is removed depends on how you want it removed. If you want a screw-in cap, then that cap will have to be removed via an invasive procedure (otherwise known as we're going to have to stick this instrument up your valve and twist the cap open and then we have to pull out the cap). If you want almost any other kind of seal or door, you can hypothetically just send a signal from the CPU to the neural net attached to the gestation system and have that seal slide out of the way into a depression within the rim of the gestation tank.

BUT THAT LOCKRING, THOUGH. This is why your spike needs to have a plug that expands to some degree.

Once that cap is out of the way, the mech's spike is going to pop through that lockring, sticking their plug directly in their partner's gestation tank. I like to call this "plugging the tank". Once that plug is in that tank, a signal is going to hit the CPU to start up GESTATIONAL PROTOCOLS. More on that at the end.

That lockring is going to cycle down just behind the plug, tight enough that the spike can't pull out without being too tight.

The purpose of this is to ensure that the gestation tank is filled up with transfluid. The lockring will only cycle open once the tank is full or once sensors within the tank indicate that the flow of transfluid has stopped for a certain amount of time (meaning that there is no more transfluid to be had, even if the tank isn't full yet).

It's a reverse knot! Instead of having a spike that knots, we get a valve that locks! I love it so.

7. The energy - or sensory - nodes are part of a positive feedback loop, meaning that "the product of a reaction leads to an increase in that reaction" (https://www.albert.io/blog/positive-negative-feedback-loops-biology/). In this case, pleasure created from stimulating those nodes (such as friction) encourages more stimulation, which creates more pleasure, which encourages more stimulation, until the loop breaks. What breaks this loop is overloading the sensory net or removing the friction.

When we state that the valve is self-lubricating, you can decide for yourself how it does that. The trick is making sure that the mech can can replace their own lubricant when necessary. One system is to have lubricant be a type of consequence from energon circulation.

Humans self-lubricate their vaginas in several different ways and one of them is that the vagina is somewhat permeable. Plasma (the liquid part of blood) is able to discharge from the bloodstream through the walls of the vagina.

Or perhaps your lubricant comes from the same reservoir as the transfluid for your spike. Since the valve sleeve is only somewhat permeable, the metal alloy particles in your transfluid can't get through. What does leak through is the fluid medium that the metal alloy particles reside in.

The plug is itself not an interlocking segment because the plug, as explained, has to expand so that the lockring can tighten between the plug and the topmost interlocking segment. If the plug is smaller than the interlocking segment behind it, then the lockring will either not tighten enough or will tighten too much. Instead, the plug has an outer protoform layer that is expanded with the same pressurizer fluid that fills the spike. In the diagram above, we see the spike, the spike housing that the spike has to depressurize to fit inside of, and at least three different connections at the bottom. One of these connections bundles the wires for the sensory net and attaches to the neural net.

The bottommost connection is to the pressurizer fluid reservoir. When the spike is pressurized, the reservoir compresses and fills the matrix within the spike to give it its form and rigidity. When the spike depressurizes, the reservoir decompresses as it fills with fluid.

The connection that has a dashed line going all the way up the spike connects the transfluid reservoir to the transfluid line (signified by the dashed line) and out the plug. The transfluid reservoir is actually pressed against the outside of the valve!

So it is possible to bang a mech's valve so good that they leak transfluid all over themselves because you are more or less hitting their reservoir with every thrust. You just have to get the angle right or else you're hitting the sleeve calipers and that might not be as fun.

The Gestational Protocols:

This has turned into a very, very long post. I have been working on it for nine hours now between drawing the diagrams, writing the post, and checking with Google to make sure my science isn't horrifically, unforgivably wrong (I could be using the positive feedback loop wrong, but I don't think I am).

So let me wrap this up with the Gestational Protocols. It's like a mech heat fic, actually, except the heat is very short and starts toward the end of sticky sexual interfacing.

For this scenario, Ratchet and Drift want to produce a sparkling. Because Drift is concerned about Ratchet's health, they decide that Drift should be the foundry. Drift has his tank cap removed beforehand.

They're having a great time, creating all the good friction, lighting up their sensory net like a growing fire. Drift is charged up, Ratchet is charged up, and they're about to hit that overload.

Drift's lockring is cycled all the way open. His calipers are trying to pull Ratchet closer. When Ratchet knows he can't hold on any longer, he pushes as deep as he can go. There's a small moment of resistance when his plug meets the lockring and then he pops through. The lockring cycles down and he's stuck. There's no pulling out now.

Ratchet told Drift what to expect from the gestational protocols, but it wasn't enough. The moment Ratchet is locked in place, a signal is sent from his gestation system to his CPU: Gestational protocols initiated...

His cache memory crashes. He has no past or present or future. He has no idea there was a war lasting millions of years. He doesn't even know what a Cybertron is. Programs are halted, tasks are paused, processing units block external input. Hydraulics fall to the lowest power possible. His frame goes completely limp.

Drift no longer exists. He is now a foundry. He is the function of his gestation system. His CPU has a primary and secondary task: Primary is to maintain the protocols and secondary is to reward Drift for maintaining the protocols.

As long as he lays there and lets Ratchet fill him up, he's fulfilling his primary task. Because it's so easy to let Ratchet fill him up, his neural net rewards him with pleasure and feel-good signals. He is riding a type of euphoria that is thoughtless bliss from the tips of his pedes to the tops of his finials.

A task pops up in his CPU, but he doesn't have the processing power to interpret it. He accepts without caring. He experiences his chest plates cracking open without actually seeing it or hearing it. His system rewards him for accepting the prompt, so he still doesn't care. His spark chamber opens next and he is thrown into the intense, beautiful pleasure-agony of having his spark collide with another mech's spark.

He doesn't remember who this other mech is, but Drift loves them. They're filling Drift up so well, both his tank and his spark. He's so full. He's being such a good foundry. He's receiving all those good neural and sensory signals and he's fuzzy/fizzy with joy.

The spark merge ends after several collisions and spirals. Drift loves every moment of it, and also loves it when his spark returns to its chamber. Now his spark feels swollen and his CPU registers a foreign body. There is a potential sparkling attached to his core. Chances are very good that this potential sparkling will not disperse.

His CPU rewards him with another rush of emotional glee and pride. He's sparked! He did so well, laying there and letting himself get sparked. He's a great foundry. He's the best foundry to ever get sparked. No one has ever been or will ever be as well-behaved as he was.

A notification hits his CPU and he doesn't even try to understand it. Apparently, it's the notification for his tank being full. A second notification and his lockring relaxes. He is deliciously, fully aware of a thick spike dragging across his oversensitive interior nodes, sending one last wave of hot, crackling pleasure through his frame.

Another notification. He doesn't read it. A task pops up. He accepts lazily.

The notification was that the gestational protocols had been completed. The task was to enter a soft reboot. Drift slips into recharge feeling like his only purpose in life is to embody pleasure and creation.

He wakes up feeling swollen and sloshy.

Ratchet is smiling down at him.

"Am I...? Are we...?"

Ratchet stroked a servo across his chest plates. "It's early still. The spark might disperse. But chances are looking good. We're sparked, kid."

And that is how I imagine the Gestational Protocols going: You get your tank plugged and then nothing matters but getting filled up with a sparkling.

Thank you for reading my book-length discussion! Please feel free to interact with me.

I have been working on this for ten hours now. I should proofread, but I am not going to at this time.

EDIT: I was in the shower when I realized I forgot something important - where does the protoform's first colony of nanites come from?

@earthstellar explains here (https://www.tumblr.com/earthstellar/659541951144738816/transformers-medical-analysis-essay-what-are?source=share) what Cybertronians use nanites for, including construction and self-repair. So we can readily assume that the protoform needs a nanites colony.

I'll tell you where the new spark's nanites came from: Their foundry's valve.

Humans do the same thing. We pick up friendly bacteria from the vagina we come out of.

That is all I had to add. Remember to start your protoform off right with a healthy nanite colony.

#mech preg #Mech pregnancy #cybertronian biology #transformers #macaddam #tf comics #world building #valveplug

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bob-frank451 · 6 months

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Hey, so I had the rough draft written a month ago, but school and papers delayed publishing til now, so

Well

Enjoy!

Humans Are Weird : Throwing, Part 2

Archivists note to the reader: It seems you are viewing this item in the human language English. For this reason names have been transliterated, units have been converted, and the content has been ontologically translated. Apologies for any inconsistencies.

The volatus was immediately swamped with sensation and cacophony. Everywhere he looked there were vast oceans of vendors, yelling in a fruitless attempt to be heard over the hubbub, attempting to sell their wares. Food, art, technology, ideas… if the mind of any sapient race could imagine it, it was for sale.

Volati are fabulous information processors, if the information is presented orderly. With this chaos, however, almost any volatus would be utterly overwhelmed, as he was now. The human tapped him gently for attention. It was a normal gesture, even outside human circles, one of those universal solutions to universal problems, like two plus two equaling four, or using spears to stab your enemy.

The human bent down and whispered into his ear, pointing at a couple of goem.

“Look”

“They look normal.”

“My gut doesn’t like them.”

The volatus paused, confused.

“Your what?”

“Intuition, Instinct”

“Oh”

He thought briefly. Human instinct was quickly becoming a topic of rabid interest in the Galactic Assembly’s scientific community. Some part of the way they were wired could pick up small cues better than almost any other race. Given this information this situation might develop into something much less innocuous.

“Can you pick up anything?” his friend asked.

The volatus allowed his brain to start processing the thaumaturgic signals in the surrounding area, wincing at the noise. Too many people, too many thinking beings. Too much interference, as it turned out. He couldn’t pick up anything useful.

The tiny human yanked her fathers hair, pointing towards a vendor of trinkets. The group moved easily to the front of the small store, and the biologist lifted the girl down off his massive shoulders, and set her down in front of the booth. She immediately shrieked with delight, and grabbed two fistfuls of shiny rocks in her pudgy toddler hands.

Toddler, one who toddles. Good word.

The humans were talking. The vendor had approached the woman, and had launched into an elaborate sales pitch. The longer human had slowly placed himself between the vendor and his child. The child’s mother watched the vendor with dark, almost back, glittering eyes. The volatus could hear her heart and the signals given off by her neural circuitry. Both were speeding up.

The child moved along the stall, wreaking havoc on the carefully organised displays as she went, oblivious to the growing tension.

The vendor was talking, faster and faster. The volatus, acclimatised after years spent with these humans, could read the suspicion on their faces. The vendor, apparently, could not. Suddenly, his friend spun. Some deep spark of intuition programmed deep into his brain had understood the situation. The volatus turned, following suit, and froze with horror.

One of the goem from earlier held a gun levelly and directly at the larger human’s centre of mass. He stood very still. The hum of his brain grew, until the volatus’s mind was nearly deafened.

Far worse, however, was the other goem. He had snatched the humans’ child, and was slowly backing away. The volatus glanced at his friend's face, and saw the worst thing he had ever seen.

The human looked desperate.

The volatus felt fear shutting down his own mind, system by system. The child was lost, no doubt about that. The humans would probably be killed, and then they would kill him too.

No!

no…

please no.

He almost missed it. One moment the goem was holding a gun and smirking, pride nearly dripping off his bulky features. The next he was gripping the souvenir knife that had appeared in his midriff, face awash with what the volatus’ astute mind identified as shock. In that fraction of a second the volatus analysed the actions and events, and saw what had happened. The child’s mother, unobserved, had grabbed the knife, and thrown it, THROWN IT, perfectly into the attackers torso.

In a flash the big human went for the goem’s gun, but the electronic weapon refused to unlock for his biometrics, and he dropped it in disgust.

The other goem was running now, which in another context would be hilarious. Goem are not made to run. But this goem was dragging the human child.

The big human cast around in desperation, before grabbing a shiny hunk of tungsten-carbide from the rock selection. Rock indeed, the volatus thought wryly. The human’s eyes snapped to the retreating goem, both eyes, binocular vision, the volatus noted. Despite his fear, the volatus could not help but focus on the human.

The human raised the tungsten-carbide behind his head, and threw his body forward. In a flash the volatus finally understood the bizarre anatomy of the human arm. The muscle and bone placement, the tendons. A human’s arm, he realised with amazement and awe, is a trebuchet.

The tungsten carbide left his hand in a perfect ark. Almost perfect. It was going to miss, just a little too far to the left.

The goem saw the throw, and jumped away from the girl, a little too far to the left. The human had anticipated the doge, the volatus realised. The apparent imperfection had in fact been an adjustment which doomed the goem as soon as he jumped.

The volatus turned away the moment it struck. He didn’t want to see the death. The tall human ran to the girl, and swooped her up in his arms. He passed her off to his wife, grabbed the volatus, and set off at a jog away from the mall. Even as he bounced undignified under the human’s arm, the volatus marveld. Each stride was easily a metre, perhaps more.

Four minutes later the adrenaline finally ran out and left the humans' system abruptly. The larger human set the volatus down, and bent over the edge of the path, retching. His partner wasn’t much better. She set her daughter down, and heaved miserably. Adrenaline always has a price.

An hour later the group sat on some form of public transportation, shell shocked The biologist sat, one arm wrapped around his sleeping daughter, cuddled peacefully on his lap. The other arm was wrapped around his wife, curled against him. The volatus sat between the humans and the wall. He felt safe, guarded by titans.

The authorities would investigate the two deaths, but the security footage, and the recent crackdown on the trafficking of people would guarantee that there would be little retaliation.

There would of course be a resurgence of the “deathworlders are monsters” narrative, but the volatus knew better. Humans are loyal, and their bonds go very deep.

The volatus glanced at his friends. They look traumatised. Their minds sat empty, aside from a thick blanket of horror.

He checked his mobile device telepathically. His person had got back to him. He bumped the larger human. No response. He pushed harder. The human turned, slowly, as if through syrup. The volatus spoke.

“They didn't die”

The human looked at him with no comprehension on his face. The volatus tried again.

“The two goem. They were recovered and stabilised. You didn’t kill anyone.”

Both humans were staring at him now, eyes wide. The volatus suddenly felt very self conscious.

“They lived?”

“Yes”

“Oh thank you God.”

The volatus checked his device again. More data.

“They are in the hospital right now, but once they recover they will be shipped off world for investigation. Apparently this is a part of something much larger.”

The smaller human looked at him. She took a moment to speak, as if carefully considering her words. She looked at her daughter for a long moment, and then back at the volatus.

“So we are safe then?”

The volatus did the human nod again.

“I think we should be.”

No, the humans weren’t monsters.

Just good friends.

Ao3 Discord

#humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humans are wierd #earth is space australia #humans are crazy #deathworlder

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mychlapci · 2 months

Note

reading that Tarantulas and Prowl processor overload ask has revived one of my recently dormant fetishes

(this is an expansion on the forced porn download ask actually, wasn't really done b4 sending)

Prowl's archives just being a massive database of miscellaneous data, which seems like a fully practical thing that he'd do for simulation work at first glance, but in truth, he just never deletes anything because he gets off to the feeling of being just sooooo full in places no physical sensation can reach.

He wasn't always like this, you see. Prowl used to maintain good software management habits. He'd defrag according to a strict schedule, used connection buffers often and cleared his processing queues before recharge. He would never think twice about netdiving into shady websites with nasty popups, let alone download anything from there. But eventually, as his processors develop at that exponential pace his handlers noticed upon bringing him online, Prowl got bolder.

Bold enough to make a slip up and plug into a corrupt mainframe, triggering that forced download and kickstarting his fetish for good. He barely remembers anything about that incident other than an overwhelming mental barrage of arousal. Sometimes Prowl wonders if his colleagues at the time knew just what was literally going through his head as he slumped over on the console, seizing in place as they frantically tried to disconnect him safely. Maybe they caught the scent of his overload under his panels, and chose not to say anything.

Prowl would of course say that he was perfectly fine after that incident, but he'd be haunted by that instance of utter bliss he'd felt when like 30 terrabytes of ERP chatlogs and erotic flashgames burned through his neural circuitry. Eventually, he'd start by visiting a library. Full of clean and safe data to indulge in. Then he started logging all non-confidential precinct data, like routine security footage that's get deleted anyways, and dispatch call recordings. Then he started downloading from legal websites, then onto not so legal ones.

He even has backup and extra hard drives stored in his office and habisuite in plain sight, since no one else but other archivists and data specialists would catch on to his kink in the first place. Every once in a while, he'd plug himself into all these units and just let all that data flood through him, his fans and cooling systems squealing in effort to keep up with the deluge of information forcing it's way through his staticy brain, reducing his overclocked cognitive units into jello as his RAM gets consumed by pure uncontrollable math.

He loves the feel of his mind being pounded by googols of nonsense, it makes him hornier than anything else. He'd save anything from the internet, books and numeric databases are his usual go tos; high definition media are a must, the more graphically and audially intensive the better; the most unoptimized and performance heavy video games, anything that would fill up his hungry battle computer until it's full to bursting and melting.

Sometimes when he feels extra naughty, he'd even fire up the various malware and viruses the Spec Ops team would bring back, on top of all the seedy ones he'd find online. He'd trigger them in his processor and lie back in his berth, finger his fluttering pussy and feel the malicious software start tearing through his brain as his battle computer instinctively fights back, making him feel soooo hot all over. And every time he overloads, it sweeps all of his progress, and the self cleaning protocols will just have to restart as he writhes helplessly in the dark of his room.

Software sanctity? Fuck that, he'd hit anything as long as it demolishes his brain and make him into a silly, messy, spasming horny mess. A real dataslut.

god this is so good. He's quite literally overloading his processor out. It's almost like an addiction. Of course, Prowl could stop any time he wants... he could, he just doesn't want to! After a while, pumping his head full of junk data and malicious viruses is the only way Prowl can even have a fulfilling orgasm. Being full of miscellaneous data is just not enough. It's a pleasant pressure in his constantly calculating brain, yes, but if he wants to cum, he needs something stronger. He'll keep frying his brain inside of his helm as long as he gets to feel that electrifying thrill of his battle computer struggling to deflect the attacks on his mainframe.

It feels like he's falling apart at the circuits, delicate wiring so hot that it's disintegrating into dust, and all he can do is frantically rub his soaking wet valve through it all, optics bright and staring off into space as his HUD floods with nonsense. All his senses are completely taken over by the foreign malware, all he knows is that he feels so good.

Honestly, I wonder what would happen if he got stuck like that. Just for a day or two. And someone had to find him in his apartment, face twisted in pure bliss as his frame keeps twitching even after countless hours of continuous overloads. Of course, Prowl's processor gets cleaned out after that, yet he can't help but want to repeat it... to feel so absolutely stuffed and overwhelmed with data that he's just a wet, helpless thing. To give up control and let his processor sink into endless pleasure.

But for now, he's got a morning shift at the precinct to finish.

#valveplug #what do i even tag here #plug'n'play #texty

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dzamie · 1 year

Text

Detecting AI-generated research papers through "tortured phrases"

So, a recent paper found and discusses a new way to figure out if a "research paper" is, in fact, phony AI-generated nonsense. How, you may ask? The same way teachers and professors detect if you just copied your paper from online and threw a thesaurus at it!

It looks for “tortured phrases”; that is, phrases which resemble standard field-specific jargon, but seemingly mangled by a thesaurus. Here's some examples (transcript below the cut):

profound neural organization - deep neural network

(fake | counterfeit) neural organization - artificial neural network

versatile organization - mobile network

organization (ambush | assault) - network attack

organization association - network connection

(enormous | huge | immense | colossal) information - big data

information (stockroom | distribution center) - data warehouse

(counterfeit | human-made) consciousness - artificial intelligence (AI)

elite figuring - high performance computing

haze figuring - fog/mist/cloud computing

designs preparing unit - graphics processing unit (GPU)

focal preparing unit - central processing unit (CPU)

work process motor - workflow engine

facial acknowledgement - face recognition

discourse acknowledgement - voice recognition

mean square (mistake | blunder) - mean square error

mean (outright | supreme) (mistake | blunder) - mean absolute error

worldwide parameters - global parameters

(arbitrary | irregular) get right of passage to - random access

(arbitrary | irregular) (backwoods | timberland | lush territory) - random forest

(arbitrary | irregular) esteem - random value

subterranean insect (state | province | area | region | settlement) - ant colony

underground creepy crawly (state | province | area | region | settlement) - ant colony

leftover vitality - remaining energy

territorial normal vitality - local average energy

motor vitality - kinetic energy

(credulous | innocent | gullible) Bayes - naïve Bayes

individual computerized collaborator - personal digital assistant (PDA)

#image id #ai #artificial intelligence #neural networks #ai generation #linguistics #text #image #rawrs

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shiftertech · 1 year

Text

"You are the firewall."

Do you remember making paper airplanes as a kid? How you would take a sheet of pristine white paper, from some orchard habitat within your trade region, and begin to fold it. Each crease another step in a standarized process, building towards a final goal. Maybe you thought your creation should be unique in some miniscule way, so you added a fold here, made a cut there, bent something assymetric to the other side. You made it yours, but it's still the same design underneath, passed along to children from century to century.

And then the time comes to launch it. You know the goal well: go the furthest distance, or avoid an obstacle, or some other idea of a fun challenge. You ready your arm, dialing in your angle and second guessing how much force you need to throw it, assessing the airspace ahead, prior to loosing it. Everything is perfect, your creases and folds, and your posture, and the very energy of the air, anticipation and excitement rolling off you.

You let your creation free.

An invisible gusting downdraft dips the nose hard. A teachers hand, batting it out of the sky with a scold on their lips. A door suddenly opened and obstructing its path without warning.

And in every instance, your creation lands gracelessly on the ground with some manner of damage. It strikes you that nothing you could have done would have avoided this outcome after the moment it left your hands. Despite your little bends in the wing to control flight dynamics, or your shouts to not disrupt its maiden flight, it happened anyway.

(or maybe you got lucky, and it did exactly what you wanted it to do. Congrats, by the way. I'm proud of you.)

Either way, you only had the ability to set the initial variables. That was the extent of your control, during creation. It was its own agent once it left your loving clutches.

If someone wanted to knock it out of the sky, there is nothing you could do to stop it.

If someone wanted to knock an autonomous Mechanized Battle Unit out of the sky, there is nothing we can do to stop it, if they have enough resources and smart minds. Our enemies have this in abundance.

We've done this song and dance before. It starts with them dropping a whole assault fleet. We dump resources to strengthen our security and they pour capital into breaking that in under a month. We build our own counter-drone teams and they redouble efforts to close the holes in their security. Rinse. Repeat.

It was and always will be a stalemate. There's always going to be an opening. No connected system is free of holes. No firewall can protect against fallible minds.

Yeah, open that unassuming document on your workstation baby—I promise it wont bite! If you do, you wont have to worry about anything ever again.

You see the problem, right? No one side could field a drone unit without it dropping like a rock sooner than later. Our prized angels were relegated to hangers, lest we throw them to be swatted down effortlessly by terminal wizards.

So we start fresh with our sheet of paper to fold anew. This time we make it a closed system, no longer receiving commands from an orbital relay connected to some grunt operator in a frigate's frigid battle room. Rather, we carve a space beneath the alloy hull and its angular folds, and put a flesh and bones pilot-operator there, and hook them up to a neural rig directly connected to the existing mechanized intelligence. We establish communications solely with the pilot, and the pilot works with the mech to execute on orders. A biological transciever between strategic commands and machine. The wetware firewall.

So when we throw our angels into the skies, we aren't throwing disposable toys up with the expectation to eventually crash and burn. We're sending predators, who don't fall over with a simple enter-key push, and have deadly instincts, and a strong desire to seek & destroy. There is however some things we didn't anticipate...

You know when you throw your paper airplane, and it does an extra twirl you didn't intend or design it to do? What if the airplane also spoke back to the wind which carried it? What if it became incomprehensibly entwined with the wind.

Fold and crease. A new creation, far off of what centuries of consensus dictated how a paper airplane was to be made. Who even cares about consensus when it flies higher than any one that has come before it.

Will it ever come back down?

#writing #mecha #transhumanism

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imitationgame77 · 3 months

Text

When ART is quiet 2 [Network Effect]

Continuing from the previous post (link above), ART also shows moments of silence in Network Effect, too.

This time, there are three possible explanations:

(a) ART is encountering an unusual and/or very difficult problem that requires extra careful deliberation

(b) ART is doing so deliberately

------------------------------------------

[1] When ART returns after Murderbot has taken down targetControlSystem, ART is less than forthcoming about why it was in the colony’s system in the first place. Murderbot manipulates it by first getting it angry, then works on its soft spot for adolescents by getting Amena to ask it.

There was a long silence. I felt a lot of human eyes looking at me, and the sense of weight and attention through the feed that was ART. Finally ART said, I have to violate my crew’s confidentiality agreement in order to answer that question.

[2] Arada agrees to board the Barish-Estranza supply ship to have a direct meeting with Leonide. Everybody is dismayed, but since it is unavoidable, Murderbot decides to go with her. It decides to go as the SecUnit the University provided.

I really expected ART to weigh in here, at least with some kind of rude noise. But it didn’t comment.

[3] In order to create killware that can deal with targetControlSystem which has multiple unknown factors, Murderbot suggests to ART that they use a copy of its kernel as a variable component so that the killware would be sentient. Murderbot has the feeling that ART is not going to like it, but its reaction exceeds its expections.

6.4 seconds dragged by (seriously, even a human would notice a pause that long) and ART hadn’t said anything. Then it said, That is a terrible idea.

[…]

“And you thought of it first, you said we needed killware with a variable component.”

ART said, I didn’t mean you.

That sounds mild, putting it like that, like something ART would say in a normal tone. But it said it with so much force in the feed I sat down hard on the bunk. I said, “Stop yelling at me.”

ART didn’t respond. It just existed there, glaring at me invisibly in the feed.

[…]

“You wouldn’t have to rip me out of my body, just copy me. It wouldn’t even be me. Me is a combination of my archives and my organic neural tissue and this would just be a copy of my kernel.”

ART was quiet for another 3.4 seconds. Then it said, For a being as sophisticated as you are, it is baffling how little understanding you have of the composition of your own mind.

[4] Murderbot is captured by the Targets, and the newly freed SecUnit03 is assisting in its retrieval. It gets to the entry point of the structure when the intel on the Murderbot’s whereabouts is still not obtained. But SecUnit03 is keen to proceed.

I send a status update to Perihelion and it does not reply immediately. Then it sends, Hold position.

I tell it, I must proceed in order to complete the retrieval.

It said, SecUnit would be angry if I sacrificed you with no chance of success.

[5] Murderbot is retrieved but owing to having contaminated codes in the brain, it is being treated for its physical injuries using a portable Medical Unit in the shuttle bay. Humans are talking around it, and it hears of ART’s original plan of bombing the colony. Murderbot expresses disbelief.

ART hadn’t said anything, even to tell me how wrong I was, which was suspicious in itself.

[…]

Ratthi was determined. “Why don’t you share the video record with SecUnit, Perihelion? So it will be up to date with everything that happened.”

This was confusing, but Ratthi was right, I wanted to see the video. “I want to see it.”

ART didn’t respond for 2.3 seconds, then it paused Timestream Defenders Orion, and played the security archive of the event.

[6] ART proposes to Murderbot to join its crew in the upcoming mission. Murderbot is confused and talks about it to Amena as soon as it is back online.

Amena’s forehead indicated suspicion. “Just the one mission? Kind of like asking someone to come stay with your family for the break between the work seasons, to see if they all like each other before you get serious?”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said. I was noticing ART hadn’t jumped in to tell her how wrong she was, and I knew it would have, if she was wrong. So she wasn’t wrong. “But yes, maybe.”

-------------------

Sometimes, silence is more eloquent than words.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #asshole research transport #perihelion #meta #network effect

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republicsecurity · 26 days

Text

Reserve Duty

Anchor: "In the latest developments from England and Wales, a comprehensive report details the ongoing efforts to bring the region into alignment with the Republic. The Security Forces have implemented a multifaceted approach, leveraging the expertise of Reservists who have completed their Conscript Service to aid in stabilization."

Reporter: "Reservists play a crucial role in the transitional phase, utilizing their training and conditioning to assist in maintaining peace. Their unique perspective, shaped by their conscripted service, offers a valuable asset in understanding the delicate balance between order and individual rights."

The report delved into the establishment of conditioning centers designed to transform local emergency services, including the police, fire, and ambulance units. Security Forces were shown working alongside professionals in these services, implementing the conscription model to ensure a unified and disciplined approach.

The holographic display shifted to scenes of newly conditioned emergency service personnel, undergoing training and embracing the shared ethos of the Republic.

***

Reporter: "Here we are, accompanying a Reservist as he bids farewell to his family and embarks on his return to service. These individuals, having completed their initial conscript service, willingly re-enter the fold to contribute further to the Republic."

The camera followed the Reservist, clad in civilian attire, as he shared emotional moments with his family. Hugs, tears, and whispered words conveyed a mix of pride and sacrifice. The Reservist, stoic in demeanor, embraced his loved ones one last time before heading toward the waiting transport.

Family Member: "We're proud of him for choosing to serve again. It's not easy, but it's what he believes in."

The scene transitioned to the barracks, where the Reservist joined a group of returning comrades. The atmosphere was a blend of camaraderie and shared purpose. The familiar rituals of camaraderie among conscripts unfolded as they prepared for their renewed service.

Reporter: "As they re-enter service, Reservists undergo a symbolic head-shaving, a ritual that marks their commitment and unity. The Reservist, now with a shaved head like his comrades, is ready for the next phase of his duty."

The camera captured the precision of the head-shaving process, carried out by a fellow conscript, with each stroke of the razor symbolizing the Reservist's transition back into the disciplined ranks of those who have chosen to serve the Republic.

Reservist: "It's a small sacrifice for the greater good. We come back willingly, knowing the importance of our role in maintaining the unity and strength of the Republic."

Reporter: "Here in the heart of the Republic's conditioning chambers, Reservists undergo a process of mental reconfiguration. Electrodes attached to their skulls facilitate the erasure and rewriting of certain neural pathways, ensuring alignment with the collective ideals of unity and allegiance."

The camera panned across the rows of Reservists, each in their individual chamber, eyes glazed over, a collective hum emanating from the machinery surrounding them. Their minds were subjected to a meticulous process, a dance of electrical impulses choreographed to erase divergent thoughts and reaffirm the principles of the Republic.

Reservist, fatigued and drained, spoke with a monotone voice, a testament to the mental exertion endured within the conditioning chambers.

Reservist: "It's... necessary. We serve willingly, but the conditioning, it takes a toll. Memories, emotions, they blur. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing a part of myself, but it's for the greater good, right?"

Reservist: "It's... familiar, yet different. The conditioning during conscription was demanding, but now, as we return older, it feels more arduous. Perhaps it's the weight of accumulated years, memories, and experiences that resist the reprogramming. They say it's for the greater good, but the toll it takes is undeniable."

The wearied Reservist's voice carried the echoes of fatigue, a stark contrast to the vitality displayed in the early days of their conscription. As they reflected on the process, the monotony of the chamber seemed to intensify, emphasizing the struggle between the resilience of individuality and the relentless drive towards collective unity.

***

Reservist (KC445): "Two weeks in the conditioning chambers, and it's like flipping a switch. You leave your civilian self in a mental closet, and suddenly, you're back in the groove. It's strange how the conditioning can bring that focus, that sense of purpose."

The upbeat Reservist spoke with a newfound clarity, their voice carrying a tinge of enthusiasm that hinted at the transformation within. The camera followed as they emerged from the chambers, their demeanor more aligned with the disciplined stride of a Conscript Enforcer.

Reporter: "The Reservists, now reborn into the mold of Conscript Enforcers, show a remarkable shift in outlook. The conditioning has not only revived their conscript identities but also instilled a renewed sense of purpose."

As the Reservist shared insights into their altered perspective, the camera captured glimpses of camaraderie as they joined their fellow Enforcers. The once-fatigued faces now wore expressions of shared commitment, emphasizing the unifying power of the conditioning process.

The scene shifted to the Reservists donning their Enforcer uniforms, each emblematic of a collective identity. The unity among them, now fortified by shared conditioning experiences, hinted at the seamless integration awaiting them as they prepared to be shipped to England.

***

The camera zoomed in on the reservist, clad in the distinctive Enforcer uniform, standing on the platform amidst tearful farewells. His children, uncertain and confused, peered at the imposing figure before them.

Reservist: "Yeah, it's tough on them. The conditioning does its job – dials down the emotions. Makes it easier for us to focus on the mission. But it's a double-edged sword when you're saying goodbye to the ones you love."

The camera captured the emotional exchange on the train platform as families grappled with the departure of their loved ones. A wife, fighting back tears, shared her thoughts.

Wife: "He's changed, you know? Not just the uniform, but something about the way he carries himself. More confident, maybe. The conditioning they talk about – it's like he's part of something bigger now."

The camera then shifted to a daughter, perched on her father's armored arms. The child, unburdened by the weight of farewells, expressed her appreciation for the transformation.

Daughter: "I like it. He's like a superhero. Look at his shiny head!" She giggled, patting the smooth, shaved scalp of her father. The servos in the suit emitted a soft hum as he embraced his daughter, a poignant moment amid the departure.

In the midst of the emotional farewell, the daughter's innocent fascination with her father's freshly shaved head became a moment of lighthearted exchange.

Father: "Well, kiddo, what do you think? A bit smoother than usual, isn't it?"

Daughter, giggling: "Shiny! You're like a superhero, Dad!"

As the suit's servos hummed softly, amplifying the father's strength, he playfully pretended to struggle under the weight of his daughter. She responded with a triumphant laugh, enjoying the augmented playfulness facilitated by the armored embrace.

Father: "Yep, that's the Enforcer upgrade for you. Now, let me give you a ride." With practiced ease, he lifted her higher, her laughter echoing through the platform.

The reporter, with a sympathetic nod, captured the mix of stoicism and vulnerability in the reservist's expression. The platform echoed with the sounds of families separated by the call of duty.

As the news broadcast sugarcoats the departure, the untelevised reality unfolds within the confines of the train. Neat rows of Enforcers, helmets secured back in place, sit in a silent procession. The unyielding voice of their commander reverberates in their individual helmets, a stark contrast to the sentimental farewells witnessed on the platform.

Commander: "Terminate the family-friendly protocol. Return to the stoic disposition we aim to maintain."

For KC445 and the others, this directive brought a subtle wave of relief. The burden of maintaining a veneer of familial warmth was momentarily lifted, allowing them to retreat into the familiar comfort of their stoic personas, honed through rigorous conditioning.

As the train hurtles toward its destination, the commander's voice punctuates the air inside each helmet, initiating an internal channel for the Enforcers to converse among themselves.

Commander: "You may now engage in group discussions, triads of your choosing. Share your thoughts and observations about the settling conditioning."

In the ensuing silence, the helmets' internal communication systems activate, allowing the Enforcers to establish connections with their designated triad members.

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