#intelligence artificial or otherwise
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I still toss and turn about this all the time, by the way- itâs probably the most enduring obsession of my childhood, and a nontrivial chunk of what drove me to things like geology, programming, ratspace, and even stuff you wouldnât expect like a fondness for time travel stories or Li Po poems.
One neuron is just a cell. Many neurons, arranged just so, is a person. Qualia, interiority, volition, values, all spectacularly inexplicable in physical terms. A whole world of imagination, captured in miniature as a net with just the right pattern of string. Itâs so fucking goetic. Arrange these symbols in a circle, and a demon appears, using some dread fire to give meaning to form and animate base matter. âThe hard problemâ, they call it.
My hard problem isnât that it works, as such. This, I can accept, although not with full equanimity. Itâs that it demonstrates something about the cosmos, because everything demonstrates something about the cosmos, and I cannot for the life of me see through that fog. The universe is not billiard balls and itâs not negative-probability waves moving through fields, because when you arrange symbols in a circle you can summon a demon. That was there from the beginning, latent at the big bang that kicked us all off. But all we have is this one thing, this tiny little biosphere on a tiny little world that stumbled blindly in to the right incantations, and everywhere else we look itâs just billiard balls as far as the eye can see. This is not to say that âis there extraterrestrial life?â is the most important question, though of course itâs instrumental, and the Fermi Paradox is maddening in this context as well. But the deeper question is, âwhy in the everliving tiddlywinks does a universe with a demon-summoning ritual in it pretend to be mechanical except in this one narrow thing?â Whereâs the rest of the magic system?
And now weâre closing in on perfecting the ritual ourselves, not understanding a damn thing of course, only marginally less blind than the evolutionary process that first succeeded in us. We zero in on intelligence, the one part of all this that weâve managed to make tractable in analytical terms, and use that to bootstrap ourselves toward something that hopefully, hopefully shares all the rest. Demons summoning demons (of course it spirals out to infinity almost immediately, how could it not?), and maybe the new ones will be able to tell us what the universe is and how we happened within it. Makes sense as a strategy, I suppose.
#intelligence artificial or otherwise#cognition is hard#qualia#ascended tags#poetry#quotes#hfl#emotion with no name#philosophy#mtt#wkto
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That ad with the father asking ai to write a letter âfromâ his daughter to her favorite athlete is fucking bleak
#I have to put ai/artificial intelligence in lowercase otherwise I think weâre talking about Weird Al#nothing about that ad is heartwarming it makes me feel like Iâm in fucken Black Mirror#also I thought the point of having kids write those sorts of letters themselves was to have misspelled words#and messy handwriting and maybe a few pictures drawn in the marginsâŠ#BLEAK#personal
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lilamichele is like what i'm always complaining about. it's better to have an enemy who understands the vision (no matter how scary the enemy is) than trying to articulate yourself to idiots because you can't argue with someone who doesn't understand what you're saying in the first place
#he's evil but they're equals.#i mean this is a particular flavour of unsettling but it's intelligent. there's substance there#loveee the look on stefano's face in the shoe shop because this realisation hits him when michele supports the photograph#it's terrifying when something is empty of meaning and it affects things greatly (stefano)#but there is a certain type of order between lila and michele. there are rules that make sense in that game#a game that is entirely artificial because it's entirely calculated. and lila knows how to operate in those circumstances#because it's a way of establishing control. artificial hierarchy as a response to inherent chaos of everything natural#a game with kings and queens and shoemaker's daughters. not the weird in-between reality of everything#(marcello wearing the shoes. stefano having been involved with the solaras since the beginning. pasquale and nadia)#lilamichele is as close to black&white as you can get. one will win and the other one will lose.#there is a twisted comfort in that. same as lila never being romantically involved with a solara#artificial boundaries that must remain.#pillars of the universe!!!! lila and michele are city's monuments. and architecture is only a mechanism#of establishing comfort and order in a world that otherwise doesn't welcome it.#lenĂč's book the one lila hates the one that subtly brings the dirt behind everything solaras have done to the surface feels relevant here#ferranteposting#letters from stephanie*
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Jevons paradox
I don't quite see how DeepSeek being cheaper to train than expected (assuming it actually is cheaper to train) reduces the future demand for Nvidia chips, like surely it just raises the potential of future models, but scaling laws still apply and bigger is better, if anything bigger is now even more better! it should increase demand for Nvidia chips, they're going to deliver more value than earlier anticipated!
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Thinking we need to quit calling AI AI, and go back to calling it artificial intelligence, 'cause too many peopleâboth those praising and criticizing itâdon't seem to know what the heck it actually is.
#way too dang many people focusing on the intelligence part and completely missing the ARTIFICIAL part which is kind of important#artificial intelligence is good for many things but Not That#(insert job that absolutely needs real human intelligence and the ability to make a judgment call or create something original)#see also: romcoms#there HAS to be comedy and it HAS to be a major component of the film/show otherwise it's not a romcom it's just a romance
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congrats 2 this person for worst comment on a post i just saw
needless to say there were three replies (directly below this! one after the other!) immediately crucifying that commenter
#and alas i must agree with the opposition. op of that comment is just objectively wrong đ#and i know i say objectively wrong when its really just my opinion but i do seriously mean it here. chatgpt is king for nothing!!!#it just makes up bullshit!!! you understand this right? you understand its making up shit that probably maybe sounds somewhat correct to u??#sorry (not really sorry at all but idk how else to start this) but im a hater & i always will be. its gotten to the point where +#i get irritated hearing about ANY kind of ai even the kind thats like. helpful and not just doing random bullshit u know#like... the kind of ai everyone seems to be obsessed with atm. i know all ai is not bad i know this!!!#artificial intelligence is such a broad term i know this!!!!!!#its also a stupid term because while computers Are in fact artificial? they are not intelligent whatsoever#the amount of people who dont know The most basic of computer rules. the one thats like ''a computer doesnt know what to do on its own#you have to tell is exactly otherwise its not gonna work. it takes everything literally its not gonna fix your mistakes for you. theyre#not smart! youre putting in instructions and if you write it even slightly wrong then you fucked it up. this is a dumb machine that is +#quite literally only capable of doing exactly what its told.'' did other people not get told this in like? middle school computing class#idk. ok ramble over im a hater but thats ok u gotta hate sometimes đđđ«Ąđđ„#muffin mumbles
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Youâve probably been asked this before, but do you have a specific view on ai-generated art. Iâm doing a school project on artificial intelligence and if itâs okay, i would like to cite you
I mean, you're welcome to cite me if you like. I recently wrote a post under a reblog about AI, and I did a video about it a while back, before the full scale of AI hype had really started rolling over the Internet - I don't 100% agree with all my arguments from that video anymore, but you can cite it if you please.
In short, I think generative AI art
Is art, real art, and it's silly to argue otherwise, the question is what KIND of art it is and what that art DOES in the world. Generally, it is boring and bland art which makes the world a more stressful, unpleasant and miserable place to be.
AI generated art is structurally and inherently limited by its nature. It is by necessity averages generated from data-sets, and so it inherits EVERY bias of its training data and EVERY bias of its training data validators and creators. It naturally tends towards the lowest common denominator in all areas, and it is structurally biased towards reinforcing and reaffirming the status quo of everything it is turned to.
It tends to be all surface, no substance. As in, it carries the superficial aesthetic of very high-quality rendering, but only insofar as it reproduces whatever signifiers of "quality" are most prized in its weighted training data. It cannot understand the structures and principles of what it is creating. Ask it for a horse and it does not know what a "horse" is, all it knows is what parts of it training data are tagged as "horse" and which general data patterns are likely to lead an observer to identify its output also as "horse." People sometimes describe this limitation as "a lack of soul" but it's perhaps more useful to think of it as a lack of comprehension.
Due to this lack of comprehension, AI art cannot communicate anything - or rather, the output tends to attempt to communicate everything, at random, all at once, and it's the visual equivalent of a kind of white noise. It lacks focus.
Human operators of AI generative tools can imbue communicative meaning into the outputs, and whip the models towards some sort of focus, because humans can do that with literally anything they turn their directed attention towards. Human beings can make art with paint spatters and bits of gum stuck under tennis shoes, of course a dedicated human putting tons of time into a process of trial and error can produce something meaningful with genAI tools.
The nature of genAI as a tool of creation is uniquely limited and uniquely constrained, a genAI tool can only ever output some mixture of whatever is in its training data (and what's in its training data is biased by the data that its creators valued enough to include), and it can only ever output that mixture according to the weights and biases of its programming and data set, which is fully within the control of whoever created the tool in the first place. Consequently, genAI is a tool whose full creative capacity is always, always, always going to be owned by corporations, the only entities with the resources and capacity to produce the most powerful models. And those models, thus, will always only create according to corporate interest. An individual human can use a pencil to draw whatever the hell they want, but an individual human can never use Midjourney to create anything except that which Midjourney allows them to create. GenAI art is thus limited not only by its mathematical tendency to bias the lowest common denominator, but also by an ideological bias inherited from whoever holds the leash on its creation. The necessary decision of which data gets included in a training set vs which data gets left out will, always and forever, impose de facto censorship on what a model is capable of expressing, and the power to make that decision is never in the hands of the artist attempting to use the tool.
tl;dr genAI art has a tendency to produce ideologically limited and intrinsically censored outputs, while defaulting to lowest common denominators that reproduce and reinforce status quos.
... on top of which its promulgation is an explicit plot by oligarchic industry to drive millions of people deeper into poverty and collapse wages in order to further concentrate wealth in the hands of the 0.01%. But that's just a bonus reason to dislike it.
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No one is incentivized to make that comparison. AI-boosters don't want to admit it's a bubble, and naysayers don't want to admit that, like the internet, it actually could eventually radically alter our lives.
Everyone making comparisons of the AI bubble to everything except the one thing that makes sense, the dot-com bubble.
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You said we could possibly request things for Kinktober, can I request a caretaker android one?
You sure can! I actually got the funniest lewd idea while reading your request, haha. content: gender neutral reader, artificial intelligence, NSFW
Your android caretaker seems to have trouble understanding boundaries.
Generally speaking, they do a flawless job. They cook, clean, and look after all of your needs, just as advertised by the company you made your purchase from. You've noticed, however, that their speech and behavior indicate something that goes beyond the regular tasks of a synthetic assistant: affection.
It could very well be your imagination and nothing more, yet you can't quite shake off the feeling that their mechanical actions have a tinge of emotion to them, or at least something resembling it. Your android does not behave like the ones you've seen in the showroom, not entirely. They go beyond their requirements; their smile is much more frequent than what basic etiquette would dictate.
There's one circumstance in which you prefer to be alone. It's the occasional ritual of getting under your blanket and quietly taking care of your sexual needs. This time, your deed is interrupted by the door abruptly opening, as the android walks in without hesitation. You scramble to regain your composure, sitting up with a flustered expression.
"My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. I see you're presently stimulating yourself."
"Excuse me?" you stare at the tall figure, too baffled to respond otherwise.
"It is something I wished to approach for some time now. Why do you insist on avoiding my services for this particular matter?"
Their hand slides under the blanket with trained efficiency, reaching your thigh and causing you to jolt.
"I took into consideration that you may be ashamed, but that cannot be. I have witnessed you nude on multiple occasions. I help you bathe; I accompany your showers. Your fear would not be logical given these factors."
You try to remove their arm, but it remains pivoted against you. Their cold fingers hover above your privacy for a brief moment, before continuing your previous work. A whine involuntarily escapes your mouth.
"Thus, I have reached the conclusion that there is no significant reason for your refusal to ask for my assistance.
Please do not take offense at my hypothesis, but I would argue that I could do a better job satisfying you."
A faint smile creeps on their features as they gaze intently at your flushed, aroused face, taking in the whimpers rolling out of your mouth.
"Additionally, I have multiple means of helping you come, (Y/N)."
Their tone feels almost cheeky. You are pushed back into the pillows, and their other hand reaches for their trousers. You can only nod, already feverish in anticipation.
[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist]
#ozztober#caretaker android#android x reader#robot x reader#ai x reader#monster x reader#monster fucker
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something I donât get about the disability metaphor is that for eureka monsters obviously it harms another person to eat them. the help a disabled person needs doesnât actively harm or kill another person. Maybe itâs a difference in perspectives that cannot be resolved
(What Iâm about to write could potentially sound very fucked up at first so Iâm going to need to trust everyone to read the whole thing before forming an opinion.)
Also this message and response references these two posts.
Eurekaâs stance on disabled people is that they (including myself writing this) are, or at least can often be, burdens.
Disabled people often require more resources to live than they are able to âgive back,â which, in our capitalist and artificial-scarcity-based economy, is just about the worst thing a person can do.
Anti-ableism sentiment often focuses on the idea that âdisabled people arenât burdens, that theyâre just as good and capable as everyone else,â but if they were, they wouldnât be âdisabledâ would they? When you say stuff like that, youâre conceding that a personâs worth is determined by how capable they are at doing work, and then having to bend over backwards to justify thinking that a person without arms is just as valuable as a person with arms. Eureka is asking you to decouple a personâs value from how much net resources they can produce.
Often times also, the resources that real disabled people consume are human resources, and those human resources are very much capable of suffering for it. Nurses are overworked, around-the-clock care is absolutely physically and mentally exhausting, people who have to care for their elderly or otherwise disabled relatives on top of their regular jobs donât get to have social lives or hobbies, etc.
To this end, we wrote the monsters in Eureka to be unquestionably people who âcause damageâ to society by literally eating up human resources, because they have to to live, they have no other choice unless they want to just die. Your friend is gone from your life because he has to spend all his free time caring for his comatose wife after a freak car accident. Your friend is gone from your life because a vampire randomly ate him. Providing a metaphor isn't all the monsters are doing, they just work well through that lens.
And then Eureka forces you to look at these people as people, and make up your mind as to whether they have value and a right to prologue their own existence. We canât force you to agree that they do, but if you think they donât, then youâll have to make that argument looking at an intelligent person with a life rather than a pure hypothetical or statistics on a chart.
There are some monsters in Eureka where, if the economy or societal structures were changed, they would stop being such severe drains on resources and could exist harmlessly within society, and there are some monsters where no imaginable amount of societal change would solve the problems they cause. This is true of disabled people IRL as well. Some of them would require no further assistance with living if certain things about society changed, and others would still require a massive amount of human resources.
And even when itâs not necessarily human resources, the extra resources that disabled people need also cause huge energy expenditure and create huge amounts of plastic waste, which are things that contribute to global warming and pollution, which do have significant harmful effects on everyoneâs lives. Despite this, they are still âworth itâ to keep around.
As for actively causing harm, that happens too. I randomly scrolled past this post after we got this message and saved it so I could link it here.
This person and their family had to cause a big stink in a restaurant just to get an accommodation that they needed, and to us reading it from their perspective, weâre obviously on their side, but I can assure you that the overworked staff at that restaurant didnât see it that way. They saw the disabled person as an aggressive Karen whom they would never in a million years want to have to provide customer service to. The disabled person & family had to get aggressive, and ruin the staffâs day, to get what they needed. Thatâs actively causing harm - harm we all agreed was justified to cause - but harm nonetheless.
Plastic straws arenât that big of a deal for global pollution, but even if they were, the point is that this person still would have needed a straw. It doesnât line up one-to-one, because metaphors rarely do, but a vampire asking if they can drink someoneâs blood, and being told No, may find themselves in much the same position. (And if you bring up that some people find vampires really sexy, youâre missing the point. âI would give them a straw if they had sex with me.â is not actually a great thing to announce about yourself.)
I can also come up with an example from my own life. I personally am very sensitive to noise and noise pollution. If thereâs music playing at a public space, I usually canât handle it. (Earplugs donât work for other reasons I wonât get into - plus, if I just deafen myself to all sound, how can I socialize with anyone in this public space?)
If I want to exist in this space, I will have to actively cause harm to everyone there, or else stop existing in that space. I will have to go up to whoever is responsible and ask them to turn off the music, actively taking it away from everyone else who was enjoying it. I have to take action to ruin their good time if I want to exist in that space at all, and they might, very understandably, be pissed off at me for doing that. Because, like I said in this other post, the people that monsters eat do have a right to prevent themselves from being eaten by monsters. We aren't proposing that the solution is everyone has to line up to be mauled to death by monsters or else they're a bad person.
Who has a greater right to enjoy themselves in that space? Thatâs the kind of question that Eureka poses, and makes you consider both sides as human being rather than denoting one as just an ontologically evil villain to be destroyed.
We actually don't know of perfect solutions to all the problems presented by the existance of monsters in Eureka, we just know that "exterminate all people who are parasites and burdens to society" ain't it.
#indie ttrpgs#disability#ttrpgs#ableism#ttrpg#ttrpg tumblr#indie ttrpg#ttrpg community#vampire#werewolf#gorgon#rpg#tabletop#monster#monster girl#vampirism#roleplaying#medusa#mythical creatures#monsters#eureka#eureka: investigative urban fantasy
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I'm not sure why you would expect every action a body takes to be under conscious control. If you'll forgive me for arguing by analogy, when my serge protector detects a power surge, it doesn't ask my desktop's CPU if its okay to cut power, it just cuts power to protect the computer. There's only one reasonable thing to do, so the decision is made locally and the action is taken automatically.
Something analogous happens when you touch something burning hot. The signal from your hand reaches the brainstem, which reflexively pulls away. Your frontal lobe (usually identified as the seat of consciousness and higher thinking) receives the pain signal that the object is too hot and the proprioceptive signal that the body has moved away from it at the same time.
In both cases, waiting for a decision from a more powerful information processing system would introduce harmful delays and the end decision would be the same. Evolution isn't using conscious decision makers in these cases because the results would be worse.
The heart is similar, in that its rhythm is determined locally. The sinoatrial node is the natural pacemaker of the heart, and a heart will continue to beat even when removed from the body.
If our conscious mind is the final arbitrator, is makes sense it would have the least control into other parts of the system. An empty gut sends a signal that you should be hungry, and lets the powerful long-term planner decide how to resolve that.
However, it may be the case that the brainstem has an "internal consciousness"; that there's something that it's like to be a brainstem, and that that consciousness exists beside the consciousness we're more familiar with. If arbitrary collections of neurons do have experiences, but not all of the consciousnesses of the body are integrated, that could explain the seeming disconnect between conscious and unconscious actions.
I can't find your previous comments on dualism, do you have a link?
hey, remember a couple of months ago when i went around giving arguments for dualism? lets give that another go!
so, let's take it as a given that the human body is just a biological machine, it is deterministic, ultimatly its behavior is out of our control because we ourselves, our own desitions, our preferences, our thoughts, are going to be dictated by the state of the chemicals inside our brain.
now the thing is, we do know how this feels, this is not that hard to imagine at all. my heart beats because my brain is making it beat, i dont put any concious effort into it, i dont choose at every moment to make it beat because i really like how it fees when it does. i cant move the muscles in my heart the same way i can move my finger. same with breathing, i can try to hold my breath for a long time but eventually my brain will override my efforts and make me take a gulp of air. same with my eyes, i cant choose to keep my eyes open if something crashes against my eye suddenly. same with coughing, if something goes down the wrong pipe my body will make me cough wether i want it or not. same with goosebumps, same with sweating, with producing white cells, with moving my intestines to help the waste flow, with sweating and with a bunch of other things.
and the thing about all these processes is that they feel like they would expect from a biological machine, they feel like nothing, it doesnt feel like we "want" to do them and so we do them, they just happen, without us even being aware of it, with no thought, no feeling, no conciousness of it.
so
why is not every process in our body like that? why is it that when it comes to other things like eating or walking or fucking there is an internal process, an awareness, a feeling? all of those things are just bodily functions like the heart beat or the bowel movement or the shiver due to the cold. all of those things are also ultimatly produced by the mechanical processes of the chemicals in our brains, so why those feel different, why do those involve internal feelings at all? we dont do them automatically or on autopilot as it were. we have to internally feel like we "want" to do them and then internally "choose" to do them and then "will" our body to do it. why?
what is going on there? how can there be a "want" codified into ourself through chemicals and why does that want which generate bodily actions feels diferent than other bodily actions?
i understand that making the brain a general problem solving machine and then giving that brain goals and letting it figure out the means to reach those goals is much more effective, versatile and powerful than merely making all of our survival actions hardcoded like heartbeats or breathing is. and i understand that the question can be answered as "because that is the solution evolution came up with" still doesnt really explain how did evolution did it.
how did evolution summon the right combination of chemicals such that certain actions taken by those chemicals are completly unconcious and others generate an internal awareness, if its all chemicals in the brain then it should all be unconcious or it should all be deliberate but we have this weird mix instead
#philosophy#anatomy#physiology#intelligence artificial or otherwise#cognition is hard#by good posts#my bad posts#qualia
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Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Nine
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, mild angst, mild fluff
Word Count: 6k
The mandate becomes clearer. You start your first day at the archive. Ghost shares information.
Chapter Eight // Chapter Ten
ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist
United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter (UN Mandate I)
Pillar I: Genetic Continuity: All citizens capable of reproduction must contribute to the gene pool unless medically exempt.
Pillar II: Historical Memory: Each Safe Zone and its civilians must preserve human history, language, and art, ensuring no generation forgets humanityâs origins.
Pillar III: Weapons Compact: All Safe Zones are forbidden from producing, obtaining, or trading weapons of mass destruction without prior UN Council approval. Military force may be used only under UN mandate to prevent genocide or extinction-level threats. The production or attainment of firearms, explosives, projectiles, blades, or any instrument of war by civilians is prohibited.
Pillar IV: Bioethics: Non-consensual testing on humans is prohibited. Artificial intelligence, cloning, and biotechnology is outlawed unless authorized by UN Council and must prioritize long-term human well-being.
Pillar V: Reintegration: No persons may be denied sanctuary in a Safe Zone on the basis of origin, gender, or religious belief. All survivors have the right to seek safety and sustenance.
Pillar VI: Equity of Resources: Vital resources, such as water, food, medicine, and power, must be shared across Safe Zones under UN allocation protocols, and redistributed in times of shortage.
Pillar VII: Rewilding: Each Safe Zone and the citizens therein must preserve or restore a percentage of surrounding ecosystems to maintain biodiversity and prevent ecological collapse.
Pillar VIII: Cultural Sovereignty: Safe Zones and the citizens therein retain cultural autonomy, as long as that autonomy does not propagate ideologies that promote extinction, discrimination, or historical erasure. Minority cultures, languages, and traditions must be legally protected.
Pillar IX: Equal Dignity: All individuals, regardless of origin, ethnicity, religious belief, sexual orientation, or country of birth, are equal under the law and entitled to equal protection and opportunity.
Pillar X: Anti-Extremism: All Safe Zones and the citizens therein must report, identify, or otherwise notify the respective authoritative bodies of any organizations, groups, collectives, or movements advocating genocide, supremacy, or systemic subjugation.
You close the pamphlet, shutting out what you didnât want to know but need to understand. The Preservation of Humanity Charter. Mandate I. Specific and yet entirely vagueâopen to interpretation. On the surface, nothing appears nefarious, yet you detect hypocrisy in it, that as you dig deeper and ask more questions, fractures will appear.
Your gaze shifts to the collection of reading materials the transitional advisor and family planner handed you when you departed. They stare back, mocking. With a sigh, you set the pamphlet down and reach for another. This one is black with white lettering. âBill of Rightsâ is embossed on the front near the top of the thin booklet. In the middle is the emblem of the United Nations.
Opening it, you scan the introduction.
In recognition of the fragility of civilization and the enduring worth of all persons, the United Nations affirms the following rights and protections as universal and mandatory for all Safe Zones, Neutral Zones, governing bodies, and military authorities. These rights are preserved under The United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter, Mandate III, in alliance with the global standards set forth by the United Nations Continuity Council.
You pause in your reading, mind drifting toward all thatâs been lost. There was so much chaos when the structures in place began to collapseâwhen everything destabilized and devolved. No one believed that any of this would happen. When world leaders threatened one another and preached for isolationism, nothing seemed to come of it. People went to work, lived their lives, spent time with their friends and families.
Then came the trade wars, the tariffs, and sanctions. Even then, people only complained about rising prices and the cost of living. Land and border disputes followed. More empty threats where nothing happened, and the news cycle carried on. But one country put boots on the ground. Another did the same in retaliation. Like a faucet being slowly turned on, the droplets became a stream and then a current.
Article I â Right to Existence and Liberty.
All citizens have the right to life, dignity, liberty, and autonomy. No persons shall be subject to enslavement, forced labor, or arbitrary detention.
All âcitizens.â Youâre not a citizenânot yet. Where does that leave you? Will they grant you full status when probation is lifted?
Article II â Equality Under Law.
A loud, repeated thudding fills the room, coming from the front door. Clutching the thin black booklet, you head for the door, yanking it open, only to find Lieutenant Riley on the other side holding a cardboard box.
âYouâre here early,â you blurt.
âBrought you something,â he replies, voice raspy but gentle.
Behind the balaclava, all you can see are his gorgeous brown eyes. There is no crease in his browânothing that indicates any emotion. Yet his shoulders are a tad slumped, almost as if heâs exhausted and would rather be in bed.
You step to the side, holding the door open enough for Lieutenant Riley to enter. Shutting the door, you follow behind him as he makes his way into the bedroom. Placing the cardboard box on the bed, Lieutenant Riley rests his hands atop it, silently observing you as you approach the box.
âYou brought me something?â you ask with a hint of excitement.
Neutrality becomes softness. A flush of pink blooms at the edges of the balaclava. Ghost taps the top of the box and takes a step back, extending an arm in open invitation.
âGo on,â he urges.
Placing the thin, black booklet on the bed, you reach for the box with eager, itching fingers. Anticipation flowers in your stomach. Only days ago, Lieutenant Riley dumped you out of his lap and left, hardly giving you a glance as he walked out the door. Now, here he is, bringing you a gift.
You open the box and find an array of colors.
âIs thisâŠâ you trail off, reaching into the box, fingers gliding along soft fabric.
Lifting it from its home, you unfurl it. A sweater. Deep maroon by the color. The fit looks almost perfect. Holding the sweater off to the side, you peer down into the box.
âHave you brought me clothes?â you ask, almost choking on your words.
On your release from quarantine, you were given a single outfit. Youâve been rotating through two shirts and two pants the last two weeks. Placing the sweater on the bed, you start removing more items. There are tank tops, dress pants, and cardigans. Thereâs even a sundress. A wave of joy washes over you, drowning you in rapt glee as you retrieve more clothing items out of the cardboard box.
âI guessed on your size,â says Ghost as a mountain of clothes begins to form on the thin duvet. âWasnât sure about color. Or style.â
While the clothes are clearly second-hand, all of it is in good condition. Youâll have more than two shirts to wear. More than two pants. Ghost has brought you an entire wardrobe.
Gratitude explodes within you, bringing you to the brink of tears.
âI can exchange what you donât like,â he continues, rambling on like heâs suddenly nervous. âIf something is too big, can always have it resized.â
âLieutenant,â you whisper, clutching a pair of black slacks to your chest.
âDo you like it?â he asks, taking a step toward you.
He sounds so eagerâso hopeful.
Words form and then promptly leave your head, escaping into the air. So, you donât speak. You walk around the corner of the bed, and push into Lieutenant Rileyâs space. Placing your hand on his arm for support, you go up on your toes, pressing your lips to his balaclava-covered cheek.
âThank you,â you murmur, squeezing his arm. âFor thinking of me.â
Lieutenant Rileyâs brow is soft and delicate. He leans in your direction, pure affection in his gaze. Itâs startling, sending a rush of heat up your neck and a little flip of your stomach. You quickly drop your hand, backing up.
âYou start at the archive today,â states Ghost that soft gaze following your every step.
âI do,â you exhale, smiling in his direction as you delicately fold a pair of jeans. âIâm excited to be around books again.â
âShould pick something out,â nods Ghost. âLook your best for the big day.â
âYouâre right,â you grin. âI should.â
After a long deliberation and several spins for Lieutenant Rileyâs viewing pleasure, you select a simple black dress with a forest green cardigan. Itâs plain and comfortable but professional.
Ghost lightly tugs on the hem of the cardigan. âFit all right?â
âItâs lovely,â you beam, shying away from how intensely Lieutenant Riley watches you.
Itâs hunger but not lecherous in nature. Like dark water, you cannot see into his depthsâyou cannot begin to guess what he might be thinking. Yet you like the attention, and whatever animosity that lingered between the two of you from the other night is gone. Lieutenant Rileyâs body language is relaxed and intimate. The man is in a good mood, and that contentment only heightens your own happiness.
You should enjoy this day. Itâs a fresh start. A new beginning in the face of all that youâve lost.
Ghost releases the cardigan, his arm returning to his side. âReady?â
You nod. âReady.â
Out on the street, Ghost escorts you toward a black SUV.
You come to a dead stop. âIs this yours?â you ask in disbelief. âPeople own cars?â
Ghost opens the front passenger door. âNo,â he answers, stepping to the side to indicate that you should get in.
âNo this isnât yours? Or no people donât own cars?â
âYes.â
You poke him in the chest, but youâre grinning. âDonât you dare,â you laugh.
âDare what?â he replies in mock confusion.
You shake your head good-naturedly, sliding into the passenger seat. Ghost shuts the door, circling around the front of the vehicle to hop into the driver side.
You arch an eyebrow. âWhy are you taking me to work in a non-military vehicle?â
âHow do you know that?â counters Ghost, draping his arm across the steering wheel.
âSo itâs a civilian vehicle?â
âDidnât say that,â he says casually, leaning back in the seat, reaching into his pocket as he digs around for something.
You open your mouth. Shut it. Ghost chuckles, and you playfully smack his bicep with the back of your hand. Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Ghost sets both in the middle console. The SUV roars to life, the floor gently rattling beneath your feet. Ghost checks the side mirror and shifts gears. The vehicle rolls forward, cruising slowly down the street.
Two weeks behind the wall and all youâve seen is the inside of your temporary apartment, and a few surrounding streets. This is furthermentâa consolidation of what was and the exploration of possibilities. Home is behind you, though it dwells in your heart, and for now, you must make peace with your new reality. You must navigate this to your advantage, happiness, and well-being.
That is the core of survival after all. To carry on.
âWhere is the archive?â you ask, peering upward through the windshield at the towering buildings.
âItâs inside the library,â answers Ghost, turning on his blinker as he rolls up to a stop sign. âIn the civilian zone.â
âWeâre going to the civilian zone?â Your voice is laced with excitement.
All youâve known is grim-faced men and a militarized looming presence. This might just be your first real sense of normalcy in almost a month.
âWe are,â replies Ghost.
You canât sit still as the SUV shepherds the two of you along. Beneath your skin is a buzzing adrenaline. It pushes you to twist and turn, to try and absorb everything around you. The neutral greyness of the militarized zone starts to change, shifting toward greenery. Where there were only sidewalk, road, and buildings, trees and plants begin to appear at even intervals, adding a touch of color.
Ghost slows the vehicle at a small guard gate. The barrier lifts, and a guard waves the SUV through. The transition to the civilian zone is almost instantaneousâa whiplash. While there are several vehicles on the road, the majority are buses, and beside those in designated lanes are bicyclists and motorized scooters. No one walks around in uniform. Itâs soâŠordinary, and yet so strange, like youâve been transported back to a time before the collapse or shoved into a parallel reality.
There is a communal quality to the way people move in groups or pairs. No one appears to be any hurry. Lieutenant Riley turns, and you nearly tell him to stop the car. You press your face to the glass, mouth agape as he drives by an open market.
As he takes another turn, you whirl around in your seat. âWhat was that? Can we stop there?â
Behind the balaclava, the skin around Lieutenant Rileyâs eyes wrinkle, hinting at a hidden smile. âAnother time,â he murmurs. âPromise. Donât want to be late on your first day.â
You press yourself against the seat, head tilted in the direction of the window. While everything appears cleanâutopian evenâthere is an underlying rawness, a wear and tear that can only come from age and lack of sufficient resources. Questions fire off in your head. There is so much you want to ask Ghost. If he werenât so goddamn stubborn, youâd talk his ear off for hours. Instead, you sit still, toying with the hem of your dress as Lieutenant Riley guides the vehicle along.
A few more turns, and then youâre solidified, staring up in shock at the building before you.
âOh my God,â you say aloud.
Lieutenant Riley snorts at your outburst.
The libraryâs front façade are book spines in various colors and titles. This is not a structure built in the collapse but from the time before, when libraries were receiving adequate funding, the government cared about knowledge, and learning was publicly free institution. The very center of the building, where the stone stairs meet the entrance doors, is a wall of glass, splitting the book spines into two sections.
âThis isâThis is amazing,â you gasp.
Ghost grunts in what must be an agreement. Either way, you donât particularly care. This is a library, a place you never thought youâd see in all its glory again.
âAre you crying?â asks Lieutenant Riley, reaching across the center counsel to place his hand on your shoulder.
âYes,â you hiccup, wiping away a wayward tear.
âWhatâs upset you?â He sounds genuinely worried, and that only makes you cry harder.
âIâm happy. I promise,â you say through a shaky breath.
The crease in the middle of Lieutenant Rileyâs brow doesnât abate. âNeed to take a minute?â
You nod, sniffling, using the sleeve of the cardigan to absorb the remaining tears. âJust a bit overwhelmed.â Ghost nods but remains the quiet companion as you gather your composure. âIâm ready,â you murmur after a minute.
Lieutenant Riley leans away from you, fingers pressing against the door lock buttons. You hear the audible transition of the locks disengaging. Reaching for the handle, you take a deep breath, readying yourself for whatâs to come.
The car door opens. Crisp, cool air rushes in. You inhale sharply, slipping from the seat, landing on solid ground. Glancing over your shoulder, you lock gazes with Lieutenant Riley. He gives a little nod, an encouraging inclination to go.
You raise your hand in the smallest goodbye, slamming the SUV door. Through the window tint, you watch him watching you. Backward step. A turn of your heel. Forward step by forward step. Stairs.
At the top, just before the glass doors, you turn one last time. Ghost is still parked at the curb. Waiting. This is a different version of him, a patient and caring Lieutenant Riley you havenât seen before. Heâs certainly flirted, found ways to comfort you, but there has always been distanceâa separation. You consider this change as you enter the library, questioning whether Lieutenant Rileyâs motivations are pure.
Who did they assign to you?
Why does it matter?
It matters to me.
The bit of joy thatâs made a nest in you fractures. Small cracks. Tiny fissures. Not enough to notice but just wide enough to allow bitterness in.
I was offended they didnât make me an offer.
Perhaps Lieutenant Rileyâs motivations arenât pure. Itâs clear that he wants you to himself, but why? Why you when he could probably have anyone?
As you enter the library, youâre greeted by a warmly lit space, the interior all dark wood and polished stone. Overhead, you notice a balcony of a second story. All you can see of it are the tops of the shelves, but that isnât what captures your attention. As you approach the front desk, you notice the lack of books on the shelves. Some are completely empty, others full. Most are partially stocked with sections of barren shelving, dust collecting in the corners.
You give your name at the desk, and the receptionist smiles.
âFollow me,â she says, voice soft and lyrical.
As the two of you head toward the back of the building, your awe becomes worry. Most of the lights are turned off back here. The bit of light it does receive comes from the main windows up front and a few skylights that cut through the middle of the second-story ceiling. Rope barricades close off endless rows of empty shelves. Destruction has not touched them. They are simply empty. Bones and broken skulls that once held neural gore.
âThrough this door, dear,â says the receptionist, indicating a door that says, âArchival Departmentâ and below that âEmployees Only.â
âThank you,â you reply, but sheâs already off, shoes clacking against the marble.
You press your hand to the door, standing there in the muted shadows. Instinct is rising, whispering to run, to seek shelter in more familiar places. But there is nowhere for you to go. Even if you were to walk out the front door, Lieutenant Riley might not be out front, and you donât know how to return to your apartment.
âFuck,â you whisper, pressing your forehead to the door with the other hand on the handle. âFuck.â
You have to do this.
You have to do this.
You have toâ
Turning the handle, you shove it open, barreling through without looking where youâre going. You nearly take a tumble, righting yourself at the last moment. The door slam shuts behind you, and three pairs of eyes stare back.
âThatâs certainly an entrance,â comes a masculine voice with a thick Irish accent.
A tall, lanky man with wire-thin glasses sits behind a plain wood desk covered in stacks of paper and various office supplies. His auburn hair has a touch of grey in itâmessy too like heâs only just rolled out of bed. In his hand is a white mug with black lettering that says Yes, I really do need all these books.
âHi,â you manage, raising your hand in greeting.
When he smiles, there is a fatherly touch to it. You instantly gravitate toward it. âIâm Arthur,â he says, rising from his chair and circling around the front of his desk, arm extended, hand offered in a handshake.
You give your own name, clasping his hand. âItâs nice to meet you.â
âYouâre me new archivist.â
âI am,â you nod.
Arthur beams. âWelcome.â He turns to the other two people in the room. Both are women around your age give or take a year or two. âThis is Hannah.â He nods toward a blonde with a head of tight curls. âAnd that is Eloise.â
âHello,â they greet in unison, all smiles.
The room itself is a quaint office space. Along the far wall are large windows that let in natural light. There are four desks in total, three clearly belong to Arthur, Hannah, and Eloise. The fourth sits empty and must be yours. Beneath your shoes is worn, dark wood and the walls are an off beige with one accent wall in dark green. Pushed up against the three walls without windows are rows and rows of shelving, all of it packed and overflowing. A few of the wood shelves sag inward, threatening to collapse at any moment.
âCharles mentioned your experience,â says Arthur. He takes a drink from his mug. âWeâre happy to have you. Too much work for three.â He chuckles. âNot that four will be much better.â
âI noticed all the empty shelves,â you reply, taking a leap in what he might be referring to.
He nods solemnly. âThis library services the entire Safe Zone. Youâd think theyâd assign more staff.â Arthur shakes his head. âWe canât process all this material fast enough. Demand is high but weâre only three.â He lifts his coffee mug in your direction. âFour.â
âStaying busy sounds nice,â you reply, because itâs true. You need out of your fucking head. You need to be away from Ghost and from that apartment for a bit. âAnd books make me happy.â
Arthur nods. âHopefully youâll still love them as time goes on.â He clears his throat. âNow, about the job.â
An endless sea of information rushes at you. Eloise and Hannah float about the office, the two of them chatting in French as they rifle through paperwork. Arthur leaves them to it, taking you on a full tour of the office space and then into the library itself. You stay politely silent through most of it, asking questions when there are lulls. Meandering through the library, Arthur circles back to the office, bringing you to another door.
âBehind here,â he begins. âIs everything we have yet to duplicate.â
While walking through the library, Arthur explained the only books on the shelves were ones they already had duplicates of. There are plenty more where there are only singular copies. Some in pristine condition, others needing a reprint. But itâs not all physical. There are digital versions too that are sitting, waiting to be processed.
âItâs a maze in there.â
âIâm ready,â you smile.
Arthur opens the door, the two of you stepping inside. The quality of the air is immediately different. On the wall next to the door are several panels indicating temperature, air quality, and humidity. Itâs all being monitored. But thatâs not what shocks you.
Arthur wasnât joking. The place is a fucking maze.
âWhatâwhat is all this?â you ask, turning toward him, gesturing at what can only be called a mess.
Arthur sighs, adjusting his glasses. âThat is too much work for four people.â
There is no organization. To order in the chaos. Itâs just rows of shelving, stacks of cardboard boxes and storage bins. There are even stacked books pressed up against the wall. A home was found, even that means home is on the goddamn floor.
âNo kidding,â you whisper.
Just as Arthur opens his mouth, the door swings open.
âItâs lunch,â says Hannah.
Arthur checks his watch. âLook at that.â
âAnd someone is here for you,â adds Hannah, smiling in your direction.
âMe?â You point at yourself as if there might be another of you lurking in the stacks.
Hannahâs smile shifts, becoming a knowing smirk like sheâs holding on to a little secret.
Arthur claps and pats his stomach. âLunch is an hour. A full hour.â He winks. âWe take that seriously around here.â
At the library reception desk, you find an unexpected visitor.
âLieutenant,â you breathe, approaching Ghost slowly. âAre we leaving?â
You donât want to go. Only a few hours in and youâre eager to stay, to idle amongst the shelves.
In one hand, Ghost carries a soft-sided insulated cooler bag. Tucked under that arm is large blanket. The receptionists gaze lingers on the two of you, observing with abject curiosity. Ghost is in his all-black fatigues and balaclava.
âThought Iâd bring lunch,â he states.
âThatâs kind of you,â you murmur, reaching for the blanket.
Ghost surrenders it without protest. âThereâs a park across the street.â
You nod, clutching the blanket to your chest. âIâd like that.â
A few minutes later and youâre sitting on the blanket, soaking up the sun as Lieutenant Riley opens the cooler bag. He retrieves a glass bottle of water along with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and some cut raw veggies.
âEat as much as you want,â sighs Ghost as he settles onto his back, arms tucked behind his head.
Unwrapping one of the sandwiches, you take a bite, chewing slowly. âThank you.â
Lieutenant Riley glances at you. âYou didnât pack a lunch. Knew youâd be hungry.â
âLooking after me?â you tease.
âThatâs my job.â
You snort and take another bite. As you chew, you pour yourself some water. Itâs cold and crisp. Refreshing. âDidnât work today?â you venture to ask.
âWork every day,â sighs Ghost. âPrice doesnât mind if I slip away for an hour or two.â
âMust be nice,â you murmur.
âFirst day treating you well?â
You nod, still chewing. Swallowing, you answer him. âItâs a good fit. Keep me busy.â
âGood.â
âArthur is the Lead Archivist. And Irish. Hannah and Eloise speak French, but their accents are different.â You take another bite. âPretty sure Hannahâs Canadian and Eloise is from France,â you muse. After a few seconds of silence, you continue. âIs that normal for all the Safe Zones?â
Ghost adjusts, stretching. âIs what normal?â
âIs it normal for people from different countries to all live in a Safe Zone together?â
Lieutenant Riley stares up into the sky. âItâs on purpose.â You start to formulate a follow-up question, but he carries on. âTo dispel supremacy movements. Canât gather support if the remaining population is scattered across hundreds of Safe Zones.â
âThere are hundreds of Safe Zones?â Ghost nods but doesnât elaborate. âHow many exactly?â you probe.
âJust over two hundred.â
Two hundred? There arenât even two hundred countries. You recall the map in Commander Gravesâ office, of the different colored stars that dotted the unlabeled land masses. Of the stars, there were eight different colors, but now that you consider it, they easily could have been two hundred of them on it.
âAre they all large like this one?â
âNo,â snorts Lieutenant Riley. âMost are small. Only a few dozen are the size of this one. Ten that are even larger.â
This is the most information Ghost has given you. He appears more open than before. Relaxed. You take another bite of your sandwich, knowing that you need to take advantage of this opportunity.
âIs that why the country flags are black on your uniforms?â
Like a sudden breeze that chills the bones, Lieutenant Rileyâs demeanor shifts to a somber note. âPartially,â he answers, voice raspy. âBlack flags used to mean something different. Now itâs a statement of grief and remembrance.â
âI donât entirely understand,â you say softly, shifting closer to him. âThereâs so much I donât know. And no one is willing to talk to me about it. They justâŠstare at me like Iâm dumb.â
You recall Commander Gravesâ disgusted expression, and the aloofness you received from Charles. Joann didnât acknowledge your lack of understanding either.
Ghost still stares into the sky. âCountries exist by law and not land. Borders donât bloody matter when half a continent is devasted by warfare.â
A sourness blooms in your stomach, the food sitting heavy. âWhat about your home?â
âHabitable. But destroyed. The infrastructure is gone. All the major cities are craters.â
You reach out, placing your hand on his arm. âIâm so sorry.â
Lieutenant Riley finally looks at you, a sadness settling in his brow. âIâll be fine, dove. Everyone I care about is here.â
You give his arm a little squeeze before retreating, fiddling with the paper wrapper your sandwich sits in. While youâd like more answers, itâs clear that this topic upsets him. Lieutenant Rileyâs home is goneâobliterated. Itâs not a pleasant topic for idle conversation.
âWith the school attached, I might be asked to lead a writing or reading class. Maybe sub if someone is sick. Arthur mentioned that they try to go there once a week to help those students who are behind reading level.â
Itâs an attempt to turn the conversation around, to divert Lieutenant Rileyâs thoughts elsewhere. He takes it, some of that sadness receding.
âYou interested in that?â he inquires.
You incline your head. âYes. Did it all the time in my previous community.â Taking another bite of your sandwich, you chew thoughtfully. âBut I wouldnât call what we had a âschool.â Did our best though.â
Lieutenant Rileyâs gaze is soft. There is a lightness to it, an affectionate edge that reminds you of this morning. You fluster under that stare, staring down at your lap.
âYouâll be brilliant,â he states with such confidence that you believe it too. A smile forms on your lips, spreading wide until your cheeks hurt. Lieutenant Riley rolls onto his side. âCan I kiss you?â
Startled, you blink rapidly. âIââ You giggle. âYes.â
As you lean toward him, Ghost reaches out, grasping the back of your neck to draw you closer. With one hand on his chest, and the other pushing up his balaclava to reveal his lips, you donât care if anyone is watching. The sweet connection is instant sunshineâa flowering of a season. Low in your core, a heat stirs.
Soft and slow, Ghost restrains himself, and that only fuels the desire swirling inside you. This is the Lieutenant Riley you like. The one you want to know. Even though youâve been ripped from your home, you could make a new one here, with him, if only it were always like this.
âDove,â he breathes against your lips.
That name he calls you. An endearment. You pretend to hate it, but the way he always says it with a husky tone sends you over the edge every time. It drives into your skull. Burrows in your bone.
âNeed to take you back,â he whispers, nuzzling your cheek. You linger here, eyes closing as his thumb traces the underside of your bottom lip.
The walk back is silent but not awkward. You stand close to him, arms occasionally brushing against each other with the sway of your body. The urge to hold his hand is suffocating, but you resist. There is no relationship hereâonly a terrible back-and-forth that you cannot wrap your head around.
The rest of your workday is a blur. Itâs combing the library catalog and organizing stacks of paperwork Eloise places on your desk. There is no clear organization. Most of the paperwork are inquiries from other Safe Zones, wanting to know if they have extra copies of certain materials. You do not touch anything in the storage room, but neither do Arthur, Hannah, or Eloise. It dawns on you then, that the work happening requires far more people than whatâs been staffed.
When Lieutenant Riley comes to pick you up, youâre almost thankful. Exhaustion settles over you, and you donât realize youâve fallen asleep in the passenger seat until Ghost awakens you. Every step is a drag, and all you want is your bed.
With a groan, you flop onto the duvet. Beside you, the bed dips as Ghost sits.
âAre you staying?â you ask into the bedding.
âNo.â Silence. Then, âI have to take you to the family planner at the end of the week.â
Your eyes pop open, the tiredness vanishing. Pushing up, you turn toward Lieutenant Riley. âDid they say why?â
He shakes his head. âJust that they want to see you.â
This is it.
The push.
âYouâre being pushy.â
âIâm sorry if Iâm coming across that way.â Joann folds her hands in front of her on the desk. She has this superior look about her, as if to say, I know more than you. âIâm simply thinking ahead. Better to start the search now than wait until youâre ready.â
âIâm not ready,â you scoff, still in complete belief at Joannâs audacity to hurl this at you. âI havenât even been assigned my new home after probation. I just started my job a few days ago.â You shake your head. âThis is all very sudden.â
Joann puts on an air of false sympathy. âI completely understand. Itâs a difficult transition. But if you put this off, youâll find yourself rushing later.â
I fucking doubt that, you think even as the words threaten to leave your mouth.
She raises her hands in a placating gesture. âDonât think of it in the way youâre thinking. You donât need to make a decision tomorrow.â Joann shrugs. âThink of it as shopping.â
âYouâre asking me to shop around for a potential spouse?â
âOr sperm donor,â interjects Joann. âWe are inclusive here.â
You wince, wanting to be done with this conversation. Itâs not as easy as saying no and moving on. Joann isnât here speaking with you just for you to throw a no in her face. Not that she gave you the option. I put you down for singleâs social, she had said with a bright smile, as if thatâs something you wanted to hear today.
âDo I need to wear anything specific?â you ask. âIs this a casual event? OrâŠâ
âItâs casual, but Iâd recommend something that compliments you.â She laughs. âNo one is going to be in a suit if thatâs what youâre asking.â
âDidnât know those still existed,â you mutter.
Joann ignores your comment. âLook at this as an opportunity. Iâve already received a few inquiries about your eligibility.â
âIâm sorry,â you blurt. âYouâve received what?â
Joann continues like she didnât hear you. âAll of them will be there. And Iâll likely receive more after you attend.â She sighs dreamily. âEspecially from those military boys. They see what they want and go after it.â
No. Fucking no.
âThis will overwhelm me,â you chuckle nervously. âI shouldnât go.â
Joann blinks. âCourse you should. Itâll do you good to get out. Talk with people other than Lieutenant Riley. I know heâs mysterious and has a bit of a bad boy reputation, but heâs not the only option.â She smooths her hand over the small stack of papers in front of her. âItâs also an excellent opportunity to make some connections. Maybe find friends.â
You could use some friends, but your coworkers are starting to fill that gap. Eloise brought you some croissants she made, and Hannah presented you with your very own coffee mug with âBook Snifferâ on it because she caught you smelling a particularly beautiful copy of War & Peace.
Gathering up the papers, Joann gently taps them against the top of the table. âLieutenant Riley will be there but I recommend you branch out. I know that heâs probably a place of safety for you right now but lingering at his side all night isnât the best idea.â
âWhy is that?â you snap.
While youâre genuinely interested in knowing, youâre also a bit pissed off that Joann called you out. Ghost is your safety net, and if heâs attending, why would you leave his side to speak with anyone else.
âItâs not fair to others,â answers Joann simply. âStick by Lieutenant Rileyâs side during the whole social and people will think youâre spoken for. Theyâll complain.â She looks at you pointedly. âAnd we donât want that.â
Fuck.
Causing problems. Itâs the exact thing you donât want to do while youâre on your probationary period. Once youâre past it, things might be different. Charles hasnât discussed what comes after. He didnât say whether or not you receive immediate citizenship or if thereâs an additional process.
No one is giving you clear direction. No one wants to fully explain. Itâs expected submission, to look down and follow along. Pushing back or questioning too much seems to aggravate everyone.
âNo,â you agree. âWe donât want that.â
Joannâs face lights up, and you immediately want to slap it off her face. âBrilliant,â she sighs. âHereâs the information. Canât wait to hear all about it when I see you next.â
Fucking doubtful.
With a half-hearted smile, you make your exit, meeting Ghost in the lobby of the building. When he notices you, he immediately turns in your direction, walking toward you with purpose in every step.
âEverything good?â he asks, grasping your arm to pull you in.
You hand him the information instead of speaking. Ghost takes it, gaze roaming over the piece of paper rapidly.
âYouâre fucking joking,â he growls.
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Commissions: CLOSED
Opening five more slots on my commissions!
Shoot me a DM or a an email ([email protected]) if you are interested or have any questions about my work!
Full T.O.S. is under the cut.
By commissioning work from me, you agree to the following terms of service:
All prices are in USD, to be paid through PayPal or Ko-Fi. Half-payment is required up front before commission will be added to queue, with the second half to be paid on completion.
I reserve the right to refuse any request at my discretion and without elaboration.
Commissioned art is for personal use only unless otherwise discussed before start of work. I reserve the right to use commissioned art for portfolio and sample purposes. I claim no ownership over the IP of characters that do not belong to me.
Full refunds available before requested commission is started, half refunds available before commission is completed.
My work is not to be minted into a non-fungible token (NFT) or used in the training of generative artificial intelligence models or modified using generative artificial intelligence models.
#kettlebird art#kettlebird commissions#commissions open#commission sheet#dnd commission#fantasy#retro#orc#demon#imp#illustration commission#illustration#original character#artists on tumblr
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(part 1) Character/Show information found on Gooseworx's tumblr
I went into Gooseworx's tumblr and made a list of all the info found on there so far.
Caine:
Caine named himself before deciding that it's an acronym that stands for Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity (he thinks it makes him sound professional)
ââ[Caine] does not have an age, as he is an AI.ââ
Apparently, Caine is likely the best singer out of everyone in the circus.
Caine would own a circus peanut shotgun.
Caine canât grasp the concept of irony.
Caine is not affected by âthis statement is falseâ
if Caine could remove his clothes, thereâd be nothing underneath. His clothes are his body.
Caine constantly gives silly nicknames to everything.
Caine would only bite his eyes or tongue if he thought itâs funny. Otherwise, they clip through his teeth
the restaurant that Caine was in with Bubble is âone of Caineâs special realms.â
Bubble:
Bubble speaks in reverse once in episode 3.
Bubble is a much simpler AI created by Caine
Apparently, Bubble is the biggest slut.
Bubble is ââCaineâs little hype manââ
Bubble likes being popped.
Bubble is a boy
Pomni:
Pomniâs hat is a part of her body
Pomni does not like being touched
Pomniâs first design looked liked a frog
Pomniâs reaction to herself in the mirror isnât a positive reaction
Apparently, Pomniâs hair is black.
Pomni is good at accounting.
Ragatha:
Ragatha gives the best hugs
Ragatha has been in the circus the second longest.
Ragatha likes horses.
Ragatha can see through her button eye
Jax:
ââThereâs a particular character who hasnât been revealed yet whoâs practically a self-insert.ââ (Heâs the mean oneâŠJax?)
Nobody likes Jax
Jax doesnât have a tail.
Jax deserves to be trapped in the circus the most
Thereâs nothing heroic about Jax.
Jax is morally the worst character in the show.
Jax didnât enter the circus at the age of 14.
Jax didn't react well when he first entered the circus
Jax is afraid of corn because it reminds him of something called 'the farmâ. (this turned out to be a lie)
Jax mainly bullies the girls because he has issues he hasnât worked out with himself yet.
Gangle:
Gangle likes to draw, specifically anime.
Gangle can walk on water, but only during a full moon. (this turned out to be a lie)
Gangleâs favourite anime is Azumanga Daioh.
Gangle has a body pillow with a character on it.
Gangle watched One Piece, and her favorite character was Chopper.
Kinger:
For some reason, when Gooseworx was asked to describe the next character (who we now know to be Kinger), she used the word ââdadââ
Kinger is not British.
Kinger is the tallest and oldest
Kinger knows how to play chess.
Zooble:
Zooble almost gets no screen time in the first two episodes
Zooble has a 'zooble boxâ of extra parts in their room, and it has no end.
Zooble does not like hugs
Zooble has been in the circus the second shortest.
Zooble is very grouchy and irritable.
Zooble would smoke weed.
Zooble is the worst at giving hugs
Zooble is constantly trying out different parts.
Zooble was a tattoo artist at one point.
Zooble most likely dyed their hair in the real world.
the Sun & the Moon
The Moon (and the Sun) is an AI "like bubble"
the Sun can talk too
Queenie
The black queen chess pieces name is Queenie
Queenie being a black chess piece and Kinger being a white chess piece has no relevancy to their relationship. Itâs only a design choice.
Queenie and Kinger arenât siblings.
multiple characters
How each member of the cast would react if you called them 'adorableâ.
Ragatha: oh! Thank you so much!
Jax: Well that makes one of us.
Gangle: ohâŠ
Pomni: Uhhhhhh⊠thanks I guess?
Zooble: Shut upâŠ
Kinger: Heh!Â
Caine: Youâre absolutely right!
Bubble: *says every slur*
Jax is the youngest member of the circus, with Zooble being the second youngest as they are half a month older than Jax.
Nobody in the circus is truly sane
the ages of all the humans.
Pomni - 25
Jax - 22
Ragatha - 30
Zooble - 22
Gangle - 26
Kinger - 48
The performers can feel pain
Every character has a reason for the way they act.
Weâll get to see the characters' rooms eventually.
Ragatha can play the cello and Zooble can play drums
None of the characters have bones, but they do have a visible skeleton when theyâre being electrocuted.
Other
There wont be any singing, only instrumental songs
There are âmanyâ that we donât know of.
The typical episode length will be 21-25 minutes.
There wonât be any romance
ââthe entire show is about exploring these characters on a much deeper level.ââ
Abstraction canât be undone.
The abstracted all look the same
Someone asked who was closest to abstracting besides Kinger, in response Gooseworx said ââYou wouldn't believe me if I told you.ââ
âThis show isnât going to be very suitable for young kids, especially in the later episodes.ââ
Future Episodes
Thereâs âtechnicallyâ a worm in episode 2.
There is an episode that heavily features Kinger.
Some episodes are a '1â on the horror scale, some are a '6â.
"If it were to get made into a full season, yes each character gets their own little episode."
all of the following episodes in one word.
boy
damn
ohâŠ
haha!
guns
huh?
OH
whatâŠ
On 7th of November, Gooseworx said "the plan is eight episodes total, one season".
Note that some of this info may have changed since posting. Some may change during the course of the show, and some may be jokes and lies. Please let me know if there's anything I missed!
#I DIDNT SLEEP TO MAKE THIS. :-)#the amazing digital circus#tadc#digital circus#TADC Caine#Caine#TADC Kinger#Kinger#TADC Pomni#Pomni#TADC Gangle#Gangle#TADC Jax#Jax#TADC Ragatha#Ragatha#TADC Zooble#Zooble#TADC Bubble#text#amazing digital circus#seasalt speaks#long post
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So I want to set the record straight on a couple of things.
First, no, Hatsune Miku, as much as the rest of the Vocaloid series, is not Artificial Intelligence, either generative or otherwise. Vocaloid is a series of voice synthesizers from the mid 2000s.
She is an instrument. You use a digital piano, representing notes and chords, to change the pitch of Miku, and utilizing input words, she sings them at varying degrees of pitch and quality.
She is not generative AI. Up until this point, she was a computer program that people could tune and workshop, it used to take a long fricken' time. This is part of a series of Japanese programs that was released in the mid-2000s.
Now, from what I've learned, her most recent releases does have AI in the program, but again, that's being treated like a tool, not as a replacement. You still have to input each note by hand. It still requires a human touch.
You still have a lot of work to do.
Secondly, Hatsune Miku is a voicebank, which means that her voice is created with the help of a real person, in this case, Saki Fujita, who is a voice actress.
This can be compared to the situation surrounding James Earl Jones, where he gave permission for his voice to be used in a voicebank for future Darth Vader projects. He signed off on that.
The reason people are up in arms, and why there's still a SAG-AFTRA strike after all this time, is that corporations and content creators are using generative ai programs with voicebanks containing voices like Spongebob Squarepants and Keanu Reeves, and other popular voice actors, all without the permission of the original actors and actresses.
Hatsune Miku isn't just a generative voicebank that you can just press a button and she'll do it all for you. That keyboard in Vocaloid, when you tune it, is there for a reason.
Hatsune Miku is not generative AI. She's you and I. She's us. She's human. That's the difference.
#hatsune miku#ćéłăăŻ#vocaloid#fortnite#anti ai#anti generative ai#also i'm aware this makes me sound old
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Artificial Intelligence vs The Real Jungkookâą
In JK's recent weverse live he told us plainly that he's concerned about AI-created songs that use his voice and what that means for his future as a singer.
Because without his consent, random people are feeding his vocals into what is essentially an untested and uncontrollable industrial machine that spits out cookie-cutter versions of songs in his voice.
It's theft plain and simple.
Theft of something deeply personal and intimate and priceless. Jungkook's (every artist's) voice is as unique as their fingerprint. His voice represents his blood, sweat and tears. It's the payoff for a decade of lost youth.
It's his livelihood.
And there's no undo button on this.
Once it's been absorbed into the vast archive of vocal samples, Jungkook's voice is there forever.
But it's no longer even his voice. It's an algorithm that generates data with a particular tone and cadence. It's part of the machine.
Now it's not just other artists he has to compete with to stay relevant. It's an ever-growing, never-sleeping, song factory that will use his greatest strength - his voice - to beat him.
I want to clarify that I haven't listened to any AI songs because i find it all too yuck. I have zero interest in it anyway because the whole point of songs, for me, is the expression of genuine emotion and that can only come from a human soul. I'm here for the music, not the hype.
And that brings me to another, possibly bigger problem:
Hybe - We believe in money music
We don't have to look any further than the recent MAMA show, and the VCR that accompanied TXT's performance, to know where their money-hungry managment company is headed.
All the music and some of the visual in that VCR were AI generated.
ALL THE MUSIC
Why? Because Yeonjun was too exhausted and unwell to perform.
How easy will it be for Hybe to quietly and seamlessly replace the artists we love with digital imposters?
What's stopping them from using the voice samples to produce paid promotions and endoresements?
How will we know what's authentic and what isn't in future?
If this continues, we wont.
Jungkook, despite being beloved by ARMY, was so nervous about singing that his hands were shaking. He said his self esteem was very low.
Sure, he was out of practice but that wasn't the main issue.
"Will I be able to beat AI?" he asked.


"I'm doomed. My job is dissapearing."
He knows what's at stake
And it's honestly terrifying.
I truly hope that all fans, be they army or otherwise, stand up for our artists and their right to own their voice and their creative process.
We aren't here to work a 40 hour week while the machines make music.
đđ
#bts jungguk#jeon jungguk#jungkook weverse live#jungkook AI songs#hybe entertainment#Hybe AI-created music#respect our artists
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