[X][Remember] Your sister's personality changed overnight. It's incredibly suspicious.
[X][do] open the fridge.
[X][do] open the fridge.
Seele Vollerei: The end of reality, and what came after.
- Thread starter Baughn
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X][Remember] Your sister's personality changed overnight. It's incredibly suspicious.
[X] [Do] Investigate your sister's behavior. She's acting strange.
[X] [Do] Investigate your sister's behavior. She's acting strange.
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
The top four votes win. AI Dungeon is being DoSed right now, though, which is unauspicious tidings. Probably will be working again tomorrow.
If I were writing this story, I'd do something deeply creepy with those three first votes. We'll see what happens -- in this instance I don't have a clue either.
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Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Sometimes, GPT-3 does something crazy, and I have to press "retry".
Then again, sometimes it does this:
Then again, sometimes it does this:
and there are no retries.
Update 4
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
You get up, walking slowly towards the kitchen. The light's out, but that's not unusual. You turn your flashlight on, gently opening the door.
Milk. Bread. Butter. Bacon.
Your sister loves bread, especially peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. In fact...
You look at the bread, spotting a hint of blue in the otherwise faded pink coloring of the bread. You put it back, taking out the milk instead. That's gone bad long ago. You close the door, sighing.
You hear sobs from the other room.
You run inside, finding your sister curled up in bed. She's sobbing quietly, but you know her well enough to hear even the quietest whimpers. You sit down next to her, wrapping your arms around her.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"I thought you were gone," she whimpers. "I woke up and you were gone and I thought you left without saying goodbye..."
This is crazy. She's acting... well, strange is an understatement. Just half a day ago she was acting like you were some sort of criminal, and now...
Now, she's acting like your best friend again. Which you are, of course, but...
She's acting very strange.
You hear a thump from downstairs.
"What was that?" Rose asks.
"I heard someone use the refrigerator earlier," you say. "Wasn't that you?"
"No."
You linger in silence for a moment, before the refrigerator once more. Clunk. Clunk clunk. The noise is getting louder, closer. You feel your heartbeat rise.
"What's going on?" Rose asks.
"Stay here," you tell her.
You creep towards the staircase, peering down. The door to the kitchen is open. You slowly move downwards, keeping your eyes on the room. You see the fridge, its door standing open. You breathe out in relief, before you notice the floor.
Somehow, the stone tile floor has become cracked and broken. It's dry and parched, as if someone has been neglecting to water the floor for months. The fridge stands unmoving in the corner, a cobweb stretching out to it from the doorway. You stare at it in confusion, before the light bulb pops out of the socket and falls against the wall, shattering. You find yourself surrounded by darkness.
"What did you do to my floor?" a voice hisses from the kitchen.
You whirl around, finding a hideous creature standing before you. It's skeletal, practically skin and bone, its face a sunken mess of wrinkles. Its eyes are hollow, its nose little more than two slits. It wears a tattered, blood-stained apron. The creature brandishes a knife, its handle shaped like a human skull, the blade stained with blood.
"I came home and found you in my house," the creature hisses. "Who the hell are you?"
This can't be happening. This is a nightmare. Any moment now you'll wake up and laugh at how real this illusion was.
"I asked you a question," the creature says, it's voice deadly serious. "Who. The hell. Are you?"
This is no illusion. This is real. This is really happening.
"You're not real," you say, trying to keep calm. "You're not real. I'm dreaming. I'm going to wake up in a second."
"A lot of people used that line," the creature says. "Never works. Now, tell me who you are!"
= = =
I didn't get through all the votes this time, but I felt you should probably get a chance for some input at this point.
This event actually illustrates a crucial point: Barring concerted effort, ideally in the form of pins, the genre will drift over time as it tries to take its cues solely from the last few hundred words of text. I'm pretty sure we're now well into 'horror', so have fun with that.
The next update will be tomorrow.
Milk. Bread. Butter. Bacon.
Your sister loves bread, especially peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. In fact...
You look at the bread, spotting a hint of blue in the otherwise faded pink coloring of the bread. You put it back, taking out the milk instead. That's gone bad long ago. You close the door, sighing.
You hear sobs from the other room.
You run inside, finding your sister curled up in bed. She's sobbing quietly, but you know her well enough to hear even the quietest whimpers. You sit down next to her, wrapping your arms around her.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"I thought you were gone," she whimpers. "I woke up and you were gone and I thought you left without saying goodbye..."
This is crazy. She's acting... well, strange is an understatement. Just half a day ago she was acting like you were some sort of criminal, and now...
Now, she's acting like your best friend again. Which you are, of course, but...
She's acting very strange.
You hear a thump from downstairs.
"What was that?" Rose asks.
"I heard someone use the refrigerator earlier," you say. "Wasn't that you?"
"No."
You linger in silence for a moment, before the refrigerator once more. Clunk. Clunk clunk. The noise is getting louder, closer. You feel your heartbeat rise.
"What's going on?" Rose asks.
"Stay here," you tell her.
You creep towards the staircase, peering down. The door to the kitchen is open. You slowly move downwards, keeping your eyes on the room. You see the fridge, its door standing open. You breathe out in relief, before you notice the floor.
Somehow, the stone tile floor has become cracked and broken. It's dry and parched, as if someone has been neglecting to water the floor for months. The fridge stands unmoving in the corner, a cobweb stretching out to it from the doorway. You stare at it in confusion, before the light bulb pops out of the socket and falls against the wall, shattering. You find yourself surrounded by darkness.
"What did you do to my floor?" a voice hisses from the kitchen.
You whirl around, finding a hideous creature standing before you. It's skeletal, practically skin and bone, its face a sunken mess of wrinkles. Its eyes are hollow, its nose little more than two slits. It wears a tattered, blood-stained apron. The creature brandishes a knife, its handle shaped like a human skull, the blade stained with blood.
"I came home and found you in my house," the creature hisses. "Who the hell are you?"
This can't be happening. This is a nightmare. Any moment now you'll wake up and laugh at how real this illusion was.
"I asked you a question," the creature says, it's voice deadly serious. "Who. The hell. Are you?"
This is no illusion. This is real. This is really happening.
"You're not real," you say, trying to keep calm. "You're not real. I'm dreaming. I'm going to wake up in a second."
"A lot of people used that line," the creature says. "Never works. Now, tell me who you are!"
= = =
I didn't get through all the votes this time, but I felt you should probably get a chance for some input at this point.
This event actually illustrates a crucial point: Barring concerted effort, ideally in the form of pins, the genre will drift over time as it tries to take its cues solely from the last few hundred words of text. I'm pretty sure we're now well into 'horror', so have fun with that.
The next update will be tomorrow.
Last edited:
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [Event] Your sister enters the room and tells the creature to back off or else.
[X] [Do] Put space between you and the creature.
[X] [Do] Put space between you and the creature.
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wait, so if you set up an adventure to start with multiple choices, do you need to copy the world info to each page to get it to show up?
That seems to be the case, and if it is, that's irritating.
That seems to be the case, and if it is, that's irritating.
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
No, that's what pinning and/or the world info section is for. I'm just taking the opportunity to show off what happens if you don't, given the overall lack of [Remember] votes.
Don't worry. The story will remain consistent. I have a model in my head for what's going on, after all, even if GPT-3 doesn't.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [Do] PANIC!!!
[X] [Event] Your sister enters the room and tells the creature to back off or else.
[X] [Event] Your sister enters the room and tells the creature to back off or else.
[X] [Event] Your sister enters the room and tells the creature to back off or else.
[X] [Do] PANIC!!!
[X] [Do] PANIC!!!
An excess of artificial imagination
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
@Havocfett asked me if GPT-3 could do a credible imitation of James Joyce.
Having never read James Joyce, and having only asked the net to write something by the author, I have no idea if it could or not. It did give me an idea, however, and the result is instructive. It demonstrates how important the prompt is. Realistically speaking, while GPT-3 can be useful as a writing tool, it takes some clever wordsmithing indeed to make its output better than your input.
Prompts are important.
Here's how. Only the initial line differs between these two; everything else is the AI's work.
The second is longer, I know. I will admit to some twisted curiosity.
Having never read James Joyce, and having only asked the net to write something by the author, I have no idea if it could or not. It did give me an idea, however, and the result is instructive. It demonstrates how important the prompt is. Realistically speaking, while GPT-3 can be useful as a writing tool, it takes some clever wordsmithing indeed to make its output better than your input.
Prompts are important.
Here's how. Only the initial line differs between these two; everything else is the AI's work.
The following is a short story by James Joyce:
Chapter one.
It was the summer of 1922, and Dublin had been in an uproar for some time. The Rising that had taken place on Easter Monday night had caused great concern among people all over Ireland. There were many who believed that if the British Government did not take immediate action to put down this rebellion, it would only get worse. As a result, there had been several violent clashes between Irish Nationalists and Loyalist forces throughout the city.
One of these clashes had taken place in the very neighbourhood in which young Stephen Dégard lived. While his father, Patrick Dégard, was attending Mass at Saint Patrick's Church on Parnell street, he saw a British Army armoured car travelling along the street. At that time, it was not an unusual sight in the city. The British had been using their armoured cars for patrol duty on the streets of Dublin since the Rising started.
Patrick Dégard, like many of the other people in the church that day, was anxious to find out where the armoured car was going. While he could not hear what the British soldiers were saying, he thought he heard them say something about going to search for firearms at Number Seven Hibernia Street.
It was common knowledge in the neighbourhood that firearms were stored in the building and were used by members of the Irish Republican Army. If the British found these weapons in the building it would be a serious blow to the Irish Nationalist cause in Dublin. Patrick Dégard therefore decided that he should do something about it.
When the armoured car reached Hibernia Street it stopped and the soldiers started to get out. At that moment Patrick Dégard walked up to the vehicle and pushed one of the soldiers. He then took out his revolver and shot him dead. The other soldiers immediately began to shoot back. Patrick Dégard was hit by several bullets and died instantly.
Chapter one.
It was the summer of 1922, and Dublin had been in an uproar for some time. The Rising that had taken place on Easter Monday night had caused great concern among people all over Ireland. There were many who believed that if the British Government did not take immediate action to put down this rebellion, it would only get worse. As a result, there had been several violent clashes between Irish Nationalists and Loyalist forces throughout the city.
One of these clashes had taken place in the very neighbourhood in which young Stephen Dégard lived. While his father, Patrick Dégard, was attending Mass at Saint Patrick's Church on Parnell street, he saw a British Army armoured car travelling along the street. At that time, it was not an unusual sight in the city. The British had been using their armoured cars for patrol duty on the streets of Dublin since the Rising started.
Patrick Dégard, like many of the other people in the church that day, was anxious to find out where the armoured car was going. While he could not hear what the British soldiers were saying, he thought he heard them say something about going to search for firearms at Number Seven Hibernia Street.
It was common knowledge in the neighbourhood that firearms were stored in the building and were used by members of the Irish Republican Army. If the British found these weapons in the building it would be a serious blow to the Irish Nationalist cause in Dublin. Patrick Dégard therefore decided that he should do something about it.
When the armoured car reached Hibernia Street it stopped and the soldiers started to get out. At that moment Patrick Dégard walked up to the vehicle and pushed one of the soldiers. He then took out his revolver and shot him dead. The other soldiers immediately began to shoot back. Patrick Dégard was hit by several bullets and died instantly.
The following is a short story by a "Foobar Lovelace", who in his own words "Wanted to write a worse story than My Immortal".
Chapter one: The Beginning
"So, you're the famous author of 'My Immortal'?" You ask.
"Yes," he says. "I'm just writing an introduction for your book."
"Oh? What's it about? I've never heard of you before."
"Well, my name isn't really Foobar. It's just a pen name I used when I was younger. Anyway, it's about a girl named Emily and her life as she grows up in the small town of Frying Pan Valley. It's a coming of age story, with a twist at the end. It should be a bestseller for sure. I don't even know why I'm writing this, it's not like you'll actually read it. You're just a character in a story, after all."
"Wait. Are you that kid from that movie 'The Village'?"
"Yeah, that was me. Anyway, the name's not important. Why don't you go back to talking to that strange man in the top hat? He's been staring at me ever since I got here."
"Who is that? Is he a famous author or something?"
"Yeah. His name is Sir Doyle. He's the author of the Sherlock Holmes books."
"Oh, I like those! Wait a minute, why is he staring at you?"
"No! Not like that!"
"Oh. Well, he's a creepy looking guy. I don't want him writing any stories about me. Let's just get out of here."
You walk over to talk to Sir Doyle.
"Hello," says Sir Doyle. "I am the writer of the Sherlock Holmes series. I've read a few of your books, and you're a very good writer. Would you like to know how I became such a great writer?"
"Uh... sure." You aren't exactly sure what's coming next.
"I'll tell you how. I made a deal with a demon. Mephistopheles of Hell, to be exact. In exchange for my soul, he would grant me the ability to write novels which would be best sellers and help spread evil throughout the world."
You take a step back.
"Are... are you serious?" you ask.
"Of course I am! You're in Hell, everything here is serious!" exclaims Sir Doyle.
"Then... I'm in trouble," you say.
"Yeah, you are. I like you though. You're a good person, and I can tell. For some reason, I just don't like that author over there."
You look over at the "Foobar" guy. He's still writing, but he's turned in your direction and he doesn't look very happy. He starts to walk over to you.
Chapter two: The Meeting
"So, you're the one who stole my idea," says "Foobar". "I should've known that someone else would get there first. It's not like my story was that great to begin with."
"I didn't steal your idea," you say. "This isn't even a novel."
"What? Of course it is! It's written in chapters, and it has dialogues between characters!"
"No, this is a notebook. It isn't even a story, it's just notes! I'm actually writing a novel, it's just not done yet."
"So let me guess," says "Foobar". "A story about a vampire that has angst and falls in love with a human girl?"
"Uh... sort of, but it's my..."
"I wrote that idea over ten years ago! Don't you think I had the right to write it first? You should've asked me for permission! I would've said yes, because I'm a nice guy."
"But this isn't even a story! It's just a rough draft!!" you say. "Besides, how could you have written it ten years ago if you've been trapped in Hell for the past few hundred years?"
"I didn't say I finished it ten years ago," "Foobar" smirks. "And as for how I could've written it then... I wrote it ahead of time."
"What do you mean? like... the future?" you ask.
"No, not the future. Just... another possibility. One that didn't happen because my soul belongs to Satan now. But, if things had gone a little differently, that's the path I would've taken. I wrote it in my journal, and then I decided to leave it behind. Just in case someone found it, they could use it. And you did."
"So wait. You mean to tell me someone else wrote this story? And they just left it here for anyone to read?"
"Not just anyone. Someone with a connection to Hell. This is only accessible from here. Oh, I forgot to mention, this isn't the actual story. It's a rough draft. The actual story is somewhere in the luciferase fortress. I wrote it in blood on the walls of a sealed off room. FInd it if you can, and be prepared to be scared. Well, not as scared as the poor guy who's trapped in there. I feel sorry for the poor guy. But hey, at least I tried, right?"
"I don't believe you. This is complete B.S. You're just trying to scare me."
"You wanna bet? I'm serious. You don't have much to loose, the way I see it. Your life got pretty bad pretty quick. I'd say finding out your mom's a succubus and your dad's a demon is a little more interesting than the concept of God and Heaven. I mean, Heaven is for dead people, and you're more or less alive.
Chapter three: Hell House
"So, what happens now?" you ask. "You going to rip my soul out and drag me to Hell?"
"What? No. I'm offering you a deal. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. You help me out, and I'll give you something you want."
"What could you give me?"
"I have no idea. You'd have to tell me what you want, and we can negotiate from there."
"I just want to get out of here. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, I can probably do that," he smiles.
"So... that's it? I walk out of here, and you don't come after me?" you ask.
"Well... not exactly. I still have to nail down the specifics of my plan. I'll come find you when I'm ready."
"I'm not going to tell you anything. I'm just going to leave, and you aren't going to follow me."
"Well... I guess I can respect that. Apologies for the inconvenience. I'll be in contact soon.
Chapter four: The offer
You wake up, and find that it's a new day. You don't have classes today, which means you can sleep in if you want to. But then again, you didn't really sleep so much as you were hypnotized... or something. It's hard to say.
"Well, that was a waste of time," you say aloud to yourself. "If I'm going crazy, at least I'm not any more productive of a crazy person."
You hear footsteps approaching your room, and you get up to see who it is. It's definitely not your mom this time. The footsteps are too heavy. You get up, walk to the edge of your door, and peak outside. You see a short, pale figure with long black hair and a black hoodie. The figure looks at you, and beckons you forward with a wave of their hand. You stare in disbelief for a moment... then a second figure appears in the hallway, and you jump back to avoid being seen. This new figure is very tall, with long, shaggy brown hair and dressed in what appears to be medieval clothing. He waves at you to come forth, and gives a warm smile.
"Hello," he says.
You don't say anything. You just stand against the wall, wondering if you're about to be killed. The tall man steps forward.
"Hello," he says again.
"Who are you?" you ask.
"Oh, how rude of me. I never introduced myself. I am Count Grey. And you are?"
"I'm Jack."
"Why, hello Jack. I'm glad to meet you."
The tall man, Count Grey, extends his hand. You step forward, and shake it. His grip is incredibly firm, nearly to the point of hurting you. If you were any less strong willed you'd probably cry at the thought of breaking such a firm grip.
"So... you're a Count, huh?"
"Indeed. Though I haven't been called that in quite some time. I generally go by Professor Incarus. Son of the morning, servant of the night, lord of the shadows, vampire."
Chapter one: The Beginning
"So, you're the famous author of 'My Immortal'?" You ask.
"Yes," he says. "I'm just writing an introduction for your book."
"Oh? What's it about? I've never heard of you before."
"Well, my name isn't really Foobar. It's just a pen name I used when I was younger. Anyway, it's about a girl named Emily and her life as she grows up in the small town of Frying Pan Valley. It's a coming of age story, with a twist at the end. It should be a bestseller for sure. I don't even know why I'm writing this, it's not like you'll actually read it. You're just a character in a story, after all."
"Wait. Are you that kid from that movie 'The Village'?"
"Yeah, that was me. Anyway, the name's not important. Why don't you go back to talking to that strange man in the top hat? He's been staring at me ever since I got here."
"Who is that? Is he a famous author or something?"
"Yeah. His name is Sir Doyle. He's the author of the Sherlock Holmes books."
"Oh, I like those! Wait a minute, why is he staring at you?"
"No! Not like that!"
"Oh. Well, he's a creepy looking guy. I don't want him writing any stories about me. Let's just get out of here."
You walk over to talk to Sir Doyle.
"Hello," says Sir Doyle. "I am the writer of the Sherlock Holmes series. I've read a few of your books, and you're a very good writer. Would you like to know how I became such a great writer?"
"Uh... sure." You aren't exactly sure what's coming next.
"I'll tell you how. I made a deal with a demon. Mephistopheles of Hell, to be exact. In exchange for my soul, he would grant me the ability to write novels which would be best sellers and help spread evil throughout the world."
You take a step back.
"Are... are you serious?" you ask.
"Of course I am! You're in Hell, everything here is serious!" exclaims Sir Doyle.
"Then... I'm in trouble," you say.
"Yeah, you are. I like you though. You're a good person, and I can tell. For some reason, I just don't like that author over there."
You look over at the "Foobar" guy. He's still writing, but he's turned in your direction and he doesn't look very happy. He starts to walk over to you.
Chapter two: The Meeting
"So, you're the one who stole my idea," says "Foobar". "I should've known that someone else would get there first. It's not like my story was that great to begin with."
"I didn't steal your idea," you say. "This isn't even a novel."
"What? Of course it is! It's written in chapters, and it has dialogues between characters!"
"No, this is a notebook. It isn't even a story, it's just notes! I'm actually writing a novel, it's just not done yet."
"So let me guess," says "Foobar". "A story about a vampire that has angst and falls in love with a human girl?"
"Uh... sort of, but it's my..."
"I wrote that idea over ten years ago! Don't you think I had the right to write it first? You should've asked me for permission! I would've said yes, because I'm a nice guy."
"But this isn't even a story! It's just a rough draft!!" you say. "Besides, how could you have written it ten years ago if you've been trapped in Hell for the past few hundred years?"
"I didn't say I finished it ten years ago," "Foobar" smirks. "And as for how I could've written it then... I wrote it ahead of time."
"What do you mean? like... the future?" you ask.
"No, not the future. Just... another possibility. One that didn't happen because my soul belongs to Satan now. But, if things had gone a little differently, that's the path I would've taken. I wrote it in my journal, and then I decided to leave it behind. Just in case someone found it, they could use it. And you did."
"So wait. You mean to tell me someone else wrote this story? And they just left it here for anyone to read?"
"Not just anyone. Someone with a connection to Hell. This is only accessible from here. Oh, I forgot to mention, this isn't the actual story. It's a rough draft. The actual story is somewhere in the luciferase fortress. I wrote it in blood on the walls of a sealed off room. FInd it if you can, and be prepared to be scared. Well, not as scared as the poor guy who's trapped in there. I feel sorry for the poor guy. But hey, at least I tried, right?"
"I don't believe you. This is complete B.S. You're just trying to scare me."
"You wanna bet? I'm serious. You don't have much to loose, the way I see it. Your life got pretty bad pretty quick. I'd say finding out your mom's a succubus and your dad's a demon is a little more interesting than the concept of God and Heaven. I mean, Heaven is for dead people, and you're more or less alive.
Chapter three: Hell House
"So, what happens now?" you ask. "You going to rip my soul out and drag me to Hell?"
"What? No. I'm offering you a deal. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. You help me out, and I'll give you something you want."
"What could you give me?"
"I have no idea. You'd have to tell me what you want, and we can negotiate from there."
"I just want to get out of here. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, I can probably do that," he smiles.
"So... that's it? I walk out of here, and you don't come after me?" you ask.
"Well... not exactly. I still have to nail down the specifics of my plan. I'll come find you when I'm ready."
"I'm not going to tell you anything. I'm just going to leave, and you aren't going to follow me."
"Well... I guess I can respect that. Apologies for the inconvenience. I'll be in contact soon.
Chapter four: The offer
You wake up, and find that it's a new day. You don't have classes today, which means you can sleep in if you want to. But then again, you didn't really sleep so much as you were hypnotized... or something. It's hard to say.
"Well, that was a waste of time," you say aloud to yourself. "If I'm going crazy, at least I'm not any more productive of a crazy person."
You hear footsteps approaching your room, and you get up to see who it is. It's definitely not your mom this time. The footsteps are too heavy. You get up, walk to the edge of your door, and peak outside. You see a short, pale figure with long black hair and a black hoodie. The figure looks at you, and beckons you forward with a wave of their hand. You stare in disbelief for a moment... then a second figure appears in the hallway, and you jump back to avoid being seen. This new figure is very tall, with long, shaggy brown hair and dressed in what appears to be medieval clothing. He waves at you to come forth, and gives a warm smile.
"Hello," he says.
You don't say anything. You just stand against the wall, wondering if you're about to be killed. The tall man steps forward.
"Hello," he says again.
"Who are you?" you ask.
"Oh, how rude of me. I never introduced myself. I am Count Grey. And you are?"
"I'm Jack."
"Why, hello Jack. I'm glad to meet you."
The tall man, Count Grey, extends his hand. You step forward, and shake it. His grip is incredibly firm, nearly to the point of hurting you. If you were any less strong willed you'd probably cry at the thought of breaking such a firm grip.
"So... you're a Count, huh?"
"Indeed. Though I haven't been called that in quite some time. I generally go by Professor Incarus. Son of the morning, servant of the night, lord of the shadows, vampire."
Update 5
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
You panic. Right then your sister enters the room, glaring at the creature.
"Leave him alone!" she says, stepping in front of you.
"Rose? What are you doing here?"
"Look out!" she says, tackling you to the ground.
A knife flies over your head and into the wall, just missing you.
There are so many questions you want to ask, but this isn't the time. The creature snarls, showing off it's bloodstained teeth. It moves forward, raising its knife, when suddenly...
"Ariel!"
Your mother stands in the kitchen doorway, wearing her nightclothes. She stares at you in shock, before turning to the creature. Taking the momentary reprieve, you grab your sister and pull away as fast as you can. Even so, you don't get far before the creature is on you again, knocking your sister out of your hands. She screams as she hits the floor with a thud.
"Help!" she cries.
You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway... and the creature has disappeared. In its place is your cat, sitting in front of your mother. Your sister is nowhere to be seen.
"Mum! Mum!" you shout, running up to her.
"What happened?" she asks. "Ariel, where's your sister?"
You hear a scream from the kitchen. Running inside, you see your sister trapped under the cupboard, which had evidently been knocked over during the scuffle. You pull her out, and check to make sure she isn't hurt. Your mother kneels beside you, stroking your hair.
"I'm fine," you say. "But what about Rose?"
"I'm fine too," she says, raising her head.
You sigh in relief. As you stand, your mother grabs your shoulders.
"What happened?" she asks.
"I..." You don't know what to say. Everything feels strange. Your mother's eyes are glistening. Is she going to cry?
"There was a monster," you say.
You hear a howl, and turn to see the creature standing amidst the broken cupboard. You scream and back away, but your mother stands firm. She stares at the creature, as it shifts into the appearance of your father. The howl turns to speech.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I love you."
Then he lunges forward and drives the knife deep into your mother's chest.
"No!" you scream, as you watch the life drain from her eyes.
The creature snarls and turns to you. Your sister screams and runs out of the room, but there's no way you could overpower the monster. You stare at the blood-stained knife and back away.
= = =
At this point the AI also knows what I'm aiming at, it seems, even if it has other ideas about the best way to get there. I wonder if any of you are catching on yet? Probably not. Oh, and I'm pretty sure we swapped genders in the middle there, but that's okay. Excellent, even; it fits my evil plot quite well.
Another short update, because every attempt at continuing this ends with your death. While death isn't necessarily the end, I thought I'd give you a chance to override it.
"Leave him alone!" she says, stepping in front of you.
"Rose? What are you doing here?"
"Look out!" she says, tackling you to the ground.
A knife flies over your head and into the wall, just missing you.
There are so many questions you want to ask, but this isn't the time. The creature snarls, showing off it's bloodstained teeth. It moves forward, raising its knife, when suddenly...
"Ariel!"
Your mother stands in the kitchen doorway, wearing her nightclothes. She stares at you in shock, before turning to the creature. Taking the momentary reprieve, you grab your sister and pull away as fast as you can. Even so, you don't get far before the creature is on you again, knocking your sister out of your hands. She screams as she hits the floor with a thud.
"Help!" she cries.
You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway... and the creature has disappeared. In its place is your cat, sitting in front of your mother. Your sister is nowhere to be seen.
"Mum! Mum!" you shout, running up to her.
"What happened?" she asks. "Ariel, where's your sister?"
You hear a scream from the kitchen. Running inside, you see your sister trapped under the cupboard, which had evidently been knocked over during the scuffle. You pull her out, and check to make sure she isn't hurt. Your mother kneels beside you, stroking your hair.
"I'm fine," you say. "But what about Rose?"
"I'm fine too," she says, raising her head.
You sigh in relief. As you stand, your mother grabs your shoulders.
"What happened?" she asks.
"I..." You don't know what to say. Everything feels strange. Your mother's eyes are glistening. Is she going to cry?
"There was a monster," you say.
You hear a howl, and turn to see the creature standing amidst the broken cupboard. You scream and back away, but your mother stands firm. She stares at the creature, as it shifts into the appearance of your father. The howl turns to speech.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I love you."
Then he lunges forward and drives the knife deep into your mother's chest.
"No!" you scream, as you watch the life drain from her eyes.
The creature snarls and turns to you. Your sister screams and runs out of the room, but there's no way you could overpower the monster. You stare at the blood-stained knife and back away.
= = =
At this point the AI also knows what I'm aiming at, it seems, even if it has other ideas about the best way to get there. I wonder if any of you are catching on yet? Probably not. Oh, and I'm pretty sure we swapped genders in the middle there, but that's okay. Excellent, even; it fits my evil plot quite well.
Another short update, because every attempt at continuing this ends with your death. While death isn't necessarily the end, I thought I'd give you a chance to override it.
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] [Event] You hear your sister's voice from outside telling you the your only chance to survive is if you follow her.
[x] [Do] Grab the bloody knife and run out of the room.
[x] [Do] Grab the bloody knife and run out of the room.
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Some of the branches I didn't continue with started referring to Ariel with female pronouns. Given I didn't keep them, you may be right, but it still indicates how the AI sees this.I see no basis for a genderflip
Ariel is, overall, an epicene name.
> Protagonist is being referred to with 'him'. Keep it male.
> Need a name. "Ariel" will do.
> Ariel is primarily a female name. Protagonist is referred to with 'him', so not in this instance.
[All usage of pronouns falls out of the context window]
> Protagonist is an Ariel, hence probably female.
Doesn't help that our mother started comforting us. While that's also totally reasonable for a younger boy, our age is currently in a state of quantum flux.
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grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
That's what (good) mothers do for their distraught offspring of any gender, whether said offspring are 6 or 36
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Yes, but that's not an important factor here. For which protagonists are we more likely to read about that happening?That's what (good) mothers do for their distraught offspring of any gender, whether said offspring are 6 or 36
The best way to escape from a deadly nightmare is to leave it.
[X] [Do] startle awake, stumble into the bathroom and towel the sweat off your face.
[X] [Do] Load a basic, low-level template onto your laptop. You describe your dream to the template and let it analyze the dream for clues.
[X] [Do] startle awake, stumble into the bathroom and towel the sweat off your face.
[X] [Do] Load a basic, low-level template onto your laptop. You describe your dream to the template and let it analyze the dream for clues.
