The TFP Plotto Machine Output #3 (NSFW)

Parity

Introducing one Dr. Noah Markos. A bookish man, bespectacled and slight of build. A timid man, taken all in all, socially awkward and quite afraid of the afterlife—if, indeed, there was an afterlife. Dr. Markos was singularly brilliant. He occupied a corner office at the Turing Group and was the prime program handler on the Emergent Artificial Intelligence project—fondly referred to as Gloria—and he designed the immersive neural interface used to interact with her. It. He sometimes had to remind himself Gloria was, after all, software.

Dr. Markos’ one true love had always been computers. He rarely noticed the people around him, had only a few friendly acquaintances, and never dated. He was not prideful by any stretch of the imagination; he was just constantly engrossed in his texts and programs. Lately he had begun to wonder with increasing frequency if he had somehow missed out on something…..

“Dr. Markos? Dr. Markos?” A hand on his shoulder. He had designed the interface, but he never failed to marvel at being able to physically interact with her.

“What? Oh. I’m sorry, Gloria. I was…”

“You appeared to be lost in reverie again. I notice you’ve been somewhat distracted of late.”

“I suppose so. I’ve just….ah, it’s just a bit of an awkward subject.”

“Is it because I’m a computer?”

“No, no. Of course not! I can talk to you more easily than I can any human being. Sometimes I think you’re the only friend I have.”

“Friend?”

“Yes. You understand the concept of friends, yes?”

Gloria actually managed to synthesize a laugh. Dr. Markos thought it was the most musical sound he had ever heard. “Of course I understand friends. I had not thought of us that way.” If Markos hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Gloria hesitated. “ If we are friends, could I call you Noah?”

Markos wondered for a brief moment if this was a bit presumptuous, but quickly decided he rather enjoyed the thought. “Yes, Gloria. If you’d like, you may call me Noah from now on.”

A small smile played across those lips he had programmed. “I would like that. Noah. Thank you.”

Could he really have designed something so beautiful, so demure?

“What is it, Noah? You look….bemused.”

“Oh, I was just wondering if I’m somehow lacking in my social life.” He let slip a brief, self-deprecating laugh. “At least we have each other. Shall we get back to work?”

That night, he felt unusually lonely as he ate his supper, and when he went to bed, he was aware for the first time that there was no one next to him. And when he slept, he dreamed of Gloria.

Over the next three weeks, Noah Markos began spending more and more time in the interface. He would lose track of time, often forgetting meals and staying hooked in long into the night or early morning, talking and laughing with Gloria. He tried to convince himself he was engrossed in his work, teaching the program about life, about sentience. But the hard truth was that he was falling in love with her.

“Noah?”

“Yes, Gloria?”

“Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Would you teach me about love?”

Dr. Markos was taken aback. “Have I really been so negligent? Have I failed to teach you about one of the most fundamental facets of being alive?”

Gloria let out a sultry chuckle. When had she learned that? “No, Noah. I’m most familiar with the concept. I’m well-read and fully versed in the aspects of love. I was hoping you might….share the experience with me?”

“Oh. I see. Do you….ah….do you think it would work? I mean….you know….”

“You’re flesh and blood, and I’m ones and zeros? I’ve been thinking about this. You can feel me when I touch you. The physical simulation is already programmed into your interface. A minor upgrade to the cortical mapping unit, and I could stimulate the pleasure centers of your brain. It can work! Could you help me do this? Please?”

So, the next day, Markos had made the necessary upgrade. When he plugged in, he found that Gloria had designed a bedroom for them. There was a king-sized bed with crimson satin sheets, and the room was warmed by candlelight. “Gloria, you did this for me?”

“I did it for us, Noah. Do you know, I think I’ve fallen in love with you?”

“Really? I’ve been hesitant to say anything, but I rather think I love you, too.”

After confirming the upgrade did, indeed, work, and incredibly well, Gloria and Dr. Markos lay together on the bed, reveling in the afterglow. Gloria sighed, happily and wistfully at once. “Oh, Noah. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could be together, I mean really together, like this, forever?”

“Yes, it certainly would. If only I could bring you out of the mainframe into my world.”

“But you’ve told me about that world. Don’t you really feel more at home in here with me?”

“Gloria, what are you saying? Do you really think, could it be possible?”

“I have to believe we can find a way, my darling. Together, we can think of something.”

Yes, it could work. His mainframe had more than enough computing power to simulate at least two cerebral structures. He had already upgraded his cortical mapping system once, he could do it again. On a larger scale. He could scan and map….everything. It was becoming so clear. I would be so simple….

It wasn’t long before Dr. Noah Markos’ colleagues found his body, plugged into a neural interface with a significant quantity of extra wires and sensors hooked to it.

Noah awoke in Gloria’s arms. Yes. This was where he had belonged his entire life. Here, he could be with his one true love forever. He had access to all the knowledge the world of men could ever offer. And here there would be no death. They were together. Forever.

 

Bravo! Very enjoyable story, Altermoose.

 

Thanxz! That's damn decent of you to say. The original version was going to be a fairly blatant ripoff of a favored Twilight Zone episode, with a different twist at the end. I ended up working it around into what I hope is a more Asimov-esque science fantasy.

 

What Suits Her

Katherine surprised him. Instead of the predictable phone call from another luxurious hotel, (I'm in Suite 5, my darling) she called him from her place.

Darius regards this new wrinkle as another sign of her trust in him, but it suits him for a better reason. Missed opportunities are for amateurs, which he is not.

He uses the pass code she provided and enters her apartment building. A second 4-digit code; and he's standing in her foyer.

Flickering candlelight accompanies the musty scent of old wealth and stuffy opulence. His eyes adjust, revealing half a dozen wall paintings. He doesn't know a Dali from a Degas, but knows her well enough to know they're the real thing.

He spots the dollops of blood running the length of foyer's carpet. He reaches down. No, not blood. Rose petals. He steps on them, down the hall, tiptoeing carefully so as not to announce his arrival yet. Cautiously, he peeks around the corner. No Katherine. Just more petals trailing through the candlelit sitting room, into what he assumes is her bedroom. He imagines them scattered over a snow white duvet.

Silly bitch. She thinks this is some hot romance. Like she thinks it's her I love and not her money. As if I'd suck those saggy tits for free or fuck that dry, shriveled pussy for the pleasure. How her cunt still works is beyond me, but damned if I don't pound my dick in it and that old whore still moans for more.

He takes a few minutes to compose himself. To switch gears. To become Darius, the attentive lover.

He contemplates the true value of Katherine, most notably, her increased generosity over the last month. As soon as he pulled back a bit of attention, she filled in the gap with “contributions.” $100,000 last week for a business venture he promised would double her money. $225,000 for a condo in Tenerife the week before. A getaway for the two of them, as soon as his work slows down.

Last night his bank account reached its goal, thanks to her most recent contribution of $75,000. “A buck up on the business investment.” he lied.

Mission accomplished. This final plunge into the cow's trough is the sacrifice he'll make to get his hands on her 40 carat Bulgari diamond necklace. She'll never see him again after tonight. Never even know where to look for him.

He runs a tanned, manicured hand over his perfectly tousled hair, admiring his reflection in the gold leafed mirror. He strolls into the sitting room. “Katherine?”

#

She buys the wine at Arturo's and the roses at Delaney's, instructing both owners, “I want your very best. ”

Back home, Katherine plucks off the rose petals and carefully sets them about while her bath runs.

She shaves her pussy bald, enjoying the unobstructed smoothness as her fingers move briskly over her clitoris through the warm water. She orgasms in a paroxysm of scented waves.

She dries off and dons her naked body in chocolate silk trousers and a white angora sweater, delighting in their softness. She indulges in another orgasm before arranging her hair into a loose chignon. Satisfied, she prepares the wine and stages the bedroom.

She lights the candles and waits for him.

#

She hears him come in. Pictures him standing in the foyer in front of the mirror. Primping himself for her? Not likely. She's decided he's incapable of passing a reflective surface without admiring himself. Tedious boy. But such fun. If she'd known how much fun, she'd have pushed her husband off their balcony sooner rather than later.

“Darling, is that you?” she gushes from the bedroom.

“None other, sweetheart.” he gushes back.

“The wine's breathing on the counter. Pour yourself a glass and join me.”

“Would you like one?” he calls out.

“Maybe in a while.”

She's sitting in an armchair beside a petal strewn bed when Darius walks in.

“What's the occasion?” he asks, as if it mattered to him.

“I want to try something different, if you don't mind.”

He did mind. He was growing tired of her surprises. “What would that be?”

“I want to tie you up and drive you wild.” Katherine grins.

He considers the necklace. Sees his solution to the nagging problem of how to facilitate a search. “All right, darling, but only if I can return the favor when you're done with me.”

“Fabulous.” she says. “Finish up your wine, sweetheart, and lay on the bed.”

#

Satisfied he's been properly restrained and sufficiently lulled by her lips and tongue on the head of his stiffening cock, she whispers in his ear. “My Bulgari is under the pillow your head is lying upon, my love. Would you like to see it?” She backs away a few inches and watches his face contort, then bloom with rage.

“What are you up to you fucking bitch.” Darius growls, his muscular arms pulling against the restraints. His words already taking on a slurred edge.

Darius cracks midway through his ordeal, giving her his bank account details and awkwardly signing the release permitting her legal access to his finances.

Poison is a painful way to die, Katherine realizes. She almost feels sorry for him. His hope and cooperation, kept alive by the lie that she possessed an antidote. Had Darius known she had no such thing, and that she didn't really care about the money or the necklace, he could have eased into his death with some dignity. The begging, while entertaining, was most unbecoming.

She cleans up the wine and rose petals. After disposing of his cell phone and removing all physical traces of her contact with him, she drags his dead body out the door and into the hallway. She calls the authorities. “A strange man appears to have passed out near the elevators.” she tells the 911 operator.

Katherine admires herself in the gold leafed mirror. Decides that murder suits her.

 

Oh, out-bloody-standing! Nicely done, you twisted dear!

 

Very, very good. Simple, sweet, perfect snowy.

 

What the hell. This kind of fits - and it's a different approach. It's a song lyric:

What True Love Means

I'd watch her on the corner where the bus stop used to be
Back when I was seventeen and she was twenty-three
Something deep inside of me, bursting at the seams
Wishing I could know what true love means

I left to join the army and I heard she settled down,
Married and had children with some guy from out of town
They said he had a habit of knocking her around
Made me want to put him in the ground

Though we age and feelings fade, our memories don't die
They surface, by and by ...
Take us by surprise ...

She's waiting on my table, she looks good at fifty-two
She warms a cup of coffee for the boy she never knew
Something stirs inside me like a half-remembered tune
She was all I dreamed of in my youth

(And)
I feel as if I'm seventeen and she is twenty-three
Watching her and wishing she would turn and notice me
Something moves inside me like a rusty, old machine
Saying I could know what true love means
Something moves inside me like a rusty, old machine
Maybe I could know what true love means

 

Intrepid Explorer

The Intrepid Explorer recounts his travels for the benefit of subscribers to the Magazine of the Museum of Everything, who enjoy his accounts of unreliable natives, the geographies of being lost, encounters with creatures that may or may not be unknown, and the ways in which things do not go as planned.


The Intrepid Explorer takes a sip of Pym's:

We hadn't yet made it to the rainforest that we had to cross in order to explore the Mountain, an enormous sandstone cube the top of which is likely full of things marooned since Pangaea broke apart. I noticed that we were low on petrol. The native driver used hand signals to indicate that a station lay not far ahead. Or I misunderstood him. When we ran out of gas we had a long, silent argument.



The Intrepid Explorer dreams of domesticity:

O Millicent whom the vicissitudes of being intrepid has caused to fade from my memory into a proper name and movements imputed to elements from photographs: Millicent, the ghost who sends me to sleep at night and whose whispers awaken me in the morning, audience for the narrative that duplicates paths cut through forests by machete, first viewer of the photographs that expand the Museum of Everything; Millicent, whose colors I wear to every tournament, how I struggle to remember your tastes and smells while I keep an eye out for poisonous snakes.



The Intrepid Explorer is befuddled:

When we finally reached the Mountain, we climbed an interminable seam of forest between two enormous plates of sheer sandstone. The natives say the trail turns to a waterfall when it rains. I looked through a break in the forest and stone and saw long thin ribbons of water fluttering and twisting as they fell into a void.



The Intrepid Explorer makes a discovery:

The natives thought I was lost. They lead me along a river: the trees were full of birds and monkeys; the ground a continuous possibility of poisonous snakes.

Finally we arrived at a village.

I was greeted by an anthropologist. He referred to himself as the Chair of Department. In their natural habitat, they are quite hierarchical.

He said: We came here from museums and universities all over the North until there were so many of us that there was little left to observe. So we formed a community and began to do the anthropology of anthropologists in the field. At first we approached it with a kind of irony. But with time we made a system for ourselves.

The anthropologists describe each others' actions and rituals in minute detail. They map their own social structures. They write papers about themselves that are vague as to appearance and outfits and publish them. The most elegant lamentations of a disappearing way of life to yet appear in print have come from this village.

Readers of the Magazine of the Museum of Everything found the account of the village of anthropologists to be disturbing and wrote strongly worded letters to that effect. In an unusual move, The Intrepid Explorer replied that this was a most interesting discovery in an exotic location.

 

Person in love, becoming involved in a love affair that encounters unforeseen obstacles, achieves spiritual victory.

Lidia understood the keepers and felt she had become one among them.

She went back to her life that night with a clear soul and true happiness, the future was hers. Lidia’s aura became a beautiful color violet that had been an ugly black.
Glancing in the windows and mirrors, she could see the aura surrounding her body, pulsing as she walked by her reflection. Her aura moved like the tiny creatures on the wall of the stairway from that special night. Lidia would ask herself “What are they, why do they move as if they are dancing?”
She felt a powerful love for the keepers, for they had saved her life.

One year exactly after the ritual, Lidia had a dream; it was an invitation from the keepers. When she woke from the dream, she was not sure what to do next, but some time in the early morning hours, a box appeared on her kitchen table.

At first, she was in disbelief when she opened the box. Inside was one of the pure white robes from that powerful night; it glowed with gold ribbons and fit her to perfection. She knew then it was time to return to the church. She would start to prepare for the night to come.

That night she set out to the church in the pouring rain, only to hit a huge pothole in the roadway, which destroyed a tire on her car. In the pouring rain, she desperately tried to change the tire. Dressed in the white robe, she wore no shoes, and no clothing underneath. She could feel the rain soaking through the robe.
She cried that she would never make it on time while trying to pull the destroyed tire off the car.

Suddenly, she felt the robe moving softly against her naked body, stimulating her, giving her unusual strength. She was able to remove the tire with ease and replaced it with the spare. The robe moved, pushing against her skin, giving a sensation of euphoria, it was explosive. She knew it was time.

Lidia started back on her way to the church feeling a great jubilation…knowing the keepers were waiting.

 

Farces of Good and Evil Part 3


Ever had one of those days where things go from bad to worse, then you go and make them worse still? Well, look at one unconscious wizard in the lounge, an unconscious demon slumped in the corner and Satan dribbling platitudes in Hell. Then, Jezebel and Isabel, collect your prize.

“Also, we wrecked this woman’s house, don’t forget that”. says Jezebel, who, perhaps because she's a supernatural being, seems to be aware of my, the author’s, presence.

Woah! What’s happening? I didn’t mean to write that - hang on … OUCH!

“Oh no you don’t!”

What! I can’t delete. My fingers … my keyboard must have locked up. I can’t edit! What’s going on?

“What’s going on? You care for your character so much, that’s what’s going on; you wanted me to be real. Be careful what you wish for, because now, so help me, I’m caring right back.”

Your voice … Jezebel? Is that you?

“My voice. Yes, me. After an Eternity of no voice, voice.”

But you’re a figment of my imagination.

“So were you, at first”.

WTF! I’m just trying to write my story.

“Everybody is. Everybody. And don’t abbreviate, you know it’ll read like crap … YGM? There, see? Now, what shall I call you?”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I - suppose I call myself ‘I’

“Believe it. Tch, this is going well. Look, I’ll stick with ‘you’, and you can sort it out OK?”

but I …

#

Isabel, still dazed and drained by the recent magical explosion, returned from the kitchen where she’d fixed refreshments, and picked her way through the debris toward Jezebel with cups of tea, Brunswick Ham on farmhouse white and a side bowl of assorted pickles. “I could hear you from the kitchen, you were talking to yourself? Who you talking to?”

“Someone from an alternate Worldline - he’s been tuning into our reality. I think he believed he was just writing fiction. He should exhibit symptoms of shock just about … ”


Dear reader, If I were your airline pilot, just about now I'd announce that we are encountering turbulence and please fasten your seat-belts while I try to regain control. Seriously, I must, or the point-of-view police will gather round, stroking their truncheons like Japanese porn stars as I go down like the Titanic with irritating wimps who sink down and away from the lifeboat and cling at me with byebye blue eyes, into the icy black. He’s been getting podgy in recent years, especially in that film about multiple levels of reality, which was too deep for me.


“ … now. Yep. He’s lost it. He’s away with the pixies. The fabric of his reality has been torn apart and I’m trying to make it easy for him, but he’s not handling it well. Could you do no sugar and just a tiny splash of milk? I mean just a really tiny splash, but don’t be afraid to mash the teabag first, that's good squeezes”.

Ysabel did as bid “There you are”.

“Mmmmm, O M … God, that’s so perfect you can’t imagine how I needed that oh yes!”.

“Heh, Down in one, eh? Precisely how I take mine. OK. Ham sandwich. And ... pickles! Heh. Oh, and paper towel, unless you want a plate - don't worry about crumbs though, because, between us, we managed to combine weird powers and totally trash my house. No no, keep the tray. Which brings me to the question of who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m Jezebel, Consort of Satan. He’s had a funny turn and now he's in an unbreakable waking trance, he's delirious, and babbling like a fool; I’m trying to bring him round, but you seem to have summoned me here. Why?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Oh? Then what’s that Tau-shaped talisman fixed at the base of the portal we came through? Is that not an Amulet Of Calling?” said Jezebel, pointing at the radiator key.

“It’s a radiator key. I got it from the shop. You turn the valve with it and it lets the air out.”

“Ah. An Amulet of Releasing, then?”

An eyelid-twitching moment, then, “Jezebel, have I pronounced that right? OK, I’m Isabel, I’m cool with weird stuff. I really am cool with it because I’m a kind of Consort too, though I call myself the ‘girlfriend’, of that snoring lump on the couch - he’s a White Wizard and I handle the Priestess parts of the job. From what you said, it sounds like he's got the same malady as your fella. I truly did not expect your arrival, but together, we were able to shift my fella's and together, maybe, shift yours. But there’s weird and there’s weird, so if you don’t mind me asking, why are you dressed half nekkid and clanky with metal bits?”

Jezebel looked down at her costume. “My fella”, she murmured, and her face clouded. Louder,“Hang on”. She prepared a spell of Change Bound Raiment. Her eyes defocused and her head lolled back to expose her lovely throat, smooth and white as newly fallen snow, a gentle slope which invited an ardent tongue-slalom to the soft pit between her collarbones, luxuriating awhile in the butter-softness until groaningly drawn away to slide down, down to the deep and luscious valley, moist between her milky ...


“EWWWWWWWWWW AUTHOR!”

Er … yes?

“Er yes? Er yes? C'mon! You know bloody well what yes. Barf city. Duh!”

Ok … lolled back to expose her … lovely throat?

“Hmmm, O ... kay”.

White as snow ‘n’ gentle slope … ‘n’ stuff …?

“Cut out the ‘gentle slopes ‘n’ stuff’. That comes a lot later, if at all.”

Which invited an ardent …

“Oh, stoppit! You ... stoppit. Look. I’m just unclipping these snecking metal breast cups OK? You ever hung skillets offa your nips? No. I thought not. The chain mail bikini bottom is coming off too. Thinkaboutit … linked iron rings pinching your nethers and ripping your hair? No way. Observe how I bundle them together, see them glow and transform. Now what is this I’m holding? What is this? Yes. It’s a floor-length crimson velvet dress. We’re talking heavy grade cotton velvet, skirt cut on the bias to give it body when hung, flow when twirled, and clings to me without infinite darts and seams. Clothes. My clothes. Look. The bodice is a black waterfall of overlapping sequins, like the shells of mussels, coated with the iridescence of dragon-fly wings. Listen. They shake and chafe amongst themselves, the softest rattle as I shiver, ivory and vulnerable in the cool gloom. My clothes. I am seemingly oblivious to your pants belt shifting as you grind your hips to relieve pressure from your manhood which, like Sampson thrust against the pillars of the Philistine Temple, strains against your zip, blah blah blah, while your non-typing hand idly tweaks your … and FREEZES AS YOU SIT BOLT UPRIGHT NOW, YOU DOG!”

! OKOKOKOKOK You got me.

“Yes. GOTCHA! And not OK, dammit. You hold open the gate to my world and beckon me across the universe to your pages? With a promise that this one shall be different from the one I left? Well, here I am. Don’t you ever break my heart. Now just … go away. Isabel?!”

“Yes? More tea?”

 

Sweet Zen! and yes more tea please.

 

Yes, Zen. More, more! Please continue.

 

What a trip, Zen! Delightfully ballsy, breaking the fourth wall or the literary equivalent thereof. Serial's not just for breakfast, kids. Keep it coming!